THE RIDGE

Brinks had heard the muffled reports of Taylor’s rifle fire, but had no idea what was going on. He slowly backpedaled from the edge of the clearing, rifle raised, when he heard feet pounding the ground and getting nearer. He kneeled ready to fire when Taylor burst through the fog, his face a mask of raw fear. Brinks raised his rifle after fighting off a reflex action to shoot, and was instead nearly run over by Taylor. The two collided and sprawled on the grass. Brinks grabbed his partner by the collar and yelled, “I nearly killed you, you crazy son of a bitch!”

Try as he might though, he was unable to reason or even communicate with Taylor, who thrashed like a wild animal despite Brinks’ efforts. “Come on, talk to me! What happened back there?”

Taylor’s eyes were transfixed on another place and time, but it wasn’t here or now, Brinks knew that as he stared into the face of complete, uncontrolled hysteria. Corporal Reed Taylor struggled and kicked until he finally broke free of his buddy’s hold, and scrambled back into the jungle that they had both sifted through to get here. “Crazy son of a bitch!” Brinks muttered as he picked himself up from the ground, grabbed his rifle, and slapped his helmet back on. He paused to catch his breath, and knew he had to get out of here quickly.

sunset cut silhouetted paths that left long shadows stretching along the ground. The corporal did everything he could to maintain his own self control so he wouldn’t end up like his buddy, but there was urgency to his withdrawal back to the ridge, back to safety, back to his comrades in Checker Company. It seemed that he was making good time when he was suddenly struck by a peculiar compulsion. It was a compulsion to go back to the clearing. No, this couldn’t be, he thought as he began to fight his own will. Why would he want to go back there?

Then it dawned on him as he stopped walking, confused over what was happening inside his head. What purpose could going back there possibly serve? He was afraid. There was no constructive purpose. His friend had been rendered into a fleeing idiot by whatever was back there, besides he was alone in the growing darkness, and he had an assignment to complete. What was this growing obsession to go back? Now he had to fight against it with all his might. He realized in the back of his mind that he was losing the battle. Then he realized this wasn’t his mind after all. This was an outside force compelling him to come back, and the worst thing about it was that he couldn’t resist. Oh, he tried and tried, he’d always prided himself on willpower, but this was like nothing he’d ever tried to resist before. He could no longer will himself to defy the urge to go back. Brinks panicked as his body responded like a marionette to the strings of an unknown master. He stiffened his legs in an attempt to refuse this unknown, outer will, but it was too strong. Like a mechanical man his body awkwardly turned the other way and began the journey back to the clearing, back to the village.