THEY'RE IN THE WIRE
Mortars were exploding, people screaming, the night sky had a red hue to it, with flickers of intense lightning whenever another explosion occurred. Gooks were inside the wire, people getting shot everywhere.
Our side became less and less; we were losing. The guys next to me are now dead – shot or caught shrapnel. There are only about 6 of us left, fast losing them as well. We are in a foxhole, trying to hold out, trying to stay alive.
I find myself in a bunker with my dead comrades. All dead but me...and they're still coming. I shoot, and take some down, but there are too many. Shit, I am out of bullets, no more rounds to be had. They are in the bunker with me now... bayonets pointed, fingers on the triggers. I see them squeeze, fingers turning white as the trigger goes down....
I wake up sweating, scared, breathing hard... again. The lady next to me sleeps on, peacefully, steady, slow breath, warm, peaceful. The VA docs say that my PTSD isn't service connected, though my dreams are real. I ask them," Why do I dream this? It never happened to me, nothing like that happened to me."
They shrug their educated shoulders and tell me, "It's not unusual for that to occur."
Brothers, the fight continues. We left Viet Nam behind, but it didn't leave us behind. Little did we know of the demons packed away, coming home with us. They were camouflaged, peeked out their ugly heads, a little at a time, and then when the time was right, they emerged for short firefights.
The sons-a-bitches are entrenched.