UNDERDOG
"ATONE FOR YOUR SINS"
DISCLAIMER
NOTE: I am aware that the entire series is not finished yet. With the potential number of changes in the canon, this story will be an AU (Alternate Universe) that combines both elements and characters from Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss, while adopting some actual new elements from the canon. This story is also not too "Lore-Friendly" (aka not being too accurate to the world of the Canon.) So, be warned if some inaccurate information in this AU may make you cringe.
Both shows along with their characters DOESN'T belong to me. The series respectively belongs to SpindleHorse and its creator, Vivienne Medrano (aka "VivziePop".) The plot in this Fan Fiction and some characters you'll know who are OCs (Original Characters) are original from me. If any ideas or characters sound similar to another story written by somebody else, it is purely coincidental. I refuse to blatantly steal somebody's idea and claim that it was mine. If you have any concerns, you are always welcome to message me.
If there is anybody outside of this site posting this Fan Fiction without giving proper credit or impersonating me, please let me know.
Chapter 5: Trauma.
Every warrior has the scars under the uniform.
[WARNING: If you are a veteran who was deployed in Afghanistan or any warzone in the past and suffers from mental trauma, be warned that some details below may trigger you or make you uncomfortable. You may skip to the scene where it jumps to the present day of this story if you are unable to read the first part. Please take care of yourself!]
-(Helmand Province, Afghanistan [2018])-
(Morgan's POV)
Fourteen years ago…
Coordinates: 31.834523, 64.412021
Around twenty minutes have passed ever since we went outside the wire of Camp Shorabak in our Cougar MRAP (Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected) vehicle, proceeding further east in the Kandahar–Herat Highway. My squad and I were heading to Grishk when ANA (Afghan National Army) forces needed some assistance in securing the roads after supposed reports of Taliban presence. Some members of 1st Battalion, 24th Marines from Task Force Southwest alongside 4th Infantry Division from the US Army were coming along with us while us Raiders took the lead in the patrol line. Whatever danger lies ahead, we'll be the first to face it.
Seated in the back with my four guys, three of whom were CSOs (Critical Skills Operators) and the other being a corpsman, all of us were just snacking up with our miserable MRE snacks. At this point, I was better off eating something from the locals. Yes, it might be poisoned and kill me. But what's the difference when eating the same thing every day is going to drive me nuts? It's gonna kill me either way. Judging by the faces of my squad, they probably would've done the same.
My squad was designated as "Huntsman Team" with its members being Sergeant Dave "Deuce" Carpenter (Automatic Rifleman), Sergeant Jaiden "Dove" Anderson (Rifleman), Corporal Jake "Joker" Gomez (Rifleman), and Petty Officer Second Class Bailey "Knocker" Kelly (Corpsman). For me, I was their Team Leader as Staff Sergeant with my nickname "Tyke". We all got our nicknames from something stupid about us, if you're wondering why it sounds so…"unique".
"It's the same damn menu every time." Knocker sighed, clearly annoyed at the lack of variety of MREs available. "Tyke, how the hell do you just take it, eating the same shit every day?"
Deuce rolled his eyes at me. "He actually got his hands on another Menu. Hence why he's acting chipper."
"Niiice." I whispered to myself on the satisfying hiss from opening the cracker packs after my smoked almonds.
"Lucky you. I swear to God, these damn pretzels are only making me thirstier." Dove groaned after pouring down the rest in his pretzel packet into his mouth.
I nodded and let out a chuckle with smoked almonds in my mouth. "Good thing I finally got to have Menu 20 on my hands. Literally had to fight for it from one of the Marines at the base."
"Bro, are you going to eat your apple turnover?" Deuce asked while eyeing my unopened pastry pack.
"Yeah. I'm saving that for after the mission. What's wrong with your First Strike Bar?"
"It tastes like ass. That's what's wrong with it."
"Tell you what, brother. If you can prove you can do this good, I'll hand this shit over to you. That's how I earned my rank as Lance Corporal back when I graduated out of Pendleton." I said while crumbling my smoked almond packet.
Knocker snickered and nudged Joker, who was seated next to him in the middle. "He's gonna fucking stuff it without him looking." He whispered.
