Yours Truly sat in the middle of In Country, his fingers stroking lazily over those new streaks of ink imbedded within his forearms, as he tried to figure out how the FUCK this had happened. Stark emerald rose up to glare at the bumbling group of maggots before him; every last one of them a cherry.
Cherry.
A snarl wove out onto his lips at the mere thought, and he seethed around the cigarette clasped between his jaws. He had missions to lead, territory to infiltrate, there was no time to try and keep a bunch of whelps alive while he was knee deep in shit! Fingers ripped the cigarette from his mouth, and stomped on it as he rose to his feet like there was fire at his heels; rubbing at his temples before scratching the scruff building up on his chin.
“I am Sergeant Yours Truly...,†Another cigarette had found its way to his lips out of that crumpled package stuffed into his flack, “ And I am your father. You are my insubordinate, fuck ups of children. So like a father....†He grumbled around the filter as he lit the end amidst the glaring sun and steam, “ It’s my job to keep you alive for as long as possible. Do you know the life span for a cherry out here...? Look around at this jungle maggots...Charlie’s telling you you’ve only got an average of fifteen minutes to live. FIFTEEN. Let’s try to prove him wrong, huh...?†Strides pushed him past the quivering, piss ants of his platoon. He would let them figure out how to survive the night on their own.
If they could do that...Then maybe he could morph them into the monster they would need to be to survive.
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The sound of distant gun fire was like subtle music within the thick trees, humming and whizzing as if whispering of death. With deft signals coordinated with his hands, he led the small team of men at his back forward, noting in the distance as the rest of his platoon did the same.
They all had yet to grow accustom to scuttling around the dark, and only one of them had actually fired their weapon.
It had been at a snake.
Yours tried to settle the thick rage boiling in his gut as he lay down onto the damp earth; prepared for a long night lying in wait but...There was a loud, abrasive sound coming from behind him. One heated glance over his shoulder showed him Jackson was taking a piss like this was some kind of concert parking lot, humming as he went about his business.
Boots thundered up behind the buck private, crushing at the back of his neck with dangerous fingers. “Jackson! Who the FUCK told you it was ok to piss!? I tell you when to piss, eat and to fucking jerk off, you got that private!? Why don’t you just create enough racket to tell the VC to just waddle right on over here to shoot your dick off, huh!? Fuck...,†All of his gritty words had been hissed like venom, and he threw the young, quivering Irishman to the dirt.
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A roar screamed out over the jungle.
A cry so loud and cavernous it echoed up over the smoke and shrapnel; a noise created by one man stopped an entire movement of people for an instant.
Yours Truly barreled through the brush, watching in vain as Jackson, White and O’Hara clawed against their captors. The cried out to him, screaming for freedom and pleading for life...They knew what would await them should they be taken captive.
And so did Yours.
But he was their father.
And he would keep them.
So as the muddy earth broke beneath his feet, and knees propelled his already injured body through the bright lights of mortar blasts and gun fire; Sergeant Yours Truly screamed like an animal as he took aim. The thin Charlie charging ahead of the ones clutching at their prisoners suddenly had no head as a quick squeeze of the trigger was all he needed. With panicking haste the garbled cries of Vietnamese outweighed the shrieking Marines who were clawing and scratching for their lives; a small object visible to Yours as he was gaining ground...
A click met his hearing over all the chaos. And an orb of metal soared through the night toward him...
The thundering explosion which erupted before Yours Truly would have knocked a lesser man off his feet. A torrent of pain masked his snarling visage, but he had to concur this weak emotion, he just had to. Still sprinting after those he watched over, a hand rose up to tear that hot, sticky metal which had lodged into the entire left side of his face free. It snapped as his released its grip on his skin and bone, a deep, callous roar erupting from Yours.
But not from pain.
He had ascended such fault.
Those privates were his children.
He had raised them.
And promised to be their protector.
Ammunition was futile at such a close range as he could now see the fear in the men’s eyes, how its made their muscles twitch and keep moving even as the pain that caused them to lock up would have them do otherwise. So eight inches of steel flew free from its sheath, and Yours Truly flew through the night as well as he kept that guttural cry shrieking out of his mouth.
He cut, gauged and slaughtered to have his children back. The blood caked his sun beaten skin, and beaded up like the raging sweat on his brow.
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O’Hara was draped over those strong shoulders as Jackson and White clutched at his arms for support as they limped toward the dull thwap created by the heavy beat of chopper blades.
Yours truly watched as the medic copter took his children from him, back toward white sheets and pretty women.
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i know there are grammar and spelling errors, i shall fix them asap.
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