You can do this, you can do this, Benny thought as he stared down into the killing hole and considered all the ways he could die inside of it. They called them spider holes but they should\u2019ve called them early graves. The scorpions, the rats\u2026 he imagined them clawing at his skin, tearing him apart as the Viet Cong approached like their own kind of insect, burrowing endlessly through the network of tunnels beneath Vietnam. Of course, this idea was absurd, they would merely slit his throat and be done with him like the others that had gone before him. Even if he made it through unscathed and with his throat intact, around every corner, they would be waiting for him\u2026 just beyond the tripwires and the punji sticks, demons draped in black and covered in mud.<\/p>\n
When he knelt to get a better look at his new home, his brothers whispered of his courage, and his mind yelled of his stupidity. A heat unlike anything he had ever experienced radiated from the hole\u2014if the jungles of South Vietnam were hell, then this was someplace deeper, where the fire burns black and pungent. And the stench of shit permeates every crevice in which the enemy spoils.<\/p>\n
\u201cGot your bowie on you, son?\u201d The Sergeant said to him, but Benny couldn\u2019t hear him over the thrumming of the cicadas and the droning sound of death. The jungle was quiet today\u2014there were no distant gunshots or artillery fire, just their platoon, wading in silence and the dreadfulness of their brother\u2019s descent.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou sure you want to do this?\u201d He asked before Benny realized someone was talking, and that he wasn\u2019t already dead. Sweat was rolling down his face, and the only way he could stop his hand from trembling was to clutch his knife. But he understood the burden, and he wouldn\u2019t let another good man die in his place. If rats could see in the dark, he would too. And he would eat them for breakfast, and dinner when the time came.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes-sir\u2014I\u2019m ready, sir,\u201d Benny said, but he didn\u2019t look his sergeant in the eyes, and couldn\u2019t take them off the tunnel. He was terrified, more than anything, but he wasn\u2019t going to let his country down, and when he heard the voices of his loved ones back home, telling him that he was going to make it out alive, he cast them back into the hole with the memory. He was the only one small enough to fit\u2014he should\u2019ve been a Jockey, the other men would say, should\u2019ve been racing horses in Arizona. But now he\u2019s a rat\u2014and rats don\u2019t tell stories.<\/p>\n
\u201cMap out the tunnels, and use that string to lead you back,\u201d the sergeant said, but it felt more like a command; there was work to be done. So he handed him the flashlight, and for what felt like a lifetime, held his hand upon Benny\u2019s shoulder, squeezing as if it would increase Benny\u2019s expectancy for life.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes-sir,\u201d Benny said as he lowered himself into the rank bowels of the jungle. Someone had to volunteer, he thought, and it had to be him.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome back to us, ya hear?\u201d That was the last thing the Sergeant said before Benny crawled into the tunnel and wondered all at once, as he dragged himself into the foul dark if that were the last time he would see the sun.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
They called them spider holes but they should\u2019ve called them early graves. The scorpions, the rats\u2026 he imagined them clawing at his skin, tearing him apart as the Viet Cong approached like their own kind of insect, burrowing endlessly through the network of tunnels beneath Vietnam.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":22453,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3530],"tags":[4125],"class_list":["post-21896","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-fiction","tag-war-fiction-flash-fiction-psychological","writer-james-edward-culley"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21896","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21896"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21896\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22454,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21896\/revisions\/22454"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/22453"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21896"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21896"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21896"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}