Friday, January 15, 2021

Chain Of Hearts- Jimmy's Diary

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Creative Responses To Chain Of HeartsAn Truong


Dear journal,


I made friends with Peter Drysdale today, three weeks in at Pucka. Two hours of marching in the scorching sunlight and the unremitting sound of the sergeant in charge screaming out orders were just enough to drive anybody to the point of insanity. The lucky bastard took the pleasure of standing in shade the whole time.


He was having fun bellowing this and that at everyone who represented vulnerability and all we wanted to do was take a stand and beat the living daylights out of him. He was on the verge of abusing sarcasm and took his time hauling Private Jenson out in front of everyone, humiliated and abused. The poor kid.


My feet were killing me, blisters over blisters forming on my soles. It was excruciating, so bad I practically needed to clench my teeth to stop the pain. My throat felt raw with thirst. Even though it was a sweltering day, we were restricted from the water supplies.


Over and over in my head I cursed. A million thoughts rolled over in my head, so quick I only had time to focus on the main cause of my suffering. I don't want to be a friggin' soldier, march around all day with blisters on my feet. I want to fix cars. But I marched. And I saluted. I did as I was told, thinking the whole time I would run away, fake an identity, go to New Guinea and work at a coffee plantation where I knew a bloke who could help me get around.


I caught my perfect opportunity to make fun of the situation when the sergeant turned his back for a moment. I thought I ought to put the moment to use. I turned to Peter Drysdale, commonly known as Blue, who stood beside me in line. Mum said this would be good fun, I told him. And it ain't!


I didn't intend for it to be funny, but I guess it really was since Blue tried to stifle his laughter. I starting grinning myself, and soon we burst into laughter. The sergeant spun around and spotted us having a grand time. Even though he was hollering at the top of lungs, his face turning a bright red, we couldn't help but laugh hysterically.


We had hell to pay after that, but getting to laugh in his face was definitely worth it. We had latrine duty and extra kitchen duties to see to, as well as an extra hour of parading. For the next five days, all of them hitting a dreadful forty degrees, we will be banned from swimming.


Maybe turning up to these extra duties may help our friendship blossom, and I hope it will. Blue seems like a really great person as well as a good friend.


Jimmy


Dear journal,


Blue shocked us all with the bravery he displayed today. We were in enemy territory, snipers all around. The mere sound of rifles firing got our hearts racing, our knees weak with trembling. Looking for cover proved to be the greatest complication, especially with snipers targeting us from every angle.


Blue and I were huddled behind a mound of dirt, panting heavily as we recovered from the exhausting sprint to a more promising cover. Shots were being fired all over the place, bullets biting into the soils at our heels. I wrapped my arms over my head, silently praying that we'd make it back in one piece. While I was cowering beneath my arms, not daring to get some shots back at the enemy, Blue kept his chin up, a defiant glint in his eyes. For a puzzling moment I watched him shift from foot to foot. I yelled to him over the bullets and explosions, demanding to know what he was up to.


We locked gazes and the desperate look in his eyes gave it all away. He was going out. Whatever his intentions were, it was an outrageous one.


I'm going after Tim Matheson.


Those simple words numbed my body, rendered me incapable of speech. Before I could hold him back, Blue went for it. Everybody shouted his name, told him not to be so damned stupid, told him that the medi-chopper was on its way. But being the fearless guy that he was, Blue refused to lay low.


He made his way into a swamp where Tim was screaming, both legs blown off, bleeding to death as he lay half drowning in a foot of water. Blue snatched little Tim up and ran blindly back to cover. Halfway there a bullet ripped through the air and sank into his leg. Blue went down, tumbled over in agony. Willing the pain to go away, Blue forced himself to carry on, grabbed Tim back up and began his sprint back.


Somehow he managed to drag Tim back to cover, bullets whizzing through the air all around him. Miraculously, he made it back in time to begin working on his wound. Blue ripped his shoelace off and tied it around his leg, stopping his bleeding by just a notch.


It was truly the most selfless act any of us had ever witnessed. Blue was hospitalised in Vuong Tou for a month afterwards. Tim had no feet and legs left but he was still alive, still alive in hospital after months.


Blue is beyond doubt a hero.


Jimmy


Dear journal,


Binh Ba was bodies. The bits of them all over the place. The shouting, the tanks, the flying mortars coming down. The scrambling old women, the kids running to get away. Blue and I were scurrying from hut to hut like lunatics, the tank following behind. We threw the grenades blindly, not knowing who was who, what was what. Anything that moved posed a threat.


The smoke, screaming and the terror were etched into my memory then, and everything seemed surreal, like time was moving in slow motion. It was a bloodbath, my surroundings blurred with red before my eyes.


Over a hundred nogs dead at the end of it, strewn all over the bleak village square, bits of them hanging from tree branches, in ditches. Not a single hut was left standing, every pig and chicken slaughtered. And we were the cause of it.


My mind was almost a blank, the work of it all heaved upon my shoulders. My purpose here was to kill, to slaughter lives that were competent to carry on perfectly fine. It almost felt like…like we were murderers.


When it was all over, Blue's face was ashen with fatigue, eyes like burnt holes. I've had it mate, he said. This time I've had it. At first I shrugged it off, thinking that everybody had had enough. But when I replayed those words again in my mind, I realized it had a certain edge to it, something cold, blanked-out, something final. I decided to follow him around to the back of a tank.


I found Blue reloading his rifle, and instinctively I knew what his intentions were. Acting with all my instincts, I jumped on him from behind, ripped the rifle from his grip and kicked it a distance away. Blue struggled under my firm clasp on his arms as I wrestled the big guy to the ground.


It took me every ounce of strength I could muster to hold him down, ignoring the shoves and groans of Get off me, ya bastard! I told him not to be a bloody fool, told him that we only had a few months left before we were able to go home and that one day this will be nothing but a memory.


At that the struggling slowly died and Blue's body went limp. I got off him, and we sat there in the dirt avoiding each other's eyes. I reassured him once again.


It'll be nothing but a memory, Blue. I waved loosely at the smoking devastation and death surrounding us, my voice strangely distant, even to myself. One day all this will just be a memory…


Blue nodded his head and stared down at his trembling hands. You're right, he said. One day…it will be gone. It'll just be a memory.


Jimmy


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