"Boss was always a pig when it comes to sweets." Joker shrugged,
"Hold on. You were a Lance Corporal out of bootcamp? Whose ass did you have to kiss in the showers, TL?" Deuce joked and laughed along with my team.
"Shut the fuck up." I chuckled and playfully nudged his side. "Let's just say it wasn't easy being one of the best in bootcamp. Hell, almost felt like my drill instructor was turning gay because of me."
"The upside to that is they have a tighter asshole than some stripper."
I raised my eyebrow and shook my head. "And you know that from experience?"
"Yup. That's how Dove got his nickname." Deuce nudged one of my riflemen.
"No, it's not! Fuck you!" Dove laughed and nudged back harder.
My shoulders shrugged as I shook my head a little before looking at my men. "Let me tell you this: Just because I graduated as a Lance Corporal doesn't mean shit in the Marines. Everyone else still treated me like a Private when I got out of the camp."
"To be fair, E-3s fresh out of the mud are just overpaid E-1s. Would you trust one who hasn't even experienced shit and combat to have some leadership?" Dove asked.
"True." I shook my head. "Pretty much sums up that they want to see it. Not hear about your rank."
"Kind of like college graduates in art."
"Exactly."
"Morgan was always a top dog." Dove shrugged his shoulders and pointed his thumb at me. "Hell, it's a fucking miracle that a twenty year old is already this far as a Staff Sergeant. Maybe it's because of him being such an overachiever and his dad being a Big Shot for the corps."
"That, or the Corp already lost a lot of NCOs somehow and are tossing promotions around like candy." Joker chuckled.
Knocker raised an eyebrow, showing he was the most curious than the others who never heard about it. "You never told us what your old man does."
"He served in the USMCA (United States Marine Corps Aviation) as a pilot during the Gulf War." I answered. "I learned a thing or two about flying from him and was looking into becoming a pilot for the Air Force. But it turns out they didn't want me whe-"
All of a sudden, my sentence was interrupted when all of us felt the MRAP halt abruptly and harshly. Every one of my men grabbed a hold of the overhead grip to avoid falling over with our heavy gear.
"Driver. What's up?" I asked while peeking up from my seat.
"Local shepherd is blocking the road in front." The driver said before honking his horn at an old man leading a flock of sheep in the middle of the road.
Dove peeked over and let out an annoyed sigh. "This far out? You gotta be fucking kidding me."
"يلا. *Yalla!* (Let's go!/Move!)" The passenger shouted in Arabic at the shepherd out the window. But the old man didn't pay attention to him as if he didn't hear his shouting. Hell, he didn't even react to the honking of our vehicle.
"This guy is either genuinely deaf, or he's just fucking with us." The driver sighed and honked one more time but didn't get his attention as expected.
I fixed my helmet on my head. "I'm about to just go out there and tell him to move his flock."
"If you're going, we got your back." Dove said as the rest of my squad nodded in agreement.
With that unanimously decided, I activated my radio and grabbed the overhead handle as I was ready to lift myself up. "All stations. Be advised. We got a shepherd blocking the road ahead. Keep your eyes open for an ambush, over." I said over the radio to relay for the rest of the convoy behind us.
"Hotel 2-1 copies. Scanning the area. Out." A reply over the radio acknowledges.
I got off my seat and opened the door from the back before turning over to the passenger. "Wilkes, get on the gun. Cover us."
"On it, sarge." He nodded and went to the back as soon as me and my men were out of the MRAP.
"Switch off safety, boys. But do not aim or fire at the guy." I told my squad while we were still lined up behind the vehicle.
"And how do we know that shepherd isn't going to clack off a vest when we get closer?" Deuce asked while keeping his finger curved towards the trigger.
Knocker nervously exhaled out of his nose and checked if his rifle was switched out of safety. "Well, if you hear the magic words and he reaches for something, you know what to do."
"And if he's harmless and we end up killing an innocent old man?" Joker raised an eyebrow.
"Hey, if we get in trouble with this, we can always blame it on Dove." I joked.
"Suuure. Blame it on the black guy." Dove chuckled.
