The Price

Word count: 759

“The Price”
by
George R. Lasher

“Yes, I killed a man!” I screamed. “This is war! I choked him to death because I ran out of ammo! If I had a gun I’d shoot you, right now!”

In the Mekong Delta, Bobby Ehrlich, Little Joe, and I had been crossing a stream when we were ambushed by the Viet Cong. My buddies went down in a hail of machine gun fire. While returning fire on the enemy, I had run out of ammo and had engaged in hand to hand combat before being shot in the head. I woke up here.

Never again would I see my kid brother, or my mom and dad. I would never again hold my fiancée in my arms and kiss her sweet lips. I was about to become a name, engraved on some monument, remembered on days when people honored the men and women whose lives had been sacrificed in the name of democracy and the ideals of our country. I knew this could happen when I enlisted. We all did. Those that care the most pay the highest price for freedom. Those that care the least just complain and take it all for granted.

Reacting to some drug that had been injected into my veins, my mind reeled. I rose from the hard cot that sat against the back wall and staggered forward. Forcing my throbbing head between the bars of my cell, cool metal pressed against either side of my face as I attempted to focus on the fuzzy image of a dark-haired, diminutive man, wearing some kind of uniform. Limited thus far to simple questioning, the interrogation process would, no doubt, escalate to more unpleasant methods of persuasion. Prepared for anything, including torture, I would provide nothing more than name, rank and serial number.

“Do you know who you killed?”

“An enemy, that’s who.” What a stupid question. How was I supposed to know? They all looked alike to me. I wondered if perhaps it had been some high-ranking officer. “Well, good,” I thought. “The higher, the better.”

“What made you think Mr. Nguyen was your enemy?”

“Look,” I panted, “you’re wasting your breath.” Sweat rolled down the sides of my face. I could barely stand. I wondered if the drug with which I had been injected had been sodium pentothal; if so, I would be soon be spilling my guts without even realizing what I was saying. I gripped the bars for support as my legs became rubbery beneath me. “My name is Nathan Piper, Private, first class, serial number 8-Victor Bravo- 6432871004.”

The man who had been staring at me shook his head, turned to a group of people who walked up beside him, and said, “It won’t be long, now. He should start showing improvement any minute.”

“Thank you doctor.”

My vision was still a mess, but by the pronounced limp and the cane he leaned upon, I could tell that the man who had just arrived was a frail, older man. When he thanked the man he called doctor, his trembling voice had sounded amazingly like my father’s. He said, “He’s never been violent. Nathan’s never done anything like this. When they released him from the VA, his doctors warned us that something like this could happen, but that was almost forty years ago.”

My mouth fell open. “My God," the realization thundered in my mind. "That really is my father! What the hell is he talking about?”

Dad went on, his voice shaking as if he might break down any minute. “At first, the doctors told us he'd either wind up as a vegetable or wouldn’t live. We were all so happy when he pulled through, but he’s paid a terrible price. Never been able to hold a job, and his fiancée left him for another guy.”

Finally beginning to clear, the sight I beheld made me wish my vision had remained blurry. When did my father become so old? His skin hung on his gaunt face and neck, all wrinkled, like an old sheet draped over furniture in a long-abandoned house.

“Damn,” my old man cussed, sobbed, and took a ragged breath before he could compose himself enough to continue. “I’ve heard about this kind of thing happening, but after so long, we figured he was out of danger.” He shuffled up to the bars of the cell, reached in and tenderly stroked my face. “Son,” he said, “you hang in there.”

I recalled hearing Dad say those same words many times to me; so very many times.

The End.


If you enjoyed "The Price," I recommend reading "Telemurdering." A novel posted in my potfolio that tells the story of 3 marines whose special relationship continues long after two of them are killed while serving in Vietnam. The first two chapters may be accessed through the following:

ID: 1470323   (Rated: 18+) Title: Telemurdering: Chapter 1 & 2  Description: Meet Nathan Piper and Sam Stetson By: George

Thanks for dropping by to read my stories!
George R. Lasher
"Welcome to my imagination."