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A Strange Village in Wartime; or, What I

Found When I Went Looking

by Brandon O’Connor

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The war was over, at least dying out. So they said. I returned

home either way.

In the strange country where I had carried out monotonous

orders for several years I saw a land rip itself apart from the belly

out, like a diabolical disease, like a monster set on destroying

every independent land. We could have simply stepped back and

watched the massacre self-perpetuate, as did God when creating

man. The evil was not in us, but in the catastrophe we created. We

didn’t need to intervene, though we did, in the miraculous warfare

being fought between these individuals, united only by the similar

dirt beneath them.

The man I took orders from was General Ingus, a dark-

skinned, angular man resembling a starving East African dik-dik,

with eerily dark eyes, always wet as if he had just left his cot. His

small stature made him look something of a child stealing a

General’s identity. He was, or seemed, indifferent towards

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everybody on base, except for me. To me he felt some sort of

brotherhood, a connection in the realm of his mind. It was

something I would never find answers to, as it was guarded,

secured, stowed away behind his weathered face. I had no hint of

why, it had always been that way, since I became stationed here

some time ago.

Maybe it was because I was different from the rest of the

men there. General Ingus knew of my background in biology and

anthropology, and my absence in any military training from before

the war. I was a scientist amid a pack of idiot boars. Drafted unlike

the rest of them. They volunteered.

That’s probably why one day, while maintenancing a broken

typewriter in the storage room of the barracks, the beaming sun

being too unforgiving to be outside making land surveys, General

Ingus confronted me in regards to a “special mission.”

“Lieutenant Dodds,” that’s me, “tomorrow you’ll be

relocating to observe the natives of a small village located near the

coast of Insolitus Bay, six kilometers south in fact.” His voice was

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like the gentle sound of an old, weary farmer shoveling loose

gravel. “I need reports on any problematic issues you may find.

We usurp their location two weeks from tomorrow.” Usurp a

village? Near Insolitus Bay?

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” No time for questions.

The town I was to observe was an insignificant village

positioned between two vast mountain ranges that never collided,

but ran inland from the ocean at widening distances, eventually

rotating away and venturing into distant, unknown lands. One

could smell the ocean’s breath trapped and circulating at the foot

of the mountains, sweet and crisp, like a freshly braised cabbage

salad, or a hand-rolled cigar. Morning would wake with clouds

gathered over the shore, blanketing the cold sand; but the noontime

sun would tear it apart, its fingers touching and warming the thick

patch of healthy ferns and taro plants. Upon the shedding of

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daylight, a world was exposed that I had, before then, never seen

anything similar to, occupied more by nature than filled with any

person. In a seemingly objective sense, the place was beautiful,

and undiscovered by the plague of view-seeking voyagers. It was

like the harmonious cry a mosquito might sing when dying;

beautiful, but you would never guess it was there.

My camp was neatly tucked into a crevice of two adjoining

boulders at the root of one of the taller mountains, a safe distance

from the village. A convenient mask of shrubs and moss was

layered around the rock, allowing my camouflage draperies to

remain invisible. There was no possibility of seeing the village

from my camp. Climbing down through the valley would be my

only way of scouting the natives.

The morning just after arriving, I decided to explore the land

surrounding my new site. Walking through the undergrowth,

following the easiest route between the incredibly tall teak trees, I

heard a low echo of sprinting water. Following it close to twenty

meters I discovered a hidden plunge pool for a relatively small

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waterfall. Keeping unseen behind the brush, I found that no sort of

activity, other than the flow of the waterfall, appeared to be

happening. I stepped out and peered into the water.

In the clearing of trees surrounding the pool, a comforting

harmless breeze found life, dipping in above the leaves and

bouncing out again on its way to the shoreline. I cooled my neck

and stared into the shallow water. My face wrinkled back up at me,

my knotted furrowed brows concerned with the dirt sprinkled on

my cheeks and thickset nose. My jaw gave way to knobby ears,

like I had found most of the men in this war carried. I was an ugly

human belonging to an ugly troop in an ugly war.

I decided to use the pool to wash the travel off of my body.

Undressing myself, I laid my outfit and gear on the nearest rock.

Stretching, with my arms extended overhead, and now completely

nude, the sun warmed the scale of my taught body. The shadows

my ribs created looked like dimples in wet sand at the beach, those

caused by the cross-motion of waves. My chest was covered with

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meager fuzz which continued down my stomach, crotch and legs,

tinting my skin slightly.

