For the millionth time, Rambo put his beeper away.
He had to save the batteries.
He came down from the hill he had just climbed, in hope of improving the signal and walked back down to Jorgenson.
Every time he took a step he got a cramp in his leg.
He wouldn’t even have been able to run if he’d had to.
On his way down Rambo thought about who might be listening: a base off the border? An SOG Patrol Team that happens to be nearby? Rambo concentrated, almost in prayer but he just couldn't come up with the answer in his head.
He felt overwhelmed for a moment, by feelings of despair.
It's over.
This time it's really over.
The weight on Rambo’s chest was making it hard to breathe.
From the time they’d been spotted and Jorgenson injured, Rambo had given Jorgenson all of what little they still had.
He hoped to fight the blood loss by making him eat more, but in doing so, he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours himself.
In the end it had been a strenuous month with the mission itself and then followed by circumstances that were near to starvation in their MIA period. Together, they had lead them into a state of mind that Trautman used to call 'The Cycle'.
The starvation cycle.
John still had its symptoms memorized from when he’d learnt them in Fort Bragg. They’d taught him about the cycle itself, what caused it, its subsequent symptoms and about a thousand other details as well.
That’s how he knew he was dying.
He didn't just 'feel' it.
It's wasn't only a feeling, or a mere impression.
Rambo could feel the pressure in his chest, the same pressure that was making it hard to breathe, and he knew exactly what it meant.
His muscles were killing him and he was having problems keeping his balance too.
You should have left Jorgenson behind long ago instead of carrying him over your shoulder for, how many miles already?
I have no fucking idea.
You have to know how long you’ve marched and in which direction. You have to have a plan.
I know I’m heading East and that's more than enough.
He could feel the pressure spreading all over him, like a cramp.
You can't carry Jorgenson any more, just leave him.
There’s nothing else you can do.
Either you leave him or you’ll both end up dead.
That’s fine by me – thought Rambo to himself.
I happen to be okay with dying with Carl.
He’s one of my best friends.
You haven’t got a chance if you go on this way.
You’re still too far from the nearest friendly village.
He has a little girl, and not just that. He’s got a baby girl and a wife there.
I, on the other hand...
Rambo clenched his jaw.
There’s nobody waiting for me at home. I don’t have anything to go back home to, so I’m fine with it.
I'm fine with having carried him all this way.
I’m fine with having given him what little food we had left.
I’m fine with dying with him, if that's the way it’s supposed to be.
The thing is however, it could get even worse than that, John.
On his way back to Jorgenson, Rambo was mindful of how much pain his body was in, and it was excruciating. Every single, damn step served to accentuate it, like a needle going deeper into his skin.
The two of you may not necessarily die, John.
The VCs could find you and you may not have the strength to fight back anymore.
No...
They could capture you, John.
No.
Never.
Anything but that.
Not that.
I’d rather die.
Just calm down, calm down... - said Rambo to himself, but he couldn't.
Ultimately, he fell to his knees and began to sob, he felt, and was truly broken by then.
He was falling apart and he knew it.
He knew exactly what was going on.
His body convulsed with sobs, his head fell forward almost unable to support himself any longer, His uniform was so filthy and torn.
Tears streamed down his face until finally, he fell to his knees.
It was then that his stomach clenched violently in pain.
Yes, of course, there was more dysentery on the way.
It’ll never end.
It’ll never come to an end.
Even so, you’ve already been here before – said another voice inside of him.
That may be, but it just hurts so much.
You’ve already been through this before.
Back in Fort Bragg, remember?
Of course, I do.
It’s true.
It was during try-outs.
Hence, it’ll pass.
It’ll pass the same way it did last time.
You’re not gonna’ die right there on the ground where you are. Not today.
No, I won’t die here, not today anyway.
Just for a second – he thought to himself.
I'm just gonna’ stop here for a second.
The Jungle went on murmuring its millennial-old whispers, completely indifferent to him. In fact, to that Jungle, he was non-existent.
He had never existed.
His pulse was getting stronger and his breathing returned to normal.
The attack was subsiding.
We’re running out of water – Rambo thought to himself.
His damn head never stopped working, even against his will. At that moment, he just wanted to stop, rest and disappear. The only thing worse than the pain itself was not being able to stop thinking.
Trained as it was however, his head didn’t give a shit if he was tired or anything else.
His head just wouldn’t let up however, and after trying for some time, he decided he might as well just get up. So he did, despite his unsteadiness.
It was only a moment of crisis– he thought.
Not of weakness mind you, but of genuine concern, which is altogether different.
It’s because I’m dying, that’s why.
Those are all just symptoms.
From now on in, my days are numbered.
Rambo took a few unsteady first steps.
Oh well – he thought.
It doesn’t matter anyhow.
You’re dying, but that’s not what’s important here.
Just do what you can and don’t give up, no matter what.
Yeah, that’s the important thing; never give up.
Nothing else mattered.
So that’s what he did, the same way he always had.
Like a machine.
Rambo continued to take it one-step at a time.
He ignored the voices in his head until they finally stopped for good.
By the time they did however, he’d already lost a piece of himself in the process.
A part of him that would never be his again.
He’d lost it because it was something he had to let go of.
He had to keep pushing for Jorgenson’s sake, not for his.
Neither for himself, nor for his own life. He had to make it, for the good of his friend.