With everything set, I took point with my rifle at ease and walked towards the shepherd who was aimlessly walking around the middle of the road while his flock was gathered behind him. He was hunched over while almost struggling to walk, which was one of the first strange signs I noticed immediately. Maybe it was just his age. This was an old man, after all. As soon as we reached him enough to have him notice us, the old man ominously turned his head towards me and stared dead into my eyes. If I could describe what the look in his eyes would be, it was pure hatred. But I wasn't looking into picking up a fight with him, obviously. All we needed him to do was move his flock out of the way.
"بښنه غواړم! (Excuse me, sir!)" I called out to the local shepherd in Pashto Arabic first. "لطفا حرکت وکړئ. (Please move out the way.)" I added while using hand signals for him to move just in case he didn't understand me.
"…" He let out a sigh and intensely clenched his crane. But he didn't seem to reply back whatsoever.
"Do you understand English?" Knocker asked, "You need to move your sheep out of the way, sir."
The shepherd stayed silent as he scanned each of my men like he was ready to pounce at them. Because of this, we carefully took a step back and gripped our guns tightly. He inhaled deeply through his nose and suddenly began to move his hand to his chest pocket.
"Hey. Hands out of your pocket." I told the old man while taking a step back more and tightly gripping the handle of my rifle harder.
Again, the old man didn't listen to my commands.
"What're you doing?" Joker asked, demanding him to answer while slowly lifting his rifle.
"Sir!" I repeated while putting myself in an offense stance, knowing something wasn't right with him not complying.
"الله أكبر *Allahu Ackbar* (God is Great)" The old man mumbled under his breath.
Hearing that immediately set off red flags as he continued to reach for his pocket. "HEY! Hands where I can see them!" I shouted while lifting my M4's barrel up at him.
"الله أكبر (God is Great)" He repeated, much more vocally.
"Move your hand out of your pocket! NOW!" Deuce did the same with their rifle.
"I'll fucking shoot you! Show me your hands!" Dove roared as he shook his rifle threateningly while it aimed dead center at the man.
My finger touched the trigger as I continued to shout at the man to comply. "DON'T YOU FUCKING DO IT!
"الله أكبر (GOD IS GREAT!)"
And just like that, before I could pull the trigger and after he shouted his prayer…
*BOOM!*
…
…
The force of the explosion knocked me off the ground as I felt the dirt and heat splashing over my face and body. However, the most painful feeling was when the concussive wave penetrated through my body, having an impact on my body internally. It almost seemed like I briefly passed out in mid-air and was awakened as soon as I hit the ground, hard. My ears were ringing while I did my best not to throw up from the harsh blast taking a toll on me. Fortunately, I didn't vomit, and my ears began to regain their hearing. But silence was not what I was welcomed with.
"Ambush nine o'clock! Taking effective fire!" I heard over the radio followed by the sounds of gunfire.
"All units! Weapons free!"
"Watch the right! Watch the right!"
Just as I suspected, it was a trap.
Wiping off the dirt off my eyes and regaining some of my vision back, I saw Deuce, who was thankfully alive but looked to be in pretty bad shape.
"God damnit…" Deuce groaned as he clenched his stomach as if he was going to puke from the shockwave. "Yo, Tyke! Where are you?! You good?!"
I struggled to get up on my knees as I was still disorientated from the blast of the bomb vest. My left forearm was already bleeding heavily as I gritted my teeth tightly to endure the pain as best as I could. "Got knocked to shit, but I'm up!" I answered his call. "Where's my fucking rifle?!"
"We have confirmed contact coming from our north!" He told me. "I'll provide suppressing fire!"
"Negative! Find Knocker, Dove, and Joker first! Leave that for the others behind us! Use some of the dust for cover!" I replied while slowly standing on my feet, still trembling from trying to maintain my balance.
The sound of bullets whizzing and snapping overhead was overwhelming as I knew this ambush was going to be fierce and tough to get through. The dust had no signs of settling as I was almost completely in the blind without my gun. Worst case scenario is that I'll get shot by a stray bullet and the dust settles that might leave me defenseless without cover. Nevertheless, I continued to look for my squad mates while moderately wounded. The only dead corpses I came across was the poor sheep that got killed by the explosion. Some of them were even still conscious and crying out in pain.
