Regal
✯The Victorian♚
• Location - JBAD Afghanistan, 5 miles outside the FOB
• Time/Date - Jan 4th, 2013, 1700 Hours.
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"Wood! Get your ass over here and feed me!!!" Sgt Steele said, as he took over the 240B machine gun for his dead battle buddy. Pvt Crawford laid in a pool of his own blood, shot in the face. Guess the Kevlar helmet had it's restrictions on protection. Spc Wood ran quickly with his M14 and a box of 7.62mm ammo for the Sgt. It was only supposed to be a routine presence patrol, there wasn't supposed to be any contact. How wrong the boys of 6-9 Cav Apache Troop were; this place was crawling. They were walking a trail right outside JBAD, trying to make it to the small farms outside the city. Emotions were heavy, the troop had love for the dead private. Poor guy had just gotten demoted for smoking pot right before deployment, and had a waiver signed to keep him in the Army; but not before his extra duty and demotion to E1. If he would have gotten kicked out, he would still be alive to this day...
As Sgt Steele let loose his 240B, multiple rounds could be seen scraping the tree's. The enemy was fierce, they were ready for them. "Man down! Man down!!! Fucking kill them all! They got Steele man!!!!!!" A spray of AK47 7.62 took the buck Sgt out of the fight, permanently. It was at this moment, it hit Spc Brown; he was going to die today. The rag heads were surrounding everyone, some not anymore than 75 meters away. They were yelling too, broken English was spoken. "May Allah take the souls of these walking devils!!! Allah akbar!!!! Allah akbar!!!!" Brown had no idea the enemy were that close; it was like they were yelling directly into his ear. Spc Wood was the first to go from the onslaught of suicide bombers. They pulled two grenades and ran toward the section. Fortunately, they didn't have wide-spread spacing. After Wood bit the dust, two more suicide bombers next to him also exploded. Brown quickly re-loaded his M4 and returned fire, now advancing forward himself; getting up close and personal. "I'm moving up! Cover me while I move!!!"
Brown was completely furious; Wood was his best friend. He didn't deserve to go out like that, nobody did. But one thing was for sure; these fuckers needed to die, and Spc Brown claimed the title of the reaper for himself. As he ran through the tree's, he found himself running up-hill; the ultimate disadvantage in any firefight. He noticed nobody followed him, maybe they didn't hear him? Just then, Sfc Randal quickly shoulder-checked him as he was producing covering fire for the both of them. "We need to fucking move kid! It's the War-Fight, Hooah?! It don't stop!!!" He had gone tribal, the fury and blood from his enemy's and friends on his face. It was... Horror, horror and terror. The both of them ran up the hill, firing one bullet per second as per SOP. "You're not gonna fucking get away you rag-head fucks!!!" It was like a guardian angel fell from the sky, massive amounts of 7.62 ammo following suit. Pfc Hunter was the new 240B gunner now, and he knew how to use it. The three were sweating profusely, and it felt like they had just got finished swimming with their full kit on. More enemy voices could be heard from a distance, along with an RPG that zipped past Brown's head, detonating 20 meters behind him after hitting a tree. The explosion threw the tree of them forward, and made them drop their weapons. Brown hitting his head on the buttstock if his M4. It was as if everything were a dream when he awoke in the hospital three days later...
Brown awoke in a cold sweat, wearing a hospital gown. He felt his head, there being multiple stitches in his forehead. He quickly pressed the red button on the medical machine, calling the nurse inside. She was pretty cute, and ended up being a E4, just like him. She lightly smiled at him, looking at her clipboard. "Spc Brown... Do you know where you're at? I'm Spc Kelly, the girl that's been taking care of your sorry ass for the past three days..." Brown didn't know what to say, he simply nodded and asked where his buddies were. He only cared about them at this point; screw where he was at. Her smile went away with a quickness, taking a seat next to Brown. "A couple of them are here... But... Only a couple..." Tears rolled down Browns face as he shot up and made his way toward the door, slamming it open. "Where's Sfc Randal?! Where's Hunter?!" Kelly lightly stood up and held Browns shoulder, slowly leading him outside his room and toward the remaining survivors of Apache Troop...
