Rifles of 'Nam

"Where you from, Sarent Burton?" a young, lanky black private from Baton Rouge Louisiana spoke up, His arms exposed from under his flak jacket, not wearing anything under it.  Last name of 'Walker' written on it crudely with marker.

His eyes looking across the bay at the tall, reasonably well built white man, the only of the group of 10 that hadn't said a thing since they boarded, shouting required over the chopping of the rotors and the sounds of Deep Purple's "Hush" being blared through the internal speakers of the UH-1, The treeline of the Vietnamese jungle seeming to flutter in the artificial breeze generated by the helicopter's engines.

Without a word Burton turned his head and laid his eyes on the G.I. that spoke to him, the chinstrap to his own helmet hanging free, his flak jacket fitting him perfectly as opposed to the slimmer man that was striking up conversation, his sleeves rolled up neatly just above his elbows, a black watch on his left wrist, some old bandages wrapped around his right forearm, grass stained and dirty, a bit of dried blood on them.

Sgt. Burton was the only G.I. in the Helicopter still carrying an M-14. There was something about him that let the younger, greener, G.I.'s know he'd been here in this damned country just a little too long, and seen a little too much, before dug into his pocket, pulling a cigarette and lighting it carefully with his beat up zippo, curling around it to prevent the down wash from the rotors and the wind blowing in from forward motion to cause issue with the flame kissing the end of the smoke.

"Podunk Maryland."

He finally spoke in a relatively rough, but accent free voice, smoke from the cigarette puffing from his mouth with each word, but he didn't say much more than that.

"What like Balt'more?" Walker replied. "I got some fam'ly in Balt'more" he added smiling a bit, trying to be talkative, unlike most of the others. Little less than half of them too green to focus on anything more than their jitters.

"Sort of" Replied the reserved Sergeant, puffing his cigarette again. Usually Burton was quiet, but having a discussion was nice for a change.

"You strike me as onna dem crabbin' boys, that what you is Sarrent?" Walker looked him over a bit more carefully
The Sergeant smirked just a little bit.

"I might know a thing or two about it." he replied, smoke billowing from his lungs.

"Yee, you look like the type. I can tell." Walker nodded to himself almost proud he could guess something about the Sergeant he'd been with for a couple weeks now, and only just got some form of personal discussion out of him.

A young, white G.I. the Sergeant hadn't seen before today in the far corner of the bay, this one was put under his command in a scramble to give him more hands for his platoon by the clueless butterbar back at base. "Carver" was on his name tag, two stripes on his sleeves, a Corporal, and he seemed to have his wits about him, Burton analyzed him a bit, coming to the conclusion he could rely on him if he needed to.

He was speaking to his rifle in hushed tones, but in a very friendly manner, the thick issued glasses on his face as he held it tight to his body while talking, the words inaudible.

He had one.

One with that damned spirit in it.
Soldiers that had been in the shit for more than just a fight or two considered them bad luck. But not everyone had one, Seemed like just the 'special' rifles, maybe ones that were built a special way, or ones that just fit together just right. But nobody really knew how or why, Some just did, but most didn't.

At first the Waffengeists or  "geists" as they called themselves were something the men would fight over having one of, afterall who wouldn't want to share a bunk with a pretty American girl during all this shit.

Problem was it seemed like the men with those rifles were the ones that died first. Then the geists that; for some reason all happen to be girls, never acted the same afterward. They touted themselves as "Self Cleaning" but somehow never managed to do it, they choked on their ammunition, they failed when the men carrying them needed them the most. Burton had seen it too much, though he had no idea if his rifle had one or not, nor did he want to. The thought of having something in his possession that could actively talk to him while being present but not exactly real honestly weirded him the fuck out.

Though; there had been times he'd thought he'd heard a sound or something from the rifle, but in the middle of combat he couldn't be sure about it. There was no reason to assume anything, besides. Most of the Geists were too proud not to show themselves off to their owners, at least the M-16's anyway.

With a grunt he shook the thought from his head as he checked his M-14 over one last time, Giving the magazine a good smack and pulling the op-rod back just a bit to check for brass, letting go and then smacking it forward a couple of times to ensure it went into battery. Several of the G.I.'s watching him and doing it as well -- boys that would probably make it through today, following the example of someone that had seen more fighting than them.

With that the pilot called in over the radio. "One minute to LZ." Burton moved, grabbing a bar above his head and sat up higher in a hunched over crouch and looking at everyone, commanding them with a "Gear check", mostly directed to the G.I.'s that failed to do so already, A faint tinge of anger on his face for even having to say it.

The draft kept bringing in kids, and they had no fucking idea what they were doing, fresh out of Advanced Infantry Training, and he had to make fucking fighters out of them.

The UH-1 Begins to dip down, the 2 other choppers in formation with the Sergeant's following suit, Fire erupted from the treeline and pinging off the fuselage, The gunner on the port side of the chopper begins to open up with his M-60, cutting up the foliage, the  Sergeant yelling over the gunfire as the chopper touches down, "ON ME, ON ME, LET'S GO!" First to drop his boots out of the helicopter, running through waist high grass and past some of the dreary trees, sliding into cover beside a cement building at the outer perimeter of the town they were to assault.

He leaned out and took some rushed shots at the sounds of enemy fire, wrapping himself around the wall again as the corner he was leaning around bursts along with the crack of incoming fire, sending cement and rubble toward his head, pattering off his helmet harmlessly, He looked back, his fire team still streaming in and tucking up on the wall with him. He pointed to his Machine gunner and waved him up, dropping him down to prone at the corner.

"You see that mother fucker up there in that building with the fuckin' shutters? Smoke his ass!" He shouted the command at the M-60 gunner, giving him cover fire, the gunner beginning to open up, chopping the cement building up with his fire, blasting holes in the outer wall,   splintering the wooden shutters.

Several NVA burst out of the small hutch on the roof, running along the rooftop for a safer position, the Sgt. and the 60 gunner changing their course of fire, a couple other men stepping out and providing additional focus with their M-16's picking the runners off, two dropping off the roof of the three story building  and onto the street, The Sergeant then turned, reloading and looking at his men.

"Walker, Stevens, Black, Guerrera, On me." The four men immediately reporting to him. "We're going to cut across this street here. When we dropped in I saw some of the gooks setting up some kinda block to the west along this street." He gestures widely, marking a general direction.

"Carver."

"SIR!" The young man from before with the geist in his rifled stood at attention

 "I'm putting you in command of Bravo team. You're going to flank around the backs of these buildings and try and meet with us. We're gonna pinch this block they've got set up.  You wait for the smoke, then jump the fuckers from behind."

"Roger sir." He headed back to his former position, relaying the Sgt's command.

"Move out." Burton commanded, packing up his squad and moving quickly across the street, His four men in tow, ducking and running as a few shots snapped from a window about 90 meters away, hopefully trying to score a hit on one of them, only serving to ping off the street and make the squad speed up. A couple of the men fire as they run, peppering the sides of the buildings in vane, only causing to make more noise, but all of them made it safely across.

Burton moved carefully along the side of the new concrete building providing him and his men with cover, ducking under some wires and an outdoor fuse box, his M-14 at the high ready,  eventually meeting a wooden door that he orders his men to stack up on.
With a thunderous kick Guerrera knocked it wide open and took point entering quickly with his Model 12, clearing the inside of what seemed to be a general store, moving through the inside of the store to the front, stopping short of the large glass window, Burton stepping up to use it as a vantage point down the main street, about 12 more of the 2 or 3 story concrete buildings lining this particular street, the rest wooden houses and the like.

A roadblock of barbed wire and sandbags stacked shoulder high was set up in the center of the street, NVA machine gunners posted in their man made fox holes with what seemed to be MG's but he couldn't quite tell what kind from the distance he was standing, there looked to be about 10 or 11 men inside the nest if all the motion within was any indication, all of the MG's lined up straight at the mouth of the street they would have to run across to loop around onto their right flank.

With a deliberate motion Burton presses the front door open, lodging it in place with a piece of splintered wood and prepares a smoke grenade, pulling it from the pouch on his flak jacket. He looked his surroundings over once more getting a good angle on how to throw, putting his finger in the pin and twisting it while pulling, the spoon clanging free and hitting the ground of the store, wasting no time he flicked the grenade side arm, the canister rolling into the middle of the street, beginning to flood it with the haze of smoke.

"Hang on, I got one." Walker fumbled with a smoke grenade of his own, following suit, saving Burton his second smoke grenade, the privates throw making it further, nearly to the other side of the street. Two smokes was just enough to obscure vision across the narrow Vietnamese street as the squad pushes out of the store, going wide and to the right, fire beginning to erupt as the Bravo team commences their assault on the NVA distracted by the smoke.

Meanwhile, the Sgt's squad cresting the buildings in a sprint, popping out right at the east side of the gunner nest, beginning to open fire at the combat shocked Vietnamese from an alleyway. T-Boning them with their crossfire, Vietnamese screams filling the air as they try and fire back with their AK's in vain at the surprise attack.

The firefight raged for a solid 3 minutes, the smell of gunpowder filling the air, shouts of communication in both languages filling the air under the gunfire and commotion of battle.

The NVA would always use Full auto, aiming as best they could with their AK's rattling in their hands, jarring their aim everywhere, The survivors of the initial attack worked to swing around the MG's, managing to get an SG-43 going, blasting about 15 rounds from the belt before an M61 frag bounced into their sandbag cover, thrown by someone in Bravo squad, the blast sending an arm and the tattered bloody sleeve attached to it flying through the air, landing in the middle of the street, the fingers twitching faintly, screams of agony wafting out from inside the sandbag gunner position.

The smell of cordite and blood mixed with the lingering smell of gunpowder now...burning blood to be more specific, Burton and his squad pushed out of cover as Bravo squad did the same, converging and pushing toward the foxholes with their weapons all ready.

Unexpectedly to them, a sandbag pushed out from the lower position, about knee high, An arm shooting out of the hole, firing a Tokarev wildly in the general direction of the approaching G.I'.s the desperation cry of a lone survivor filling the air over his rapid firing.

Sgt. Burton was just outside the cone of fire, several of the bullets whizzing by Walker and Hayes - The stout M-60 gunner from bravo squad.

One of the pistol rounds slammed right into the flashlight on Guerrera's shoulder, shattering the red lens and nearly tearing it off his body.

With a spiteful grunt Burton kicked the wrist of the arm and stuck the muzzle of his M-14 through the firing port, roughly where the owner of the arm would be, ripping six rounds of full auto with the battle rifle into the Vietnamese's cover, the screech of pain followed by a death gurgle was a decent indication of a kill.

A couple of the Sgt's squad drop inside; only after Walker dove in first.

Inside the men found several NVA bleeding out on top of their AK's, the hot barrels boiling the blood running out on top of them, dust and smoke filling the inside of the nest.

There was barely enough light to see anything inside, the stink of fresh death emanating from the prospective machine gunner position, Walker climbing out dusting himself off. "Issa fuckin' doozey in there, boys. That grenade done rippt' em all to sheit." He spoke a little excitedly, always the first one to dive into a strange hole or run into danger, the crazy little bastard.

"Alright saddle up, we've got to clear the rest of these buildings and link with Fire team Delta."

Burton hoists his M-14 up, carrying it closely, the group of men beginning to fan out, clearing the buildings one by one, encountering light resistance in each of them, a few NVA hunkering down in various rooms, getting shredded up by the G.I.'s as they swarm the town, eventually coming to the largest building, the doors removed from their hinges on this particular one, some kind of community center, Burton leaning in.

"DU MA MAY, G.I.!" Screaming from inside, an MG came alive with fire, 40 rounds spraying from the doorway, walking the string into the wall Burton was standing behind, the Sgt turning and running from the doorway, diving to the ground and covering his head as the bullets burst through the wall, the trails of the projectiles carrying the dust from the concrete behind them as they scream outward.

Pvt. Black caught three of the rounds, two in his legs and one in his side - deflected into a deep flesh wound by his canteen, he collapsed to the ground and screamed in agony.

"I'M HIT I'M FUCKIN HIT!! FUCCCCCK! FUUUUUUUCK!"

Blood was gushing from his body as he desperately tried to put pressure on the wounds he could reach, blood soaking through his hands and running out between his fingers.

Walker watched his fellow infantryman fall and without hesitation sprinted into the line of fire, the MG still barking wildly as bullets continued flying through the air, impacting the building across the street, destroying a bench and turning the side of an old car into a cheese grater.

Walker hastily grabbed Black by his collar and started dragging him across the street ducking as he moved, flinching and bobbing around the whizzing lead

"I gotcha man! I gotcha! y'aint dyin' out here brotha!, c'mon!" The skinny black private pulled the wounded man to safety as Burton collects his senses, shaking his head and pushing himself up to his feet, lifting his rifle and firing back through the wall the MG had peppered with fire, the incoming pinning the gunner down as Carver and Ericsson burst through the door adjacent to the gunner's position, cutting him down with their M-16's as the Doc starts to attend to Pvt. Black, audible once the gunfire dies down.

"Stay with me buddy, You'll be fine! I gotcha, I gotcha..." The Doc spoke comfortingly over Pvt. Black's screams of pain, Walker lending his hands and applying pressure to the wounds, helping the Medic apply a tourniquet.

Burton steps into the community center once the machine gunner is taken care of, crossing the small barricade and approaching the Czech VZ 59, the body of the gunner lying there barely clinging to his life, blood bubbling from his lungs and mouth trying to suck in air; holes riddling his uniform from the small caliber bullets, Burton stepping over him and looking him in the eye, He couldn't have been any older than 17, his skin going pale, a cold sweat on his brow as he reaches up, his fingers brushing against the muzzle of the M-14 before it barks once, splitting his skull open against the tile floor.

Grey matter splattered the sandbags behind him, the sound of a single spent case hitting the floor was the only sound inside the building for a moment.

