TAG

TAG

The jungle never slept. The air buzzed, especially at night. Danny got used to distant gunfire, but in his dark bunk, the most paralyzing was the unknown. An invisible dread that wrapped around a man’s throat and whispered, Morning will never come for you.

The guys only knew each other for a few months. Yet, since their tour of duty began, together they’d survived oppressive heat, monsoons and mudslides, mortar fire, and the soft murmurs of uncertain prayers and stifled sobs while hiding in foxholes. They just wanted to go home but when they did, they knew they'd never be whole again.

Typically, daybreak meant reconnaissance missions through knee-deep, leech-infested swamps in torrential downpours. One morning, Danny’s platoon found themselves in a holding position near an ambushed village. Half the huts were burned to the ground. The rest were nearly collapsed, roofs sagged like tired shoulders. Danny knew nothing could’ve survived this carnage. Persistent rain seemed to be nature’s attempt at drowning out the echoed screams from the previous night's attack.

Rain dripped down Danny’s face. His eyes stung from the cloying, acrid air. A cacophony of gunpowder residue, mixed with the repulsive smell of rotting eggs and decay, crept behind his teeth and down his throat.

After an hour of waiting undercover for something to happen, there was a sound. A soft scrape. Then, another. It was coming from behind one of the huts. Danny was positioned the closest, in a cluster of brush. He froze, rifle rising to his shoulder.

“Easy," he whispered to himself.

Danny waited and watched. Through rivulets of water pouring down from what was left of a thatched roof, he saw movement. He edged out into the open, boots sinking into wet silt.

“The fuck you doin’, pecker-head?” his staff sergeant hissed.

Danny uncharacteristically ignored him and moved forward. Something rustled, quick and nervous. He braced for a Viet Cong scout, a wounded civilian, anything. When he rounded the corner of the half-standing structure, Danny let out a long-held breath.

A bedraggled dog, more of a puppy, was cowering near a broken-down bamboo fence.

Thin as wire, ribs jutted like half-buried twigs, while his desperate little eyes darted around for an escape. He was filthy and visibly trembling; seeming to believe death was imminent.

Danny slowly lowered his rifle and yelled, "A-OK."

Then, "Hello little guy.”

Crouching down, he dug in his pocket for a few crackers he’d saved for the hike back to base camp. The dog flinched, ready to bolt, but obviously hunger pinned him in place. Danny broke the crackers in half and set the pieces on the ground. "Here ya' go, pal."

When his staff sergeant announced, "Pullin' out in five, men," Danny stood, slowly backed away, then caught up with his platoon before they headed out.

Less than a mile down the dirt road, Danny heard a bark and turned to find the stray. The mutt was following him.

Shit.

Instead of shooing him away, Danny walked back to the dog, who stood anxiously waiting, tail wagging. Danny extended a cautious hand. “Come here, buddy, you’re safe with me.”

The dog had no reason to trust anyone. Yet, something in Danny’s voice was kind, vulnerable as if his words were fractured around their edges. The dog allowed Danny to lift him into his arms. After a beat, Danny hoisted him up on his shoulders. The animal weighed less than his pack. To the staff sergeant's eyerolls and annoyance, Danny carried the dog all the way back to the barracks.

That first night, as rain pelted against his tent like tiny fists, and distant artillery lit the sky with orange flashes, the dog stayed by the tent’s entrance, eyes open but not moving from his spot. While the eight soldiers slept in their dirty bunks, the dog seemed to keep vigil. Danny was somehow comforted by this new, little presence.

The next morning, the dog refused to leave Danny’s side. He named him Tag since he was, after all, a tag-along but more so, the soldiers wore sets of dog-tags, but on a dog, he reasoned, it would just be called a tag. Over time, Tag became the platoon’s mascot. He was a morale boost, a much-welcomed distraction, so far away and disconnected from their loved ones.

Danny didn’t have a girlfriend, just a few innocent kisses with Laney at the school dances. As soon as he was drafted just after graduation, she became a sweet memory a world away. He wanted to write to her, but he didn’t even know her address. Danny never knew his dad, who’d walked out when his Ma got pregnant for the first time at 40. Ma had always said ‘good riddance,’ but he knew growing up that his Ma was lonely sometimes, even though she tried to hide it. So, he wrote her letters whenever he could.

Dear Ma,

Found me a buddy out here. Scrawny little mutt. You’d like him—skittish at first, but he warmed up. I named him Tag because he thinks he’s a soldier. He's fast and he’s so darn smart. He hears trouble before any of us do. He sleeps on my boots by the door. I am what the military calls Tag's handler. It's nice to have something to care about out here. We even made him a leather collar with his own (dog) tags. Get it? Tag- funny, right? Hope you’re smiling while reading this, maybe even laughing a bit. Tag makes us laugh.

