Shades of War: A Collection of Four Short Stories

by Ashton, Josh

  "It's OK, sir. I thought that's how it was."

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Sure."

  “Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you leave?”

  “And go where? Do what, sir? I don’t know why I’m stuck here, and I have nowhere to go. Plus, all my friends are here.”

  Sadly the man understood. A soldier’s unit was his home, his fellow warriors his family. I still can't believe I'm sitting here in a crater having a conversation with a ghost. There was no choice, he knew his duty. He was a not just a veteran and a survivor, he was a leader. Army leaders were taught one mantra: Mission First, Soldiers Always. His mission had been simple: move south and find friendly lines. Now it was a little more complex. He just had to take care of a soldier along the way. OK, I got this. We can do this.

  "Son, you’re coming with me.”

  “Huh, where are we going?” The blue phantasm asked doubtfully.

  “We’re going south. We’ll figure things out along the way. Come on.”

  Sparing a glance at the fires dotting the hillside, the man confidently climbed back over the lip and started crawling. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled to himself as he saw the blue figure mimicking his movements. The dead and undead crawled south together.

  THE MAND AND the ghost had been walking south for half the morning. Even though the sun had been above the horizon for some time, the sky was tinted with a permanent orange haze that the sun just couldn’t seem to burn through all the way. The man figured it was a side effect of what happened a few weeks ago. Those damn EMPs had taken a perfectly good war and made it a mess.

  "How much farther do we have to go?"

  The man stopped and turned, glaring at the ghost. That had been the only question the kid had asked over and over again.

  "I don't know. We just have to keep going."

  That was his standard answer back at the kid.

  Kid. That's how he had to think of him. He tried not to let his thoughts drift to the new reality. As he walked he had been in a constant state of checking his sanity. Stopping, he turned to look at the spirit that was following him. The kid, just few yards back, was hovering a few inches above the ground. Without altering course he watched the kid's form drift through a pair of bushes and a tree. Watching the kid move through objects was pretty unnerving.

  The undead soldier caught up to the veteran. Since he was a few inches off the ground, the blue figure was now staring down at the man.

  "So, how much farther?"

  The kid's voice was taking on a whining, complaining tone.

  I need to stop this. He's not a kid and I'm not his mommy.

  The veteran stared up at the kid.

  "You tired?" The man demanded.

  "Uh..."

  "I bet you aren’t. But guess what? I'm exhausted. I'm tired, hungry and to be honest, I'm scared. I'm scared as hell. I can't even count the ways things can go wrong. All I know is that I have to keep moving. And that's what I'm going to do. I will keep moving. So do you want to come along? I can leave you if you want. You don't have to come with me."

  "Please don't leave me. Please."

  He had scared the kid. He felt mildly guilty about it, but he had to get the kid in the right frame of mind.

  "What's your rank, son?"

  "Private."

  "Good, from now on I'm calling you “Private” or by your last name. You will call me sir. You got that?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Perfect."

  "Let's keep moving."

  The kid didn't complain after that.

  THE NEXT FEW hours they had continued to stick to the rough terrain of the deep forest. They obviously had to avoid and roads or trails. Anything that could be used for travel by the enemy had to be avoided like the plague. In the frozen forest the only sound they heard had been their own. It was almost peaceful, if one forgot the war surrounding them. The man had been fairly certain that this deep in the forest they would be left alone. He was wrong because suddenly they heard a loud argument taking place in perfect in American English. The voices were out of sight, lost somewhere in the trees ahead, but the argument was perfectly audible.

  One voice: “I don’t give a shit. You’re not in charge!”

  Second voice: “What? The hell, I’m not!”

  Third voice: “Guys, knock it off. This is stupid.”

  The first two voices turned on the third, “Shut up.”

  Now he was just plain pissed. He had heard this kind of argument before. Only a group of soldiers could find time to stop and fight about chain of command. He ran cold hands over his tired face and sarcastically wondered what he did wrong to find himself cursed with his current predicament. Here he was trapped behind enemy lines with a ghost in tow, and now the first group of soldiers he comes in contact with are a group of U.S. soldiers bickering in the woods. It had just been one of those weeks.

  The man felt anger and frustration rise through him. Letting his temper get the better of him, the man decided he was going to solve this argument for these three soldiers. He strode through the forest in the direction of the argument. Head down he tore through the undergrowth. As he ran, branches and leaves slapped at his face.

  The three soldiers heard something coming through the trees and went silent. But it was too late, the veteran already had a bearing on the group of soldiers. He pushed his way past one last bush, rounded a tree, and came face to face with the group of soldiers. Words of harsh rebuke where on his lips. He was about to accuse them of being an undisciplined, useless rabble but the words never came. Mouth agape, he stared at this new group of soldiers. What he saw was so startling that he took a few shocked steps away from the men. How is this happening?

  Private Wilkes, who had followed him silently through the woods, came upon the group of soldiers and saw the situation differently. He burst into the clearing and shouted joyfully.

  “Yeah! It happened to you guys too? I thought I was going to be the only one.”