Burton sniffed breaking his cold gaze and moving to his men, joining up with Carver and Ericsson whom were about to push out of the lobby into the community center proper, Burton doing the honors of kicking this door, both of them swinging inwards as he and the other two men rush into an auditorium, Full to the brim with the townspeople, A couple of NVA standing on the stage, six women in front of them, holding them hostage, one of the men behind the women an officer, holding a grenade over the women's heads, screaming in broken English.

"YOU SHOOT I DROP! I KILL THEM ALL G.I.! FUCK YOU! GO HOME!"

"What makes you think we give a fuck, gook?"

Burton fired back an insult, taunting the cowardly officer. Of course he cared about the townspeople, but the Charlies didn't know that.

For all they knew he could just have been another one of the crazy Americans that shot everything that moved.

"Go on. Fucking drop it. Save me the fucking effort! You fucking Cho 'De!"

Burton turns, speaking lowly to Carver.

"Go get Stevens. That son of a bitch can hit a shithouse rat after dark from 200 yards with his Sixteen."

"Sir."

Carver nods and runs off, retrieving Stevens, the two entering as quietly as possible into the Mezzanine at the top right of the auditorium, Stevens taking aim, Burton doing his best to keep the attention of the two NVA.

"What are you going to do, dog fucker. You're fuckin' trapped in here. If you surrender we might take y'alive. I know you fucks know we don't torture like you do. What do you say?".

Burton speaks up, making the officer scream again, lifting his hand with the grenade over the women's heads again as a threat.

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! I FUCKING KILL NOW!"

The shot rang out, Stevens had taken his shot, the hand of the officer bursting along with the grenade, the fuse igniting, but with the damage to the grenade's body it let out a limp fizzle and "Pop" on the stage, the officer's face contorting into agony as he let out a scream, his hand damn near blown away, his pinky barely hanging in place, placing him a world of hurt before his demise.

The women scrambled, running off the stage, opening up the two NVA to fire from Burton and Ericsson, The impacts of the bullets making them twist and 'dance' dropping dead and motionless, their blood beginning to pool under them.

The townspeople slowly began to stand once the NVA element had been removed, speaking to themselves, families hugging each other, Burton shouting across the room.

"Nice fucking shot Stevens!"

"Thank ya, sarge!" He waved back, the two men stepped off the mezzanine and climb down, Burton and Carver walking around the auditorium and helping the civilians out of the room, a few of the G.I.'s taking the time to do the procedure of checking the men for weapons, nobody turning up with anything, Burton calling out for Finny; the radio operator, Taking the handset and speaking into it.

"Delta Team, Delta team, this is Alpha One Actual, what's your status."

A bit of static sounds before a panicked response comes back.

"ALPHA ONE THIS IS DELTA, THE FUCKING GOOKS ARE CRUSHING US OUT HERE." The feed cuts for a second, the sounds of gunfire coming in over the radio, the muzzle reports sounding in the distance from the jungle about one Klick North.

"--OUNDED! WE NEED SUPPORT! SAY AGAIN! NEED SUPPORT!"

"Roger that Delta, we're coming boys. Hold tight."

"ROGER THAT! FUCKING GO--"

The radio cuts again, the SGT in communication with Burton likely dropped his handset.

"Finny, get the LT on the line, tell him we need bodies to secure the rest of the town as well as medevac for Black."

"Alpha Squad, Carver, Ericsson, Stevens, Fall in."

The Six G.I.'s recuperating from the battle trot over, sweat pooling down their shirts, drinking down water from their Canteens.

Finny shouting from the distance. "Five minutes to Med-Evac and support, Sir!"

Burton pointed to him and nodded, letting him know he heard.

"Delta's getting fucked out there, boys. The need us now, and if we don't go they're all dead. Who's ready to save some asses?"

The men shout their cry of "Hooah!" A couple of them slapping their helmets as they do, it was unusual to see men so eager to throw themselves into the shit, Carver only watched after shouting.

Burton's connection with the men under him  was unlike anything he'd seen so far, a small smile crossing his lips.

"You like him a lot, don't you?" His rifle spoke to him as he took up the flank of the team moving to aid Delta.

"Yeah...He's not like any other Sergeant we've been with. He gives a fuck about us Ellie, I think we'll make it out of here with him."

He spoke hopefully, his hands holding her tightly.

"I hope so..." She replied softly.

The open rice paddies at the edge of the town giving way to jungle, The newly formed Fire-Team bounding over fallen trees, whipping through the grasses and vegetation. Gunfire was still raging in the distance as a pair of Huey's scream by over head toward the town they had just liberated.

The gunfire was getting louder, but more sporadic as the group of seven men push into the brush, the sound of a grenade blowing drawing the attention of the men, the plume of dirt within line of sight, raining down into the foliage, Burton leading the way, running as fast as he can, surprising for someone of his height and build. He moved with a dutiful speed, as if he were running on totally flat land, pulling ahead of his men unobstructed by the undergrowth on the jungle floor.

The Sgt. sped along, widening the distance between him and his men, bounding over an American corpse, glancing back at it for just a split second, he was dashing for the muzzle reports of the M-16's sounding a mere 100 meters away now, and nothing would stop him  --

Nothing, aside from a few muzzle cracks from an AK, that is.

Bullets whizzed by him and slammed into a tree, right near the Sgt's head splintering it and peppering him with the tree's flesh, he dropped and slid along the ground, the dirt kicking up behind him as he did so, he must have looked like Harmon Killebrew sliding in for home plate.

The grass parted away from him as he popped up about six feet from the tree that got hit, firing a burst of 3 rounds in semi-auto, two meeting the NVA donned with a leaf covered helmet; he had been craning his neck trying to confirm his hits. The two 5.56 rounds that hit dropped him onto his back with their kinetic energy, His AK firing a few times on the way down.

The pause for action allowed Burton's men to catch up, slowing to a jog and surveying the area for more threats as he grunts and gets up to his feet, the sounds of the M-16's still rattling off every so often, the cracks of incoming overwhelming the claps of outgoing.

The group moved together now, what remained of Delta team was still locked in a vicious battle now coming into view, only 5 of them were left, taking cover behind a large downed tree.

A natural trench had formed in the ground around the trunk, giving them enough cover to duck behind with relative safety, occasionally firing up over top of the tree as best they can before superior firepower made them back off and hunker down again.

Three of the five were wounded, one was still in fighting shape, doing his best despite the blood gushing from his shoulder, the other two were in critical condition, one barely conscious from shock, a hole in the middle of his chest, the other missing both of his legs at the knees, twitching as he gasped for air, pale as a sheet.

Burton's team took the initiative, a couple throwing frags and starting to push back against the NVA concealed in the jungle, their combined fire sounding like another 20 men had joined, despite it only being seven, lulling the fire of the Vietnamese, the bullets tearing through the jungle, slamming into leaves, trees, and all sorts of the odd exotic bushes. The incoming fire dying down enough
 to give Alpha team time to help what was left of Delta out of their tight spot.

Guerrera and Stevens hunched down behind the log, scooping up the two grave wounded, Carver helping the lightly wounded Sgt. hobble out of the NVA's cone of fire, no time to communicate as they move through the jungle as a unit, trying to put a bit of distance between them and their attackers, eventually arriving at a river bed that served to feed the town back to the South with water for crops, ducking down below a natural ridge that was about a meter or so high, doing their best give some semblance of medical attention to the heavily wounded, The legless man unfortunately having died in the trip from the tree to the river bed.

At least he didn't die feeling like he'd been forgotten.

The other man was tended to, but he looked like he'd barely make it, the two men in fighting condition were named Brooke and Washington.

Brooke was sinewy looking kid with blonde hair and blue eyes, he sounded like a stereotypical California boy.

Washington was a no nonsense Chicago black panther type, a hair pick and a fist medallion hanging from his neck.

The lightly wounded Sgt. was the one Burton had been in contact with in Delta; Evers, a gaunt man with sharp brown eyes and a hard expression.

Evers had been hit his collarbone, he couldn't hold a rifle; but he could use his sidearm just fine, the 1911 clenched in his left hand. Speaking to Burton.

"We didn't think you boys would make it...Thanks for comin' Sgt...Burton was it?"

Burton nodded sagely, the threat wasn't gone but it allowed the men a moment to get their act together, Brooke took the dog tags off of the legless man, whom; happened to also have their radio on his back, it was shot to shit though, and the fact it was still on his back meant it happened after his death, else the poor bastard would have shaken it off a long time ago to get at least a little more comfortable.

Burton took command, rallying everyone together, speaking in hushed tones.

Shouting in Vietnamese echoed in the jungle a few hundred meters away, likely commands being barked at them to find the G.I.'s that gave them the slip.

"Alright. We just got reinforced at the little shanty down past this cut over. And by the looks of it that's the only fucking way we're getting back unless we think your man here can last long enough to take the wide loop around this fucking bunch of Charlies." Burton spoke coolly, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Negative. We can't take the risk, It had to at least have been a fucking platoon of those fucking Dinks. We got cut up so hard we couldn't even run to your position." Evers interjects, wincing about his arm.

"So you'd rather try and slip behind a possible platoon of Gooks, that, COULD have set traps just for us, AND reinforcements expecting us to do that exact thing, and run the clock out on your man's life?" Burton raises an eyebrow as he talks, everyone ducking as a Vietnamese shout sounds relatively closely to their position, their hushed tones getting even more hushed.

"It's a lot fucking better than running across that fucking death field!" Evers exclaimed as quietly as he could, Burton nodding some, understanding the Sgt's complaint, speaking up again.

"Alright. I'll draw fire. You boys stay here and loop behind and head straight back to Echo, copy?"

"Wait wait wait. You gonna draw fire...alone Sarrent?" Walker speaks up, shaking his head.

"Naw. Naw. I'm comin' with ya. You's fast as hell but you ain't as slippery as me." Walker insisted, the seriousness on his face making it clear he was going to come anyway, even if he was ordered not to, the group ducking down lower as they heard some of the NVA shouting again, even closer this time.

Burton caved from the seriousness of his Private.

He knew Walker could handle himself, hell he was probably one of the best men he had right now, and the two had done something similar on an ambush patrol only 5 days prior to this.

"Fine. You're with me, Walker. Rest of you give us some time to get their fucking attention and move them offa you. Then you head back the we way we came and get these boys outta here, You got that, Carver?"

Sgt Burton looks over at Carver as he adds on, as if he were relying on the bespectacled man to get the group out of the jungle in his stead, Carver had started to grown on him, even with that talking death trap in his hands.

Carver perked up and nodded. "Got it sir. I got it. You can count on us. But what about you two?"

"Don't worry 'bout us. Me and this little Bastard have gotten outta worse than this shit. If we're not back by morning call a search party." Burton grins as he talks, the first time any of his men had seen him so eager to do anything, showing his true colors as a bit crazier than anyone would have first assumed just by looking at him sitting idle.

He gave off the 'squad dad' air after all, not the crazy redneck one.

"Hell yeah Sarrent!" Walker slaps him on the back, the two men standing up and running off without another word, Burton turning as he runs Shooting into the jungle, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"COME GET US Y'FUCKING GOOK PIECES OF SHIT! YAAAAHHHH!" He fired a few more times, no less than 10 Vietnamese voices instantly piping up and screaming, the sounds of even more footfalls moving through the jungle after Burton and Walker filling the air.

"YEEEAAAWWWWWWWW!! WOOOooOOooOOOO!!!" Walker joined in on the hooping like the southern boy he was with his recreation of the rebel yell; his voice echoing through the trees a few rounds of his own being expended between them in full auto.

There would still be some dinks left behind to fight their way through, but the bastards actually did it -- they pulled the NVA off the Group's trail, watching them hit the cut over, mostly flat dry grass, some patches of vegetation here and there, but for the better part of 200 meters it was wide open.

"There they are!" Carver pointed them out, the two men barely visible at the distance they'd covered now, having cleared the small patch of jungle near the river bed, turning and firing back at their pursuers to keep them hot on the trail, weaving as they ran.

"Look at them crazy sons of bitches run." Evers chuckled a bit as he spoke up.

"That guy's somthin' else, man. You see how he hit that jungle? Like there wasn't a fuckin' thing in front of him." Brooke spoke up in reference to Burton, the members of his squad just nodding a bit, they were the only ones that seemed to have confidence in his and Walker's survival, the group of men coming out of hiding and starting to hump it through the jungle, getting into a few light engagements, but nothing they couldn't handle.

Burton and Walker both panted, their backs to a pair of trees about 10 meters apart, hearing the flood of men sweeping the jungle after them, their shouts slowly encroaching on their position, the patch of deforested jungle about 400 meters away now, No less than 15 NVA on their ass at this point.

Walker hunched down and reached into a pocket on his vest, digging out a piece of fishing line from a survival kit, Burton keeping watch, already knowing what he was going to do with it, knocking on the tree trunk when someone was looking, prompting Walker to stop moving without words.

The Private pulled a frag from it's pouch, wrapping the fishing line around the spoon and the grenade body, lashing it to a stick he'd forced into the earth.

He silently tossed the rest of the fishing line to Burton whom began to do the same, wrapping one of his own frags crouching down smoothly, keeping the line taut, wrapping it around his tree rather than a twig as stealthily as he can, tying it in place.

The idea was when Walker's grenade was pulled off of it's stick, the line would go slack, popping the spoon from his grenade, which would then activate Burton's...It'd worked once before in lieu of a Claymore, anyway.

Once.

Walker looked at Burton, nodding slowly and then turning his full attention to the grenade, exhaling very carefully and began to coax the pin from the grenade, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he inched it out bit by bit, the pin came free.....and.....nothing, he sighed with relief his lips pursed as he exhales.

Burton traded watch with Walker, undergoing the task of pulling his own pin, the spoon tied to the side of the grenade with only two coils of fishing line, holding his breath as he carefully jimmies it out, a small click sounding from his grenade, sending a cold tingle through his body...then.......... nothing.