"Kelly! Gomez! Anderson!" I called out trying to outvoice the bullets and gunfire.
"I'm hit…!" A familiar voice cried out from my right. It was Anderson's (Dove).
And there he was, laying at the roadside ditch with some of the corpses of sheep that died from the bomb vest. He was still breathing heavily, but the blood was…flowing and spreading across…
"TL, help…" Dove muttered as he was trembling from pain and shock.
"Shit!" I immediately got on my feet and ran towards my wounded squad mate. "Hang in there, Jaiden! I got you!" I told him while hitting him with a spare autoinjector filled with medicine. "Corpsman! Medic!" I shouted as I applied pressure on the wound in whatever spot was bleeding the most, using the bandages I had. Dove was already shaking even rapidly and grunting in pain from the shrapnel while I was still in an adrenaline rush that suppressed my own pain. All that mattered was keeping my squad mate alive more than my own. "Knocker! Deuce, did you find him?!" I called out by his nickname, hoping I would get a response.
I got one. But it was Deuce who shouted back with something that I was hoping not to hear. "Kelly is gone! He's fucking dead!"
My heart dropped while it was beating rapidly to the point where I could easily feel it from my fingers. As a squad leader, hearing one of your men confirmed to be dead was the worst nightmare you could get hit with. But I kept my mind leveled and focused on saving Dove's life. Unfortunately, the autoinjector and bandages I got on me were all I had. As soon as the dust started to clear up, I could see Deuce providing suppressing fire for the marines and soldiers from the rear. Next to him was Knocker, already laying down on the dirt lifelessly. But he had more, and all the essential medical equipment needed to treat Dove.
Dove, already having his blood soaked up the bandages, grabbed my wrist and nodded. "G-Go…! Forget about me…!" He said, deciding his fate.
"Fuck that! I'm getting you out of this alive!" I declared and patted his shoulder. "I'm coming back! Just hang in there!"
Wilkes, the passenger from our MRAP was laying down more fire from the .50 as I sprinted to where Deuce and Knocker's body was. The moment I reached his body was when my stomach turned. This man was just alive a few minutes ago making casual conversations with me, and now there he was covered in dirt, blood, and explosive residue which I could smell. I scavenged whatever medical equipment was undamaged and useable while looking around to find one of my men was missing.
"Deuce! Where's Joker?!" I asked him while he kept firing his Mk 48.
"He's alive, but unconscious! I moved him behind the MRAP for cover!" He answered briefly before firing another set of bullets.
"Got it!" I reached for my radio, praying it was still functioning. "This is Huntsman Actual! We have three men down in the front! One KIA and two critically wounded! I need a medic up here, now!"
"This is Tango 1-4. Copy! Medical assistance on the way!"
With help on the way, I immediately bolted to where I found Dove as he was the one who needed assistance the most. At this point, I remained unfazed by the bullets whizzing and cracking overhead. I couldn't tell how close they were as bullets heading towards you all sound the same when they're flying past you up close or a couple feet.
I reached the ditch where Dove remained where he sat. However, my worst nightmare stood there in front of me. The look of his lifeless eyes and him no longer holding onto the bandaged wound on his neck was a clear sign he was gone. But that still didn't stop me from making sure there was hope. I covered the wound again and tried to wake him up. But while covering his wound, my finger on his neck detected no pulse…
First, Knocker was gone. Now Dove…
"FUCK!" I punched the ground, not caring about my injured forearm. My right hand was still on his bleeding collar, still oozing out warm and fresh blood leftover. "Dove is down. He's not coming back…!" I angrily growled and looked over where that son of a bitch that blew himself up stood. All that remained was some parts of his body covered in explosive residue and blood. No further detail was needed. It was disgusting…
"Tyke, get him over here! We'll cover you!" Deuce called out while loading up a new box mag for his LMG and firing.
Taking that opportunity, I carried Dove's corpse and ran to the MRAP where Joker was being taken care of from Tango 1-4, who was a US Army Medic while being accompanied by his fellow soldiers. As for Knocker, his disfigured body was aligned with Joker's while his hands, one of which was mutilated, rested on his chest. His remaining medical equipment was scavenged from the soldiers to put it to good use for Joker.
