Chris Hoffman puked onto the grass when he finally crawled out of the wreckage, whether it was from the rough ride down or the smell of burning flesh, he was not sure. First he reached and checked for his glasses, still on his face and then groped around for his prick.  He sighed with relief when he felt it was intact and noted that the PRC-25 radio would be their lifeline to call for help was also unscathed. Squinting in the bright sun that beat down on them, he could see other survivors, including the Sergeant. It gave him some confidence to see someone with stripes but the lieutenant was no where to be found. 

Keeping down among the long blades of the razor edged elephant grass, he gathered his rifle to him and checked for any damage. His heart jumped when the Sarge’s rumbling voice warned them of the enemy heading right for them. He followed the orders, scuttling towards the chopper, feeling the weight of his pack and radio bobbing against his back. Chris crouched down, taking a knee, glancing at Sergeant Davis before raising his rifle at the figures heading in their direction. 

“Gnarly...” he breathed out at the sight of the crunched in nose and flames licking. When the grenade exploded, he began to fire, popping off rounds at the enemy. He thought he might have hit one in the thigh but as they ran for cover it was hard to tell. When the Pig roared to life, he winced, his ears ringing but was grateful for the heavy gun that sent Charlie scrambling.