And yes, Ma - I know, I’ll be 19 soon. On my birthday, I promise like we did every year back home, I’ll try and count nineteen stars in the night sky. That is, if it ever stops raining. And I’ll think of you looking at those same stars. Funny thing how stars are long gone when we see them. I like thinking about things like that. When I come home, I’ve decided I’m going to enroll in the local college.

Hope you’re well. Tell everyone I said hello. Love you and miss you, especially you’re cooking.

Your son, Danny

When a surprise attack pinned the squad down in thick elephant grass, it was Tag who alerted Danny to the enemy’s location. Danny survived that night, along with his crew because of his dog. Time and again, Tag was a hero. Even his staff sergeant eventually took a liking.

The guys in Danny’s tent only complained about one thing. When Tag shook himself into new positions at night, the clinking of his tags woke them, scaring the piss out of them. So, Danny got in the habit of removing Tag’s collar at night, just like he did on certain missions. Before a surprise raid on the barracks, Tag brought him the collar before Danny, half asleep, even registered what was happening.

Dear Ma,

Hope you are doing well. Tag saved my hide last night, again. Nudged me awake in the M151, a ground truck I was resting in before we headed out. It was just before an ambush hit. Smart dog when it comes to instinct. He found me, didn’t he? The guys say he’s good luck. He’s why I’m still writing to you.

Give him a pretend scratch behind the ears in your mind—he loves that. And never forget to remove his collar at night. Its noisy.

I hope you checked out the stars last month. I did. It was such a rare and beautiful clear night, in this godforsaken land, that I think I even saw our flag on the moon. That’s an amazing thing, huh? Wish I could've seen that on the television. I'm missing a lot of things, but mostly you and home.

Love, your Danny

Early one evening, Tag tried pulling everyone from their bunks. The guys were angry but his frantic barking and running towards the tent door, was enough to send them all outside. Within minutes, a mortar hit their tent right in the center. Some of the soldiers sustained minor injuries, Tag got it the worst. Part of his paw was blown off having waited until the last soldier was safely out.

Everyone gave Tag part of their food rations. He'd saved eight men’s lives. That night, for the first time, Tag slept curled against Danny’s chest under the stars.

“I saved you, so your scrawny ass could save me. Is that how this shit works, buddy?” Danny ruffled Tag’s fur. “You're a true soldier.” He whispered into Tag’s perked up ear, “And I’m not your handler, you’re mine.”

Dear Ma,

I'm coming up on a year, and I’ll be headed home soon. Tag and I are doing just fine. Some days he won’t leave my side, not even for food and it does make me a bit nervous but at least Tag gives us warning. The guys love him almost as much as I do. They play Tag with him, on account of his name. Joke’s on them because he can catch anyone, even James, who’s the fastest runner of all of us. Truth is, I feel like he’s the only thing out here that isn’t trying to break us. I’m requesting to bring him back to the States with me when I finish this tour in a month. I sure hope that’s okay. He deserves a soft bed, a good meal, and a gentle hand. Miss you and a good meal, too. Very soon.

Love you, Danny

Thankfully, they got a brief reprieve after the explosion, a break from missions to rebuild their tent. Tag’s paw healed, and after a few weeks, he was back in the heat of the fire. Danny was so tired he often wondered if the only reason he hadn’t given up was because of Tag.

Meanwhile, almost full-grown, Tag thrived. He learned all sorts of new tricks and the guys took turns roughhousing with him. Danny felt pride. At first, he was like everyone else, a nobody, but Tag had made him a somebody.

Dear Ma,

Life is sacred and I am scared for mine most the time here. How close sacred and scared become by simply reengineering the letters. We did catch a break for a bit – sort of R&R, and I was able to catch my breath. But I cannot wait to come home. Some of the guys have no home to go to but not me. I got a Ma, who loves me and I love her. I get 'mama' jokes all the time, but that isn’t us. I respect you and hope I meet a gal half as incredible as you to be the mother of my son. Or daughter, I’m cool with that, too.

It’s nighttime like I’ve never seen it; reminds me of the licorice you love, and that’s a good sign. But Tag’s pacing tonight and that’s a bad sign. This action is getting all too real and I am trying to be strong. At least I have my platoon and my dog, they’ve always got my six, which means my back.

And we are suddenly on the move again, as I write this letter.

This war is living hell, and unfortunately, I’m here because I'm not some senator’s son. But I got the greatest Ma ever! I want to write more but when they say, ‘move your ass, Seargent,’ you move. Tag just brought me his collar which means we're shovin' off. Goodnight, Ma.

Love, Danny

Sadly, war consumes, always has and always will. As it did one balmy evening when it took something no soldier could prevent, better yet protect against. A mortar shell fell too close. Danny shoved Tag under his own body shielding him, always trying to protect his beloved dog, just as Tag would’ve done for Danny. This time, Danny took the hit.