First up was Sfc Randal; the platoon sergeant. He was still out cold. He still had his blanket covering his body, the slope of his upper body becoming a mountain of sadness and empathy as he noticed nothing was underneath the blanket hips-down. Sfc Randal had lost his legs from that RPG. Tears stopped rolling from Browns cheeks when he realized the horror still on the Sfc's face. In fact; the devil himself was even felt in the room, towering over Randal. Whispering sweet nothing's into his ear, Brown overhearing everything. "Where's Hunter..." Brown wasn't asking at this point, he was still alive, he had to be. "Hunter... Over here." She grabbed Browns shoulder again, leading him towards the final room. Hunter had multiple bullet wounds around his arms and legs, they were still conducting minor operations daily just to keep him alive. "He was the reason you and Randal made it out alive... He ran the charge, taking the platoon sergeants slot. Directing the platoon; he made multiple small strikes on the Taliban positions that had surrounded you... He was greatly wounded however, he may or may not make it..." Brown finally understood the true meaning of why he fought. It wasn't because he had no choice. It wasn't because he had to protect America. It was because of the men fighting by his side, men that would sacrifice their lives to save his. A loud noise creeped the air, the beep from the machine getting noisy. Brown quickly ran to Hunters side and held his hand. Hunter turned his head toward him and smiled, he was happy to see him. "Fuck... Fuck it man. Don't let it get to ya..." Hunter said, as he suddenly coughed a large amount of blood onto himself, biting his lip to stay awake. "You're the VIP now, kill... Kill... Kill em all man..." The machine beeped even more, Kelly running outside requesting medical assistance. Hunters face became extremely pale as he looked toward the white ceiling; sweat rolling down his face. "The... Audacity... The... Will... To act... Brings... Horror... Emotion... Gahh!!! No!!! Fuck man!!! Not him!!! Not him!!!! Why?!? Why man?! What did I do?!? I'm a fucking soldier!!! I didn't have a choice!!! Run Brown!!!!!" Hunter died instantly, the machine going towards a straight beep. Multiple doctors rushed into the room, shoving Brown out of the way to try and save him. Kelly grappled Brown and made her way outside the room, Brown taking a seat on the floor. He stared directly at a Army poster that was hung on the wall. It was an ad, explaining how it wasn't safe to not wear eye pro during patrols. Brown instantly stood up and punched the wall behind him multiple times, Kelly grabbing him from behind to restrain him. "Brown!!! Calm down! Please!" He wasn't having it, he quickly shoved Kelly out of his way and entered his room, ruffling through his multi-cam pants looking for his cigarets. Brown ended up being transferred to a new unit, finishing his last 5 months of his deployment with them. None of his friends followed suit.
Brown was diagnosed with PTSD; a label given to men and women who have been shot with the 'Diamond Bullet'. A sense of clarity was seeming through him at a constant rate, it was like he discovered the meaning of life; and it was shit. Brown was prescribed multiple medications for his mood swings, some being called names he couldn't pronounce. Wearing the uniform with a sense of disgust, he walked into his new troop area and took a seat in one if the chairs. He was one of the only soldiers in the unit with a deployment patch, choosing not to wear his combat action badge. One of the privates started a conversation with him, it having to do with how the lead singer of Nervana was murdered, and how he wouldn't possibly kill himself due to his 'success'. Was that all it took? Was success the answer? He needed one, that much was sure. Thoughts about suicide passed through his head every day, and conversations with family slowed down. It was now 2015, and he felt like it was still 2013. He made his way towards his barracks room and took out the multiple bottles of pills from his cargo pocket, scratching out the names with his finger nails. He took out a sharpie and wrote down other names instead; names the therapists referred to when he was being proscribed them. The names of the multiple emotions they controlled, and some they completely wiped from him. He popped a pill from the bottle he had labeled 'Happiness' and laid down on his bed. He had taken to writing multiple short story's on his spare time, some being if fantasy, some being of crime. He loved his new hobby, and it kept his mind from going down the drain. He wanted to be a writer, that's all he ever wanted. He wanted a chance to tell his story, no punches held back. Things were slightly looking up for him however, he was close to getting out of the military, and maybe even heading home to California. He missed it ever so much, the beaches, the women. That was probably his 'success', getting home. Maybe if he were to get home, everything would be okay. His mother missed him greatly, and he knew she wasn't doing so well herself. Brown felt the pills kicking in around now, a huge smile crossing his face. California, it felt like Disney Land to him. He would continue to take the pills for as long as they were proscribed, they were his new 'face', his new 'persona'. Maybe he didn't have to die. Someday, he would learn how to feel emotion for himself, to feel what it was like to express himself for real. Someday...