He trembled a bit, sighing shakily and then giving Walker a jittery thumbs up, his eyes wide like he'd seen a ghost, Walker returning the thumbs up. Their trap had been set.


Burton stood up. Carefully. Avoiding the M67 suspended by his leg and nodded to the Pvt. holding up his hand and counting down from 5 with his fingers.

Five.
Four.

Three.


Two...



One.

Once he reached zero the two men leaned around their trees and fired, five shots barking from the M-14 into a group of NVA, clustering together seeming like they were having a discussion about where the G.I.'s had gone to, the rounds meeting three of the four men, killing two, the other falling flat and screaming in pain, The M-16 spewing about 11 or 12 rounds, scoring a headshot on one NVA and wounding another enough to take him out of the chase.

Return fire immediately lit up the patch of jungle, impacts whizzing by and tearing through the brush near them, both men taking the first chance to run, the NVA chattered to one another, their voices echoing through the jungle as they moved after the two Americans, firing wildly as Walker looked over his shoulder as he ran, a group heading right for the pair of trees the Men had booby-trapped.

One soldier traipsing right through the middle of them.

The Pair of grenades went off, one and then the other, just as the trap was supposed to, they couldn't tell how many they'd gotten, though; but it had definitely scared the NVA enough to slow down their chase, just a little.

This allowed the two men to gain more distance.

Of course, if they'd never stopped they could have probably lost the Dinks to begin with, but they were more interested in killing as many of them as they could before they resorted to that.

However, they both knew if they pushed their luck too much longer the NVA would start playing this game back, and they had the home-field advantage.

The pair of men ran until their lungs burned and their legs felt like they weighed 90 pounds each.

The sun was hanging low in the sky now, dying it a reddish pink.

Losing the NVA in the dark would be a cake walk.

Walker was having trouble keeping up now though, heaving air in and out of his lungs, stumbling over a tree root and nearly falling flat on his face.

Wheezing a bit as he stops by a huge tree and hangs his head. "Hah...hahh.....Motha....fucka...Sarrent.....You...." He stopped to pant, cutting himself off, holding his hand up and shaking it like an old black baptist priest from the Bayou.

"You ain't fuckin' human....how in the honey dipped sheit can you run so fuckin' long...."

Burton was winded too of course, his chest rising and falling heavily, sweat running off his face, staining his flak vest even more than before; but he could have kept going, at least for a little while more, his back leaning against the tree, smiling a bit at his companion.

"I had practice...Grandmother was a 100% true born bear clan Huron Indian...She an' my dad taught me how to hunt with a bow...and run through th' woods up there in Canada."

Walker keeps panting, wiping his mouth and spitting, starting to catch his breath a bit. "Well I'll be fuckin' damned....Ain't no wonder you like a fuckin' spook ow'chea." A wide grin crossing his face as he looked up at the Sgt. His hands on his knees, M-16 held by the carry handle, sweat streaming off his face and dripping onto the earth by his boots.

"...And I was a nationals track champion back in high school....six seconds from a four minute mile." Burton added a bit as if it were an afterthought.

"Got Damn Sarrent...Why you out here in this piece o' shit place then? You coulda done somethin' better. right?" Walker calmed his breathing down considerably now, asking 'the' question to his CO.

"...No reason. I came into the Army because my grandfather did it, my dad, My uncle. Just seemed like it made fuckin' sense to carry on tradition. Now I see it ain't for shit. But I'm stayin' here to help as many of you wild eyed shit stains get back to the real world as I can." the Sgt spoke semi-flatly as if he'd rehearsed this one.

"You doin' a damn good job of it too. I'd a been all kinds a chopped up if I was still with that racist asshole in 4th Platoon." He nods a bit, slapping the Sgt on his shoulder gratefully.

"'Preciate it, Walker." Burton nodded a bit, his companion waving his hand at the Sgt's words.

"Aw cut it with the 'Walker' shiet. name's Marlin. Y'call me that when it works." With that he stuck his hand out, A big grin on his face.

Burton knew his first name already, but didn't use it for the sake of avoiding complacency...but in a situation like this. Marlin would be just fine, Meeting his handshake.

"Sam." Burton replies, the two acting like they'd just met each other for the first time.

"Sam Burton. Sound like some news anchor name or summin' I'da stuck you for a 'MICHAEL' or summin'" Walker laughed a bit, the two starting to walk again, their eyes peeled but talking lowly as they move through the jungle.

They talked the whole time, telling stories, talking about work, their family, women back home waiting for them.

"Yeahhh, that's 'm Wanda. She can't read too good but boooooy she can fry up a catfish I tell you what. Ain't a damn thing like it in the world. Put some collard greens on there with some fried okra n' some mashed p'tatas and corn bread. WooOOOooo boy! I'm fuckin' gettin' starvin' thikin' 'bout it." Walker laughed a bit, animated at the thought of home, the man practically bled Louisiana.

Burton handed him back the picture of the slim, but well endowed southern black lady, her hair was done up nice with a pretty pink dress on and a white hair band in, smiling widely at the camera.

The talk made the Sgt Smile, putting him in a place mentally he'd totally forgotten about.

"How bout you Sarrent. You got yourself a lady?"

The Sgt stops talking and thinks for a minute, then shakes his head.

"Nah. Had one but she was the peace and love type. Dropped me like I was a hot potato when I said I was comin' out here. I got a more important one though."

The two laugh at his words, Walker asking some more questions.

"Damn~ You a playa too? Well don't leave me out in' the fuckin' breeze man how this other one look? I know you white boys all pick some fine chick-a-dee's out there. Betcha up north they look reallll nice."

Burton takes a minute, pulling his helmet off, letting his hair breathe for the first time since today started, pulling a Polaroid out of the inside of his helmet liner, reaching across the distance and handing it to the Pvt.

Both stopping as he crouches down, turning on his light and looking at the picture for just a second.

The girl in the picture was smiling a bit, but in a pouty way like the picture was taken by surprise, wearing a black and white polka-dot dress.

Dirty blonde hair in a ponytail with a black ribbon, a bit of freckles on her cute little nose, deep green eyes.

She was young.

Real young.

She looked like she was wasn't even a pre-teen, no more than 8.

A bit of text was written on the back of the Polaroid. "For Daddy <3" in clean, girlish writing.

Walker stood back up, realizing he made a mistake in assuming, nodding with a small smile.

"Aw.. She a beautiful daughter Sarrent. Sorry I talk'd 'bout her like that... That's the most important kinda lady to have waiting back home. Mmmmhm."

"Yeah that's my Rachel... She's why I didn't pursue my running...Had her in my Senior year in High-school. Her mom was too ashamed about havin' a kid at 17 and dropped off the face of the earth; her and her parents moved and left the baby with me...But anyway she's a great kid. Straight A student. Poor thing cried all day when I left..." He stopped to smile a bit.

"Took my mom and dad 3 hours to make her come out of her bedroom to say goodbye to me before I left on the bus. I write to 'er every day. Ain't no way I'm going to miss coming back for her." Burton spoke, taking the picture back and carefully putting it back in it's place.

"Damn right. She oughta be real proud t'have a daddy like you, sheit, I know I would. Mine left my Momma when my brother was born. I barely remember that motha fucka." Walker put his thoughts out there, the last part of his sentence sounding like he was about to start spitting venom at the man that left his family behind.

The subject adjusting a bit as he speaks his mind. "But if you got a baby like that why you risking yo ass out chere?"

"Well...I couldn't find any good work to support her. I wasn't about to make my parents help me raise a kid when they already did 4 of their own. Figured sticking with the military and riding the G.I. Bill while I do some internal work on base after this shit blows over would work out for us." Burton spoke thoughtfully, stepping over a log in his path, the moon shining through the trees on the men now a little more, the trees thinning out just a bit.

"Dayum so you gonna be a lifer then? Stayin' in even after you do your tours and all that? Move up the chain and all that shiet?" Walker seemed a bit surprised, as if it was one of the first times he'd heard anyone have this kind of idea.

"Yeah. That's the plan anyways." The Sgt sighed a bit, cracking his neck.

He knew the plan was stupid to someone that wanted nothing to do with the military beyond their tour, but if he climbed the chain of command he could give his daughter some kind of security as a single dad, and he wouldn't need to rely on anyone else for it.

Sighing a bit and starting to hum a Clarence Carter's slip away under his breath, Walker recognizing it nearly instantly. "Sheiit Sarrent you listen to Clarence Carter too? I knew I liked ya." Walker began to sing, surprisingly well, in fact.

"What would I giiiiiveee for just a few mooooments....What would I GiiIiiIIvvve just to have you neaaaarr~" Burton chiming in, singing the song with his Private, surprisingly well himself.

"Tell me you would tryyy. To slip away somehowwwww Oohh I need you darling~ I want to see you right now~" Both men singing together now.

"Can ya slip away. Slip awayyy. Slip awayyayyyyayyyyyy oh I need you so~" Both laughing and then quieting down again realizing they'd been making too much noise in the jungle, the smiles fading off their faces as they quietly put their minds back to the job at hand; making their way back to the town.


"Carver! Check this shit out man!" Brooke called across the town's street from the Community Center, the Corporal sitting on a crate down by the machine gunner nest they'd cleared out that afternoon.

Carver stood up and started making his way over, the thought of Burton and Walker out in the jungle alone was weighing on his mind.

A bunch more guys from 3rd Platoon had been flown in to help set up the town a bit more, building it up into a small base camp. Ellie was at his side in her human form now, She usually stayed a rifle, but as it was relatively quiet she didn't mind coming out to walk around on her own, but she never left Carver.

She wore a pair of jungle fatigues, standing at about 5'6", breasts a larger B cup, contained neatly in her uniform. Her hair was a champagne golden blonde, done up in a folded ponytail, the small loop at the back of her head ending in the ends of her hair splaying out like the tail of a bird just over the small elastic band that held her hair up, her eyes were sky blue with small flecks of brown toward the pupil, she had a light scar on the right side of her chin, as reflected in her rifle form, a small gouge was in the corresponding area forward of the magwell just below the Delta Ring.

As with many of the the M-16 geists, as few and far between as they were; none of them looked exactly the same, but they all looked like they could be sisters at the very least.

Several of the men were looking at her, some suggestively, some with contempt; her kind had probably failed their buddies and gotten them hurt or killed...She'd learned to look past it and try and focus on her owner's safety though, not paying them any mind.

Carver walked past the huge cache of weapons piled in the middle of the town now the G.I. were set to destroy, all of which having been checked for geists prior.

As little as they were liked; waffengeists were an asset, friendly weapon or not and it was always an operational priority to take weapons with geists in to base to be evaluated and stored.

Many of them ended up in a giant armory somewhere.

Some of the captured geists, if they were lucky, would end up as troop familiarization weapons and would be taken care of by an armorer somewhere.

Brooke and Guerrera had been exploring the community center, almost all of the civilians in the town had been evacuated in the time it took the men to return from the jungle.

Brooke waved Carver over, going back behind the stage, Guerrera was nowhere to be found, suddenly speaking up "... this isn't even half of em...." His Spanish accent was kind of heavy, but he was very easily understood, his hair slicked back as usual wearing no helmet....as usual.

He put a pile of maps about eight inches thick down on the ground from a hidden compartment that went down below the stage and underground, the six foot one Mexican while standing straight upright had to reach up over his head to put them down on the floor of the community center.

Scaring Carver half to death as he did it, Ellie immediately running to his side when she heard him scream.

"Je-SUS fucking CHRIST!" Carver lifted a leg as he shouted like a housewife that had seen a mouse.

"Ah fuck you, ese. I ain't no gook eh?" Guerrera cursed, turning a flashlight he'd apparently replaced his old one with back into the hole and spoke again. "There's shit tons of stuff down here..."

Carver in his curiosity dropped down into the hole with Guerrera, turning his own light on and started to look around.

There was a massive radio setup down below, Vietnamese chatter coming in over the air through a pair of headphones, inaudible from outside the pit, but loud enough to hear while standing beside it.

It was a Soviet radio system; Stacks upon stacks of broadcasting bases, microphones, headphones, spare tubes and tools to install them laying nearby.

A crate of fresh AK's still in cosmoline was in the corner along with a pair of RPG-7's and a couple of boxes of spare warheads. There were all sorts of communication log and maps, circles all over them, marking NVA forward operating posts and supply villages they were involved with within a radius of about 10KM from the town's location.

Looking around Carver found there were charges of some sort of explosive set up all over the underground bunker ready to go at a seconds notice; that apparently failed to detonate, or weren't activated at all, the gooks maybe banking on the American's failing to find the nest, intending to return once they moved on.

"Dun worry I pulled the caps from 'em" Guerra said, holding up a handful of the small blasting caps belonging to all of the shaped charges.

The only question on Carver's mind was why the fighting force was so light if this was such an important base...

Then it occurred to him.

They had hit the NVA while they were out on patrol.

It's why Delta team got so royally fucked.

They were trying to get back to the town to stop the G.I's only to find out more were inside... which they used to bide their time in the jungle to mass up.

They chased Burton and Walker so hard because they didn't want them to escape with information on the base that they didn't even know existed.

They wanted to kill them for finding it.


The four of them were looking at an NVA communications outpost.

And if it wasn't destroyed it meant the NVA were going to come back and make sure it got that way.

And that nobody survived.

A pit was growing in Carver's stomach as the expression of "Oh shit" began to cross his face, the other 3 starting to understand the gravity of the situation brought around by the room they were all now standing in, until the the screams of a G.I. filled the air from the street, pulling them all back to the gut wrenching reality.

"CONTACT! CONTACT! WE GOT FUCKING CONTACT FUCKING EVERYWHERE! THEY'RE FUCKING SURROUNDING US!"

Gunfire erupted like a 4th of July fireworks show.

