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It all started so quickly, he was sitting in his foxhole, wishing he had one of his friends to keep him company, like Ted, or Kiowa. But Ted had gotten his head blown apart a while ago and Kiowa was off somewhere else. Hopefully safe. Well, as safe as you can be in the middle of a battlefield. A battlefield was generous. What it really is, is a field of shit and dirt. Hell of a place to lay low for the night.
One thing about Vietnam that Norman had noticed was the absence of light. The nights were the darkest he'd ever seen. But, just because it was dark doesn't mean it was quiet. The opposite was true, actually. It was incredibly loud, an explosion to his right, a scream to his left.
A familiar scream, it belonged to a voice Norman prayed to a God he was hesitant about to keep them safe.
The voice belonged to Kiowa.
Norman's hands caked in mud and shit as he clawed his way out of the relative safety of his foxhole. His legs burned and his chest begged for air, but he had to keep running. Kiowa could be in danger. Who was he kidding? Of course Kiowa was in danger. He was fighting in Vietnam, he wasn't back home in Oklahoma City going to church or whatever it is he'd be doing, instead he was here. Fighting for his life.
Norman nearly tripped several times in the short eternity, stumbling blind through the rising mud. A small flash of green, barely noticeable, not unless you were looking for it. The slightly shimmery screen of a watch, on a very familiar wrist. Looking up at him, terrified, as he sank further into the muck was Kiowa. His eyes were the only part of his face that Norman could see, and his cruel imagination filled in the blanks with very wrong, very dead, features. A different face looked up at him. Norman slid towards Kiowa, his arm and boot sticking out of the mud. Grabbing onto Kiowa's boot, Norman pulled. Nothing. He pulled as hard as he could and yet Kiowa would not move. Max's eyes peered at him from the dark. A different face was in front of him, and he was back in his hometown. Unable to save his best friend.
A calming flood of resolve cleared Norman's mind. Reaching into the mud rapidly climbing his legs, he clasped onto Kiowa's hand. And, with a strength he hadn't known previous, he pulled. He pulled, Kiowa not budging, so he pulled harder. The slightest give. Taking a deep breath, Norman tugged at Kiowa's limbs. A tug-of-war with death. A loud pop filled the chaotic background noise, but regardless, Norman continued. More of Kiowa's arm became visible, and Norman prayed to a God his friend believed in enough for the both of them.
"Dear Lord, above in Heaven, I pray to you. Please, grant me strength, I can not lose another friend this way. Grant me strength, I can not lose another friend this way," Norman whispered, Kiowa's shoulder almost out of the mud. "Grant me strength..."
A face, flashing between two friends, appeared from the shit and the mud. Wasting no time, Norman latched around his friends shoulders, pulling Kiowa's face as far above the grime as he could. Kiowa's breathing ragged and harsh, thick and a clear struggle. Norman turned him onto his side as best he could, and Kiowa's breathing eased slightly. Norman's awkward side hug only tightening.
"Thank you Lord, thank you, thank you," Norman's slightly breathless voice seemed to be an anchor for Kiowa, the other clinging to his arm around his shoulder.
"Thought you weren't religious, Norman," Kiowa wheezed, trying to turn to make the joke to Norman's face, only to wince when he put pressure on his left arm.
"Shit, your arm. I didn't mean to," Truth be told, Kiowa's arm looked fully dislocated in the very limited light. At that statement, Kiowa seemed to take a break from struggling to stare at Norman incredulously.
"Norman, would you rather I be injured or dead?"
"Injured," Norman responded, not even considering the other option, what might have happened if he'd stopped trying. Or had been to late. He hugged his friend tighter.
"Thank you, Norman. I thought... well, a couple of things really." Kiowa took a moment to catch his breath. "First, that I was going to die. And second, all of the jokes that Azar would make,"
And, despite the situation that just occurred, Norman found it in himself to laugh. A near hysterical sound that soon had Kiowa joining in. So, there they sat, covered in shit, laughing like nothing was wrong with the world, like Norman hadn't had to pull Kiowa out of the mud. After a while, they both managed to calm down to small giggles every once in a while.
"Hey, Kiowa?"
"Yeah?"
"When we get out of here, back to America, could I go to Church with you?" At this, Kiowa did turn around, being careful about his left arm.
"Sure, any particular reason?"
Norman nodded his head, slowly and delayed.
"I could save you this time,"
Nothing more was said, but the hug turned near crushing, and Kiowa was crying, or maybe Norman was. Maybe both of them. Neither brought any attention to it, they both just sat there, covered in mud, cold and crying, but alive. Injured, but alive. Norman could save him this time. The other face smiled from the other side.