[ To Be Continued ]
• Time/Date - Jan 4th, 2013, 1700 Hours.
_________________________________
"Wood! Get your ass over here and feed me!!!" Sgt Steele said, as he took over the 240B machine gun for his dead battle buddy. Pvt Crawford laid in a pool of his own blood, shot in the face. Guess the Kevlar helmet had it's restrictions on protection. Spc Wood ran quickly with his M14 and a box of 7.62mm ammo for the Sgt. It was only supposed to be a routine presence patrol, there wasn't supposed to be any contact. How wrong the boys of 6-9 Cav Apache Troop were; this place was crawling. They were walking a trail right outside JBAD, trying to make it to the small farms outside the city. Emotions were heavy, the troop had love for the dead private. Poor guy had just gotten demoted for smoking pot right before deployment, and had a waiver signed to keep him in the Army; but not before his extra duty and demotion to E1. If he would have gotten kicked out, he would still be alive to this day...
As Sgt Steele let loose his 240B, multiple rounds could be seen scraping the tree's. The enemy was fierce, they were ready for them. "Man down! Man down!!! Fucking kill them all! They got Steele man!!!!!!" A spray of AK47 7.62 took the buck Sgt out of the fight, permanently. It was at this moment, it hit Spc Brown; he was going to die today. The rag heads were surrounding everyone, some not anymore than 75 meters away. They were yelling too, broken English was spoken. "May Allah take the souls of these walking devils!!! Allah akbar!!!! Allah akbar!!!!" Brown had no idea the enemy were that close; it was like they were yelling directly into his ear. Spc Wood was the first to go from the onslaught of suicide bombers. They pulled two grenades and ran toward the section. Fortunately, they didn't have wide-spread spacing. After Wood bit the dust, two more suicide bombers next to him also exploded. Brown quickly re-loaded his M4 and returned fire, now advancing forward himself; getting up close and personal. "I'm moving up! Cover me while I move!!!"
Brown was completely furious; Wood was his best friend. He didn't deserve to go out like that, nobody did. But one thing was for sure; these fuckers needed to die, and Spc Brown claimed the title of the reaper for himself. As he ran through the tree's, he found himself running up-hill; the ultimate disadvantage in any firefight. He noticed nobody followed him, maybe they didn't hear him? Just then, Sfc Randal quickly shoulder-checked him as he was producing covering fire for the both of them. "We need to fucking move kid! It's the War-Fight, Hooah?! It don't stop!!!" He had gone tribal, the fury and blood from his enemy's and friends on his face. It was... Horror, horror and terror. The both of them ran up the hill, firing one bullet per second as per SOP. "You're not gonna fucking get away you rag-head fucks!!!" It was like a guardian angel fell from the sky, massive amounts of 7.62 ammo following suit. Pfc Hunter was the new 240B gunner now, and he knew how to use it. The three were sweating profusely, and it felt like they had just got finished swimming with their full kit on. More enemy voices could be heard from a distance, along with an RPG that zipped past Brown's head, detonating 20 meters behind him after hitting a tree. The explosion threw the tree of them forward, and made them drop their weapons. Brown hitting his head on the buttstock if his M4. It was as if everything were a dream when he awoke in the hospital three days later...
Brown awoke in a cold sweat, wearing a hospital gown. He felt his head, there being multiple stitches in his forehead. He quickly pressed the red button on the medical machine, calling the nurse inside. She was pretty cute, and ended up being a E4, just like him. She lightly smiled at him, looking at her clipboard. "Spc Brown... Do you know where you're at? I'm Spc Kelly, the girl that's been taking care of your sorry ass for the past three days..." Brown didn't know what to say, he simply nodded and asked where his buddies were. He only cared about them at this point; screw where he was at. Her smile went away with a quickness, taking a seat next to Brown. "A couple of them are here... But... Only a couple..." Tears rolled down Browns face as he shot up and made his way toward the door, slamming it open. "Where's Sfc Randal?! Where's Hunter?!" Kelly lightly stood up and held Browns shoulder, slowly leading him outside his room and toward the remaining survivors of Apache Troop...