Burton and Walker could hear the fire light up the air, they could even see the tracers; the sounds of the claymores detonating, the grenades...the screams.

The sense of urgency to get back now larger than ever as they both kicked it into high gear, running faster than they ever had running from the NVA.

There was something about this battle felt worse than all of the others the two men had been in prior, but Burton was practically breathing fire as he sprinted.

The sounds of his breathing all he could hear over his ghost-like footfalls, the M-14 in his hands rattling against the gear on his chest, pushing his body to it's absolute limit.

Walker could barely see the SGT the way he was running, let alone keep up the way he was moving, slipping past branches, leaping over undergrowth he couldn't even see.

The man was a fucking wild cat, and he wasn't going to slow down.

His boys were in trouble.

"GET THOSE FUCKING SIXTIES UP HERE! WE NEED SOME FUCKING SUPPRESS--" The LT screaming orders from 3rd Platoon was instantly cut off, a loud whistle screaming through the air followed by a wet 'acghk' coming from him as he collapsed like all of the bones were taken from his body. "SNIPER! SNIPER! GET DOW--" another man dropped, sliding across the road from the stride he was in, all hell was breaking loose, nobody could tell or see anything, only the cracks and barks of incoming fire and the laser like tracers that followed.

"Left! 9 'o'clock! ...By the barbed wire!" Ellie called out targets to Carver as he fired, turning her to face the directions she called out, gunning down an NVA setting up a Mortar about 200m away, the moonlight just barely enough to light him up. Carver kept her sights trained on it as he kept firing. Another NVA...then a few more. Then five more, then six more on top of that.

Then deep thumps sounded, light from the enemy going up bleaching the town with it's sickly greenish yellow glow, Carver's eyes widening as he took it in.

There were hundreds of them.

Coming from everywhere, the scream of their charge sounding like the gates of Hell opening as they began their death sprint into the city, whistles blowing over the roar of men screaming.

"BLOWING CLAYMORES!" A soldier screamed, the flashes of light illuminated the outskirts of the town as he banged on the switches three times each, going down a line of four, the "THMP" of an M-79 sounded between the detonations of the claymores, a blast going off about 150 meters away, sending a bundle of the skinny little fucks flying.

Carver ducked and covered his head as a burst of fire blew away the building near his head, Ellie screaming "LOOK OUT!" as an NVA ran toward him with a PPSH-41, firing wildly from the hip, screaming like a man possessed.

His gunfire and voice stopping short by the bark of Guerrera's shotgun sounding as the skinny Asian damn near flipped, sliding on his back as if he'd gotten clothes-lined by Muhammad Ali.

"ÓRALE!!! YOU SEE THAT LITTLE FUCKER FLY!? AHAHAHA!" Guerrera screamed with glee, pumping his shotgun and turning, blasting again at another, clipping him and making him twist with the shotgun blast.

The Mexican turned, shucking the action of the Model 12 and met another screaming NVA with it, sticking him with the bayonet at the end of the shotgun using his superior reach over the short Vietnamese, blasting him with the shotgun while he was stuck to the bayonet, booting him off with another laugh.

"Me cago en todo lo que se menea! Suck my cock you little fucking Gooks!" Another shotgun blast filling the air as a pair of NVA eat it, dropping with just the one shell; wounded, as he draws his pistol, capping them both in the head with it twice. "Guerrera get out of there god dammit!" Carver screamed doing his best to keep his friendly covered in his blood lust, but it was too late; a bullet smacked Guerrera in the knee dropping him into a kneel as he raises his shotgun to fire again, getting speared in the neck by an SKS's bayonet, the blade going through one side and out the other.

Carver screamed in anguish at the sight and fired, stopping the NVA from stabbing him again as Guerrera drops to his back. Carver ran out to him and dragging him into a building as best he could, trying to do something...anything...but he was gone already, the light in Guerrera's eyes was gone, Ellie screaming bringing Carver back to reality as he reloads her quickly, running deeper into the town, finding it was hard to see...

Tears were running down his face as he ran, his breathing erratic.

He slammed into a building in his fit, the impact ringing his ears as he went down...looking up and putting his now cracked glasses back on his face....it was no building he'd hit...It was his SGT.

Burton instantly grabbed Carver and forced him to his feet, screaming over the fire.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON, CARVER!?"

"S-SIR! WE FOUND A COMMUNICATIONS DEPOT IN THE COMMUNITY BUILDING! IT HAD MAPS...TONS OF FUCKING MAPS! THEY'RE COMING TO GET RID OF THEM SIR! THEY GOT GUERRERA! I COULDN'T...I COULDN'T SAVE..." He reported loudly, partially because of the gunfire, partially because he himself had gone death from Ellie and the explosives.

But mostly from the pain in his heart at the sight of losing a friend.

The flares had finally started fizzling out, Burton immediately starting to scream commands, Carver slowly gaining his sense of duty again.

His head getting right now that Burton was back, the sensation he'd get out of all this and make it home if he listened to whatever Burton said starting to fill him from the inside.

"GET THOSE FUCKING GUNS SET UP ON THIS FUCKING PERIMETER NOW; WHAT IN THE NAME OF DOGFUCK ARE YOU DOING! MEN ARE DYING YOU STUPID FUCKING ASSHOLES! YOU THREE GET THOSE 79's AT THE NORTH AND EAST WE NEED TO STEM THEIR FIRE FROM THE JUNGLE! FINNY! FINNY GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

Burton snatched the handset off the operator's back taking the hand piece. "THIS IS ALPHA ONE ACTUAL; I'VE GOT HOT CONTACT; HOT CONTACT REQUEST IMMEDIATE CLOSE AIR SUPPORT; BRAVO ROMEO 945374, DANGER CLOSE; SAY AGAIN BRAVO ROMEO 945374, DANGER CLOSE."

Burton ducked down as a small burst of gunfire zipped by him, Carver and Finny following, lying prone behind a row of sandbags 3rd Platoon had set up, a voice crackling through the headset from the control tower.

"Rrrrroger that...putting you on with Snake 13 he's a way out give him some time, Alpha One."

Burton growled a bit hoisting his M-14 Up And fired a burst in full auto over the sandbag he was ducking behind, a different voice coming through the Prick-25 about 5 minutes later.

"Alpha One, Alpha One. This is Snake 13 on Fox Mike How read?"

Burton grabbed the handset in a rush, and spoke into the handset as clearly as he could

"Snake 13 this is Alpha one; You're loud and clear Pops; I got Dinks barreling over our asses all over the fucking place out here we're getting hammered hard as fuck from the north side. We're spread thin Unknown KIA's unknown Wounded! Think you can drop some napalm on these fucking zipper heads and give us some light?"

"That's a roger, Alpha one. I've got a nice tank of the hot shit for them. You got panels out?"

"Negative. Negative. No panels. Spot green flare. Green flare. North side incoming" Burton fishes through his pack pulling a flare gun and loading it, aiming it up and firing, sending a green flare up for the incoming F-4.

"Roger that I have green. Here comes the heat."

Burton peered over the sandbags as the F-4 Phantom screamed past overhead at 500 feet, it's engines roaring like an angry God at the uniformed heathens below, dropping its payload of napalm, the brilliant orange of the fire making an enormous wall, growing as it extended in a rolling wave of fire, the white smoke from the ignition hanging lazily in the air over it, the bursts of the atmosphere filling the air and radiating light like a sun all to it's own.

Heat and the stink of gasoline and laundry detergent wafting over the Americans as the gun fire picked up again, using the light from the napalm strike to get some more work done, the M-60's lighting up, NVA stumbling all over the fields, their skin ablaze.

The jungle was burning brightly in the night, smoke rising like a tower in the clear moonlit sky, Burton keying the headset on, incoming fire starting to pour in now that the show of the Napalm was over, using the light to their advantage as well to push an attack further.

"Beautiful work Snake 13 It's a fucking Bar Be Que. Can I get stat--" Burton spoke into the mic, Carver screaming his name then firing, a mechanical screech deafening him from the handset, blending with AK fire next to his head, looking up, his ears ringing like Church bells in his head; as if the entire world had just been put on mute.

His eyes landing right on an NVA standing over his cover -- there had been two, but Carver dropped one, saving Burton but...Finny was gone -- A string of bullets had torn through his head, neck and the radio, Burton grabbing the hot AK barrel and yanking his pistol from it's holster, pressing it against the NVA's unarmored forehead and giving him two pills from the 1911.

That dull whistle from before sounded suddenly as an impact slams Burton square in the chest, knocking him flat on his back, pain shooting through his frame as he smacked the back of his helmeted head against the concrete, his helmet tumbling off.

That sniper was still out there...watching.

Carver screamed a "SERGEANT!" and ran over to him along with another man from 3rd Platoon, dragging the Sgt into the relative safety of a building, the other G.I. grabbing his M-14 in his free hand.

"Burton! Sgt Burton! Are you Good!? Where are you hit!?" Carver shook him, the sound of his voice was muffled at first, human speech barely audible over the ringing in his ears.

Slowly starting to form from a language of charlie brown adults into a language he could understand as his body re-activated itself.

Burton choked, sitting up grabbing his chest, hacking air out of his lungs like a Tuberculosis patient.

Not a natural cough.

The deep seeded, whooping, wheezing kind, spitting out a mouthful of blood, presumably from biting his tongue on the way down.

He pulled his flak jacket open and grabbed his bayonet, yanking it from it's sheathe, cutting into his shirt. It wasn't much longer before he was cutting into his own skin, growling as he did it, blood staining the hole in his shirt the knife was inside of, starting to run down the blade.

He dropped the bayonet and fished in with his fingertips, pulling out a flattened rifle bullet dripping in blood and dropped it on the floor of the the shop they ducked into.

Whatever the fuck happened with that bullet.

He was lucky, it hit his armor and barely got stuck in his skin. It had felt like he got hit with a sledge hammer...out the window of a Mack truck going 90.

Then he looked at his M-14.

There was a hole in the stock about 4 inches from the butt plate toward the underside just slightly near the sling swivel.

He could have sworn he had it muzzle up, not down...but he didn't have time to analyze it.

She would still shoot and the damage was cosmetic at best, her function was all in order; and that was what mattered the most.

With a grunt Burton rights himself, getting his Flak Vest all squared away, standing up and checking the M-14 over again with his light, just to make sure.

It was a totally clean through and through.

The wood splintered a little on the exit, but apart from that it was as if nothing happened; this was why he didn't upgrade to the M-16, the fiberlite stock would have easily shattered from the impact.

Also because the primary operating mechanism was back there, it ran the risk of getting disabled from damage in the same area.

Sure the M-14 was heavier and a bit more unwieldy than the the modern 'space gun' as some of the men called them when they were new.

But the M-14--to him, anyway.

Did better in this environment, barring of course being sure to take extra care in covering the open topped action when going through some mud or a body of water, but that was easy enough.

And when he shot it into the jungle the small slim pieces of brush couldn't divert the path of the 7.62 projectile like it did to the light 55 grain 5.56...And then came the case of reliability.

Sure, the M-16 could be made to work just fine, and often did.

But it required too much maintenance, sometimes more than what a man could provide it in the field, and with engagements like this one it was only a matter of time before they started to get gummed up from lack of care with the constant engagements on full auto.


"Sir... Where's Walker?" Carver asked, realizing he hadn't seen him since the fighting started, Burton barely hearing him over his screaming eardrums.

"Uh...I Uh..." he shakes his head, trying to get used to the sound of his voice from his muted ears. "I put him on the east side...I can't have all the best men on the north, eventually they'll get smart and start looping around us...Have we got another radio?" He formed coherent sentences finally, looking at Carver, waiting for his answer.

"S-Sir. I don't know sir." Carver replies, Ellie speaking up. "I saw a black fella in 3rd platoon with one on, sir. I don't know where he is now."

Burton stops a second, hearing the female voice then realizing where it was coming from, shaking his head still in a daze.

"Carver. You think you and your Rifle can go find that Prick-25. If that radio's gone we're fucked until morning...and it's only 10pm." Burton speaks authoritatively, checking the watch on his wrist.

Carver nods, standing up as the Sergeant got to his feet, shakily, but he was steady in mere seconds, walking out onto the street, past bullet impacts, acting like he'd totally been taken out of a life threatening situation and picked up his helmet.

He glanced inside to make sure the photo was still there -- It was.

He put the helmet on and moved to a nearby machine gunning team, his motions were slow and a lot less deliberate than usual, but he was alive, he probably just needed time to get it together.

"You think he's okay?" Ellie spoke to Caver as he darted through the town, looking for the radio operator from 3rd Platoon, his voice was slightly disrupted due to his running, fading in and out through the heavy breathing and the motion of his body bouncing.

"Yeah...He's too tough for that to stop him, I think. Looking at the way he went down his ribs are probably shot..."

The fighting was dying down a bit now as the NVA fell back, starting to regroup, giving the Americans time to get their shit together too, a group starting to dole out the Weapons from the NVA cache around the town, the LMG's mostly--and the ammo that corresponded.

Someone was going around with a box of F-1 grenades, every G.I. He passed taking one or two, someone else doing the same thing with the store of 5.56 and 7.62 NATO ammo taken off the dead, another pair handing out ammo from the supply crates that came in with 3rd platoon when they dropped in.

The supplies were getting extremely low apart from that.

"This whole situation is FUBAR..." Carver mumbled, shaking his head some, Ellie responding. "Yeah...this is bad...what the hell is going on at command..." Carver sighed a bit, shaking off the defeatist mentality, hearing Ellie shout "There!" and stopped.

There he was; laying on his back in the building with the wounded, his leg was broken and he had a gunshot wound on his hip...He'd fallen off a roof after that sniper hit him, but he was still conscious and complaining.

Carver jogged over to him, crouching down, speaking to man as he groaned in pain.