"How is he?" Tango 1-4 asked while helping me lay Dove to the ground.
"Can't help him now, man. He's gone." I replied.
"Bastards…" He sighed after confirming it was true by checking his nonexistent pulse.
"Listen, have you seen my weapon anywhere? I lost it from the explosion."
The medic turned his head back and picked up a rifle that was leaned on the MRAP's wheel. "I found this on my way to your truck. Can you use it?"
Miraculously, it was my M4A1 SOPMOD Block II as it was still in good condition. I picked it up and examined it a second time to verify it still looked functional. The leaf sight for my grenade launcher might be a bit bent, but it was good enough for me. "Yeah, it's my rifle! Thanks, soldier!"
"What do we do, sir?" One of the soldiers running up to me asked.
"We're sitting ducks in the middle of the highway. It's our job to maneuver into the ambush while the rest of our guys providing suppressing fire." I looked over at the three army boys who just got here. "You three are coming with us! You two, stay here and watch his back!" I added to the last two soldiers already firing back at the ambushers position to stick with Tango 1-4 taking care of Joker. With that, I set down most of Knocker's medical equipment I was going to use on Dove next to the medic for him to use for Joker.
"Roger!" A soldier sticking with me nodded.
"Hey, any Marine Raider leading the way is good in my book." Another commented without objection.
I nodded and made sure my rifle was off its safety. "Good. Deuce, let's move!"
"Right behind yah, TL!" He replied and got off his position to follow my lead.
Remembering my training and tactics, I took point and led my last standing squad mate and three US Army soldiers down the small ditch Dove died in, which was just enough to cover us from gunfire as long as we crouch run through. The convoy behind us was still providing as much fire as possible towards the enemy as a means to suppress them or catch their attention away from us. When we reached a good distance, I ordered Deuce to cover me and the three soldiers as we dashed across the highway road before he followed with us covering him back. Thankfully, we had a chance to stay hidden with a large dirt pile covering us as soon as we ran across the road.
While I led Deuce and the three soldiers, I contacted the convoy to relay our position. "This is Huntsman Actual. Be advised, we are flanking the enemy position from your two o'clock behind the spoil piles. Watch your fire."
"Hotel copies. Prioritizing on suppressing the enemy. Watching fire on your position."
I ran up to the top of the dirt pile and went prone, having a clear view of Taliban fighters around one hundred meters away from our position. The others behind me spread out and stayed low while aiming at the enemy position.
"Enemy contact confirmed. Cleared to fire, Sarge?" One of the soldiers asked.
"Roger. Smoke those motherfuckers!" I ordered as I was the first one to fire at the enemy offense line with my M203 GL, followed by Deuce firing his LMG in bursts with the assisted suppression from the soldiers with us.
As soon as the enemy started receiving fire from my team, they immediately began to fire back with their small arms but much less effectively than us. Hearing and even seeing some bullets sway or impact near me at the dirt, my mind was clouded with aggression due to the anger of losing two of my men. I mainly aimed at the fighters that were still firing at the convoy to further lessen stress for the convoy. Knowing my shots were taking them down to the ground, the rest of the fighters were now in disarray due to taking effective fire from us and the convoy. Those who were attempting to run were taken down by Deuce's LMG or from the .50 Cals from the MRAPs.
For a few minutes that passed, which felt longer than it seemed, the enemy started to lose confidence and their foothold on their offensive line and began to fall back. However, none of us showed any signs of backing down as I reloaded a fresh mag into my M4 SOPMOD Block II hastily and began to send precise shots at the fleeing enemy fighters. Normally, I try to remain calm and controlled during firefights. But after what happened, this was personal, and I didn't hold back until every last one of them was dead on the ground.
For the last two enemies, with one fighter trying to save another, there was no showing any mercy as I shot the wounded one still covering his rescuer before finishing him off last.
"Fucking hell, Sarge…" One of the soldiers commented on my ruthlessness.
"I'm telling you, Jack. Marine Raiders are merciless." Another one next to him added.
"They had it coming. You pick a fight to get our blood on your hands, expect to get yours too." I sighed while scanning the scattered corpses for any left standing.
