Copyright 2002

Disclaimer: They're not mine, don't sue.

Dreams of Red

Horn crept out of the tent full of sleeping men. He could hear Ruiz mutter something quietly in his sleep just as he broke from the suffocating closed space into the muggy night air. It seemed to the young man that Vietnam never changed temperatures and was always insanely hot. He stretched his stiff muscles and released a sigh. He wasn't at all tired. Sleep was eluding him as it had the night before. His mind seemed to be working a mile a minute making him edgy in the dark of the night, occasionally lifted by a flare that was shot into the air at different intervals. He looked around for a few seconds, before heading off towards a pile of sandbags near the perimeter's edge.

As he walked he let his mind wander. He had been here for barely three days but he was already suffering from continuous nightmares. They were all the same, the Vietnamese soldier hiding behind the barrels and then, Horn saw himself on top of the other and there was blood on his hands. The entire dream faded into red and he would wake up in fear of his own sweat being blood. Barely three days and he was sleep deprived. Horn wasn't cut out for killing, and he felt over whelmed by his first kill. It wasn't like the first kills of the men he had left sleeping in the tent; he had fought the man face to face, and watched him die. He would never forget the blood.

With his thoughts replaying the scene in his head, he was not aware of the figure of a man directly behind the sandbags, crouched down near the ground, until it was too late. He tripped over the other man falling unceremoniously down on top of him. The latter was also taken by surprise and started to struggle under the weight causing even more confusion. Horn heard a series of muffled curses that caused him to feel slightly embarrassed. When the tangle of limbs was sorted out, Horn quickly pulled himself to his feet and helped the other soldier up. To his surprise and horror Horn stared into the annoyed face of Lt. Goldman in the light of a flare.

"Sorry, Sir." Horn said, looking down at his boots, still unlaced from when he threw them on in his haste to escape the tent.

The young lieutenant looked over Horn in the nearly dead light. Horne avoided the deep brown eyes. He had started to try and stay completely out of the lieutenant's way ever since the threat of a court martial on the first mission. He had one of the worst tempers Horn had ever seen.

"Horn? What the hell?" Goldman asked still sounding slightly confused. It was obvious he hadn't expected to see anybody out that late at night.

"Sorry, Sir." Horn apologized again, "I was just… I needed some air, Sir." He explained quietly.

"Needed some air? Aren't you suppose to be asleep, with the rest of the men?" His annoyance showing through his voice.

"I couldn't sleep Sir." As Horn spoke he started to look for a getaway rout so that he wouldn't have to face his angry CO. He watched, as another flare shot up, the lieutenant light up a cigarette with his lighter. He considered heading back to the hootch while the lieutenant was distracted shoving his lighter back into his pocket and taking a long drag on the cigarette but this idea was quickly shattered.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" The question was unexpected but that wasn't what surprised Horn, it was the curiosity in Goldman's voice. Too surprised to speak, he let the question go unanswered. "Well?"

"Oh, just a dream Sir. Nothin' important."

"It was obviously important enough to have enough of your attention so that you couldn't watch where you were going." This comment was said with some humor.

Horn simply couldn't figure out whether or not he was suppose to respond so he just stood where he was, nervously shifting his weight from leg to leg, the silence between the two was awkward and yet refreshing. They both stood there in the light of the flares, neither man thinking of position or rules, only the war, and the night. The flare's light went out and darkness fell awaiting the next attack of man made light.

Finally Horn turned away and started to walk back to the hootch. He was suddenly tired and actually felt like accepting sleep despite the dreams that may come. "Night, Sir." He said.

He had only walked a few steps when he heard Goldman's voice behind him, "Horn…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, LT?" Horn stopped and turned halfway around to see the lieutenant but the light had just faded and all he could see was the glowing tip of the cigarette.

"Good-night." Came the voice, the glowing tip was thrown to the ground and extinguished smoothly.

Horn looked at the other man in the fresh light, and was met by a crooked smile, which he returned. Then he walked away, feeling for the first time since he had arrived in this country calm and tired.