It was quite a thing, walking into that ville, those fireworks going off. After almost 13 months fireworks was still my first thought, not that it slowed my reaction. I was just reacting to fireworks instead of gunfire. I’d have to revise that before my first July 4^th back home.

First there was only the soft sound of boots on dust, boots on dust, boots on dust, so regular that nobody could have said when it started or how long it had gone on. Then, whenever that soft sound had started, it was over, just like that. The popping erased it, angry bees screaming through leaves, slapping stick shacks, men slamming to earth left and right, cheeks against hootches, fists gripping, fingers flexing, brains focusing, searching. Necks craning, eyes wide, looking for anything, the hint of anything, sweat trickling down chests and arms and backs, tickling itches arising when attention was required elsewhere, everywhere, maybe forever. Sometimes forever’s sixty years. Sometimes it’s six months or sixty days. Sometimes it’s less than sixty seconds.

“Got ‘em!” Somebody acquired hostiles and everybody adjusted. Disciplined fire in a kind of controlled panic. Even the two newbies kept it mostly under control. Hottest, wettest day in awhile. Even the mosquitoes were swimming. It was quite a thing.

The firefight over, nobody hit, moving out, watching, column of twos flanking the road but nobody had to say it.

A kind of fatigue washed over me. I moved sideways to the left a bit until my shoulder touched a dry stick wall. I pressed along it for a moment, testing its certainty, then turned my back against it and slid hard to the ground. The others were near the northeast end of town, excited, talking like men do when they easily could have been killed but weren’t. Happy and excited and nervous and a little more certain now that it could never happen to them. I was just tired.

Inexplicably tired. It was all I could do to lift my scraggly chin (I’ll shave tonight... man ought’a shave every few days...) focus back down the road to the south, the hootches that were still standing. No movement. Good... good.... I closed my eyes for just a moment, then force my head up and glanced again. Blinked my eyes. Just smoke and dust filtering out in light coughs from the gap-toothed doors and haggard windows. Good.... Smokin’s bad for your health. The government used to give us little four-packs of cigarettes in our C-rats, remember? But they quit because smokin’s bad for your health. Okay, so I quit anyway about a year ago. Don’t need anything that’s bad for your health. I let my chin rest near my chest for a moment. Man, that feels good. The guys’ll be along any time. They know we gotta make the LZ by zero-nine.

A white-haired old gnome poked her head out the door of her shack. She looked north toward the voices, which had quieted a bit, then back to the south, her gaze sweeping over me as I watched her. She put one hand on the side of the opening and crept out, gingerly stepping over the legs of a body sprawled across her doorway. If she knew him, I couldn’t tell.

She moved the hand that she’d braced against the doorway to her stomach. She put her other hand over it before she bent double for a moment. She glanced up the road again, then looked slowly the other way, gripped her abdomen more tightly and let her gaze settle on me. It wasn’t an angry look, but kind of a sadness and despair and surprise and emptiness all swirling around. Then it sagged off her face and was replaced with a kind of soft resignation, like I was what she had left. Or maybe like she was what I had left. Something like that. And I was sitting on the ground just a few feet from her. I couldn’t help but think she was somebody’s mama. I wanted to be polite. I wanted to get up, help her to me, but I thought she could make it on her own. It was only a few feet and I was really tired.

Her gaze locked on mine like a homing signal, that kind resignation filling her eyes. She shuffled forward a step, then another, then another. She stopped and, for a moment, looked down, her hands the target of her gaze, drawing my attention. Blood had seeped through her fingers. It was thick, sticky on the back of her hands.

Ah shit, I thought. One of my guys killed this old woman... this little mama... maybe more than one of them. Ah shit. Nausea trembled up my spine. It ignited a slight headache across my forehead, then moved down over my chest to settle in my stomach. The guys were still talking, but more faintly, not as excited. I hoped they’d take a little while before they came back. I decided it was better they didn’t know about this little mama. When they came I wouldn’t tell them, and that would be just about any time. Gotta make the LZ... nine.

The little mama took another step. She pivoted in slow motion, leaned back against my wall, just a beat to my left. Slid down a little. When she let go, she let go. Dropped even harder than I had. Man, when you’re tired you’re just tired. A little dust hovered around her knees, and she was trying to keep them pulled up.

From her butt on the ground to the top of her little grey head was shorter than the distance from the ground to my shoulder. I wasn’t sure what to do, but she was somebody’s mama, so I draped my left arm around her. She fit just right. It was quite a thing.

She looked up to the right and smiled. Her eyes glistened. Quietly she said, “My day,” pressed her cheek against my chest. Could have sworn I felt her warmth right through that worthless flak jacket. I kept thinking she needed that warmth. She needed to keep it for herself. I tensed the muscles in my left arm, intending to cradle her for the rest of her life. Quite a thing, I thought.

She looked up at me again, blood staining her right temple and cheek.

Where’d that come from? I tensed the muscles in my left arm and shoulder again, pulled her just a little closer. Oh... oh yeah.

She touched her cheek. “You too mebbe?” She returned her hand to her abdomen.

What? Me too what? I nodded for her. “Yes, Little Mama... but it’s okay. The guys... my guys... be along soon.”

She lay her head against me again, nestled in like she really didn’t mind the stuff on her face or giving me her warmth or anything. She just snuggled in and rested. Soon she sagged a little, but I continued to cradle what she left me. For a second I thought maybe I could give some of her warmth back, maybe give her some of mine, but it doesn’t work that way. Funny the tricks a guy’s mind will play sometimes.

My headache surged to a point, then waned. It surged again and spiked, then seemed to drain right out through my jaw. The nausea seeped away too, settled into my boots. Best I’ve felt in awhile, I thought. And finally—man, finally!—the day was cooling off too. Actually getting chilly.

The guys’ voices had kind of been there all along, sort of in the background like boots on dust, so regular that I couldn’t have told you when they’d started or how long it had gone on, but it had stopped sometime or other, maybe, I think. It was quite a thing.

I settled a little.

I thought of the little mama’s smile.

It made me happy and my heart and mind began to race.

My breath had the flavor of copper and I played with it. I bet a penny on each thought racing my breath up my tongue.

A really sweet little mama.

Man! I wish I’d known her.

No, I mean longer than those few minutes.

Man I wish she hadn’t had to go.

Oh man, I wish I could hug her.

No. No, my own little mama.

No, but not here! Oh!

No, not like this! No!

The guys! Guys?

Oh Little Mama!

Oh Little Mama!

Oh Little Ma!

Oh Little Ma!

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

*******

Author note: This story was originally written by my person Nicolaz Z “Nick” Porter. See all of my fiction at my online discount store.