"Does your radio still work?" Carver spoke, getting an angry response. "Fuck if I know, honkey can't you fuckin' tell I'm fucked up, shit."

Carver had had just about enough of this fucking race bullshit from everyone, grabbing the radio operator by the straps, screaming at him.

"DOES IT FUCKING WORK OR NOT YOU STUPID FUCK?" The rage coming from the glasses donned man surprising the wounded man enough to make him go totally silent.

Carver curses under his breath, grabbing the handset and listening to it, keying it in and checking...it seemed to be, but no transmissions were coming in.

The SGT would know better if it was functional.

He started to pull the radio off the wounded man, putting it on himself and then headed out of the building without looking back.

A familiar and much missed voice reaches Carver's ears as he runs by, talking to him as Walker jogs up beside him.

"Hey! Carva! I heard Sam--I-I mean Sarrent got shot...He alright?" Walker's voice seem stemmed with worry, news about wounded higher ups circulating pretty quickly given the current amount of men present.

"Yeah he's alright...Got the wind knocked out of him I think." Carver replied reassuringly, Walker immediately letting out a long sigh of relief.

"Sheeew....fuckin' had me worryin' ova here...Tell 'im we're all set up and good on the East...we cut the fucka's up real good when they tried pushin' out of the jungle."

Carver nods, jogging off to Burton with the radio on his back happy Walker was okay, Walker turned and went back the other way, helping someone carry a box of ammo by grabbing the handle on the side opposite them.

The thought crossed Carver's mind that he was happy he didn't have to carry this damn thing outside of current circumstances, the way the antenna stuck out and gave him the definite shape in the dark of someone important made him nervous, really nervous.

Carver sighed a bit, squeezing Ellie a bit tighter, speeding up his jog, running past a pair of G.I. trying to carry a dead countryman to a more comfortable resting place, stripping the ammo off of him once they get him there... They were getting ready for another attack, and if it was like the first, they wouldn't make it, not through this one...

Then the thumps started again from out in the jungle.

Carver braced his eyes for a flare...then he heard the whistling, screaming along with the 10 or 11 other voices at the same time "MORTAR! MORTARRRR! GET DOWN!" The explosion went off, destroying the roof top of the building directly next to Carver, showering him in rubble and dust, another impact slamming down, agonized screaming filling the air between the whistles.

Carver ran.

He ran as hard as he could, a mortar striking down on the ground where he had been only seconds before, the detonation of the ordinance sending him flying...he was out of the kill zone but the shock of being literally slung into the air racked his body as he tumbled to his back, sliding a bit, clutching Ellie close as he rolled along the ground, shedding momentum, Ellie screaming "ARE YOU OKAY!? FUCK! PLEASE BE OKAY!" She was panicked, she couldn't see what happened to her owner.

Carver choked as he responded, reassuring her "...yeah...I'm fine Ell's." Grunting a bit as he stood up, his leg hurt. Bad. He looked down, a bit of shrapnel stuck in his calf, blood running down his pant leg and into his boot.

He hissed a bit as he limped his way into cover from the mortars still dropping.

He bit down on his sleeve as he grabbed the sizable chunk of metal and pulled it out, screaming into the cloth, opening up his general bandage kit and wrapping his leg with it to slow the bleeding down a bit.

He could still move but it was miserable.

The mortar striking lasted for about 10 minutes, the constant explosions making the men hunker down, covering their heads...Anything could be going on outside.

They could be preparing for another assault, using the mortars for cover to get close...This was their final hold, and if there were much more NVA out there...they weren't going to make it.

The thought of losing Ellie and ending up in a torture camp somewhere crossed Carver's mind, shaking it out of his head when he realized he wasn't going to be taken prisoner.

If he was caught he'd probably be gunned down like a dog.

If any of us were being taken prisoner it was Burton.

As it was, he and only one other SGT on the east side were the only people with any commanding knowledge, and Burton was far better at it than that SGT Carver had only run into once or twice.

His name was Robertson or something...He knew what he was doing, but his commands were unclear, he seemed like he was unsure of what he was doing.

Burton could give commands and make you feel like you were some kind of demigod for pulling them off.

Even if it was something as simple as "Get me that radio."

Carver smiled a bit, feeling a little ridiculous, if he kept going on about his SGT like this he'd sure as hell be seen as some kind of faggot by the guys.

The dull blasts kept falling on the town, Carver hunkering down hoping everyone was okay, even though he knew a lot of them probably weren't.

The sounds of the pained screams he'd heard prior to being flung like a rag doll loomed in his mind as he held Ellie close, the Rifle switching to her human form quickly and starting to inspect his leg, concern all over her face as she does a better job of wrapping it, packing it with some gauze.

"This doesn't look good...it's really deep..." She fussed over his leg, wrapping it up with some bandages, the pressure on the gash felt better, like it was holding him together.

"Hey Ellie..." He spoke to her, grabbing her and pulling her over to him in a hug while she was in her human form, surprising her.

"I'm glad I met you. No matter what happens...I never thought you were bad luck." She gasped just a little bit, looking up at Carver, tears in her eyes, nodding.

"I-I'm glad I was issued to you, too..." They kissed deeply, just for a second, a fleeting moment of passion between two individuals stuck in a horrible situation, holding each other tightly, alone in the dark waiting for the mortars to stop falling.

Ellie slipped back into her rifle form when the explosions stopped, speaking out. "We should get this radio to the SGT before something else happens..."

"...Yeah." Carver stood up slowly, making his way out of the small hovel he'd dug himself into, cautiously exiting out onto the street as the soldiers that had taken cover all start to emerge from their cover, getting back to their firing positions in a flash.

It wasn't until Carver was halfway to Burton's location that he heard it.

That roar again...closer than the last one.

They HAD been using the mortars to push in.

The flares went up.

Burning like 3 suns in the sky, the NVA had massed and were giving one final push.

They were looking at the remnants of an entire company vs what was barely an entire Platoon's worth of men.

Their scream was earth shaking, the spray of bullets filling the air as they ran.

The battlefield lit up again, raging with a life all to it's own.

This one was more savage than the first attack.

Men were meeting each other with their bayonets, the screams from both sides blending together.

Carver could see Burton about 200 meters away, coming out of a culvert under the town's main street, bashing a bayonet charging Gook with his rifle and putting one right through his eye, he was back in fighting shape.

A few men came out behind him, Washington was right next him, spraying with his M-60 as he walked like some kind of action hero.

Washington cut down anyone that got close to the SGT as the group of 5 moved, getting back to their former positions, starting to open up with the MG's they had set up from the weapons cache, throwing grenades an M-79 barking again.

It was all out hell on earth...

Then gunshots sounded from the west, a hail of gunfire opening up from darkness, men climbing to their feet and started sprinting through the rice paddies into the loosely defended quadrant of the town.

The had slipped around....

No...

This was another company...

They looked fresh apart from the wetness on their uniforms.

They had called in fucking reinforcements.

The new company of NVA screaming their war cries as they fixed bayonets, charging into the town.

This was it.

It was over.

They were all going to die.

Carver froze in a panic, the NVA were overrunning them...then he heard it.

"FORM UP AND FALL BACK TO THE JUNGLE!"

Burton was screaming commands even over the rush of the attack and the gunfire, tuning out the near misses of the bullets and the suppression of the full auto, trying to get some form of sense out of the situation.

Everyone instantly began to do as he said, the survivors pooling in together, Carver started to fight his way toward the SGT, the 200m seeming like 2 miles.

He fought like a wild tiger to get to his brothers.

One NVA dead.

Two.

Three.

Four...

Bayonet....Reload....

Five...

Carver was fighting like his body was under the control of someone else, his muscles screaming to slow down, but he wasn't going to.

He screamed as loud as he could, fighting tooth and nail.

Burton dropped to a knee, seeing him coming through the wave of attackers, taking steady aimed shots as he receives covering fire, defending Carver as best as he can while the Corporal runs toward him.

Carver dropped his semi-loaded mag with a live round still in the chamber, slapping a fresh one in. He was almost there.

He was almost there.

Click.

A chill flooded his body from his neck down to his toes.

Ellie screamed.

He could barely hear her, she was choking.

The click was the only sound that was louder than the gun fighting.

He awkwardly worked her charging handle, trying to get her shooting again.

Click.

The bullet slammed into carver's chest like a linebacker...

It sent shock waves of pain through his core in ripples out from the impact zone, the feeling screamed through him as his brain registered what happened.

His world slowed to a halt as the air in his lungs was sucked from his body.

He tried to take another breath, but nothing worked...he dropped to his knees, tightening his grip on Ellie.

"NOOOOO! NOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" She screamed over her choking.

She had failed.

She Jammed.

The scream of an attacking Vietnamese jump started Carver's world again.

The bayonet stuck him through his heart, He cold feel the coolness of the steel inside his body, an almost comfortable, cold numbness starting to work it's way out from his chest to his extremities.

He turned his eyes up to the face behind the rifle, a young Soldier staring at him with his face contorted in rage...hate...did he deserve to die like this?

Carver let out the remains of the air in his lungs, resigning himself to his fate.

His breath the last sound he could hear, there was almost no pain anymore, his consciousness began to fade away as he closed his eyes peacefully, letting death take him without any struggle.

Blood started to run from Carver's mouth and down his chin, his attacker dropping dead as that M-14 sounded off, a piece of the Young Asian's skull ejecting itself from his forehead.

Burton shouted commands, moving the group of men to the fallen Corporal.

Ellie transformed into her human form right there on the battleground, a shaky whimper was all that could escape her lips as she appeared, crawling over to him and pulling Carver up into her lap.

Bullets were zipping across her face, past her head, smashing into the wall she was leaning against.

More bullets hit Carver's body, making Ellie turn her head to look away, the blood spurting from his corpse splattering on her cheek.

His blood spread on her fatigues from the sucking wound on his chest as she hugged him.

Tears were staining her cheeks, her eyes fixed wide open, pupils dilated.

"I...I...."

She tried to speak, squeezing him against her tighter, trembling pathetically.

She wanted to hear him say something.

Anything.

But he was gone.

She sat there, rocking his body back and forth in her lap, her breathing erratic and unstable.

"T....trusted...me.....tr....us..." She mumbled to herself, tears still streaming down her cheeks, eyes still unblinking.

A hand grabbed the back of her neck suddenly, jerking her up off the ground and onto her feet, the sting of a powerful slap following, hard enough to make her head turn with the impact.

"Cry Later."

Burton admonished her, his grip turning her into a rifle again by force, ducking into her sling, strapping her across his back.

'This fucking rifle. This stupid. Jamming. Fucking. Rifle.' Was all he could think.

He wanted to leave her there, leave her to rot there covered in the blood of her owner, stuck in that hell until she stopped functioning.

She killed a brilliant young man because he had trusted her to clean herself.

Burton growled angrily, shaking the rage off, this was no time to lose his cool, but he couldn't leave her here.

Geists were valuable.

He repeated it in his head a few times to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

...She was good about cleaning herself...really, but in the heat of the battles they'd had all that day she'd forgotten, she was dirty before they even saddled up in the Huey that afternoon...She forgot.

She forgot.

Burton plucked the radio off of Carver, and with a heavy heart; his glasses, pocketing them carefully with his dog tags.

The radio was gone.

It had gotten shot.

The had no hope but to flee into the jungle...even with the radio they wouldn't have had any way to stave off the attack.

"Fall back! Fall back to the Jungle!"

Burton issued the command, looking around.

But there was nobody.

OD green dressed corpses were surrounding him.

He was the only one left here.

He fixed his own bayonet, pausing suddenly, walking over to Washington's body, almost as if he were being protected by a god somewhere, no bullets hit Burton as he walked forward.

They screamed and whipped by him, hitting the ground and the bodies on the road, ricocheting up into the buildings.

Washington had gotten shot through the temple in the time it took the SGT to pick the radio up, Burton grabbed his dog tags and then slung up his M-14 with the bayonet still fixed and hoisted up the M-60 Washington had carried only moments prior.

He had failed to get his men home safe, there were more alive to the east, but a rage began to bubble in his stomach.

He was in control of it.

But it was getting more and more powerful with each dead face he looked at.

He took off, tucking and stumbling away from the gunfire coming his way, he wasn't as fast as usual, the wound and the weight of the machine gun was dragging him down, but he didn't stop for shit, obliterating anyone that stood in his way with the LMG.

The two rifles on his back clattered against each other as he sprinted making a constant 'clack clack clack clack' as if they were fist fighting each other there.

He was fighting outward, to the East side of the town, there were friendly muzzle reports coming from there still.

If he could link up...they'd have a chance to slip into the jungle.

Burton's breaths were heavy and tinny as he ran to the East side of town, the gunfire was beginning to die down as he got within range, cresting a building to find A single building on the eastern corner of town nice and fortified, nestled in beside three tall exotic trees, tight against a steep rock face, and the town wall.

There was a G.I. on the roof.

He would have been invisible had Burton not stopped moving completely to take in the shape of the building using the dim light from the still burning jungle and fields from the napalm strike.

If he just strolled right up out of the dark up to the side of their position he'd probably get hit with friendly fire.

And he'd be goddamned if that was going to take him out after all the bullshit he'd just gone through, letting out a whistle, sticking his helmet out from around his cover, ID-ing himself, another whistle coming back as he stepped out, putting the helmet back on, approaching the building.

"You boys reenacting the Alamo over here? Can I get in on this shit?"

He spoke up the side of the building, a familiar and much welcome face popping out over the edge of the roof from behind some sandbags.

"Sarrent! Fuckin' glad to see ya!" Walker smiled, his expressive face bearing some kind of hope that Burton being there would get them out of here. Like Carver.

"Good to see you too, Walker. How many you got up there?"

Burton replied, Walker responding near instantly "Four o' us." Just four...Was that was all that was really left?

A grimace crossed his face at the thought of it, a sense of failure washing over him as he spoke.

