[center][img]https://i0.wp.com/codigoespagueti.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/the-punisher-cambia-simbolo-capitolio.jpg[/img][/center][indent][sub][color=gray][b]PUNISHER:[/b][/color][color=lightgray] WAR JOURNAL[/color][/sub][sup][right][b][color=gray]CHAPTER #4:[/color][/b] [url=https://open.spotify.com/track/2JCINa35SNX0C9qpm5CT7z?si=e32aada1fced4630][color=lightgray]Casualties[/color][/url] [/right][/sup][/indent][hr][indent][color=lightgray][sub][b]Su Tinh Lang Valley - War Zone F [color=gray]♦[/color] Sin-Cong [/b][/sub][/color][/indent]
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[center][sup][i]Mourn your dead land of the free!
If you want to be a hero follow me
Mourn your dead land of the free!
If you want to be a hero follow me[/i][/sup][/center]

The plan was to ride straight into contested territory, pretending we were a bunch of vegetable crates in the back of a farmer's truck. Vân had all the valid papers for an innocent bystander. The PRA let hundreds of people pass their blockades without a second look: this was their country, after all, and -no matter what congress said- their movement held the hearts and minds of the common folk. They shouldn't have given him a second look.

But they did. Now Vân's body rotted in a shallow grave. Hoyle had insisted we didn't just leave him on the road with the rest of the dead. Felt wrong. I didn't want to waste time. Our operation window was short- made even shorter by our lack of wheels.

Curtis gave me the look, though. That one he always put on whenever I said something utterly batshit. I knew to trust that look, and relented. Didn't need the squad turning on me so far outside the wire because I didn't have a goddamn heart. Not sure what burying him did for Vân, though. We already let him die. Couldn't take anything more from him than that.

I led the fire team into the jungle. Captain goes first so the men can see his confidence. Standard operating procedure for the Corps. The yellow bellied officers that shoved their men forward first never lasted long in Siangcong. They tended to become 'combat casualties' while they slept in their bunks, if you get my meaning.

I don't know how I missed the tripwire. Maybe I distracted myself thinking about the ambush. Maybe I just got unlucky. Either way, I was five steps ahead of Monk when his shin caught a line and he fucking exploded. Grenade pin tied to a fishhook: primitive, but effective. My best gunner rained down from the canopy in wet chunks. Stephen screamed. His head was probably ringing just as bad as mine; he'd been just a few steps behind Monk, after all. I told him to. Told him that was the safest place he could be.

Instinct taught me to drop to one knee and scan the tree line for rifles. 

"Hold!" I shouted over the ringing in my ears, holding up a hand to signal the same. The rest of the team fell into cover positions.

"Oh shit! Shit!" Diesel's terrified screaming morphed into manic laughter. "Ahahahaaa what the hell, dude?! Why are there mines here?"

"Don't move." Hoyle warned. "You know the drill. One bomb means a whole lot more."

"I thought this was s'posed to be clear!" Diesel continued to laugh. "Damn, dude, I told ya'll we can't trust CIA intel for shit. Knew it. Knew those spooks were dirty."

"What are you [i]talking[/i] about, Diesel?"

"Told you! The CIA is fuckin' subvertin' our fuckin' democracy, man. Director's a communist. I knew it!"

"Jesus Christ." Goodwin choked. "Jesus Christ, help me."

"Will you shut the hell up for two goddamn seconds?" I barked over my shoulder. This was not the time for Diesel's bullshit. Not with Monk lying in pieces and the threat of death underfoot. "Monk was carrying the sweeper gear. Where's his pack?"

Hoyle sighed, loudly. "Oh his back."

"And where's his back?" I yelled.

After a beat, Curtis spoke to the kid in as calming and reassuring voice as he could muster, given the circumstance: "Corporal Goodwin. Can you reach the backpack?"

"No, no, I can't- I- oh God, look at him-"

"Take a breath, corporal. I need you to stay calm, alright? We need to get the GPR out of Monk's backpack. We have to make sure there aren't more explosives. You're the only one who can reach it without moving."

"Thought he hit a tripwire?" Diesel snorted. "What's the GPR gonna do? Its not in the ground, dude. Its above the ground."

I sucked air in through my teeth. "If you don't shut your mouth in the next two seconds, Dubois, I'm going to turn around and shoot you in the head. Understood?"

"Uh, yes, sir."  

Stephen Goodwin started sobbing. I couldn't see what the hell was happening without dropping my sight lines on the jungle, and I wasn't about to break protocol. I just held my breath, hoping that Hoyle could get Goodwin's shit together long enough to get us out of this mess.