First up was Sfc Randal; the platoon sergeant. He was still out cold. He still had his blanket covering his body, the slope of his upper body becoming a mountain of sadness and empathy as he noticed nothing was underneath the blanket hips-down. Sfc Randal had lost his legs from that RPG. Tears stopped rolling from Browns cheeks when he realized the horror still on the Sfc's face. In fact; the devil himself was even felt in the room, towering over Randal. Whispering sweet nothing's into his ear, Brown overhearing everything. "Where's Hunter..." Brown wasn't asking at this point, he was still alive, he had to be. "Hunter... Over here." She grabbed Browns shoulder again, leading him towards the final room. Hunter had multiple bullet wounds around his arms and legs, they were still conducting minor operations daily just to keep him alive. "He was the reason you and Randal made it out alive... He ran the charge, taking the platoon sergeants slot. Directing the platoon; he made multiple small strikes on the Taliban positions that had surrounded you... He was greatly wounded however, he may or may not make it..." Brown finally understood the true meaning of why he fought. It wasn't because he had no choice. It wasn't because he had to protect America. It was because of the men fighting by his side, men that would sacrifice their lives to save his. A loud noise creeped the air, the beep from the machine getting noisy. Brown quickly ran to Hunters side and held his hand. Hunter turned his head toward him and smiled, he was happy to see him. "Fuck... Fuck it man. Don't let it get to ya..." Hunter said, as he suddenly coughed a large amount of blood onto himself, biting his lip to stay awake. "You're the VIP now, kill... Kill... Kill em all man..." The machine beeped even more, Kelly running outside requesting medical assistance. Hunters face became extremely pale as he looked toward the white ceiling; sweat rolling down his face. "The... Audacity... The... Will... To act... Brings... Horror... Emotion... Gahh!!! No!!! Fuck man!!! Not him!!! Not him!!!! Why?!? Why man?! What did I do?!? I'm a fucking soldier!!! I didn't have a choice!!! Run Brown!!!!!" Hunter died instantly, the machine going towards a straight beep. Multiple doctors rushed into the room, shoving Brown out of the way to try and save him. Kelly grappled Brown and made her way outside the room, Brown taking a seat on the floor. He stared directly at a Army poster that was hung on the wall. It was an ad, explaining how it wasn't safe to not wear eye pro during patrols. Brown instantly stood up and punched the wall behind him multiple times, Kelly grabbing him from behind to restrain him. "Brown!!! Calm down! Please!" He wasn't having it, he quickly shoved Kelly out of his way and entered his room, ruffling through his multi-cam pants looking for his cigarets. Brown ended up being transferred to a new unit, finishing his last 5 months of his deployment with them. None of his friends followed suit.
Brown was diagnosed with PTSD; a label given to men and women who have been shot with the 'Diamond Bullet'. A sense of clarity was seeming through him at a constant rate, it was like he discovered the meaning of life; and it was shit. Brown was prescribed multiple medications for his mood swings, some being called names he couldn't pronounce. Wearing the uniform with a sense of disgust, he walked into his new troop area and took a seat in one if the chairs. He was one of the only soldiers in the unit with a deployment patch, choosing not to wear his combat action badge. One of the privates started a conversation with him, it having to do with how the lead singer of Nervana was murdered, and how he wouldn't possibly kill himself due to his 'success'. Was that all it took? Was success the answer? He needed one, that much was sure. Thoughts about suicide passed through his head every day, and conversations with family slowed down. It was now 2015, and he felt like it was still 2013. He made his way towards his barracks room and took out the multiple bottles of pills from his cargo pocket, scratching out the names with his finger nails. He took out a sharpie and wrote down other names instead; names the therapists referred to when he was being proscribed them. The names of the multiple emotions they controlled, and some they completely wiped from him. He popped a pill from the bottle he had labeled 'Happiness' and laid down on his bed. He had taken to writing multiple short story's on his spare time, some being if fantasy, some being of crime. He loved his new hobby, and it kept his mind from going down the drain. He wanted to be a writer, that's all he ever wanted. He wanted a chance to tell his story, no punches held back. Things were slightly looking up for him however, he was close to getting out of the military, and maybe even heading home to California. He missed it ever so much, the beaches, the women. That was probably his 'success', getting home. Maybe if he were to get home, everything would be okay. His mother missed him greatly, and he knew she wasn't doing so well herself. Brown felt the pills kicking in around now, a huge smile crossing his face. California, it felt like Disney Land to him. He would continue to take the pills for as long as they were proscribed, they were his new 'face', his new 'persona'. Maybe he didn't have to die. Someday, he would learn how to feel emotion for himself, to feel what it was like to express himself for real. Someday...
[ To Be Continued ]
