Behind Enemy Lines

Welcome to the Jungle

March 17, 2014

Above East-Germany

2321 local time, 11:21 local time.

C-130 "Redskin Wonder"

Capt. Lavenski, Jefferson F.

101st Airborne Division, 506th Parachute Regiment, Bad Company

A man sat in the passenger bay of a C-130. He wore woodland camo BDU's, and a black beret hid his short blonde hair from view. His short stubble had been neglected, yet his attire was otherwise spotless. The tactical get-up he wore was stuffed with magazines, grenades, electronics, and radios. He held a cigarette in his teeth, but the tip was unlit.

The steady thrum of the engine made the man drowsy. But even that could not soothe the ache he felt in his heart. His wrists still held the scars of his attempted suicide one year previous. His mind finally decided to end what he had thought would be the last chapter of his miserable life. He had used a razor to slit his own wrists.

Only his last remaining three friends stopped his death. He shoved them off afterwards as his mind turned south towards a deep depression. He finally pulled himself back together for the mission he was currently on. He still twitched as he remembered what Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome did to him. He could barely believe the fact that he was orphaned at age 16. His father died when he was 14 his mom a few months later, his brother died in north Belgium. His sister was dead to him at age 7 so he didn't care what happened to her.

He carried both his brother's and father's dog-tags around his neck. His dad's blackened by the bomb blast. His brother's had a hole in it. He almost married the woman he loved at that age but she soon disappeared. Then his friends started dying off. He almost went insane at that point it was his last friend's death that made him want to kill himself. He only had three friends; David Railey, Brent Coupe, and Kevin Macintosh.

All of which where in the plane with him and in the same unit. He grit his teeth as the memories pained him, became hard to bear. He took inventory of his weapons to keep his mind off of the past. He carried a .357 Magnum, a 10 gauge double barrel shotgun, and an M-11 Rifle. His chute was dark green. His face blacked out with charcoal, his glasses normal. The .357 was in a pocket on his trousers. His shotgun in a holster on his hip. His M-11 upside down strapped to his chest.

"CAPTAIN…CAPTAIN HOW LONG TO THE DROP ZONE?" Brent hollered to yell over the sound of the heavy engines.

"ONE MINUTE," he screamed as he looked at his watch. "OH SHIT… STAND UP!" the men in the plane stood up as he yelled at them.

"HOOK UP!" they attached there static line hook to the wire above them.

"SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK FIRST SQUAD!" he yelled.

"TWELVE OKAY!"

"ELEVEN OKAY!"

"TEN OKAY!"

"NINE OKAY!"

"EIGHT OKAY!"

"SEVEN OKAY!"

"SIX OKAY!"

"FIVE OKAY!"

"FOUR OKAY!" Kevin yelled.

"THREE OKAY!" David screamed back.

"TWO OKAY!" Brent yelled.

"ONE OKAY!" The captain yelled at the top of his voice.

The light above them turned green just as heavy anti-aircraft fire started zeroing in on them. "LET'S GO!" Jeff yelled as he threw himself out of the airplane. He felt the familiar tug of his chute opening. Jeff looked up to see more chutes open as he fell downward. He looked back down to see the dark surface of the earth temporarily lit by a blinding array of anti-aircraft guns, each pounding away into the night. He felt the concussions of the AA fire. He felt a round explode near him, sending shrapnel into his right arm with a spray of blood. He didn't feel the pain, however. Adrenaline, Jeff thought to himself. Another one flashed in front of him with a blinding white flash. He fell towards the trees. His ears where ringing as he look down at the large trees below him.

His feet started breaking branches as he slowed down. Jeff's neck was slashed as he hit a tree's limb that was broken by his feet. The cut went from his collar to check. His broken right arm instantly went to his bleeding neck. His neck felt as if it was on fire, and his arm seared with pain. Jeff finally stopped in the tree as his chute caught on a branch. His blood flowed over his cut hand. He started losing his vision as it turned black. His ears where still ringing as he coughed up blood.

"Puf…med…ahh…med…ah…akham…med..." He said as he fell in to the blackness of unconsciousness. His last thought was 'I may die here'. Surprisingly, a voice in the back of his head said 'No duh, Sherlock. But I doubt it. Just give it a few days and let me do all the work.' he would have been worried if not for the comfortableness of unconsciousness.