Platoon (1).ljbc -

They were moving toward the Cambodian border, a place where the maps grew fuzzy and the rules of engagement even fuzzier. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation—a smell Taylor knew he would never get out of his lungs.

"Keep your interval, Taylor," Elias whispered, not even turning his head. "The jungle has eyes, and they like it when we huddle." platoon (1).ljbc

The mud in the Central Highlands didn’t just stick to your boots; it claimed them. Private Chris Taylor wiped a smear of red clay from his cheek, but the humidity just smeared it back into a mask. It was his third week in-country, and the "new meat" smell hadn’t quite worn off yet. They were moving toward the Cambodian border, a

"You're still here, kid," Elias said softly. "Just remember why you're here. Don't let the jungle become who you are." "The jungle has eyes, and they like it when we huddle