Platoon (1).ljbc — Recent & Deluxe
A twig snapped. It sounded like a gunshot in the oppressive stillness.
Suddenly, the jungle went silent. The rhythmic chirping of insects cut out like a snapped wire. Elias raised a hand, and the platoon froze, sinking into the foliage. Taylor’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. He gripped his rifle until his knuckles turned white.
Taylor looked at his hands—shaking, filthy, and holding a weapon. He nodded, though he wasn't sure if he was agreeing with the Sergeant or just trying to keep himself from falling apart. The rain started again, cold and relentless, washing the blood from the leaves but leaving the memories etched deep. platoon (1).ljbc
"Keep your interval, Taylor," Elias whispered, not even turning his head. "The jungle has eyes, and they like it when we huddle."
"Contact!" Barnes roared, and the world dissolved into green and fire. A twig snapped
Around him, the platoon was a collection of ghosts draped in olive drab. There was Sergeant Elias, who moved through the elephant grass like he was part of the wind, and Barnes, whose face was a roadmap of scars and a reminder that surviving often meant losing your soul.
They were moving toward the Cambodian border, a place where the maps grew fuzzy and the rules of engagement even fuzzier. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation—a smell Taylor knew he would never get out of his lungs. The rhythmic chirping of insects cut out like a snapped wire
As the smoke cleared and the medic moved toward a downed soldier, Elias appeared beside Taylor, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.
A twig snapped. It sounded like a gunshot in the oppressive stillness.
Suddenly, the jungle went silent. The rhythmic chirping of insects cut out like a snapped wire. Elias raised a hand, and the platoon froze, sinking into the foliage. Taylor’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. He gripped his rifle until his knuckles turned white.
Taylor looked at his hands—shaking, filthy, and holding a weapon. He nodded, though he wasn't sure if he was agreeing with the Sergeant or just trying to keep himself from falling apart. The rain started again, cold and relentless, washing the blood from the leaves but leaving the memories etched deep.
"Keep your interval, Taylor," Elias whispered, not even turning his head. "The jungle has eyes, and they like it when we huddle."
"Contact!" Barnes roared, and the world dissolved into green and fire.
Around him, the platoon was a collection of ghosts draped in olive drab. There was Sergeant Elias, who moved through the elephant grass like he was part of the wind, and Barnes, whose face was a roadmap of scars and a reminder that surviving often meant losing your soul.
They were moving toward the Cambodian border, a place where the maps grew fuzzy and the rules of engagement even fuzzier. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation—a smell Taylor knew he would never get out of his lungs.
As the smoke cleared and the medic moved toward a downed soldier, Elias appeared beside Taylor, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.
