Platoon (1).ljbc Page

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.

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. platoon (1).ljbc

The mud in the Central Highlands didn’t just stick to your boots; it claimed them. Private Chris Taylor wiped a smear of red clay from his cheek, but the humidity just smeared it back into a mask. It was his third week in-country, and the "new meat" smell hadn’t quite worn off yet.

"You're still here, kid," Elias said softly. "Just remember why you're here. Don't let the jungle become who you are." Suddenly, the jungle went silent

A twig snapped. It sounded like a gunshot in the oppressive stillness.

Tracers stitched the air like burning needles. Taylor fell back, his ears ringing, the chaos swallowing his thoughts. In that moment, college, his parents’ letters, and the world back home felt like a dream he had once had. Here, there was only the mud, the man to his left, and the desperate hope that he would see the sun rise through the canopy one more time. Taylor’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic

As the smoke cleared and the medic moved toward a downed soldier, Elias appeared beside Taylor, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.