  Three ghostly blue figures stared at the newcomers. Instead of greeting the newcomers, the three new ghosts all promptly started arguing again.

  “I told you there would be more!”

  “No you didn’t!”

  “Guys, shut up!”

  Wilkes the original ghosts joined the fray, “Hey, how did you guys die?”

  The four ghostly figures, now oblivious to the only living creature with them, all started discussing how they became spirits. Well if there is more than one, maybe I'm not insane. He still could be, in fact maybe he was delusional. This all could just be some surreal dream. First things first, time for a reality check. The man slapped himself in the face. His face stinging, he realized that was a stupid thing to do. But it did have one good effect; all the ghosts stopped arguing and stared at him.

  I have to know if this is real. How do I know if this real?

  The doubts were ever present in his mind. He tried to crush them.

  Believe. You have to believe. This is the new reality and I can control it.

  The veteran straightened up and glared at the four ghosts.

  “Look at me. Do you know who I am?”

  Two of the new ghosts spoke up.

  “I do, sir.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I don’t have time for this shit. So, you can come with me or stay here and argue amongst yourselves. I'm going to give you the same deal I gave to Wilkes here, come with me or go. I don't care. But I'm not going to sit here and babysit you."

  The man stalked off heading south again. Behind him he heard broken portions of a conversation.

  “Well, who is he?”

  Another voice was incredulous, “You don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “He’s…” the voice trailed off.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah. So, I’m following him.”

  “We all better follow him,” The final voice seemed to make up the mind for the group.

  The man loo
ked back and rolled his eyes. First it was one. Now it was four. If I'm not insane and this is real, I can use these guys. Given what he was, his brain never stopped thinking. Now it kicked into over drive. He started to calculate what four ghosts could do for him, or what an army of ghosts could do for him. That is, if they ever made it back to friendly lines.

  FEELING ROCKS AND dirt tear at his uniform, the man low crawled to the top of the hill. After so many days of being open and exposed, his face was scratched and his hands were torn and covered in dirt. He could hear weapons fire and explosions on the other side of the hill, but he did not rush. He had to be careful as he did not know what waited for him. Finally he reached the top of the hill and could see what lay before him on the other side.

  1916 greeted him. Trenches crisscrossed the terrain. Artillery rained from above and pounded the ground. Then from the northern side of the trenches, a loud roar echoed above even the din of the artillery. Thousands of North Korean troops boiled out of the trenches and ran south screaming. Waves of soldiers rushed at troops that were dug into the earth. Automatic weapons fire lanced out and cut down men like wheat at harvest. But there were so many men attacking that some eventually reached the trenches and the fighting became hand to hand. It was a brutal, vicious scene. The veteran had been trained in warfare, but he had never trained for something like this. Without technology, trench warfare had now returned to the world.

  The man forced himself to watch every second of the battle. He watched it first and foremost like anxious mother fretting over her children, secondly as a man evaluating the and critiquing the battle. He tried to be dispassionate but what he witnessed was horrible.

  A voice suddenly whispered in his ear and scared the hell out of him.

  “You try and sneak through that, you’ll be ending up like us really damn quick.”

  He was so startled that he struck out at the voice cursing.

  "Shit."

  "Oh, sorry, sir."

  Suddenly a ghost materialized right next to him.

  He growled at the ghost.

  "Don't you ever do that to me again. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

  The man took slow deep breaths. I hope I just didn't piss myself. That guy just scared the hell out of me.

  "I didn't know you could do that."

  Another invisible voice spoke up to his other side.

  "We all can. We just figured it out a few hours before."

  The man jumped and lashed out again.

  "Stop that, now!"

  He practically yelled, he was so startled.

  "Are all you guys up here?"

  Four voices answered him. It was a struggle not to be unnerved. This is creepy. Hmm, but now I have four soldiers that can turn invisible.

  He decided to answer the original statement, “Don’t worry, I'm not going to just walk down there. I know what I’m doing.”

  With the cold ground again pulling at him, the man pivoted back on his stomach and went back down the other side of the hill. Again amongst the trees, the veteran stood and brushed dirt and leaves from his beat up uniform, then faced his new recruits. Not new; he mentally thought, just soldiers whose abilities and skills had changed now that they were in an ethereal state. He looked at the phantasms and smiled. Time for some motivational, leadership type of speech, he thought.

  “Guys, I can’t make it down there. I’ll get tore up. I don’t think I can sneak through the enemy lines, and then make it through our own lines.” He paused for emphasis. “But I have an idea. I’m going to get through those lines later tonight.”

  Wilkes didn't like idea at all, “No way, there is no way you could make it.”

  The veteran nodded to Wilkes, “You’re right, but I’m going to have help.”

  “From who?” asked the ghost that didn’t know who he was.

  “What’s your name, troop?”

  “Vasquez, sir.”

  “OK, well I got news for you. You four are now my personal reconnaissance team. You are going to find me a nice, safe path through those lines when the fighting stops.”

