[url=https://fontmeme.com/fonts/fail-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/200308/3d5da912b9c7fe48d12d520f85d52a1c.png[/img][/url] This fucking country, how the hell did people manage to live here? The schizophrenic weather that jumped wildly from blazing heat and bone dry to merely hot and wet enough to drown standing up, the snakes and bugs that swam through the mud and up your ass, the lack of infrastructure in the pits that most of these rice farm fucks called home, it was like going back into the medieval age. You couldn't step off the path to go piss without stumbling into a dead water buffalo or failed rice paddy, not to mention the tiger traps and landmines left as little go-fuck-yourselves by the VC. No wonder Má had gotten out as soon as she was able to. And now Miracle was here, the stupid white-washed daughter who had decided to pick up a gun to win her father's love. Who knew if it worked, Dad hadn't been especially responsive when she told him the news. He had just grunted and sank into his armchair with his usual five PM beer and back pain, looking down his nose at the tiny little mongrel who refused to tame her choppy hair. It was a signature look of his, he had given it to her when the police dropped her off stumbling and throwing up on herself and when she announced proudly that she had won her boxing match by TKO. He was sizing her up, trying to figure out if she had the balls to keep going. [color=khaki]"Really? Good luck then."[/color] He hadn't said she'd need it but it was definitely implied. And it turned out he was right. Boot camp had been relatively simple, getting screamed at and doing intense physical labor wasn't new. But six months into her deployment and she was seriously regretting her decisions. Every patrol that came under fire frayed her sanity a little more, every time some gook with a Jap made mortar opened up on the firebase she wanted to screamed. And each trip down into the suffocating heat of the pitch black rat tunnels made her feel like she was walking directly into Hell. The thought wouldn't leave her even when she was out on R&R, sins real and imagined haunting her as she bet on cockfights or trolled bars for drinks and drugs. Má's favorite priest had warned her that her substance problems would send here there sooner or later, Dad had told her much the same in his off-handed manner when she tried to hint at why she hadn't bought any boys home. Hell was her final destination, the end of the road, and Vietnam was the loading bay. At least she wasn't out in the shit at the moment. No she was lying on a steel frame cot trying to will her busted fan back into operation with mental power alone and debating whether or not she should bother getting up. The answer was yes, simply because walking would be something different to do. Miracle saw little point in putting on more than her plain white tank top and issue pants, far too hot to wear her full fatigues unless ordered. A single hand scarred and bruised from many a thrown punch, dug into her pocket and produced a cigarette and lighter. Smoking was the probably the least destructive of her vices, Morgan puffing away as she wandered aimlessly. Within a few minutes she had managed to find herself some company, the sergeant that had been here six months longer, a splotchy skinned Negro grease monkey and two soldiers who she didn't recognize. [color=darkseagreen]"Hey, how're you all doing?"[/color] Some people were capable of coming up with cool quips and sly entrances on the fly, commanding the room with the power of their presence. Morgan would never be one of them and that was fine with her. The heavy stomping of her boots and her rough tone was as good a greeting as any. [color=darkseagreen]"He's counting the artillery going off. That's seventeen."[/color] That was her assumption at least, made recklessly without any thought. Just like most of her decisions. The two FNGs set her on edge, Morgan idly tapping her fingers against the pistol holstered at her side. The way they talked and acted suggesting complete novice-hood to the service. Theresa and Linde were either going to learn quick or get themselves killed. [color=darkseagreen]"You know if we're scheduled to go out again soon boss?"[/color] Christ she hoped not, if she had to crawl around another fucking tunnel she'd scream.