I Was Only Nineteen

• Brodie Ryan, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2013

“Barrett!” I hear someone holler my name, “Barrett!” wait, and that sounds vital. I pull myself out of this bottomless trance I have found myself in, “What?” I look towards where the call was coming from, “I mean, um, Yes sir?” I find two fuming, unblinking eyes in front of my face; they were the eyes of the Commanding Officer. “Pull your head out of the clouds, soldier. Soon you will be heading to the village where the Vietcong are hiding out. Clean up your rifle.”
“Yes, Sir” I reply, dutifully. I went behind one of the colossal palm trees and anxiously cleaned my rifle with a mouldy rag. I take in the atmosphere. Wild frogs are croaking stridently and you can hear the calls of the Red Jungle fowls. I can hear the yelps of hurt soldiers and the shouting of commanding officers getting more soldiers ready to go towards the Vietcong. I miss my Mother, Father and Brother, Danny. I had drawn the card to go to war. It was pure misfortune. But no one ever revealed that there was to be blood, mud and tears.
“Contact!”
“Damn” The soldier near me swore. It seems as if the Vietcong have struck first. More and more of the Vietcong soldiers were emerging out of the greenery of the jungle in front of us. The sounds of bullets tearing through flesh, cries of soldiers as the hit the ground screaming and it wasn’t too long until suffering soldiers were being carried to safety by stretcher bearers. I dodged bullets as they were shot in my direction, killing the soldiers near me instead. I fired my rifle at the Vietcong soldiers who were approaching as a threat. Some soldiers were hiding in trees and killing the other men below. I decided to go further away from the firing range. As I go further into the jungle, I hear rustling noises coming from the greenery ahead. I move slowly towards where the rustling is coming from. As I am about three feet away from the foliage I hear a barrage. I try and turn around to see where the shot arose from, but I cannot move. The sounds of the crickets and the bombardments become a muffled, distant echo in the back of my mind. I realise there’s a sharp pain in my abdomen. I fall to my knees. Memories of my family are rushing through my head as the agony intensifies. I had been shot. I finally fall onto the ground and I find myself lying there, eyes open looking at nothing in particular. There’s a memory playing through my mind, it was when I left for war, and Mum, Dad and Danny didn’t know. I just packed my things and left, with only a note left on the kitchen bench. The memory stops after being played again and again. The pain discontinues. A flash of light appears and all I can manage to whisper is; “I was only nineteen”.