  For just a moment the fades argued with him. All four of them expressed the same worry. Their arguments were at first comical, then sad.

  “Sir, we can’t.”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “We’ll all be killed…”

  The last statement brought the protests to a grim end. All the apparitions went silent. The man broke their reverie.

  “I can’t change what happened. I can’t bring you back to life. You are all now something else. For lack of a better word, you are all ghosts. But I have a question for you, are you still soldiers? Are you still loyal to the oath you gave?”

  There was no hesitation. They all gave the same answer.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, you all work directly for me. I promise I’ll take care of you.” And I always keep my promises. Besides, these soldiers deserve something to hope for out of all this mess.

  AFTER THAT, THE rest was relatively easy. That night four shades guided a man to safety. They first helped him through enemy lines; they moved past semi-alert guards and huddled sleeping forms in the trenches. Then ever so slowly, they crossed no-man's land. It wasn't easy, it took three painful hours to move just one mile. But the four ghosts made it possible. Over and over again as he crawled past trip wires and sleeping sentries, he thought the same thing; I owe these guys big time. I'd be dead without them. Eventually he found himself on the proper side of the lines. His journey ever southward was finally over.

  The veteran hadn’t bothered reporting to U.S. soldiers manning weapons on the front line. He thought given their nervous state after all that day, he might be shot by his own side accidently. After all this bullshit the last thing I need is to be shot by one of my own. I don't want to end up like Jackson. Skipping past the front line fighting positions, the man started to look for a headquarters bunker. It was there in a predictable place. Military doctrine is military doctrine, and even if you try and hide things a little, there are only so many places you can place a headquarters for it to be effective on a battlefield.

  The man had one last job to do that night. He had to report in. The man stopped his group just outside the entrance to the bunker. Several weeks worth of dirt and grime coated his uniform. He tried to straighten it and make it look more presentable, but it was a lot cause. In the narrow light emitted by a crack in the bunker door, the veteran looked gratefully at the four ghosts that he had at first lead south and then in a reversal of roles who in the end had guided him to safety.

  “Thank you, gentleman, I couldn't have made it here without you. Wait here for me, I’ll come get you in a few minutes. As I said earlier, this is just the beginning for you four.”

  With that the Veteran strode into the bunker. There in pale lamp light were gathered his officers, pouring over maps and talking intently about what would probably be the next day’s fighting. Hearing someone enter the bunker, one of the staff officers turned and stared at the man, taking in his uniform.

  “Holy shit, we thought you were dead!” exclaimed the officer.

  The entire bunker turned and looked at the man. The man couldn’t help it, he did have a sense of humor after all.

  “What are you all staring at? You all look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  The officer that had first recognized him walked up, then saluted and grinned.

  “You are a ghost. You’re supposed to be dead, General.”

  “Well, I’m not dead. And I’m definitely not a ghost. But I have some people outside that I want you to meet.”

  The General stepped back to the door and opened it.

  "Guys come on in."

  The four ghosts floated into the bunker. The room erupted into a frenzy of exclamations and disbelief but the General had only one thought.

  Good, I'm not insane.

  SPOOKS

  The ghost drifted silently through the night. He let his
form glide from tree to tree. An observer seeing the hovering figure flicker through the eerily dark forest would get the chills. A frozen winter night that was filled with strange shapes moving at the fringes of vision. It was a scene that would have made Poe proud. Everyone fears that thing in the woods that is seen but unseen, except tonight things were just slightly different, tonight the ghost was the one that was scared, he just couldn't explain why.

  I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks. I do. I do. I do.

  The cowardly lion's mantra was repeating over and over in the ghost's mind. It wasn't a joking sarcastic mantra, tonight the ghost felt it. The forest that was normally his friend was crowding him. Every tree seemed to lean in towards him. Every bush and shrub seemed sinister. Given what he was and all of his training in his previous life, he was supposed to be at home here. Not tonight, though, tonight was different. Tonight he had the chills.

  He wasn't out there for fun. He was working. The General had sent him. He loved the General and would do anything for him. Though he was dead, his sense of duty and honor had not died with him. He was a soldier and he still followed orders.

  His senses had changed with death. But they were, for the most part, the same as when he had been alive. He could see, hear, taste and smell, but now there was something else. He could feel. For example, he knew for a fact that there was another ghost here in these same woods not thirty yards away from him.

  The other ghost wasn't the problem. That ghost was supposed to be there. It was just Napier. He and Napier had been tasked by the General to scout the enemy formations that were close to this part of the line. Together they had floated silently from the American side of the trenches through no man's land and into this forest.

  The ghost still thought of himself as a living person. He still felt alive. His name had been Philip R. Jones. In his mind he was still Philip R. Jones. No one in the Army ever called you by your first name and for damn sure this ghost would not go by Philip. When he had been upright and living he had been, Jonesy. Jonesy and Napier were now part of a proud group of forty ghosts that worked for the General. They were his personal ghost platoon. Over the last several weeks, Jonesy and the other shades had been part of the General's desperate plan to keep U. S. forces from being overwhelmed.