WarTorn

II.

Note-

My plans moving forward.

This and the next chapter will be released at the same time, the next ten or so will be released at a later date also all together. It will take longer, yes, but I would like to get as much content out at a time as possible. 

I cannot give an estimate as to how long it will be before the next ten chapters come, but I will say that I've already gotten most of it written. However I'm going to spend time brainstorming, planning, refining, and reworking bits and pieces. Until then, please enjoy.

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June 21st, 2024

Vietnam.

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Ptink!

A stone bounces off of Danes helmet as he jolts awake. On his restless, now unscarred face, his eyes dart as he searches for the culprit.

"Better wake yo ass up pecker head!" Yells one of his squad members. That same young man receives a smack upside the head by the leader of his squad. "O'Ryan, he's new out here. Cut 'em some slack."

O'Ryan was a shorter, more built man with red hair and a patchy beard. His eyes are as green as the canopy above and his voice is surprisingly high pitched for his age. The squad leader, Kreyton, is an African American man with a strong Cajun accent. His hair is short and there's none to be seen on his clean-shaven face.

Then there's his other two squad mates, Boyd and Conlyn. Boyd is a taller, scrawnier man with black hair and tan skin. Under his nose there's a thick, bushy mustache. Conlyn had an average build and average height, his curly black hair is surprisingly long for being a soldier. Neither of those two had spoken much to him since he'd gotten there. By the time Dane had woken up they'd already begun wandering off with the rest of the Company. 

Dane squints his eyes as some of the sunlight creeps through the leaves. Stretching his limbs, he'd take a long, exaggerated breath in.

"Come on Blondie!" Came Kreyton's voice. 

In a scurry, Dane picks up the only thing he'd had on his person, which was a bag full of well... something. Someone had handed it off to him and expected him not to lose it. As to what it was didn't matter just as long as he carried it. The only weapon he had to speak of was a single knife on his belt. His faded, green outfit is tattered and torn and very much obviously had a previous owner. Though he had no gun, they did so graciously award him with a plate carrier with some empty pouches on it. He'd had a few sticks and leaves on his helmet as camouflage, on top of that his face is painted a mix of green, black, and brown. Many others in the company mirror this same look, though most have Rifles.

He'd eventually catch up to his group, and the rest of the company. They walked in such a way that wasn't exactly uniform, but seemingly more random and spread out. No matter where you were in the line, your head had to be on a swivel at all times.

"What time is it?" Dane asks to which he is immediately shushed. "Keep your voice down." O'Ryan whispers. "Thirteen hundred hours. Safe to say we got another five or so hours of movin." Kreyton answers.

"We better make it before dusk or we're fucked." Conlyn adds. "Maybe if you'd pick up your feet and walk a lil' faster we'd make it sooner, fat fucker." Kreyton pokes.

Conlyn scoffs. "Ole' fucker back there was the one taking a nap on break." Kreyton shakes his head. "Well damn son he got out here yesterday, you on the other hand ought to be used to it by now."

Muttering something to himself, Conlyn's eyes divert to the ground and stay there. All while Dane does his best to keep up. He could hear many different conversations going on amongst the men. Some bled together, others were too quiet to understand. Few were in different languages.