ALIAS

"DON'T RUN!” was the only thing that Major Jacob could hear as he raced through the chest-high grass on the plain marshes of Hanoi. I shouldn’t have cut across the marshes, he thought. The ground was so sticky that Jacob felt as if he was running on gum. It wasn’t planting season yet and the soil in these rice paddles was untended and filled with mud and stones. The mud was so deep that Jacob was being sucked in every time his boots touched the ground, so he needed a lot of strength to run just a few paces. He was a trained soldier who knew everything about strength and endurance, but running in his heavy boots on this marshland called for something else; the will to live. Jacob did not have the will to live, not after what he had done, but he still didn’t want to be caught. He lost his left boot to the thick mud. s**t. That made running more awkward for him. He had to take the other boot off. His fingers fumbled to untie the laces which were now coated by slippery black mud. His hands were shaking but it took him about ten seconds to untie the slippery laces and yank off the boot. That's what routine tying and untying bootlaces does to a man who has been in the armed forces for a while. In Jacob’s case, it had been seven wonderful years. During his tenure, he had never imagined that he would someday be running barefoot across a mosquito-infested marsh. Thin blades of grass cut his exposed feet. But he kept running. His right foot hit a sharp rock and he felt spasms of excruciating pain in his pinky toe. But he could not stop running. He did not know where he was going. But his body was racing and so was his heart. His mind raced along with his body, woefully recalling the captivating memories that he had made in this beautiful country that he now had to flee. He had loved Vietnam, until now. She had fascinated him in many ways. Her natural beauty. Her weather. Her culture. The compulsive efforts of her children to virtuously recover from the economic scars of the Vietnam War merged with the even more compulsive, albeit less virtuous efforts of individuals who wanted a shorter route to success, at the cost of the success of the country. These were the usual scum of the earth - mostly traffickers, of drugs, slaves, and weapons. This, further merged with the general beauty and accommodative nature of her children, was like reading sad yet fascinating poetry. But now his mind was a harbor of chaos, unlike the norm in Hanoi. Jacob didn't have much of a tranquil mind himself, but he could feel his body crumbling under the weight of the chaos. He could also feel something else. They were closing in. It wouldn't be long before they caught him. They will understand, of course they will. It was an accident, a drill gone wrong. Happens all the time. True, but at no time had it ever taken two lives, two very valuable lives. Jacob did not want to be discharged. Going back to San Diego was the last thing he needed after a very successful campaign in the Navy. No, I'm slowing down. I shouldn't be slowing down. I must keep running. Keep moving. Keep running. I have to get to... “Get to where Cake?” A deep voice asked. It was at least ten feet away from him. Shit. Jacob realized that he hadn't moved an inch, he had lapsed into a half-conscious state and was on his knees, helpless and talking to himself in the middle of the marsh. His body had crumbled indeed. His feet hurt, especially his right pinky toe which had almost been spliced in half by that goddamned rock. His body was aching but the throb in his head was five times worse. Illusions were overlapping rapidly in his mind; in one he saw himself successfully eluding his pursuers and getting to safety. Another one; in which he saw his pursuers effortlessly parrying his efforts to escape. Another one interrupted, he saw himself fighting and resisting capture, or whatever they had planned for him. He liked this one. It faded out quickly, then another one came; then another one. And another one. They moved so rapidly that he couldn’t gather his wits. He shook his head and slapped his face, trying to bring himself back to reality. Reality wasn't as delightful as he had hoped it would be. Through his blurry vision, he could see dark figures approaching. His hurting ears picked up the distorted sounds of boots sloshing through the sticky muck. His vision was improving, and he could see a couple of burly figures surrounding him. Unfortunately, unlike his vision, his strength wasn't getting any better. He tried to rise but couldn't help but watch as his pal, Major Connelly, towered over his defeated face and aimed a gun at him. “Ah f**k, go easy Con I...”, He yelped as a sudden sharp pain on his neck cut him off, and he sank into a world of wet, sticky darkness. He heard a chuckle just before the lights went out.