Where am I?

The man wondered as he heard gunfire overhead.

A voice, almost as indistinct as the one that tells you, 'even though it feels good, its wrong'. The voice begged him to move forward, like his life depended on it.

A jungle, the man thought, and the voice said, almost in unison.

He pulled his way through the thick brush, and grabbed a sharpened crude weapon from a bush. An enemy combatant, his face hidden by camouflage, leapt out, the man struck him hard. As he was about to attack another one, something stopped the weapon midair, as if contact had been made already with some invisible force field. Her name was Jane.

The voice was mine, the man, me. This event actually took place in a restaurant. Luckily I didn't kill anyone.

I was having a 'Nam flashback, at entirely the wrong moment. I was seven.