««--»»

“What you’re telling me can’t be.” Simmons was trying hard to grasp what the doctor was saying. The pain rifling through his brain was making the task even more difficult. Most of what happened up on the Hill was a blur, but one thing Simmons did remember was Jones telling him Slug had taken it bad in the leg. That and the image of Jones hanging in the air with the top of his head blown off were two things Simmons remembered clearly. There was, however, another part of the overall image that was nagging at Simmons, but he didn’t want to mention it to the doctor. Not yet.

The painkillers had helped a little--very little. The doctor’s voice pounded like a drum in Simmons’ ears. He had asked the doctor to please keep his voice down, but since he was already speaking in a whisper, Simmons determined that nothing was going to help, so he asked the doctor the same question he had asked him six times already. “How in the hell could Slug have walked out of the jungle, when I know damn well straight he was as good as dead?”

“Can’t answer that, Sergeant,” came a whispering boom. Simmons’ eyes were shut tight; he couldn’t bear the light’s intensity, no matter how dim they appeared to most of the others working in the ward. They were going to be moving him to a darker corner of the room due to his constant complaining. But for now he was stuck squeezing his eyes shut and listening to the bombing going on in his head.

“All I can say is that this Private Jones fella was mistaken. Must have seen someone else and thought it was Private Bokowski.” The doctor placed his hand gently on Simmons’ forehead to feel the bright red skin. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Sergeant. What I’m concerned about is this burn all over your face. It’s not too bad, but it’s almost like a second-degree sunburn. Any idea what happened to cause this?”

After a couple of uncomfortable and extremely painful minutes of explaining the hell on the Hill, Simmons and the doctor came to the conclusion that the Cong had dropped a big one in the area and the burns on Simmons’ face were caused by the intensity of the blast. Simmons actually just agreed with the doctor, because he no longer wished to battle the pain that the constant talking was causing. He also didn’t want to tell the doctor that the light that had burned him couldn’t have been from a bomb. There was no whistling sound of the bomb coming at them, no explosion, and no explanation for the image that had suddenly come back to Simmons’ mind—an image of someone, a soldier, walking out of the light with a slight limp. No section 8 for this sergeant, Simmons thought. I’ll figure it out on my own.

««--»»