The thought of getting out of here was heavy enough considering the only two alternatives were running out to the North, or the South and hoping to god you made it.

The East side of the town was blocked off by a rocky ridge and the town's wall.

There was no way they could climb out over a 10 foot vertical incline, and going West was obviously out of the fucking question.

To the North there was the burning crops where the Napalm struck, It was open, but because it was burning they had a chance of getting out with relatively light resistance...but they could be seen.

To the south were more Rice paddies, which would slow them down.

And they couldn't be sure they wouldn't get cut off by that company that came in from the West.

They could decimate them if they tried to go out to the south with nowhere to go, they'd be pinched against that rock face.

"Come on down, we have to get out of here and get into the jungle. We'll hump it back to base if we have to."

Burton stood watch down on the ground, hearing the four G.I.'s moving from their posts, rounding up their shit and meeting him around the back of the building, Aside from Walker there was Robertson-the other SGT, And two PVT's he hadn't met before.

Burton weighed the options they had.

Walker looked him over, seeing the blood and dirt on his face and body. Burton looked like he'd been through hell.

And he had.

"Alright boys. We've got two options here...We can go south. It's dark, and there's a chance we can slip out, but there's rice paddies. They slow us down and they make noise. Or. We can head out North. Use the napalm strike to our advantage. They got thinned out and it's flat ground, we could tear ass out through the fields and hit the jungle without stopping. But the fire could give us away. Personally I'm going North with anyone that wants to come, and I don't give a shit if you don't."

Burton spoke his words flatly, almost as if he were uninterested.

"That's a fucking shit plan. Fuck that. I'm going South." Robertson spoke his opinion. It was an understandable one, he was nervous about the north and the light.

He also seemed older, and heading out north would require the ability to run for a long while to get out safe.

"I'm with ya, Sam." Walker spoke up, He never trusted Robertson. And he'd be goddamned if, after everything, he was going to leave Burton to go it alone with an M-60 and two rifles.

"Yeah, of course your dumb shit self would go to the North. Fuck you and your pet nigger, Burton. See you in hell." Robertson stood up and immediately started walking north, the two PVT's with him looking at each other, then Burton and Walker, Running off after Robertson as his retreating back faded into the darkness of the town.

"I guess we're it." Burton said, looking at Walker, his face was empty, as if a part of his soul had been sucked from his body, heading into the house they were set up in.

He came out a few moments later, pocketing a couple of grenades, a fresh belt for the M-60 around his neck.

Burton was different now.

The way he spoke was distant and cold, like his heart had been ripped from his chest.

He wasn't the man that was walking and talking through the woods 4 hours ago.

Walker noticed.

"...Sam...You okay...?" Walker spoke with concern, looking at his friend's face, his own face going slack when Burton replies.

"Carver's dead. They're all dead. Them too."

"T-Them too?" Walker responded, not getting what he meant as Burton checks the M-60 over, The PVT noticing blood running out from under Burton's vest, the sanguine fluid staining his belt, beginning to make it's way down his pant leg in it's slow creeping way.

A hush fell over the two men as Walker flinched, the sound of gunfire in mass echoed out from the South.

There was no return fire.

There was no chance anyone could have survived with the amount of AK muzzle reports that sounded.

Burton immediately stood up.

"Now's our chance."

Walker got up and followed, a cold realization crept over him. 'Them too....' he thought, realizing Burton intentionally made the South sound more appealing to create a distraction using his fellow servicemen.

He knew Walker would stay with him no matter what.

The Pvt's heart twisted in pain as he ran behind the man he thought was his friend.

The man that just sent friendlies to their death on purpose.

The man that said he was staying in 'Nam to get people like Walker out alive.

The father.

Burton was unraveling.

Walker couldn't help but fight back tears as he ran.

His friend was gone, this damn place had already killed Burton, and he wasn't even dead.

His friend would never do something like that...

The respect he had for Sam was set ablaze just like the fields.

But they ran forward together.

Into the fire.

The going was smooth for the initial first 30 seconds of running...they hadn't been spotted, leaping over burning corpses and pushing through the walls of fire brought on by the burning crops, embers and ash danced and swirled through the air as the moved, the heavy almost oily feel of the napalm still lingered in the air.

Then all hell broke loose again.

A Vietnamese voice started screaming in the distance, gunfire opening up on the two men as they ran, slowly at first, then began to pick up intensity to an almost unbearable amount as whistles sounded, they could hear the sound of footfalls coming their way blending with the gunfire, screams of the NVA moving to head them off at the end of the field, the burning crops providing just enough concealment for the men to avoid catching any of the bullets being thrown their way by the horde of enemy soldiers, they were getting swarmed.

Burton broke past a pair of enemies that had moved into the fields after them, tackling the first with his shoulder and sending his small frame flying, headbutting the second while controlling his SKS with his left hand, kicking him down, cutting into him with the M-60, turning and blowing the other away before he could scramble to his feet.

Walker couldn't even raise his rifle fast enough to help.

Burton was using his rage as a weapon, ripping and tearing anyone that dared to set foot in front of him, belting out howls of anger as he did it. Walker could only get a faint look into his eyes, glowing in the fire, their usual greyish blue totally encapsulated with his hatred for the enemy.

Another unfortunate NVA burst through the field, only to meet the muzzle of the M-60, jabbing in a spear-like motion directly into the center of his chest, the BARKBARKBARKBARK of the LMG bursting the Asian's chest open, leaving him spread eagle in the middle of the field.

Burton took off again, ducking and weaving as he ran.

He was a creature in it's element.

Walker grunted as he ducked down, moving to keep up, suddenly screaming in pain, tumbling to the ground, grabbing his leg. He was hit, a bullet had zipped through his right leg just above the knee.

Burton had disappeared into the field, Walker sighed deeply, closing his eyes, expecting the next thing he felt to be death, a low breath escaping his lungs.

He shook his head and lifted his rifle, he'd be fucked if he was giving up.

Laying on his back, he fought tenaciously.

Gunning down two NVA that ran in toward him, fighting them there.

Alone.

Another kill.

Wounded.

Another.

Immobile.

Yet another, he took them down, reloading as hastily as he could.

He was sure Burton had left him to die, the tears he was biting back making their way out of him as he lay there, lashing out at anyone that came near like a rattle snake, screaming viciously with rage and sadness.

He'd been abandoned.

A pair of large hands grabbed him up from behind, suddenly, eliciting a rage filled scream as he turned, trying to fight, not even seeing who it was before he was lifted up off the ground and onto a shoulder.

"Stop screaming. You'll scare them."

Burton spoke sternly, yet jestingly as he carried Walker fireman style, his 1911 in his left hand, using it to defend himself as he drug onward, bearing all of Walker's weight.

"S..Sam..y'came back..." Walker sniffed a bit, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

He was sure he'd been left to die there, the rage he'd seen in Burton's eyes only moments ago burned into his memory.

His mind was racing as the kind SGT he'd met was back, risking his own ass to drag him out.

"You ain't dead yet. Shoot that goddamn rifle."

"You got it, Sarrent."

Walker lifted his rifle one handed, bouncing awkwardly with Burton's footfalls, hanging over his shoulder, he could only defend his SGT's left side and flank as they moved together, the M-16 rattling off as the PVT blasted into a small group approaching rapidly about 30 meters away, pinning them enough to escape, The rifle screamed, sending pillars of dirt into the sky, the NVA falling down. He couldn't tell if he was hitting anyone.

All he knew was that he was going to shoot until he couldn't anymore.

Burton kept running.

He ran until he felt like he was going to collapse carrying the extra weight of another human on his back.

But he didn't.

He fought through the exhaustion.

They'd made it through the fields, slipping past the NVA, stopping at the edge of jungle, obscure by some overgrowth Burton put walker down carefully, heaving air in and out of his lungs, picking up the two rifles leaning against a nearby tree he'd stashed them beside, hiding them with some large leaves, slinging Ellie and his M-14 up.

He crouched down, tending to Walker's leg as best he could, applying a tourniquet, bandaging tightly, Walker growled, forcing himself to his feet, standing on the wounded leg.

He couldn't run, but he could limp.

He couldn't expect the SGT to carry his ass through the jungle.

And he wasn't going to make him.

He gritted his teeth, the SGT picking up the M-60 finding the Pvt forcing himself to stand on his one good leg.

"You sure you can walk, Marlin?"

"Ye, I'm sure as shit not lettin' you carry my ass all night..." He replied, reloading his rifle again. He was running low on ammo now.

The two moved through the jungle at the best pace allowed by Walker's situation. Blood was flowing out of him, he could feel it squishing against his toes inside his boot, like he'd stepped in a mud puddle, the sickening slosh inside the canvas jungle boots seeming more and more intense with each step, but he kept forcing himself to carry on. If it stayed quiet like this he would be fine, he could take it as long as he needed to...but it wasn't going to.

The whistles sounded again, the NVA rounding their forces up, shooting flares over the jungle canopy. They weren't going to let the two men escape.

Not knowing what they knew...or might know.

They were operating on the assumption they hadn't killed everyone that had seen the maps.

But neither of the men they were chasing had seen anything.

Neither of them, except for Ellie.

If the NVA captured her they'd be able to pry out just how much they'd found.

And where the American bases were in retaliation.

Burton hated her for what she'd done to Carver, but he knew she was an asset.

And he couldn't leave her behind to get pressed for information.

The NVA weren't above torturing a geist just the same as a human to get what they wanted, sure she was more resilient, but she'd break eventually.

All the geists they ever did torture had.

Burton started to move faster, hearing the Gooks surging into the jungle after them, it was go or die, and Walker couldn't run.

The SGT fell back, grabbing walker up under his arm, forcing him to pick up the pace, acting as a crutch for his wounded friend. He wasn't going to let him die here alone, not like the others. Walker groaned in pain as Burton forced him along, the M-60 in his left hand acting as a counter-weight.

Burton's body was reaching it's limits too.

Walker resisted.

"Sam...Jus leave me man...get out...I ain't gonna make it no how." He spoke lowly, he was losing blood too fast for it to be a normal flesh wound.

His femoral must have been nicked.

"Fuck that. You're coming with me." Burton responded, his words labored, his grip was weak on Walker's body. He was bleeding more than he should be from his wound he'd received earlier, he was pushing himself too far as well. He knew Walker wouldn't make it with the amount of blood he was losing, but he couldn't just give up. He'd lost himself to this fucking place, and he'd thought about leaving Walker behind for just a moment too long once he'd made it out of the fields. His mind was squirming with what he should do, the NVA screams and commands were getting louder and louder.

"You're not dying alone."

Burton growled, lowering Walker to the ground for a rest, taking a knee beside him, like a dog that refused to leave it's owner. He wasn't going to leave him and that was all there was to it.

"Don' do this to me man...just git..." Walker resisted again, shaking his head angrily, shoving Burton a bit.

"Go home to your baby...She needs her daddy." Walker added, his words holding weight, his usual smile crossing his face. Practically beaming at the SGT just like he always did, as if the hellish situation wasn't happening to them.

"I'm not going back to her as the coward that left you behind."

Burton inhales sharply, grabbing Walker up in his arms again, screaming as he did it, like an Olympic weight lifter surpassing his limit. Leaving the M-60 behind as he lifted the man in his arms in a supported carry, his lungs splitting with the sounds of a stressed and wounded beast, like an elephant locked in mortal combat with a pride of lions.

An elephant that was going to fight to it's last breath to do what it came to do, the SGT stumbled and grunted as he ran, struggling and clawing with Walker in his arms, refusing to stop and let him down. A wheeze was beginning to develop at the bottom of Burton's breaths.

He ran for what felt like an eternity.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Burton screamed again, his arms were beginning to fail him, his legs weren't listening to him anymore. His heart was beating faster than it ever had in his life, he could feel it through his whole body, the almost musical beat of it. His lungs felt like they were filling with blood, thousands of needles sticking into them with each inhale, like someone had lit them ablaze with each exhale.

He was killing himself.

Walker could only watch in amazement at his sheer will to do one last good thing, He could feel Sam getting weaker and weaker, he braced to hit the ground.

Burton fell.

The two men hit the ground, sliding and rolling in each their own agony, Burton was face down on the ground, his breaths like a jet engine sucking in air, his whole body was moving with each gasp, sweat was soaking him as if he'd jumped into a lake in his gear, the blood from his bullet wound having run it's way all the way down past his knee. The wheezes were stronger than ever before, as if he were having an asthma attack.

He tried to move...but he couldn't, his body denied him, his muscles felt as if he'd torn every single one of them.

Walker crawled over to Burton, pulling his canteen from his hip, helping him drink.

"'Ere Sarrent...you need this...drink..." Burton only growled in response, taking the water and drinking it all down, rolling over and staring up at the sky through the canopy, the NVA were still out there, searching, but he'd put enough distance between them to do get another break...

But another run like that and he'd give himself a heart attack.

Walker knew it and Burton knew it.

This was the end for one of them, but the one that was going to survive wasn't going to accept it.

Burton laid still for as long as he could bear it, his breathing close to normalizing, a gook voice suddenly splitting the silence. He was whispering, like he was talking to someone close by. Burton carefully and slowly moved, tugging his M-14 from his back and holding it in his hands, the bayonet still fixed firmly on the end. His moves were slow and careful as he got to his feet in a low kneel, hunched over, slipping into the underbrush. The NVA came into view for Walker, wandering into the trap. He raised his rifle, Walker's head in his sights.

Snick.

He didn't have time to scream, the bayoneted rifle shot up from waist height out of a bush like a spear, sticking the gook straight through the underside of his chin, pinning his jaw shut, the blade stuck deep into the roof of his mouth. A sick gurgle was all he could muster, flailing a little in misery, clinging to the barrel of the battle rifle. Burton grunted just a bit to shove the blade in deeper, pulling the dink down to his level once it was done, obscuring his corpse in the overgrowth.

