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The kid put his M-16 next to Ethan's submachine gun on the crude, wood weapons rack off to one side of the shower. Taking a towel from around his middle, he threw it over the water pipe and knelt next to Ethan. "You okay?"

"Tired is all," Ethan replied in a deadpan voice.

"You one a them three recon Marines that come in on that slick tonight?"

Ethan nodded.

"The word is out about the hell y'all went through. I'm new here." The man talked with a distinct southern accent. "Word is y'all are going to Da Nang to be closer to the DMZ."

"That's scuttlebutt," Ethan replied. "I don't think you're a Marine."

"No, sir. Army. Special Forces. Mobile Strike Force Command."

With effort, Ethan heaved himself to his feet and pulled on the shower chain. The cascade of water rinsed the soap away and revealed the scars of several healed wounds from old battles.

He thought of the base camp outside Chu Lai and of Tuyen and wondered if the war and that bastard Ortega were going to take her away from him. He hated being away from her, but wondered how he was going to see her again—how he was going to get her to the States when the time came. This war wasn't going to last forever, and he wasn't going home without her.

He refused to believe that Ortega could have any power over his life. At the same time, he was afraid that the worst was going to happen. Growing up on the streets of a gang infested Chicago taught him that the devil usually won.

Feeling the Special Forces army brat watching him as if he were a circus freak, Ethan finished rinsing off the soap and returned to his tent.

§ “Running with the Enemy” was awarded an Honorable Mention in General Fiction at the 2103 San Francisco Book Festival

§ Discover a new world of Publishing–-the 2013 San Francisco Book Festival Event held on May 18 at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel in SF.