Most of the time traps were left behind to grab isolated causalities. Other times, though, they were a precursor to an ambush. We were stuck. Standing like a bunch of erect dicks in an open field. Pinned in by the possibility of more explosives waiting to send us to hell underfoot. Any moment, a barking machine gun could shred me and my squad to pieces, and there wasn't a damned thing we could do about it.

It pissed me off.

We got lucky. Nobody stopped to shoot us. Hoyle talked Goodwin through prying the backpack off Monk's corpse. He dug out their explosive detection gear and threw it back to Diesel. Slowly but surely, he combed the area for mines hidden beneath the earth. 

Tripwires were different. They were my job, and I needed a specialized tool to find them: a nylon cord wrapped around a stick. I held it out in front of me and took a walk down the path. Any time the cord brushed on something, I stopped to check for a wire. I found two more wires before circling back.

While we cleared the area, Hoyle rushed over to Goodwin to check him for injuries. Stephen stood stock still while the corpsman patted down his arms, legs, torso and groin for shrapnel. Just because the kid wasn't screaming in pain didn't mean he was fine. Shock was a damn powerful drug. I'd seen more than one soldier just [i]drop[/i] in the middle of a firefight. Turned out they'd taken a fatal minutes ago. Didn't even realize they were dead men walking.

"You're good." Hoyle patted Stephen's cheek. "Right? You good?"

Goodwin stared at Hoyle for over five seconds before he finally nodded. Curt knew better than to let that go. He smiled at Stephen, slapped his ass and then made his way over to me.

"Goodwin's cracking, Frank." He whispered. 

"He's a recon marine, not some FNG.  He'll make it." Even as the words left my mouth I didn't believe them. I wasn't blind. I just didn't like what I saw.

"His head isn't in the fight anymore. He needs to go home. Its all he can think about."

I shook my head. "Primary extraction point is fifteen miles south. We're not even a mile away from the target. Doesn't make sense to go back now."

"I know." Curt grabbed my shoulder. "But-"

 If we take the time to escort him out of the valley then our window closes. The chopper crew dies if they're lucky. If-"

"Frank, I know. Listen-"
 
"-and if [i]they're not[/i] then they end up in a goddamn torture camp. You good with that?"

Hoyle tightened his grip on my shoulder until it stung. There was that look in his eyes again. 

I felt in my guts that I was right. Our unit's commander was breathing down my neck to get those fly boys home. The war in Sin-cong was...[i]unpopular,[/i] to put it lightly. Every time I turned the TV on back at base, all I saw were protestors gorging the streets. Or news that yet another National Republic official had been found embezzling funds across the wire. The same damned government we were propping up was working against us.

The enemy knew just how bad things were, too. They did everything they could to let the American people know how utterly and completely fucked things were here. No doubt their propaganda minister was already itching to send pictures of American pilots strung up in a torture camp to every major paper in the States. Washington was a pressure cooker. This could be the last thing it needed to set shit off.

If I screwed up this op, I could kiss my career goodbye.

Against my own judgement, I decided to hear Hoyle out.

"Goodwin isn't going to make it through another engagement." Curt whispered the truth, flat out. "He gets shot at again and he'll run. Or worse, panic and shoot one of us in the back. Its no good for any of us." 

I bit back the string of curses I wanted to throw in doc's face before I finally relented. "Alright. I...I got an idea."

"What is it?"

"I'll stick Goodwin with second element. He can sit pretty in the IFV until the hard part's done." It wasn't ideal. I loathed to move our hammer out of position. If the enemy saw them rolling through the jungle before it was time to strike then we'd lose the element of surprise. Still, Hoyle had a point. This was the only way.

Curtis nodded his approval. I waved him off so I could make the call to the other half of the MSOT. "Frogger-2, Frogger-Actual, how do you read me?"

A second later, a familiar, charming twang came buzzing through the line. "Readin' you loud n' clear, Franky boy. What's the sitch?"

No comms discipline. Typical. A guy fights his whole career to become a big damned operator and suddenly forgets how to use a radio. No, he didn't forget. Not my lieutenant. He just thought he was too talented to follow the rules. "Rendezvous at point Juliett 1-2-4."

"Want us to bring the car around, boss?"

Hoyle rolled his eyes at me as I fought not to chuck my radio into the nearest tree. "Yes, Billy, I want you to 'bring the car around.' I need to transfer Frogger-4 to your element. Make room for a casualty."

"Oh." Billy's smile audibly died on the other end. "Who is it?"

"Frogger-3's down. We'll have him bagged before you get here."
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