Tag crawled from under Danny’s limp body, whimpering, nudging Danny’s still head, refusing to understand. Tag laid down by his best friend’s side in a pool of blood.

The war went on. Danny did not.

*****

When they flew Danny back to the States, Tag stayed right alongside his casket. A shadow of the dog who once bounded through jungle bush catching tossed aluminum dishes, and played fetch with balled-up, smelly socks.

Danny’s mother was there waiting on the tarmac when the plane landed. Her hands shook as her son’s flag-draped coffin was carried by soldiers with such tender trust it cracked her falsely brave facade. He was loaded into an awaiting vehicle for a proper memorial held a few days later. She instinctively knelt, blinded by tears and not even near ready to say goodbye to her baby boy.

Tag sat at attention and waited until the casket disappeared behind doors. Ma couldn’t be certain, but she would swear she saw the dog, not scratching, but pulling his damaged paw to his forehead in salute.

Ma whispered one word.

“Tag.”

The loyal dog stood, ears up, then slowly turned in Ma’s direction as the soldier holding his leash, unclipped it. Ma sat back on the tarmac, dress be damned, and outstretched her arms. At first Tag walked, cautious, but then he broke into a run.

Perhaps it was the scent of Ma on her letters to Danny, maybe just a genetic pheromone the two shared; or simply the sense that someone needed a hug. Ma held her breath as her son’s beloved dog jumped into her awaiting arms, without hesitation.

“You’re all I have left of my Danny.” Ma was sobbing. “Thank you.” She held onto him, rubbing his fur. Tag pressed his head into her lap and closed his eyes. He was tired but he was home, albeit broken. They stayed that way, buoyed together, neither knowing how to move forward without Danny.

*****

Tag was never really an official military dog, just a stray, so they allowed Ma to adopt him. From then on, they stayed together. A lost mother and her late son’s grieving dog, each the last living memories of the boy they loved.

Years passed. Tag grew slower, then stiff and white-muzzled. Ma grew frail, her breaths short, her steps small. When she moved into assisted living, they allowed Tag to follow. He was even honored by the local veteran’s organization with a Purple Heart for his paw injury. Ma had loved Tag before they even met. He had been a life-raft in an abyss of her worst sorrow.

Every night before bedtime, as per her son’s silly ‘pretends’ from his letters years back, she scratched behind Tag’s ears, then gently unbuckled his tattered collar with its jingling tags and laid it on the nightstand, just so.

Tag slept on his blanket, always close to the door. Every morning, he'd nose his leather collar into Ma's arthritic hand so they could start their day.

He never barked.

He never wandered.

He never forgot.

One winter dawn after snow had blanketed the ground overnight, Ma awoke to utter silence.

Her hand reached for the collar on the nightstand. It wasn’t there. She leaned over her bed to look for Tag. He wasn’t by the door.

She called out for him but to no avail. Her heart clenched.

The staff searched the kitchen first, then the halls, the grounds, the streets. Someone suggested he might have slipped out during shift change at midnight, confused and old as Tag was, he could be anywhere. But Ma knew better.

“He’s gone to my Danny.” Her voice, barely a whisper. “Tag’s finally gone home.”

Tag had limped for miles on weakened legs. Every step hurt. Every breath scraped. Driven not by sight, for his eyes had clouded over a while back, nor by strength, which had long since left him, but by pure love.

He kept going.

He knew the way.

He’d always known that in the end, he’d return.

When he reached the cemetery gates, the sun was just beginning to glisten off the fresh snow. He approached the grave the way a soldier returns to formation after a long battle: steady, silent, determined.

Using the last of his strength, Tag dropped his collar, frozen with saliva, on top of Danny’s headstone. The only thing he could do to express words he never understood how to speak. A final gesture of ultimate gratitude.

He curled up on the snow, his head where Danny’s hand would be. He let out a small whimper and then a deep sigh. Tag was finally at peace, so he rested.

After several frantic phone calls, Tag was found by the groundskeeper an hour later.

*****

The cemetery was peaceful. A low fog moved around the headstones like ghosts. Ma held a small service and Tag was buried in the same plot with her boy. Her thin, gloved hands embraced a folded flag. She couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks for her joys and sorrows over the years. In so many ways, she was blessed. If someone had told her she’d only have Danny for nineteen years, would she still have had him? She wouldn’t trade those years for all the riches in the world.

Before being escorted to the car that would deliver her back to her assisted living community, she laid a hand on top of her son’s headstone and glanced down at the small wooden makeshift cross next to it, displaying just three simple letters. Tag had been the greatest thing to happen to her in her whole life, besides Danny. And Danny had given that precious gift to his Ma.

As she walked away, she only glanced back once, at the collar, with its imprinted Purple Heart and official military tags. It would be forever in her memory exactly where Tag had placed it, glinting in the sunlight.