Our El-Tee’s dead. Lieutenant Lincoln was killed in the Apache attack along with Sgt. Deen and Corporal Ulonnie. Deen and Ulonnie were the last of our Non Commissioned Officers. I’m ranking soldier now and I’m just a specialist. Good enough for E4 but not for leadership. My name is Specialist Daniel Fleete and I am, or was, the radioman. This is Lt. Lincoln’s journal. I’m keeping it now because it seems like a good idea to document what’s going on. I don’t know if anyone at Ironjaw is alive or what but the last transmission I heard was they had problems of their own. From what I heard, I don’t know if I can trust anyone besides me, Phelps and Rogers. We’re the only three left.
Four hours ago we had four Apaches pay us a visit. They lit us up like Hell’s Roman candles. It’s easy to see they weren’t on our side. The pilots were poodles crammed into the cockpits. Me and the others were on perimeter when they came. We saw the enemy troops pull back right as we heard the helicopters coming. We ducked low under some rubble so we couldn’t be picked up with IR sensors. Yeah, we ran like little girls with a skinned elbow.
Let me say that the enemy troops were ours. I don’t mean they were private contractors like Black Stag or Steel Guard. No. They were US Army like us and they were all poodle pricks.
The fact that the poodles are in all aspects of the military scares the fuck out of me. If dogs can fly then we’ve got some serious issues to say the least.
I’m tired and this may be all over the place. We haven’t slept in at least 36 hours. We’re running on adrenaline and fear.
We stayed undercover for what seemed like forever. I know that an hour after the Apaches and the ground forces left, a Marine column rolled by. It looked like they were heading for the FOB. They had a couple of Abrams tanks with them and a couple of Cobra attack helicopters, too.
With that type of fire power rolling by we’d have been goddamn fools to stick our heads up. If the poodles are in the Army then they have to be in the other branches too.
Jesus Christ. I’m a fucking specialist leading an E2 private and a PFC. They’re looking to me to come up with a plan to get us back to safety. How the hell am I supposed to do that when I don’t have any idea where to fucking go. They keep looking at me with those fucking lost eyes, wanting me to make a damn decision. Why are they looking at me? I want them to stop. Stop fucking looking at me! What do you want from me? Stop goddamn fucking looking at me!
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