Burton was stalking them now, carefully, his near soundless steps muffled by the ambient sounds of insects. He was going to systematically cut them off...or try to anyway, doing a damn good job of it for the next 10 minutes, ending up with three more bodies, all of them taken down with well placed stabs to the base of the neck where the skull connects, the Adam's apple, and the jugular notch-between the collarbones, respectively.

It was all going well.

Until a flare went up.

He was going for a kill, and was stuck in the upright position.

In the open.

Behind an officer.

Shouts immediately filled the air, Burton spearing the Officer with his Bayonet and ripping it free, a scream filling the air as gunfire broke out.

He turned, shooting a couple down before slipping down into the underbrush again, the crossfire serving to displace a few NVA. He couldn't get a count on how many there were, but there were far too many to fight alone just going off of the voices.

He had to get back to Walker.

He hadn't strayed too far off, but his friend was there, bleeding out and vulnerable.

He moved as a ghost, watching his footing, moving through the brush, back to the place he'd left Walker.

Walker was on the ground, his eyes closed.

He was breathing, and his heartbeat was still relatively strong, he'd likely just passed out.

Burton pulled him carefully into his grip as before, weaving through the jungle carefully.

The rest and the water had re-invigorated him, but he could only fight or run with how he was feeling right now, not both. He kept Walker close as they carefully navigated the jungle, stopping and lying still when the patrols would come near, another few flares going up, the whistles in the distance heading their way.

"Hey...Sam." Walker spoke softly, having woken up, a paleness to him now. "Just wancha to know I uh...I ain't get drafted t'come here...I got caught...hurtin' people...robbin' people...I been a piece a shit...judge said I could go ta jail or serve in the 'Nam...so I did...just sayin'...men like you got me into shape...y'all showed me I could do somethin' better n' just...be."

Walker nodded as he spoke, his body acting as if he'd been dropped from some humid tropical hellscape into an icy tundra somewhere the way he was shaking Burton looking him right in the eyes as he spoke.

"Quit with that death talk."

Burton replied in a whisper, ducking down when a branch would crack or the leaves would rustle, he could hear them moving around in the jungle.

The NVA weren't giving up the search.

"Naw...I mean it...I'm glad I met ya...really...you a good man, Sam...y'feel it in your heart when you lose someone. You ain't like a lot of them..." Walker kept talking quietly, Burton shaking his head as the words kept coming in.

He wasn't ready to lose another friend, not yet.

"I ain't shit, Marlin. You're the one that would run out there to save people, not me. I kille--"

"I don't wanna hear that sheit. Fuck Robertson. Mo'fucka deserved what he got, you ain't see all them boys that piece a shit got killed. It ain't that he's dead, n'them boys that went with him made their choice... I was scared for you, Sam... I ain't want you to lose yourself out here...You got someone that needs ya to come home with everything workin' upstairs...y'get me? ...You start doin' shit like that...and you may as well say you ain't never gonna leave here...I'll be god damned if I'm gonna let that happen to ya."

Walker spoke his mind, cutting Burton off, laying out his concern.

Before Burton could respond, Vietnamese screaming sounded, gunfire barking, the ground between them exploding into pillars of dirt, the staccato of AK fire peppering all over the pair of G.I.'s, narrowly missing both thanks to the overgrowth obscuring them reasonably well. Burton rolled to his side and covered his head, Walker barely moving now, not even really reacting to the gunfire. Burton transitioned to his back, aiming his M-14 down between his legs, firing back from the ground, the dull thud of a grenade landing on the ground beside him pulling his attention away from shooting.

He was about to react.

Do something...

Grab it.

Throw it back.

Something.

He hadn't even managed to complete the thought before Walker dropped himself directly on top of it, curling around the grenade without a sound, there would have been no time for Burton to even lay his hand on it before it burst.

The sight of his PVT....his friend...bouncing off the ground with the burst of the grenade burning itself into his mind, the muffled blast assaulting his ears. Burton shook his head in shock, his face drained of color as the realization flooded him what Walker had just done.

He scrambled over to what was left of Walker on the jungle floor...

His legs had been totally removed, his right arm garishly severed at the elbow, his left hand totally missing, his chest torn open. But he was still alive....barely. He hadn't managed to get a good cover on the grenade in his hazy state...and it took it's toll on his body for it.

Burton looked at Walker on the ground, the private smiling back at him weakly, speaking extremely softly, blood in his throat as he croaked out his last words.

"D...don't....b-blame...y's...self fo-...for....t-this....one....s-s..am.....g-..get home...to yo' b...baby..."

He shook as he talked, his eyes wide despite the smile on his face, his whole body retching one final time, all of his muscles relaxing.

The light in Walker's eyes faded, his last breath making it's way out of his damaged lungs as he lay there on the ground lifeless.

Tears from Burton's face dripped onto Walker's as he ducked a bit, his body reacting to the bullets being shot in his direction, hitting a tree next to him, tearing through the bushes.

Burton rested his fingers on Walker's eyes, closing them, grabbing his dog tags and the peace sign necklace around his neck, firmly yet swiftly tugging them off and stuffing them in his pocket, pulling the remaining magazines off his torso and pocketing them, his last words ringing in his head along with the concussive blast of the grenade.

"Get home to your baby."

The scream that escaped Burton's mouth couldn't have sounded human.

The only way he knew this was because the shooting stopped -- just for a second.

He burst from the brush, his M-14 on full auto, the scream still belting from his tired lungs.

The battle rifle stayed on target as he expressed his rage, tearing the NVA near him to shreds until the rifle ran dry.

The hate inside of him finally boiled over, he drew his handgun and started to fire with it as he walked forward through the jungle toward his pursuers, meeting a Vietnamese with a boot to the stomach.

He screamed with a primal fury inserting the barrel of the 1911 forcefully into the gook's mouth, shattering his teeth and emptying what was left of the magazine in a fit of anger.

The .45 ACP rounds turned his head into a gore salad, splitting his skull from the back like a watermelon that had been thrown to the ground.

The rage and pain and stress he felt took him to another level of rampage he'd never felt before.

Burton re loaded and holstered the 1911, doing the same for the M-14, panting heavily.

There was no way the NVA didn't hear it.

They'd be coming.

And he was ready.

His eyes were wide as he dropped to a knee, tears were still marking his cheeks, enveloping himself in the brush, fading from a man shape into another piece of the Jungle's landscape.

His breaths were long and strong.

He listened closely.

He could hear their footsteps.

Running.

There were about seven...

Shouts in their language filled the air as the clamored into the scene of the small battle that had taken place.

The screaming.

The gunfire.

He waited, more of them gathering up now, they seemed almost scared, like they could tell he was out there.

Maybe some stories got told about him, they didn't kill all of the NVA that chased them across the cut over, after all.

But he didn't care.

He reached into his Flak vest, pulling two of the F-1 Grenades he had taken from the box in the building back in town.

He slinked through the trees, low and slow, a grenade in each hand. Burton stalked them, moving in closer and closer until he could practically smell one of the NVA from behind.

He was so close he could hear him breathing.

The oppressive presence behind the young Vietnamese made him turn around suddenly, his rifle not even at the ready, down by his side.

Burton looked the soldier right in the eyes and bit the pins of the grenades, yanking them free and rolling the one in his left hand past the young man, grabbing him and stuffing the grenade in his right hand directly into the NVA's uniform. Burton grinned as he shoved the screaming Vietnamese and dove away, rolling into a bush, relishing the screams and the pair of explosions that followed.

Sam didn't even have the time to enjoy the gore, he leapt to his feet and leveled his M-14, starting to move, burning down the remaining NVA with fire.

He ripped them to pieces, he nearly laughed at how easy they were to end.

They hadn't seen the horrors of war that he had at this point, he could tell the fresh recruits from the seasoned NVA.

But these?

These smelled like newborn babies.

His hate had taken over for these gook pieces of shit.

Prior to today, Burton didn't have much of an opinion of the enemy.

Only that they were the enemy and that was that.

But now...he loathed them.

Every single Vietnamese could die tonight, and he wouldn't feel an ounce of remorse for them. The things they did, the people they took, the lives they ended. To hell with them all. He carefully reloaded the M-14, storing the partial magazine, the belt for the M-60 still around his neck. Scavenging the rounds off of that would keep it going for a while. He also had Walker's magazines for the jamming piece of shit on his back, if it came down to it.

Burton ran through the jungle, not away from his pursuers...but toward them.

Back toward the town.

These fucks couldn't catch him in the jungle if they tried to.

He ran right up on a pair of NVA wandering in the dark, spearing one right through the eye with his bayonet, turning the body and shooting three rounds through the skull of his bayonet decoration into the chest of the nearby enemy, kicking the body off his rifle and kneeling down.

The NVA he shot was still alive, gasping and squirming on the ground. Burton watched, stabbing the teenager in the shoulder as he reached for his sidearm, shooting him with the blade still inside, the bullet tearing through his rotator cuff. The boy screamed in misery, pathetically crying, the dead expression of the broken American staring back at him, watching him die slowly in the dark.

A grin crossed his face as he took it all in, the details of life being drained from his enemy.

The cries of pain coming from him as he twisted the rifle, the bayonet following.

He was using this one for bait.

Trying to pull in more.

He pulled the rifle free, shooting down an NVA that responded to the screams alone, the bullets meeting him, yanking the bones from his running body, momentum taking over.

The corpse hit the ground, sliding on the dirt, a wet crack filling the air as his skull smacked down last of all on top of a rock, his jaw breaking on impact.

Burton continued smiling, stabbing the wounded soldier in the thigh this time, pinning his leg to the jungle floor, the screams coming out louder than ever.

Burton yanked the bayonet free and stuck it straight through the boy's screaming mouth as shouts sounded in the distance, finally ending his pain, a wet 'kshhhk' coming from the bayonet and the corpse as he pulled it out of the dead teen's mouth, a first responder arrived, aiming his AK and firing wildly.

Burton looked right at him, his eyes wide enough to see in the dark, a dead expression on his bleeding, sweaty face as he slipped into obscurity, like a spirit walking through a wall, melding into the foliage, leaving the NVA standing there, confused.

He intended on letting them find the bodies.

He wanted them to fear.

He wanted them to feel that sense of dread when they set foot in -His- jungle.

The same fear and dread his men felt when they would enter the beast.

The SGT was going to be sure these little skinny fucks saw their own home turn into a monster that would chew them up the instant they set foot in it.

The SGT stalked again, running as fast as his legs would take them.

He was fueled by his rage...and the ecstatic feeling he got from killing them, driving him to his next kill, the speed and ease he moved through the jungle with practically making him seem invisible, especially at night.

Like a demon unleashed.

He came upon another search party, sprinting right at them, he unleashed a roar, stabbing one twice before the others could react.

And just as quickly as he had struck he disappeared again, leaving the three remaining NVA to panic, shooting wildly into the woods.

One of them stopped and began tending to the downed soldier, instantly taking a bullet to the head, dropping on top of the wounded man, eliciting a scream of both fear and pain.

Their screams of communication back and forth between the three of them dripping with pure petrification.

He was watching.

Another of the NVA bent down, grabbing the wounded soldier and started to drag him.

Another shot rang out, meeting the would be hero in the chest, then a second into his forehead.

The last remaining fighter shot rapidly in the direction of the incoming fire.

Sam leapt to his feet from prone and running again, a faint rustle in the leaves all that was heard.

The NVA let out a scream of fear after emptying his magazine, turning his back and running away, dropping his rifle as he did, panic flooding his body, two shots screaming by him as he ran, one missing, the other smacking him straight in the back of the knee, bursting his kneecap, sending him tumbling down to the ground in a screaming heap.

Burton approached in a flash, standing over his wounded prey, hoisting his Bayoneted rifle up and bringing it down savagely, stabbing the NVA 13 times, meeting his gut, his chest, his face, his hands he held up to defend himself with.

Burton gored him.

Blood spurted from the man's corpse like geysers, splattering Burton, making him appear even darker in the night, the stink of blood soaking into his very being.

He was laughing and he couldn't even hear it.

The wet sounds of the blade meeting the body all his body responded to as he stabbed the corpse 17 more times.

He had totally lost it, lunacy was worming it's way into his mind, taking hold of his psyche.

He had unraveled completely.

His manic screams blended with the wet sloshing coming from the now faceless corpse under him, the head now totally separated from the upper body, the face essentially unrecognizable.

He went for one more stab before a voice shouted at him.

"SAM!"

He froze, looking around, stopping mid thrust, the blood soaking him making him look like some kind of monster, only the whites of his eyes untouched. He turned his head frantically, aiming his rifle as he heard it again.

"SAM! STOP!"

He was losing it...his rage had taken his mind from him, he shook his head, recognizing the voice as female, but not Ellie.

He looked down into his hands, finding them light a rifle, a warm embrace enveloping him from behind, the voice speaking again, softer this time.

"Stop...Stop it...It's over..."

He stayed stiff, like a cat that had gotten scuffed by its owner, his mind racing, slowly arriving at the conclusion...

His rifle was a Waffengeist this whole time, and she hadn't said a thing to him.

"Sam..." She sounded hurt as she spoke, her grip on him tightening a little bit, clinging to him closely, her fingers curling around the collar of his flak vest. The sound of her voice disarmed him.

He reached up and placed his hands on her's, his blistered, blood soaked, bleeding hands, just his touch alone marking her skin.

He couldn't see her, but he knew she was a taller girl, just from where the presence of her head was on his back, feeling the top of her head against his shoulder, He himself 6'4", placing her not too far below six feet, if not just.

"I couldn't stay quiet any more...I...can't lose you, not like this..."

Her voice sounded laden with sadness, her grip on him getting even tighter still as he curls his own fingers around her wrists, prying them up and off of his body, turning around without even paying her mind.

He grabbed her and forced her back into a rifle for a moment, snatching the bayonet off of her and dropping her back on the ground stiffly, the act of him dropping her forcing her to turn herself back to human near instantly to keep from clattering to the ground.