Deuce nodded and looked over at me while his box mag was now empty. "Good thing we kicked their asses this time."
"We did. But at a cost, brother." I frowned and noticed I used 3/4ths of my mags on me due to the heated battle. "Huntsman. Hotel 2-1. Say your status." I asked over the radio.
"Hotel 2-1. We're all good here. No longer taking effective enemy fire. Thanks for saving our asses, Huntsman." He thanked while some of the soldiers and marines in the background cheered. "Any wounded with you is going to have to regroup back to the convoy. US Air Force PJs (Pararescue) have been notified and are en route. Over."
"Copy that. We're on our way back. Out." I replied and looked at my left forearm, which had gotten worse, revealing it was a deep shrapnel wound. I guess the adrenaline and anger suppressed the pain so well…
"Bro, let's get that checked out." Deuce reminded, snapping me out of it.
I nodded and looked over at the three soldiers that accompanied us. "Helluva good job out there, boys. Thanks for accompanying us."
One of them nodded, the other gave a thumbs up, and the last one pounded his left shoulder as a way of saying they were obliged to fight with us.
Running back to the convoy using the same route we used to flank the enemy, we reached the MRAP we rode on the way here and saw my three men lined up behind the vehicle. Knocker and Dove were killed, but I saw Joker wasn't being treated by the medic, who was working on another marine that got wounded due to shrapnel. This confused me for a moment, but it soon started to make me think of yet another worse case.
"Hey!" I called out the medic, "Is my other man alright?"
The medic looked over at me and slowly moved his gaze down, which was enough to confirm my suspicions. "I'm sorry, sergeant. As soon as you ran off to flank the enemy, that's when his pulse was gone…"
And just like that, my heart formed another crack after getting confirmation I prayed wouldn't be true. I looked back at Deuce, who removed his cap while looking at the corpses of our fellow marines.
No. More than just our fellow marines.
Our brothers…
Petty Officer Second Class Bailey "Knocker" Kelly… †
Sergeant Jaiden "Dove" Anderson… †
Corporal Jake "Joker" Gomez… †
Three of my men…killed…
The fact I was with these guys for months, had breakfast with them this morning, ate our MRE snacks while talking about life in the MRAP. And there they were, lying dead on the ground before me. I felt like crying. I really did. But now wasn't the time to grieve in front of my fellow soldiers and marines. Just like with Deuce's cap, I took off my helmet as a sign to pay respects to my squad mates I was unable to save. The medic hesitated to approach and treat my wounds as he knew not to bother both of us doing this after the firefight. Hell, I don't think he even has to anymore as the distant sounds of two helicopters were heard approaching our position.
US Air Force Pararescue already arrived from the air to treat or pick up our critically wounded. Above us, one of the HH-60 Pave Hawks broke out of formation and descended near an open section next to the convoy. The other helicopter remained circling around the area to provide cover overhead while the PJs onboard the one that landed hopped out and ran towards the front of the convoy, where we stood next to our dead.
"Hey!" One of the Pararescuemen called out to me. "Are these all your wounded?"
"No." I shook my head. "Don't waste your energy. They're gone."
"Fuck!" The lead PJ cursed and noticed my now severely bleeding left forearm. "How serious is that?"
"Not as serious as the other guys in the back." Deuce answered.
"He's right. The back of the convoy needs you boys first. I'll be fine." I nodded as my main focus was to ensure no other casualties were going to be marked as KIA.
The PJ nodded and looked back at the last guy behind him. "Adrian! Help this guy out! The rest of you, let's go!" He ordered while leading the rest of his pararescuemen followed behind except for the one ordered to treat my wound.
As I sat down on one of the steps of the MRAP, I looked over at Deuce. "Dave, go help some of our guys out."
"Roger, Tyke." He nodded and turned his back to sprint towards the back of the convoy.
"Where's your corpsman?" The PJ who stayed with me asked.
I pointed over at the third corpse that looked much more defiled compared to Dove and Joker's, which was Knocker. "He was the first one…"
"Son of a Bitch…" He sighed and looked at my logo near my chest plate. "The rest of your dead guys MARSOC too?"
