Here’s the English translation of your story passage — keeping the tone cinematic, emotional, and true to the original meaning:

The helicopter went down in the middle of the tropical jungle. Out of eight men, only I survived — Sergeant James Nolan.
The radio was burned out. The water was gone. And the enemy was combing through every inch of the forest.

I dragged myself through the swamp for three days. My shoulder wound was swollen, the dried blood crusted thick on my skin. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, I saw her — a local girl, dark hair, torn clothes, eyes shining with an uncanny light.

She didn’t speak English. She only gestured for me to be quiet, then pulled me into a small hut made of leaves. For a week, she mixed medicine from roots, hiding me from the patrol units that passed nearby. Every time gunfire erupted outside, she would gently squeeze my hand, signaling: “Quiet. Don’t be afraid.”

Then one morning, I heard the sound of an American helicopter. I nearly lost my mind with joy. But as I stepped out of the hut, she raised her hand to stop me. She shook her head and spoke a single broken sentence in English:

“No go. They… not your friend.”

I didn’t understand. I thought she was scared. I ran out and fired a flare into the sky. Instantly, a rain of bullets came down. They weren’t Americans — they were the enemy.

She rushed out and pushed me to the ground. A bullet tore through her chest. In the chaos, I panicked, returned fire — and pulled the trigger on the very person who was trying to lift me up.

Her blood splattered across my face. She fell, still looking at me — not with anger, not with blame, only whispering one word:

“Safe…”

Three years later, when the war ended, I returned to that jungle. The village was burned to the ground; no one had survived. But by the riverbank, I found a piece of cloth — the one she had used to bandage my shoulder, still faintly scented with the medicine she made.

I sat down and placed my medal beside it.
Not to honor a lover,
but to honor a stranger —
the one who chose to save the man who killed her.