Although carrying the prisoners themselves wasn’t supposed to be for long, it actually ended up lasting an entire, day.
In the course of the march, Barry moaned through a clenched jaw every step of the way and looked like a fountain he was sweating so much.
Breathing had become painful as though he was scraping the inside of his lungs with every breath.
Not to mention his ankle which was now stinging but at least it was constant and not getting any worse.
Something was definitely wrong with him.
If he hoped to survive the mission, he had to be very careful about the condition of his damn ankle. Not that he was very hopeful about that, considering the team's radio had been destroyed.
Barry turned to look at Jorgenson.
Apart from when they did the selection process, no one had seen Jorgenson tired again. One thing about him was certain however, and that was that operation Black Spot had changed him.
He wasn’t the same guy he used to be any more.
Perhaps the month he’d spent in a bed had ruined a lifetime of training, or maybe, there was something else.
Whatever the reason, Jorgenson had truly changed.
Turning back round to face the front, Berry panted and puffed closed mouthed more noisily than an old boiler.
The fatigue was devastating him, so much so that he wouldn’t even have noticed a VC suddenly jump out in front of him.
Luckily, Rambo was at the front of the line leading the way, so all they had to think about was walking, more or less. The exception being the fatigue of course, since unfortunately, there was no forgetting about that.
Barry suddenly had pangs of regret about not having suffered more than he did while training in Fort Bragg.
What the fuck are you saying, Delmore? Your two years of training in Fort Bragg were hellish enough as was, and that was the undeniable truth.
If he had suffered more at Fort Bragg though, he probably would’ve been suffering less there.