"Unfortunately, yeah…" I hung my head shamefully. "Look, I'm not in any serious condition. You can reach out to the other guys back there."
"No worries, man. I still have time to treat yours before we get the rest of your wounded out of here." He said while rolling up my sleeve even more, revealing the shrapnel wound was in a much more wicked state than I thought. It was like a large crack in the middle of my forearm, still oozing out blood. "Bro, holy shit!"
I chortled dryly. "Didn't feel as bad as it looked…"
"You may have not felt anything. But that doesn't mean you're not prone to bleeding out or getting it infected."
"I know. Just messing around." I shrugged. "You boys from Shorabak?"
"Nah." He shook his head. "We came here all the way from Kandahar."
"Damn. You guys got here quick then from that far."
"You can thank TOC and our helicopters for getting the word and giving us a quick ride." He chuckled and finished up with treating my wound. "No doubt there's still more shrapnel in there. Doctors will handle the rest when we get you back."
"Thanks, man." I smiled while examining the temporary bandage wrap he applied with some medicine.
The PJ smiled back and gave a nod back. He turned his head at the three of my dead men and shook his head with his mouth curving down to a frown. "I know we just met and it's not much to you jarheads. But sorry about your loss."
"It's alright. We knew the risks…" I clenched my fist tightly but tried not to stress it too much to avoid worsening my injury. Guilt was still building up in me at this point, but I exhaled and reminded myself, "Marine Raiders choose the hardest path to make it easier for others. Even if that means we must die for it." I said, trying to find any justification if I played this right while my men accepted what was going to happen after they followed me out of the MRAP instead of staying inside.
I got off the steps I sat on and headed towards Knocker, Dove, and Joker's corpses with the Air Force PJ following me to make sure I was stable. Now was my chance to give a few words before either the PJs take their bodies away in their chopper, or they get covered and transported by road back to Camp Shorabak.
"It's been an honor. God be with you, brothers…" I said my final goodbye, knowing I'll never see them again when they're sent home.
"Amen, bro. Or err…Sergeant…" He squinted his eyes to scan my uniform to find my rank and surname.
"Staff Sergeant Adler. MARSOC; 1st Marine Raider Battalion. Again, thank you." I shook his hand with my uninjured one.
"Senior Airman Bennet. Pararescue; 66th Rescue Squadron. And my pleasure." He shook it back proudly.
-(Hazbin Hotel; Pentagram City, Pride Ring [Present Day])-
And here I was, sitting on my bed in my hotel room while staring down at the photo of my Marine Raider team; the same photo I showed Charlie in her family estate when she was curious about my past. What she didn't know was that three out of the four men with me were already dead. Were they sent to Heaven or Hell? I never got to find out. While holding onto the photo with the MARSOC Insignia that was once worn in my uniform in the USMC, the shrapnel scar on my forearm I got from that day still came back to haunt me. Even when I was sent down here to Hell, I still carried the scars from when I was still alive. It still pains me that I lost Knocker, Dove, and Joker from that incident.
But the most painful thing wasn't my injuries. It was writing a letter to each of their families waiting for them. Not only is it a squad leader's job to make sure the mission is done. But it's also their job to bring as much of their men home alive.
I prayed to God every day if he could forgive me for not saving their lives. But I guess it's been answered when I was baptized by the flames of Hell instead of the warmth embrace of Heaven. My previous life wasn't perfect, but I guess I should thank both God for giving me another chance, even if it's down here…
The deep silence of my room was suddenly interrupted as soon as the front door busted open as if this was a breaching exercise. But no. It was that energetic cyclops housekeeper that has been taking care of the hotel, and both me and First Sergeant Melodie Elise.
"Good morning, Colonel Adler~!" Niffty skipped inside my room with a breakfast tray filled with a smorgasbord of dishes. It had everything from your standard English breakfast (hashbrowns, bacon, eggs, beans, sausage, toast, tomatoes, etc.), French toast, a bowl of oatmeal, fresh fruits, and a few Danish pastries. "Time for your breakfast!"
"That's a bit excessive. But that doesn't mean I can't finish it all." I smiled as I could feel my stomach growl from hunger.
