Three of Hearts.
Not exactly the best of cards, but it got me where I wanted right there.
Right at the 21 mark, with the Eight of Spades and Ten of Clubs for companions.
"Now there's something you don't see everyday. Grip's finally got himself a win!"
Lefty never seemed to fail at making the boys laugh. Never failed me.
It was a painkiller, really. Humor.
While the others were laughing their collective butts off, I felt the need to look at that card again.
That plain white card was still wedged between my index and middle finger, and the only thing hindering me from feeling the unnatural smoothness of it was the standard issue tactical gloves we had to wear when we were on-site. No excuses.
"Hey, what's with the long face? The pot's yours. All 50 bucks of it. Should be enough to get you that book you saw at the store that day, eh?"
Tagger always could read my expressions well. Heck, everyone on the squad was readable to him. That's what made the bastard so good at bringing us out just at the nick of time before depression sank in every now and then.
I nodded, a sudden rush of anticipation rushing through me. But for all I knew, that bookstore might not even be there anymore. I had to make a point of finding out some time soon.
And as if he too knew what I was hanging in my mind, Tagger placed a hand on my shoulder. My armored shoulder.
I'm sure it's still there. It was the city center that got hit bad, not some random building.
"A shopping mall isn't exactly random," I finally said, with not much emotion to it, mind.
"True," Bronx -always hulking on- said, that inquisitive and ponderous side to him baring itself for the fleetest of moments. "But it is a useless target if you're thinking of crippling an infrastructure. What c'you wanna do? Spark a guerrilla force of disgruntled shoppers?"
We laughed at that. Mostly because we knew what he said carried some meaning. Seriously. Hell hath no wrath than a shopper scorned.
It was then that Liang dropped in -quite literally- bearing the most inconspicuous mess of metal and more metal.
It didn't take him 5 seconds to see the questioning looks on all our faces.
"Just got word from the Sarge. We're pushing the line up by half-a-click. We'll be able to retake Sierra Whiskey by today, the way things are going," he reasoned before putting that contraption down.
"So that warrants you to carry a minigun along?" Blade asked, sharpening the very machete his namesake's for. More than half his kills came from that. And he carries a light machine gun around. Go figure.
"One per squad. We're gonna do sweep-up in 20. Once Sierra Whiskey is clear, we'll be able to push on back to Ground Zero." Liang said. He didn't sound like it, but we knew he was all too pleased to carry a minigun around.
Heck, I wouldn't mind giving it a go. Maybe he'll let me spray a few rounds. Maybe.
We remained silent after that for no reason, the silence rather deafening, if you asked me.
"So...any idea when we'll be able to fully take back Kilo Lima?"
Faz decided to be the one to break the wall.
"...I don't feel right, calling in that. What's with all the full-names and stuff?"
"Avoiding military goof-ups," I simply tossed in my two-cents.
It was then that the ground thundered and shook.
It didn't take long for the sounds to come after that.
I got up to see at least 5 of them, 5 tanks making their way through the street, an entire column of death slowly moving on to who-knows where.
I heard some other people cheering on, some yelling their amusement at the sights of these behemoths. To the infantry, tanks were near-indestructible. They mostly think so because they're never close enough to see one get blown apart by a missile to the top.
We did. Not a pretty sight.
"Probably they're gonna push the line forward. That means we're on point," Blade said, sheathing that machete and holstering it next to his hip. He often unsheathed it mere seconds before the blood started splattering. Ugh.
"Aren't we gonna wait for the Sarge?" Bronx was right.
Blade made an impatient sound as he sat back down. We all knew what would happen if we moved before Sarge told us what to do. Orders were orders. And we were ordered to hold this line, though we had 5 full squads covering us just a click or 2 ahead.
We waited another good 10 minutes, and the thundering herd of battle tanks were nothing more than distant echoes by then.
And just when we thought it would be quiet again, another thundering herd came by. No, more like a thundering flock.
We heard them before we saw them.
Fighter jets.
I counted at least 7 of them, flying by us, and for the briefest moment I raised my own rifle up, forgetting the what it would do to something traveling at over 600mph.
"Easy there, hot-shot. It's ours," Lefty said, putting a rather firm hand on my gun, lowering it.
"How can you tell?"
"By the fact that the AA guns nearby aren't blowing our eardrums to bits."
"...Oh."
Hey, you can't blame me. I'm just Ground Infantry, people.
"Ground Infantry or not, know-how's important, Grip."
That voice never got old.
I turned around quick enough to get a glance of the first thing that anyone would first notice about Sarge.
Dark, long hair that always moved with the wind.
Her rather generous assets were a close second.
"I'd advise you to keep your eyes on your equipment and not mine, private," she said coolly,
the rest sniggering.
Damn it, I only looked for a second. S'not my fault you wear body armor that resembles a corset more than anything.
"Because I don't go out into the front lines. That's what we have you boys for," she said, crossing her arms, her form-hugging cargo pants doing nothing to hide her curves from my angle of view.
Nothing about her uniform was regulation-fit. There haven't been any complaints so far, though.
"Orders, Ma'am?" Blade asked. He was the only one that never seemed amused by Sarge's dressing. It was either he was strong willed enough, or he was gay. We never voiced it out with him. That machete is very persuasive, sheathed or not.
"We're pushing on. Your squad and the other forwards are taking point with the tank column that passed by earlier. They're already engaged at Bravo-Bravo," she said as we began moving up. She walked us to the transport trucks waiting nearby, her arms remaining crossed.
"No good luck kiss for the road, Ma'am?" Liang asked, earning wide-eyed stares from the guys from the other platoons. Her reputation was well-spread among everyone here. They just never saw it up close.
Sensing impending doom, the rest of us prepared for whatever Sarge must've planned out for Laing. Poor bastard, why'd he have to go poke the hornet's nest like that?
"I don't see why I have to. You've got all the dumb luck in the world already," she replied, earning Liang some snickers from the boys.
She then slapped the truck's hull several times, and the truck itself jolted to a start as the engine started. Probably a faulty timing-belt.
There were no goodbyes. In the army, there was never any need for them. It was like a silent prayer that we'd all see each other some time later.
Still, I waved ever-so-little to her -not too obvious, or the others would know- and I could've sworn I got a nod from her. Maybe I was seeing things?
I'll make a point to ask her later.
There will always be a later.
