Death in the Jungle by Gary Smith (most inspirational books .txt) 📕

man with Foxtrot 2nd Squad, recognized the battle we were having and shouted encouragement at us.

“What the hell are you idiots tryin’ to prove?” he yelled. None of us answered as we flew by him. “Beat ’em, Kats!” he shouted after his squad buddy.

Bucklew raised high his right hand with the middle finger extended as we distanced ourselves from Flynn.

We continued pushing the pace, passing the other men going the opposite direction, one by one, until we saw the last two, Funkhouser and Lieutenant (jg) Schrader, bringing up the rear. They reminded me of two sick Texas longhorns loping down the road.

“Run, Funky!” I gasped as I blew by the two joggers.

“Too much beer and whiskey last night!” bellowed Funkhouser. I smiled to myself, knowing that Funky would be last even if he hadn’t touched a drop of the party drinks.

As water, booze, coffee, and every other liquid I’d drunk lately gushed out of my pores, I wiped the sweat off my watch face and noted that we’d run the fourth mile in 5:15. Only two miles to go, I encouraged myself. Then I forced a quick burst of speed and pulled away from Bucklew and Kats, just to keep them psyched out and guessing. They struggled to catch me, even as I struggled to keep the new pace. All of us seemed relieved when I slowed back down, and we resumed our earlier positions.

With the surprise blast that I had tossed in, we ended up racing the fifth mile in a fast 5:08. My heart was busy letting me know it was there; I heard it beating against my temples. I ran my left hand over my face and wiped it off. My body fluids were definitely at high tide.

Kats, still right behind me, farted rapidly three times.

“Need some more gas?” he blurted in a barely audible voice. I could tell he was dying, like I was dying. But death under those circumstances didn’t deserve the least consideration. The only thing that mattered was pride and manhood and pouring your stinking guts out to the bitter end. And the end was less than five minutes away.

Bucklew was puffing fast and hard to my right. I heard someone else puffing, and I realized it was me. I couldn’t hear Kats, but I couldn’t afford to lose my concentration with a look back. I just assumed he was there, even though his feet striking the road couldn’t be heard. We were moving so fast that any sounds to my rear couldn’t catch my ears.

Suddenly Bucklew let out a short hoo-yah! and sped up. I couldn’t believe it, but I went with him. Still, he was a step in front of me. Beads of sweat sailed off his flailing left arm and struck me on the chest. Then, to my amazement, Kats moved up on my left. They were both making their big move with three-quarters of a mile to go.

In the five seconds I was in limbo, deciding what to do, Bucklew and Kats ended up running side by side, four meters in front of me. I dug deep into my bag of intestinal fortitude and closed the gap to two. Placing myself behind Kats, I used the draft to my advantage, hoping I could hang on.

A minute later, the village of Nha Be was in sight, a quarter of a mile away. Through the sweat, I focused my eyes on the nearest hootch, believing if I made it to the hootch I’d somehow be rewarded with a last surge of energy for the four-hundred-meter-sprint to the base gate.

Bucklew and Kats weren’t wavering a bit in front of me. They were neck-and-neck and showed no signs of weakening. Here I was, though, feeling like I was running in an oven. It was getting hotter every second. Even my feet seemed to be on fire. My head screamed for me to stop, but my body was somehow stuck on automatic pilot. I was a robot, a machine revved to the max. I could barely think. I just was.

As we reached the hootch, my mind suddenly caught up with my body. I snapped out of my bewildered state and thought clearly again. I knew I was okay because I noticed that Bucklew’s butt wasn’t as cute as Kats had said. And it was a butt I intended to beat.

One hundred meters into the village, I experienced the flood of adrenaline I needed. With every ounce of power left in me, I surged to Kats’s left side. He glanced at me with a look of desperation, then focused his gaze on the gate, 250 meters ahead. Bucklew was at Kats’s right; we were dead even.

Nga, the laundry mamma-san, was slowly walking across the road just fifty meters away. As she noticed us bearing down on her, her body stiffened in alarm.

Bucklew panted, “Look out!”

Nga scurried for the edge of the road on my side. I took a chance and didn’t break stride, hoping she’d get out of the way. As I rushed by her, my left arm brushed her back. Kats took advantage of the distraction and went full throttle. This was it. He threw everything he had into a final sprint. Bucklew and I were a split second behind in going with him, but instantly we gave it our all. Two hundred meters, full out. Nothing got held back. Absolutely nothing. Three bodies with engines burning, all in overdrive.

I strained for all I was worth, but Kats stayed half a step ahead; Bucklew, however, dropped a shade behind me. Then, with one hundred meters to go, Bucklew fell a step back.

Okay, I told myself, it was me and Kats. Go!

I ran into what felt like a time warp. I sped up while everything around me seemed to slow down. All that mattered was just Kats and me, me and Kats. Straining, grunting, striving, driving, grasping, heaving. Gunning for the gate.

With forty meters left, I drew even. At ten meters, Kats gained a mutinous