I dove in off the tallest rock I could find. I wasn’t concerned

that the water was too cold to be enjoyed as a leisurely swim since

it would be quick. The waterfall swept mist over the surface and

the pressure of the plunging water pushed me farther away towards

the outflowing streams. In an attempt to see the waterfall from

beneath the surface, I dove deep and swam hard against the water.

Down there I noticed the floor supported a garden of various

plants I had never seen before. Also, small, luminescent fish-like

creatures wove themselves between the plants and rocks, darting in

all directions as if dancing. Their joie de vivre excited me to look

closer and identify them, but I was unable to get a good visual

because of their swift movement. I resurfaced.

Filling my lungs with the air I was beginning to appreciate so

much (after so long in the dust-laden air at the base), I looked

across the water and saw standing amongst the trees a young

person dressed in long charcoaled fabric, the fashion of the

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villagers I was to be observing. Shocked, I must admit, for I don’t

know what I was thinking swimming in the pool for so long after

only wanting a quick wash, I swam towards my pile of clothes,

keeping my attention on the young villager. I took it to be a girl by

the ponytail behind her. I climbed out and began redressing,

though when I looked back at the trees, the girl was gone.

I decided to track this mysterious person to be safe. Though

my secrecy was not exactly part of my orders, I did not want to

give away my presence for reasons of my own. In part, I didn’t

want my stay here to be social, merely remain an observer.

Any sign of tracks remained elusive to me, though. I was

never trained for this sort of recon, so my wits were all I could rely

on. Unfortunately, after several minutes of plodding through

bushes, I concluded to make my way back to camp. It wasn’t until

I passed by the same hidden waterfall that I noticed the child on

the opposite side of the pool.

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“Hello there,” I called out, though the waterfall may have

killed my greeting, as the girl remained still. I waved, but still she

did nothing.

Slowly and in an attempt at a harmless stride, I began circling

the pool, making use of the staggered stones. She didn’t seem to

mind, remaining completely still the duration of my reaching her,

as if trying to blend in with the trees. When I was within four

meters of her, I lowered my stance, crouching, making sure not to

position myself as if about to leap, but holding my shoulders back.

I wanted to appear as friendly and safe as possible.

“He-llo,” I said. Then, pointing to myself, “D-ah-dts”

“I know who you are, asshole.” I stood there, stupid and

staring. She spoke with an unremarkable flair like that of an

average, civilized, suburban teenager, tilting her head so slightly,

hinting at the attitude she held within. One could imagine her, if

dressed appropriately, with her own soft hands gripping at her

waist, smacking gum like a horse, twisting a lock of hair around

her index, like cotton in a spindle, as if winding up her brain.

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Though she in fact was not doing any of those things, for she was

still a native villager. Whatever connotations that seemed to hold

now I was unsure. “And I’m Yda.”

“Ighda? What?” I said, attempting to solve the puzzle.

“Yda! And you’ve been swimming in our holy waters!” And

then my neck felt pierced with flames and my vision melted into

water. Consumed by darkness.

First, light slowly filtered its way back into my eyes. Then

the sounds of clicking, pops and mumbling into my ears. The light

began resembling scattered indiscernible shapes and colors. Dull

pain covering my body became sharp aches. Smoke invaded my

nostrils, pushing me further back into reality with its pungent

flavor. My spinal cord felt like dogs had been chewing on it, each

vertebra gnawed and slobbered on, knobs reshaped into apple

cores.

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My vision clearing, I saw I was surrounded by onlookers. A

small fire set to the side of me blew smoke at my face. I closed my

eyes and coughed, making my ribs claw at my insides. I noticed I

was securely tied to some kind of tree trunk or pole with my limbs

bound to my sides.

“Where am I?”

“He wakes!” Attention was brought to my audience. My

throat seemed full of grease and mucus by the feel and sound of it.

“Feeling better, D-ah-dts?” Yda stepped through the crowd.

“Who are you? What is this?”

“Yda. This is ransom.”

“Wha—?”

“We found your camp, Mr. Dodds. With it, all of your

briefing and whatnot. We know you’re a spy and that you plan to

kick us out in two weeks. I don’t really care why or anything,

because we know you don’t know either.” I felt utterly dumb.

“Thing is, we like it here. We were here first. I don’t think we’re

gonna be moving anywhere.”

