Prologue
No matter how hard he fought to stay awake, slumber came, followed by the unwelcomed reverie. Jubie Walker always seemed to view his strange dreams(flashbacks) through a tinted red lens. This time was no different; it took him to where he did not want to go—a place filled with shadows and unexplained wonders—a place not of Jubie Walker’s world. Jubie’s breathing grew shallow, and his heart pulsated. The 15-year-old felt the start of another headache.
FLASHBACK
The constant chatter of jungle noise only added to their apprehension, each man with his thoughts. No one could imagine what would happen next. They only knew it would soon come to pass. But for now, it was the sound of the constant buzzing of flies and mosquitos. The unbearable heat soaked through each soldier’s khaki shirt, and the only thing worse; waiting for the inevitable. The night sky; black as death itself.
Bright orange and blue tracer bullets flashed a path across the heavens in a spectacular display of pyrotechnics. Furthermore, the enemy artillery guns caused a massive number of American soldiers to be wounded or killed. The jungle foliage burned and smoldered, sending gray clouds of smoke into the air. Meanwhile, all the terrified defenders could feel at the moment was anxiousness. It was a scene out of hell with Satan himself leading the assault.
The sound of running footsteps through the tropical undergrowth caught the two American soldiers’ attention who operated the M1917 Browning, water-cooled machine gun. Sergeant Reese Cochran and Corporal Titus Long wore World War One “Doughboy” helmets. It was early April 1942, and they were fighting their war from Luzon Island in the Philippines. Unfortunately, the Japanese outnumbered the American and Filipino forces. Consequently, things appeared to be grim for the American and Filipino soldiers.
As the rustling sound grew louder, Titus Long felt the tightness in his chest and his mouth went dry. His bowels were ready to explode, but shitting himself would be the least of his problems. He was 19-years-old, but his blonde hair and smooth skin suggested he might be younger. In the army for less than two years, Titus was not ready for something, so earth-shaking. He thought the thrill of combat should invigorate him and give him the courage he would need to survive. Now that war fell upon him, Titus seemed terrified with the possibility of acting cowardly under fire and not make a proper accounting of himself. He knew this would be nothing like“All Quiet on the Western Front,” “Dawn Patrol,” and“A Farewell to Arms,” or the other war movies he used to watch on Saturday night at the Beekman Theater in Chicago. They were brutal to watch, but they were only movies. In this illusionary island paradise, dying here would mean forever, no “do
