Full Plastic Jacket

Whetstone 09/23

Together they trudged in the lush South Asian jungle. It was Day 4 of their 5 day trek through enemy lines to get to their rendezvous with the other allied forces. They suffered massive casualties along the way and the few remaining stood petrified in place with their arms locked into the firing position. The soot and stink of the gunpowder loitered in the air and soaked into the trees. Ammo was running low and morale was lower. The enemy could be anywhere and the only thing keeping the troupe alive was the promise of McDonalds and Coke when they returned to American soil. 

A clearing appeared ahead, a vast empty field of linen blades of grass. The five men huddled together to form an action plan. 

“There is sure to be foxholes, if not, ridden with explosives.” said Rex.

“If I have to spend another minute in this goddamn jungle I am going to lose it. Let there be Vietcong, explosives, and bamboo traps, anything to get out of this hell-hole.” Mel exclaimed.

“I think Mel’s right, we should cross. It will take half a day to go around the tree line and we could reach the rendezvous by nightfall if we just cut across.” said Benji.

“You suicidal maniacs can go get yourselves killed. I got a wife back home I would like to see again and that won’t happen if we set one foot onto that field.” Arthur huffed.

Peter sat in silence. His empty stomach ached and his head bombarded with the sounds of shelling that took place over the previous week’s mission. He gripped his rifle and decided the fates for the bickering soldiers by marching through the trees. Arthur begrudgingly whipped the rest to get moving because “Only Commies leave their own behind.” They paced across the field using their rifles to check the ground for any explosives, inching closer to the center.

*BOOM*

The men looked up and were greeted by the enemy. A horde of combatants rushed and fired upon the troupe: villagers, soldiers, firemen, Power Rangers, beanie babies, etc. the Vietcong took all kinds. 

Mel threw the others to the ground. Prone in the grass Rex, Benji, and Arthur provided coverfire for Peter who was too far ahead of them. Peter unloaded his rifle onto the enemy wave taking out Mr. Potatohead and SpongeBob Squarepants. The click from Peter’s rifle fired nothing, “Out of ammo, end of the line.” Peter dropped beneath the grass line and cocked a grenade to leave a farewell gift to the hodgepodge savages. 

Into the air a red flare shot into the sky. Peter gazed up at the stream of smoke like it was Satan himself arriving to give him his ticket to the ferryman. The rest of the troupe saw the flare and decided Peter had to reap what he sowed on his own. “Commies may be cockroaches, but at least they know how to survive.” Arthur shouted in full sprint back to the tree line. 

A massive ship came overhead and dropped napalm square onto the center of the field. The blast blew all the Vietcong and soldiers over and doused them with fire. The heat’s gust was infernal and Peter sat squarely in the center of its molten oven. His clothes melted into the shaggy grass and the sound of shelling was replaced with a loud, burning hiss from the flames. 

“What the Hell are you doing with my hairdryer?” Mom shouted. “Jesus Joel, you melted this green shit all into the carpet.” Mom smacked me in the head with the hairdryer. “And you forgot to take the trash out. Couldn’t you hear the garbage truck? I swear I have no idea what’s wrong with you-” Mom continued shouting as I looked down to the carpet where she was shearing Peter out of the shag. I saluted Peter’s memory before running to take the trash out.