Tony knew the smell of this place, and he knew the terrain. He crouched low out of instinct and lowered his voice, "Voice down, man." Parael might well have really thought he'd gone around the bend if he said, "Charlie's listening" so he avoided saying that, but it's really what he wanted to say.

"We gotta see if the others are here and find them. Keep your ears wide open, man." He whispered as he started to move through the brush, trying to step around the stuff that rustled, trying to keep his eyes in all directions. He'd been point several times, particularly when that fuckstick Lieutenant Pfluger decided that Tony's mouth was too much and up he'd go in front of the patrol. But now it was him and a toddler, and he had no fuckin' clue at all what was going to jump out of him in the jungle.

"Don't pop nothing that smells man, I don't know what's out here, but it'll be out of place in this shit. Watch my fuckin' back." Tony suddenly regretted taking any kind of shower before coming out, because fucking Charlie, or whatever horror was out there, could smell yankees on the basis of a couple things; sweat and diet and, most especially, soap, shaving cream and fucking aqua velva. Americans liked to go into the field barbered up and it smelled entirely out of place in the jungle. He'd learned that because he survived much of a tour in 1967 and early 1968 right before everything turned around in his life. Of course, he'd always had the senses, the vision and smell and hearing of a lycanthrope, and that was often what saved his ass.

There were trails to be seen, but he wasn't getting on them. He assumed, even as he crouched and moved, that there was a trap somewhere, and sure enough, he spotted one as they moved through; a frag rigged with a tripwire on a little bamboo y-frame, concealed real well. Tony had a pocket knife on a keychain with some scissors, and he used that to snip the wire once he bent the cotter pin on the frag to keep it from popping out; M26 -- American. He took that up and put it in a pocket on his hoodie. But he held it up to Parry first, as if to say, [i]here we are![/i]

If the others were here, and while Flint had fought the Germans, he never saw anything like the fucking 'Nam, they were going to be in a real world of shit. "We gotta find the others before they step into punji stakes or trip a claymore man," Tony said, fearful desperation in his voice, "They don't know what this shit is like..."