1943
Jack ran.
Into the darkness, the sounds of the ambush faded behind him.
The Japanese went as quickly as they came, fading back into the night, leaving their wounded and slain alongside Jack's own mates. Food for the worms, unless they came back for them. Surely, surely they would.
Jack lurched to his knees, emptied the contents of his stomach onto the forest floor, and stilled for a second to catch his ragged breath.
The jungle stretched on. On, and on. Forever. Like a void. Swallowing him whole.
He did not know why he ran. He should have stayed; with his unit, with his mates. His own voice, his last words to Yippy as the massive man's body hit on the ground, ringing in his ears.