Niffty giggled while pouring down a glass of orange juice. "Well, since you and Melodie are the only guests here, I took the liberty of being generous towards both of you WarDogs. Hearing what you guys do in the field; your bodies are gonna need more calorie intake. Overall, I made them very special!"
This little lady is so precious, it hurts.
"Thank you." I smiled.
"My pleasure, sir!" Niffty grinned. "My main specialty dish I'm trying to execute is pancakes! So, forgive me if it's not that perfect…" She said while handing over a small plate of her attempt on making pancakes, which looked decent.
"I'm sure they'll taste fantastic." I gave her some encouragement. "Actually, I haven't had pancakes in years…"
"WHAT?!" She looked at me as if she heard me say something out of this world. "Not even your girlfriend tried making them for you?"
"She tried. But she ends up overcooking them to the point it's almost inedible." I chuckled at the memories of Marcela giving it her all for me. "Not sure why she sucks at pancakes so much."
Niffty pouted and glared with her single eye. "Don't talk to your girlfriend like that."
"I know, I know. Not putting her in a bad light or anything. Just a flaw we both laugh about like how I suck at Spanish at the moment."
She chortled and rolled her eye, but suddenly stopped it at my pocket journal that was opened at the page I was looking at. It was the photo of me and my old MARSOC squad during our deployment in Afghanistan. Curiously, she looked back up to me and asked, "Is that you in the middle?"
It wouldn't hurt to show her it too, since Charlie already saw it. I picked it up and gave it to her before answering her question. "Yup. This photo was taken fourteen years ago. I was around twenty years old."
"Oh my…" Niffty stared in awe at the photo. "Men in uniform are always a handsome bunch. That goes for you especially~!" She giggled while pointing at me in the middle.
"Thank you."
With that, Niffty blushed a bit and cleared her throat awkwardly. "But where are my manners? You're probably hungry and just waiting for me to stop running my mouth…" She said and gave my pocket journal back.
"Don't worry about it. It's always nice talking to you." I assured her.
"Awwww! I swear, you know how to warm a maiden's heart~!" She giggled and hopped off my bed. "I'll be downstairs cleaning up the rest of the lobby. If you need me, give me a call."
"Thank you, Miss Niffty."
As soon as she left the room, I looked down at my food and was absolutely delighted by the smell of it all. Niffty's cooking alone would probably make Hell much more welcoming just like this hotel. Although the pain in my chest was still there from rethinking about my previous life and that day of losing three of my brothers in arms, it was slowly healed from this nice hot breakfast.
For now, I just have to eat it all before it gets cold.
Universe Trivia
(Morgan's US Military Service Record)
Name: Morgan R. Adler III
Born: Miles City, Montana, USA (June 9th, 1998)
Current Residence: Billings, Montana, USA
Blood Type: O-
Religion: Protestantism
Military Branch: USMC (United States Marine Corps)
Age of Enlistment: 17
Trained in: Camp Pendleton, San Diego County, CA.
MOS: 0311 [Rifleman] (2015) & 0372 [Critical Skills Operator] (2018)
Units: 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines (Age 17-20); MARSOC Marine Raider Regiment – 1st Marine Raider Battalion (Age 20-25)
Rank: Lance Corporal [E-3] (2015-2016); Corporal [E-4] (2016-2018); Staff Sergeant [E-6] (2018-2023)
Date of Death: June 8th, 2027 (Age: 29)
Cause: Suicide. Self-Inflicted Gunshot Wound to the Head
Overall Years of Service: 8 Years (2015-2023)
(((Military Decorations)))
-Marine Special Operator Insignia-
I_I
-Silver Star
-Purple Heart
-Combat Action Ribbon
-Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal
-Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal
-National Defense Service Medal
-Afghanistan Campaign Medal
-Global War on Terrorism Service Medal
-Navy Sea Service Deployment Ribbon
-NATO Service Medal *For service with RSM (Resolute Support Mission)*
I_I
-Expert Marksman Badge for Rifle
-Expert Marksman Badge for Pistol
-Marine Corps Combatant Diver Insignia
-Navy and Marine Corps Parachutist Insignia
(Hope this chapter was okay. Was originally going to post it earlier, but my birthday and other schedules got in the way. Take care!)
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