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“Is what ransom?” Words were coming out confused and

mixed. My head was still thick with whatever had caused me to

slip from consciousness.

“You are, Mr. Dodds. You’re the ransom. We have you, they

want you, we want to stay. Your trade for our well-being. Get it?

Ransom.”

This could not be happening. Not now, on my first mission,

in this beautifully serene place. Well, it used to be serene. I should

have built my camp in the jungle. No, farther into the mountains. I

should have brought help. I was never trained for anything of this

nature. And now everything was over.

What will General Ingus think of my failed mission? I

presume I will be back in the storage room, fixing useless

hardware for an assemblage of retarded machine-gun whores. Or

will I be involuntarily discharged? Shameful as it was, it was a real

possibility, one that I should not disregard. Being discharged

would mean being disowned by everyone else. Forget any worthy

job opportunities.

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My pathetic, immobile body shook from the thought of it and

threads of pain scraped through my spinal cord. The skin of my

face contorted itself so that my cheeks moved over my eyes, my

lips over my cheek, and brows over my forehead. With my jaws

twinging and fastening themselves together, I resembled a

caricature of my already ugly self, clownish and hell-bent. Yda and

the natives seemed to think it was an especially comical scene.

“Ha ha! You’re a character, Mr. Dodds,” said Yda. Everyone

else laughed too.

“How does this work?” I asked in one exhausted breath.

“How will you let them know you have me? How do we trade?”

“Already on it, dude. That dart to your gullet knocked you

out an entire day. We’ve been busy. Let’s see, we’ve already sent a

telegram to your base, some how or other. And—”

“To the base? You know where the base is?”

“All in your backpack, Mr. Dodds. Very simple directions on

how to make contact. The people at the village just north of here

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had a telegraph, don’t ask me how, I don’t know. Anyway, we sent

the message last night. I guess we’re just waiting on a reply now.”

So it was already in motion. Now I just needed to be rescued.

Humiliating, but necessary. I also needed a doctor.

And then a loud zip was heard in the distance. Then several

more. They seemed to be coming from a few directions, scattered

about in front of me. Bullets!

Panicked, the villagers surrounding me sprinted in various

directions, like smashed ants. There was nowhere for them to hide.

Tiny metallic projectiles speared my captors on all sides that I had

retained visibility. Blood spat from the shoulders of a woman onto

the face of Yda, who remained hidden by climbing beneath the

fallen body. Another man running towards me received three hits

to his torso, hip and elbow, in that order. Guts were spilled onto all

sides of the lively, plush grass field. Then silence, except for the

breaking of waves over rocks behind me.

Men descended from the bushes of the surrounding hills in

stiff striding movements looking like waiters carrying trays of hot

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food. Moving in, they held their guard until finally circling around

my helpless self.

“There’s a girl under that body over there,” I motioned with

my nose and toe, “I think she’s dangerous.”

One soldier kicked over the body on Yda and dropped his

machine gun at her. While looking up at him, she attempted what

appeared to be a clawing motion at him.

“You motherf—” kheuoo! Limp.

“Hoorah!” yelled the soldier.

“Hoorah!” repeated the machine.

While I was relaxing on a hill above the beach, bandaged and

weak, absorbing the lasting view of the horizon over that sapphire

bed of water, and the ripe wind flying to and from the mountains,

General Ingus came from behind and occupied the lush seat to my

right. I attempted to stand for a salute by leaning forward, but my

tender bones caused an involuntary gasp for air.

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“Stay seated, Lieutenant. No condition to be saluting

anyone.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I had never shared much conversation with

the General, nor many others in military positions. Unsure of the

etiquette to be followed, and knowing I needed to speak of

something, I asked the only thing I could think of. “How is the war

coming, sir?”

“The war? Coming to an end. Intelligence sent word last

week.”

“Last week, sir? Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, then what

was the ultimate goal of my mission? We don’t set up a new base

at the end of war, and we never attempt to seize land under alien

territory, hardly even during desperate times.”

“Ever heard of spoils of war, Lieutenant?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Have any idea how well a resort would do on this beach?”

“Sir?”

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“People pay good money for a vacation like this. Beach,

trees, mountains, nature. I see sunbathing, waterskiing, hiking,

swimming; an entire week full of activities for any well-paying

family or newlywed. And now it’s mine.” I pondered the

perplexities of his statement.

“Spoils of war, sir?”

“Spoils of war, Lieutenant. Spoils of war.”

“Yes, sir.”

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