He was almost robot-like, holding the knife in his hand, walking over to a small bundle of bamboo nearby, cutting a chute down with the knife and returning with it in hand.

He didn't say a thing to his M-14, He didn't want to even look at her.

Taking a seat and leaning back against a tree he began to sharpen the bamboo, ending up with a sort of double ended spear after a few moments of silence.

"Sam...look at me."

He didn't.

"LOOK. at me."

She got more stern, grabbing him by his cheeks, turning his head to face her.

She had Emerald green eyes, her face was positively beautiful, barring the light scars on it, one on her cheek, another on her forehead, covered by her uniform yet wavy dark walnut hair. Bangs draped down, covering her forehead mostly, and just a bit of her eyebrows, blending into long locks that outlined the sides of her face neatly, flowing back behind her neck into a low-tied, long, loosely braided ponytail. Her untied hair naturally beginning to curl about half way down, draping over her shoulder as she held his face in place. It was the kind of hair color that could go from almost black to an almost burnt auburn color in the sunlight. Her nose just the smallest bit crooked, but not enough to take away from her beauty, you had to look really close to notice. Her lips were full, and an extremely light shade of pink, like someone that was ice cold. She wore the same uniform he did, kneeling between his legs.

The sun had begun rising, bleaching the sky a pale blue, light beginning to return to the jungle around him.

He didn't say anything, grabbing her firmly and moving her from his lap, standing up and firmly grunting, sticking the bamboo chute into the ground, walking over to the corpse he had disfigured, cutting the bits of tissue connecting the head to the body still, and firmly spearing the head on the pike, the geist ignoring it completely, still trying to talk some sense into him. The only emotion she had right now was pulling him back from the edge, nothing else held her attention.

"Sam...do you remember my name? You named me when you picked me, remember?"

He stayed silent, wiping the blade clean and sniffing, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist, just turning his head to stare at her, his eyes boring a hole through her body as he did it. As if he were looking through her and at the trees behind her.

"Allison."

She nodded slowly, as if she were shocked he even responded.

"Yes, it's me...I'm...sorry I didn't say something to you sooner. I. I knew how you felt about us, so...I told myself I would serve you silently. Can you come back to me...? Please? I'm starting to feel like I failed."

Her voice was firm and present, yet soft and pleasant to hear, but there was also a power to it, underlying within the sorrowful tones of her current speech, an almost southern accent intermingling with her words.

"I don't care. Do your fucking job."

He spoke with an ice cold tinge, shutting her down completely without a second thought.

She bit the inside of her cheek, her expression fading from hopeful into sad, tears welling up in her eyes, just nodding a couple of times, reverting to her rifle form, leaning against a tree.

Sam watched her for a moment before shoving the blade back into its sheathe briskly, looking at his handiwork. The head was stuck firmly in place, making a garish monument to the people hunting him. They'd find it eventually, he'd be sure of that. He pulled his zippo, beginning to light the headless body's clothes ablaze, watching it go up relatively quickly, adding some live leaves and wood once it's raging and crackling, smoke beginning to waft up and off the body, rising through the canopy.

Not long after lighting the fire, he arrived at his rifle's side, grabbing her roughly into his worn hands and began to walk, deeper into the jungle now, away from the town. As much as he wanted to rage and continue his killing spree. He was tired, and hungry, and fighting could only go on so long before exhaustion took over.

Allison had thought to speak, but she opted to stay silent, her owner had lost it all, and she didn't know what to say to bring him back down to earth. He probably felt betrayed she didn't say anything to him for so long. The fact she hid from him to protect herself from being thrown aside.

Above all, she was scared.

Scared of him.

Scared of the new feelings coursing through her body...the elation of killing...the...arousal she felt when she was being used to stab people and torture them.

These new feelings she'd begun to feel, the hands of her owner transferring his intentions and emotions through himself and into her.

She had always heard that the intent of the shooter could mold the geist...

Or contort them.

But above all -- even over her fear of Sam.

She was scared of herself and what might happen.

Frightened she would stay this way, that she'd...like /it/ forever...Not just as a means to an end, but something she sought out, death and killing.

She smiled when he smiled, torturing that boy, she laughed when he laughed, stabbing that man.

The thoughts raced through her mind, letting him carry her, closing her eyes and trying to enjoy the feeling of his touch on her stock as she had used to.

The sensation almost alien after her experiences today.

Like she had come home from a long vacation and all of her furniture had been moved.

It was home...but it was wrong.

Sam continued on for hours, dragging his tired feet through the jungle, feeling satisfied with his progress as the sun hung high in the air over the canopy...it was noon now.

Allison hadn’t said anything, just...quietly attempting to find comfort in Sam’s hands...She was having very dark thoughts...losing what she’d consider ‘herself’ to some kind of abyss.

Nothing felt right...she felt…

Anger.

Fear.

Hate.

Desperation.

Panic.

Fury.

Elation.

Depression.

Loss.

Anxiety.

Was this maelstrom of emotions just coming from Sam…?

Only his touch able to hold so much feeling?

She was overwhelmed, she couldn’t tell what emotions were his and which were hers anymore...The creeping numbness though…

That was Sam, she knew that for sure.

Like freezing to death in a tundra in silence, the night sky above, surrounded with snow covered evergreens...just slowly freezing...all sensation of touch fading away into a blank numbness.

Like a single dreadful moment of true silence among the hundreds of emotions ringing in her head.

The moment he set her down she collapsed into her human form, her back to Sam as she began to weep, doing her best to remain silent. Her hair was covering her face...doing her dignity the favor of keeping her grief as private as she could.

Her tears ran for a long time, the droplets leaving marks on her cheeks as they dropped into her hair, the dirt, and on her once proud fatigues.

The occasional little sniff gave her away.

It wasn’t exactly a secret what she was doing over there, but Sam didn’t care.

The clank and clatter of the soldier opening cans from his C-Ration and munching on the crackers the only sounds he was making.

Allison dared to peek back at Sam over her shoulder, watching him eat.

This man…

He looked comfortable.

Unconcerned given the situation.

Didn’t he care that he could die out here…?

That no Americans knew his whereabouts, and he...could very well be out in this jungle for months, trying to find his way back.

Did he care?

As he was right now it didn’t much seem like he did...eating as if it was chow time back at base, drinking from his canteen with his boots propped up on his helmet, leaning back against a fallen log.

Allison just sat upright quietly, sniffling a bit and wiping the tears from her eyes...

Sam was her first soldier.

They’d been together since he set foot in country, even though he didn’t do much fighting at first.

She was elated when he denied the new M-16 over her…

She began to care for him beyond a rifle for a soldier.

He valued her when many others didn’t, he didn’t complain about how heavy she and her ammo was, or how violent her recoil was in full auto, or how she liked to get stopped up when dirty because of her open action.

He didn’t care, he cared for her as if she were his daughter…

The feeling of a stern but caring NCO doting over her parts and furniture….

She began to love him...even if she knew that he detested Geists.

Allison quietly fiddled with the hem of her sleeve as she watched Sam, her green eyes darting away when he would look, like a girl with a crush…

Or a child that had been scolded too many times for staring.

She must have looked pathetic.

Dirt was all over her….her hair was a mess….all of the painful dings and cuts on her metal….the hole in her stock…

Right.

She’d almost forgotten about it...the urge to protect Sam was so strong the bullet barely hurt when it burst her wood apart…

And now he was treating her like she was some kind of monster.

Like he hated her.

Tears began to well up again as she clenched her fists.

“...S-Sargent B-Burton…’

A small voice broke the heavy silence.

It was Ellie.

“I...I need to be cleaned or….”

She croaked out a continuation, not daring to change into her human form.

“What, you’ll Jam?”

His words hit her like an axe to the forehead.

“Bit late for that, ain’t it?”

He coldly began to spoon up some more food as the sound of whimpering and crying started to fill the air yet again, this time from Ellie.

“You.”

He points at Allison.

“Make yourself useful and clean this useless piece of plastic.”

Sam waved his fork around as he spoke, Allison hesitating but accepting the order he gave her, grabbing Ellie’s carry handle roughly and dragging her just a short ways off for ‘privacy’

Not like it mattered though.

The two geists stayed within earshot, but obscure from view, Ellie speaking to Allison hesitantly and softly.

“So...you were one of us the whole time…I-I’m um….Ellie…”

“Yeah I know who you are.”

Allison growled as she tossed the other geist to the ground in rifle form.

Ellie failed to react quickly enough to avoid being thrown and clattered to the ground with a surprised yelp, whining a little bit as she popped into her human form for the first time since last night, Carver’s dried blood on her fatigues.

Ellie complained and rubbed her head, her eyes trailing down to her once clean and kept uniform and going wide, taking in the dried sanguine smears, her mind instantly going back to the moment she failed.

Her breathing spiked.

She clenched the dirt with her left fist, clutching the uniform and pathetically attempting to pull it off in a panic with her right, kicking her feet and trying to scramble away from something that wasn’t there.

Allison growled, grabbing the smaller girl by the ankle and pulled her over, a sneer crossed Allison’s angelic face, contorting it into something devilish as she planted her boot on Ellie’s throat, bearing down a little and cutting off all facilities for the panicked geist to make noise.

“You shut the fuck up, you useless bitch. I don’t need to see this bullshit from some stupid cunt that can’t even maintain herself.”

Allison practically spat daggers at Ellie; who’d already begun crying - her hand loosely resting on Allison’s boot.

“I don’t want to see a fucking speck on you. You fucking hear me whore? God forbid he has to use you and you jam on him.”

Allison paused for a moment, her mind just resting on that possibility.

“...If you fail and you get him hurt. So fucking help me, mother. I will fucking destroy you, bitch. You hear me? You useless fucking Aluminum gash. I will fuck. You. Up. ”

Allisons words were like a flog, shredding Ellie to pieces, her boot pressing harder, a dark smile crossing her lips.

….

Wait...what was she doing…?

Allison froze a bit, like every bit of reality just crashed down on her, finding herself in the middle of an action she would have only thought of doing. Allison pulled her foot away, letting Ellie breathe and backed off a step.

This wasn’t her.

She’d never do this to another geist...no matter how much she disliked her...it wasn’t the...dignified...thing to do.

Where did that come from…?

...Was it…

Allison shook her head trying to get the thoughts out, just muttering.

“...White glove…You hear me…?”

With that she turned her back to Ellie, and let her cry, stripping herself down and beginning to clean herself in complete silence.

...The lube felt nice, like some of the stress of the last few hours was being scrubbed away…

Every bit of carbon and dirt cleaned off to a spotless finish, the sensation like relaxing after a good long massage.

Allison sighed a bit, feeling just a little better as she finished herself off with a final wipe down with a small oily rag and put herself back together, turning to look at Ellie’s progress, anger beginning to cloud the battle rifle’s head again when she saw the M-16 hadn’t even begun.

Just sitting there.

Crying.

Still.

The rage that washed over Allison was so uncharacteristic it would have made a hardened criminal gasp.

In an instant she crossed the distance between her and Ellie, grabbing the girl by the back of the neck and began to forcefully bury her face into the jungle floor, kicking dirt into her mouth and systematically slamming her down a few times in between.

“N-NO! S-Stop! Ah! AHH! PL-Plheaashh...NYUGH”

Ellie pathetically pleaded for Allison to stop. She begged the entire time, as the battle rifle began to forcefully strip her down.

Allison was growling the whole time she did it.

Her mouth pulled back into a sinister snarl.

She looked like a monster as she shoved Ellie harder than before once she was stripped down against her will.

Allison began to kick dirt on her.

The dirt flew all over Ellie, into her mouth, caking on her eyes and naked body, it stung when it hit her ‘skin’ like she were being whipped, Ellie cried out more in desperation, trying to cover her face.

This wasn’t enough.

She killed a man.

She deserved worse.

Allison almost snarled as she grabbed Ellie by the hair, getting another yelp of pain through her tear laden protests and begs, starting to punch her in the exposed ribs, her fists raining blows upon the petite M-16.

After a moment the blows began to wander from Ellie’s ribs to her stomach.

Then to her face.

It felt good.

Oh god did it feel good.

Ellie was knocked senseless, taking the beating without any protest now, just hanging limp in Allison’s grasp.

Allison laughed a bit at the reaction she was getting, cocking her arm to throw another punch before a strong hand caught her wrist, flicking her aside as if she weighed nothing.

“Gufh!”

Allison coughed a bit as she collided with a nearby tree, Sam glaring at the two of them.

“Shut the fuck up, you noisy bitches.”

Sam growled his words with a ferocity neither girl had ever heard before, the hell in his eyes bearing down on the both of them, taking them both in.

Ellie pathetically and silently lie naked on the ground, staring up at the sky with dirt coating her entire body, fresh tears and blood running down her cheeks, unblinking, as if she’d shut down.

Allison just sat hunched over, wide eyed, clutching her ribs, shaking a bit from the realization of what she’d just done, beginning to rock back and forth pathetically, tears staining her cheeks as well.

She was reliving the moment that just ended over again, rocking back and forth slightly.

“...i’msorry…” was all she could manage to say, her hands reaching up and grasping her temples through her dark walnut colored hair, squeezing a bit.

Allison hid her face in her knees as Sam sucked his teeth at her in disdain, turning his attention to the beaten geist on the ground.

He tapped Ellie with his boot, getting no reaction.
He then poured a bit of water from his canteen on her face, getting even less of one.

“Fantastic.”

Sam growled under his breath, kneeling and lifting Ellie into his grasp, carrying her over to where he’d set up his ‘camp’ and began to clean her without much regard for how it might feel.

The silence among the three was thicker than ever before, like someone had slipped and said something extremely insensitive about the dead at a funeral.

The only sound was the slight scraping sound of the bore brush in Ellie’s chamber and the various fauna.