Chapter 16

Traff worked over his friend all night. Not all of the leeches had come away cleanly. Some had clamped down as he burned at their slimy bodies, and he could see that they had left their mouthparts embedded in the soft flesh. One of the first things they'd all learned early on about being in the tropics was that any sore or cut, no matter how small, could soon suppurate and become infected in the damp, warm conditions. By morning, Traff could see a thin red line of infection tracking down the brunet's legs and Starsky was no longer responsive to words.

The young soldier was at a loss. Why hadn't he tried harder to persuade Sharpe to let him rescue Curly? At least that way he would have had help and backup to get the brunet out. But now, it was just the two of them, and despite behaving like a hero, they were both still only 19 years old. Back home, in happier times, they'd be going to a ball game, or taking some pretty lady to a disco. Traff put his head in his hands. Those times seemed so long ago and he felt so very lonely and frightened.

He shuffled around so that he could take Starsky's hot, shaking body in his arms, needing the comfort almost as much as Starsky did.

'I wish you'd wake up for me Chief. I think I'm goin' stir crazy here. What the fuck is this all about huh? What difference can the two of us make to this whole useless war? God I wish we were home! Just think about that Curly. Think about home huh? It's November. Thanksgiving. Think about the turkey and the cranberries. What about Christmas? Bet ya got lots of nice things from your Mom and your Aunt Rosey huh?'

Curly? Dave? Aww c'mon Pal, gimme a sign here. I need you as much as you need me buddy. Why d'ya think I decked that guy Cade? Remember him? All that time ago when we were back home in the camp back home. Remember how ya nearly drowned coz of that geek? So I decked him. Nearly broke my hand but I hit him so fuckin' hard. Coz he hurt you, an' I wanted him to hurt coz he hurt you'.

'I never had a friend like you before. Someone so close I feel like you're my brother. An' it hurts that they did all this to ya. I didn't know. Honest I didn't. That prick Sharpe told me you were dead an' it wasn't till Ai an' her sister……what was her name? Twins…..they were twins. Ai an'……' Traff's voice tailed off as he became lost in his own thoughts.

'Di.u….' the sound was no more than a breath, but as Traff looked down, he saw a sliver of indigo peeking out from eyelids still at half mast.

'Curly? Oh my God you're awake! Oh shit am I glad to hear your voice?'

'Did ya….really do that? Starsky whispered.

'Do what?'

'Deck….Cade'.

'Oh boy did I ever. An' he had it coming to him. Wasn't till I was windin' up for punch number three that O'Malley stopped me. Said there was only so much he could ignore!'

'Trrraff?'

'Yeah'.

'Thanks……love ya man'.

'Hey don't thank me, just help me get ya outa here' Traff said in desperation. The whispered thanks sounded so final it scared him.

'Can't….hurts….leave me'.

'Leave ya? Jeez Curly boy! I couldn't leave ya. We've got this far. Ya just need to hang on a while longer huh? Just another day an' then we'll be out'.

'Day?'

'Yeah, just one more day. An' I'll even carry your sorry ass outa here if I have to'.

Starsky's face split into a weak grin. 'Ssssorry ass….huh? When ya….put it like that….'

'Well I do! So don't go talking 'bout leavin' anyone huh? An' most of all, don't you go leavin' me. I need ya Chief. I….'

Weakly the brunet raised his hand and put it to Traff's face, the actions speaking more than a hundred words could ever do as the fingers trailed down the grimy, sweat soaked cheek. 'I know. Just gimme …..'nother couple'a hours. I'll be good t'go'.

And so Traff watched, wearily as his friend dropped back into a feverish sleep. He knew there was no way on earth that Starsky, despite his determination, would be able to walk out of the jungle. And there was also no way that Traff had enough energy reserves to carry him. But slowly an idea formed in the soldier's mind and he got up to scout around.

Four hours later saw Traff making a makeshift stretcher out of two thin tree trunks he'd found fallen amongst the leaf litter of the jungle floor and the green tarpaulin that he'd used to make their shelter. He managed to bind the plastic onto the wooden shafts and even padded it with some of the fern type plants he'd found. They were damp, but at least provided some padding and now he pulled Starskys body onto the travois and started to bind it into place.

He soothed Starsky with kind words and gentle hands as he settled the thin body onto the pallet, but as soon as Starsky felt the ropes circling his body, his fevered mind took him back to the POW camp and the treatment he'd endured there. He cried out, thrashing weakly against the bonds as Traff tried to sooth him.

