On that day, the soldiers scanned the horizon and gardened. Their machetes swished “spare me” against the humidity. Mangrove branches fell before their feet. The jungle was so thick no one could even tell which tree the leaves were falling from. The soldiers never thought the war would make them landscapers. They named plants as they went. The Zorro bush. The Die Motherfucker tree. They developed entire genera and species. Gave themselves extra points for finding the rare ones.

They had been walking for miles, searching and destroying, feeling blessed they were given a mission that required them to move in a forward direction. No one wanted to go home. There was no such thing. They just wanted to move forward.

There was a rhythm to the war and the soldiers stuck to it. There were machetes and good luck charms. M16s, extra ammo and Jesus. They had it down to a science. Twelve-bar blues. Every morning they washed their socks in their helmets. Dreamt of the perfect Tide commercial. It was their ritual to keep a clean pair on their feet, another under their helmets. The only time they took off their boots was to change socks—they slept with them on. Their boots were shrines. Holy castles. Each morning the men tied their shoelaces like they were made of $100 bills. Their feet were the only things that kept them safe, gave them a chance to keep moving forward. They hated thinking about the men who lost their legs. Those men were sitting ducks, just waiting for the jungle to devour what was left of their shriveled bodies.

It was the hottest day they could remember. The swamps of the southeast had nothing on the jungle blaze. The soldiers were drenched as though the air around them was one big swimming pool. They didn’t mind the sunlight, though—it was the darkness that made them afraid. The night before a couple of them were grinding their teeth so loud they woke up the captain. He stormed out of his tent to find them convulsing and growling, like dogs dreaming of squirrels. No one talked about it that morning when they started out on their patrol. They looked up at the sun and believed things would be better.

The heat followed them across the jungle, singeing their skin as they walked. They made sizzling bacon sounds in their throats. Some put on a side of eggs. Over easy. By afternoon, they had searched in all the enemy’s favorite hiding places. The soldiers knew he was waiting for them, but they could not find him—he was hiding someplace good. He was up to something. They started to feel nervous, as they knew the enemy to be more dexterous than that. This was his home. He was everywhere—in trees, wrinkled faces, teddy bears. The brush thickened and instantaneously the men felt like they were being watched. Their faces. Their army-issue boots, exchanging left and right. The brown beads they wore around their necks. The idea crossed their minds that they did not belong here. The men’s steps quickened and deepened into the forest.

War movies flashed before their eyes when they saw the enemy emerge from the brush, tempers flaring. Grenades flew into the air. The legs flew off an 18-year-old. Fingers smelling like pussy and rainwater landed by a tree trunk. Screams melded to form one huge wallop. The jungle beat its snare drum, a slow jungle boogie with a bass line of laughter (green at metal). It was playing their song.

It was almost 10 minutes before they saw her out of the corner of their eyes. Red and blue bathing suit. Gold lasso. Invisible airplane parked under the trees.

It was she.

Wonder Woman.

She leapt out onto the Battle Scene and perched on a fallen log. Both sides approached and Wonder Woman, with the determination that comes with animation, rushed into the foliage, deflecting hand grenades with her golden wristbands. The trees sang like pop stars. Get us out from under, Wonder Woman. She lassoed men, who dropped their bamboo bombs and fell into the mud. She somersaulted over to the soldiers, grabbed their guns and bent them like pretzels into the dirt.

It came from both sides. I need you, Wonder Woman. Save me, Wonder Woman. Bullets carried love songs. Grenades, desperation. She deflected and threw. Dove and jumped. Her brow dripped with confusion. They shot and begged.

The pingpong match began. Her chest throbbed with the heat. She battled both sides like a chess master. Tackling armed soldiers, tying jungle warriors to the trees. She did not know whom to defend, attack, love, protect. She faced them all. Wonder Woman yearned to rescue some of the men but could not tell who was the enemy and who the enemy’s prey. She began to sob.

Bullets hung suspended in the humidity long enough to dance, long enough for grenades to do-si-do their partners, for metal to tango with metal. Men shot the men at their sides. Shot at her. Shot enemies across the brush, mixing red and black like oil paintings. Others aimed their guns straight at their temples. POW. ZIP. BANG.

Wonder Woman made a daring round-off flip-flop away from the fighting. Her boots flung dirt in the air like fireworks. She leaned against a tree to catch her breath, paused and looked down to find a bullet lodged in her right breast (beat), in her left breast (beat), in between her eyes. She collapsed into the dirt and did not move.

The soldiers, enemy and enemy, withdrew to their end of the jungle. The heat fell on their shoulders like weights. They placed their boots down in their tracks as they ran away, musing over the difference between heel and toe. Toe and heel. Tears blended in with jungle sweat. They lay down in their trenches and thought about mirrors. Pocket mirrors, mirrors on doors. They wept like children.

When morning came again, the jungle smelled different. Death and mangoes. Death and rotting mangoes. The county fair was everywhere. Cotton candy set ablaze, burning magenta on hot tongues and sticky hands. Choppers singing like Ferris wheels unscrewed. The soldiers walked in circles, thinking about distant places in the desert where aliens landed their ships. Huge crop fields burned into gigantic decoder rings (radius=10 miles). They found dead birds and laughed. She was gone and they did not remember why. There was only the jungle.