Carl “Grizzly” Jorgenson
Jorgenson asked himself what was the point of being on duty if, truth be told, he couldn't see a fucking thing.
He tried focusing in on the sounds of the jungle but it was always full of sound. The rustling of leaves in the wind, odd whistling and nocturnal animals howling were all the usual sounds
It was all extremely creepy.
The wind itself, going through the thick jungle leaves could’ve been a flute.
There was always something skipping, flying or crawling in the jungle. It was alive and pulsing and in never ending motion.
He risked opening fire for no reason if he didn’t calm down somehow.
That afternoon Rambo and Coletta became obsessed over the idea of eating tiger meat for dinner. Along with everything else therefore, that night Jorgenson added tigers to his list of worries.
The VCs are one thing – he thought, but tigers are another.
VCs don’t run after you at seventy miles per hour and don't pounce from five fifteen feet away.
Most importantly, the Vietcong don't kill because they’re hungry or because you look like a slow, brainless and pathetic prick.
A tiger was, in his opinion, a very shitty idea for dinner.
Jorgenson was pissed off because in Rambo and Coletta’s opinion, being west of the border was like being on vacation in an exotic country. As far as he was concerned however, it was like living some kind of fucking nightmare.
He never got any sleep, whether it be day or night, he was eating very little and very badly, just shit like birds, rats or other pests, all because the prisoners, poor little prisoners, had to eat better.
Jorgenson roughly wiped his forehead with one hand. Even after nine days in the jungle, his hair was still extremely short.
He pointed his AK into the oblivion in front of him.
He stayed that way for a while, aiming his rifle in all directions but then he relaxed.
He just couldn't stand that mission any more. Enough was enough.
Ortega had it all wrong.
Going west had not been the smartest of moves.
It was the equivalent of burying your head in the sand aka a complete waste of time.
Waiting for the situation to calm itself along the Ho Chi Minh's trail was like waiting for the war to end. When they attacked the base that was still under construction, they had undertaken the impossible, and those were the consequences. The difference was that this time, he would pay with his life, as had been the case with black spot.
It was different this time however, he could feel it in his bones.