When the Batibat began to choke the image of young Donnie in the dream/memory, it had established a solid connection to the real Donnie's spirit. In essence, Donnie was being choked out for real and he was completely aware of what was happening
"Grkk...Gak!"
Donnie struggled to breathe as the Batibat kept squeezing his throat harder and harder with each passing second.
The body was young, but the soul and mind was old and muddled. At this moment, Donnie's life began to flash before his eyes.
He recalled never knowing know who his father was, save for a single photo, a man in a marine uniform in front of an American flag.
His mother told him that he was brave, compassionate, a true fighter as it were. She told him that his father died a hero's death in "a war she hoped would never happen again."
Seeing the way his mother seemed to look whenever she talked about his father, lit something inside of Donnie, but he didn't know what it was at the time.
Just as Donnie was about to reminiscent more about his childhood, the Batibat's grip intensified. This sudden squeeze caused his mind to speed up a bit more.
Donnie's mind fast forwarded to when he was a young man graduating high school which was in either 1950 or 1951, his memories were hazy here. At this point in time, his mother had left this world to join his father and Donnie was left on his own. Making matters worst, the Korean War was in full swing.
A bit lost and unsure of his future, Donnie decided to just roll with being drafted as opposed to pursuing a higher education. The way he saw it, joining the military was an easy way to see the world and if all went well, he could have a career.
Things were looking bright for Donnie in this moment in time and, surprisingly, it actually panned out for him.
He ended up joining the marines, rose to the rank of sergeant due to battlefield comission promotions and when the war ended in 1953, he enjoyed a relatively peaceful desk life for a few years. Then the Vietnam War happened in 1955.
When the Vietnam War first kicked off, America wasn't fully invested yet with under a thousand "advisors" scattered about South Vietnam. It wasn't until about six years into the start of the conflict, under the leadership of President John F. Kennedy, that the amount of US troops increased almost fifteen times that amount. Donnie was a part of that early military escalation.
He wasn't sure why he decided to return the front.
Donnie had already earned his stripes and honors from the Korean War. Maybe something in him desired to fight again, maybe he wanted to live beyond his desk again. Regardless, Donnie signed up for another tour and got assigned a new unit of marines to lead.
War is always terrible, but there's a difference going to war as a soldier having to take orders and going to war while needing to give them. Donnie learned that the hard way.
While Donnie was a veteran of the Korean War and somewhat used to the idea of fighting and dying, that was trench warfare. Donnie was wholly unprepared for the guerilla tactics that was commonplace in jungle terrain and how painfully intimate such encounters were.
Donnie left home leading a group of five young recruits. He came back with three and a whole slew of health problems both physical and mental. At this point, he had because me disillusioned with war, the "system" and living.
His memory began to blur once more.
Trying to forget with a bottle.
Trying to numb with smoke and needle.
Trying to feel something in the arms of those who walk the night.
But for some reason, his memory began to crystallize on a single moment.
_________________________________________________
3&#(_&: Pub
"Gulp!"
*Clink.*
*Glug glug*.
Donnie sat at the bar, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a shot glass in the other while his face settled on a vacant expression.
He was currently playing a very simple game: Take a shot everytime he felt pain in his chest.
"Gulp!"
*Clink.*
*Glug glug.*
Currently he was up to ten points and about to hit eleven.
"Ka-king."
"Welcome to the Pub, wipe your shoes and sit anywhere."
At the entryway of the pub stood a young woman with almond eyes and long black hair. While the creases in her face suggested she was the jovial type, the look on her face read of grief and devastation.
With steady steps, the woman decisively walked up to the bar and took a seat right next to Donnie. He was mildly perturbed by the woman's intrusion into his game but he didn't think much of it. He had a bottle to drain.
"Can I get a glass of your strongest whiskey and a beer please? Guinness preferably", the woman asked while placing her handbag on the bar, a little black bag with a gold-painted clasp in the shape of a skull.
"Weird bag.", Donnie thought.
"Apologies miss, this old war dog is currently drinking the whole bottle," the bartender replied while cleaning a glass, "I can get you that beer though."
"Please do, but do give me an empty shot glass too."
"Huh? Alright."
The bartender quickly presented the woman tall mug of dark beer and an empty shot glass. As soon as she was handed the glass, the woman proceeded to tap on Donnie's shoulder just as he finished pouring glass number fourteen.
"Mind sharing the love a bit?"
"Huh? Scre-."
But before Donnie could tell off the lady for bothering him, he noticed the look in her eyes. It was the same kind of look he had seen in one too many veterans of this current war.
"..."
"Well?"
Without another word, Donnie poured her a drink and offered to toast. The woman eyed the glass for a moment before accepting the toast.
"Cheers."
"Aye."
*Gulp*
*Gulp*
*Clink*
*Clink*
"Got a name?"
"Reya."
_________________________________________________
"Oh...that's what I needed...to remember..."
Donnie was just about ready to pass out from the Batibat's choking grasp, ready to greet his maker with bulging and a purple face.
But life had other plans in mind.
"Look out and shout, ow!"
A golden javelin of light suddenly appeared and pierced right through the Batibat's arms, severing them from her shoulders. The sudden lack of a host caused the Batibat's hands to let go of Donnie's neck.
"Gasp!"
Donnie gasped for air now that he wasn't being choked out.
As Donnie worked to get his breathing back into focus, he looked up to see who saved his sorry ass.
Standing before him was the vision of a heroic woman donning Romanesque armor and wielding a golden spear. It was Tatterhood.
"Now then you rotten lump of timber," Tatterhood said as she readied her spear for battle, "Would you prefer chopped down or chipped?"