'David Michael S….. number…..ungh…..noooo, no more, please? Nooo get 'way from me….I….Davi….'

'Sssh, s'ok. S'only me. Just rest easy Chief. I'm gonna try 'n' make it easier for ya. Ok? Curly…..no don't fight it. Just lie still huh? Aww c'mon….Dave….David….Curly don't fight it' he urged.

Starsky's cried tailed off into sobs of forlornness. In his delirium, he was back, tied to a table waiting for the next round of torture to begin, and no amount of soothing words from his friend would calm him. Eventually, Traff stopped trying, hoping that the curly haired man would lapse into sleep soon. Discarding all but his essential kit, he looped a length of rope around his body and started to pull the travois behind him through the jungle.

The going was tough, the vegetation and uneven ground making progress slow and agonisingly tiring. Every few hundred yards, the young soldier stopped, gasping for breath in the cloying heat and wiping at the sweat coursing down his face to sting his eyes. Several times he checked on his friend, making the brunet take small sips of water, but for the most part, Starsky was lost in a world of pain and confusion. His ramblings alternated between strangled gasps of pain as his body bumped over the uneven terrain, and mumbled name rank and serial number. And nothing Traff could do seemed to make the injured boy aware that he was as safe as he could be, and away from the camp.

By the end of that day, Traff estimated he'd gone no more than a couple of miles and he too was tiring more and more rapidly as the day went on. The humidity sapped at his energy and his water reserves were low. He'd taken to giving the semi conscious brunet sips from his own water bottle and had started to take his own drinks from any passing stream they came to, knowing it was unsafe, but aware that Starsky needed clean water more than he did.

Each night, he made camp as best he could, using large leaves to cover the two of them and on occasions lighting a small fire when he thought it was safe to do so. He felt lonely now that Starsky's periods of lucidity were growing less and less and he began to talk to himself, just to let himself know he was still alive, and was still going to get them out. He constantly checked his compass, desperate to make sure they were gong the right way. Any deviation would mean extra effort, and he was tiring rapidly.

As the morning of the fourth day dawned, Traff could feel cramps start to roil around his guts and throughout the day he constantly stopped to either throw up or void his bowels, the energy leaving him with each attack on his system until by day five, he too was beginning to run a fever. He knew he should never have drunk the water from the streams without boiling it, but he didn't have the luxury of a fire, and so he'd done the best he could with his water purification tablets. They made the water taste foul, and now, he realised belatedly, they were not particularly effective either.

Traff woke to a constant thud in his head. He opened his eyes and rolled over to look at Starsky who seemed deathly pale and very still. He forced himself to his knees and pushed his fingers into his friends neck. The pulse was there. Very slow and weak, but it was there nonetheless. Traff forced himself to his feet and fell back to earth as another set of fire coursed through his body. He crawled away to the bushes, but without food, he had nothing to bring up, instead heaving until he spat blood into the vegetation.

Great Trafford, just great! You've no time for this. Curly needs out right now. Now get your butt in gear and haul him outa this fuckin' jungle huh?

Pep talk over, he pushed himself upright and took hold of the rope again. Both his shoulders were blistered from the constant pull, but he ignored that small pain and started to once again haul the travois through the trees. They seemed to be thinning a little now, although whether that was just his fevered imagination or not he had no idea, but the going seemed easier and for that he was thankful.

By early afternoon, when the rain started again, Traff was almost on his knees. His last reserves of energy were almost depleted and he managed to find a small tree under which to shelter as he pulled Starsky's deathly still body to him. He lay down by the side of his friend, wrapping his arms around the cold body.

'I'm sorry Curly. Can't go on any more. M'beat. Maybe in a little while I can try again. Maybe I can still get us outa here. But if not... it's been a pleasure serving with you Corporal'.

He put his head down on the damp earth and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body screamed at him for release; just to shut down and not have to work any more. During the five days he'd hauled his friend through the jungle, he'd hardly eaten and only taken sufficient water to keep himself ticking over. Now his body shut down, ignoring his mind and started to try to repair the damage that had been done.

The two men slept, side by side as the rain pattered heavily through the curtain of vegetation above them. It splattered in big fat drops around them and the leaves it knocked from the trees fell to lie on their bodies as though the jungle was trying to wrap them protectively.

And that is how they were found three hours later, when Traff awoke to the sight of a gun muzzle inches from his eye.