"I'm telling y'all," Bobby said just loud enough for his voice to carry to those closest to him. "The book is hard as fuck to read, but you can relate to it. Different jungle, same fucked up logic. 'It was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.' That shit sounds like something a one-star tells Congress when he justifies napalming a Dink village."

Hearing no takers, he shrugged and kept walking. By now they were use to Bobby and his bullshit. They realized he ran his mouth because that was all he could do to deal with it. Some ate their anxiety like the sarge, some shook like Buck. Bobby just couldn't shut the fuck up when he was nervous.

"Fine. Trying to enlighten you motherfuckers. Nobody wanna listen."

Bobby shifted the pig on his shoulder to keep his arms from going numb and getting tired. It had been a struggle for him to learn how to carry that thing. Shooting it was the easy part. Hell, shooting anything was the easy part of being in the Army. For him hefting that black bastard across thirty miles of jungle was a real bitch. He was still skinny in his legs and waist and chest, but his arms and neck were bulked out from the burden of the pig.