#saigon grave dark
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Grave Bound - Chapter 9
Chapter 8
Summary: Elias has a torturous recovery ahead of him, not to mention the ire of an abusive father.
TW: medical gore, blood, allusions to verbal abuse, physical recovery, language, etc.
WC: 2.9 K
1969
Collapsed, flattened like a pancake.
Elias’s left lung had folded in on itself. The surgeons inserted a hard tube down his throat before slicing the man open like a piece of deli meat. Rachel considered herself to be a strong-willed person. She’d been in the emergency room in Jacksonville when two dumb teenagers came in from a car accident, legs smashed beyond recognition.
That had been simple in comparison. She was forced to dutifully watch as doctors dug bullets out of his chest before unceremoniously flopping him to one side. Tubes were worked into a wiry frame, an attempt to get a shredded lung reinflated. It was unlikely he’d survive something so strenuous, in the middle of enemy ground with little to no resources.
All they needed was to get him stabilized to survive a chopper ride to Saigon. There was a larger chance of survival at a functioning hospital. Warm breath was humid beneath the cloth mask as Rachel scurried to assist the doctors. Bright red was smeared across latex gloves as the tube was held in place. His mouth was wired open, unnaturally wide as air was pumped in.
The nurse was shifted to holding an oxygen mask over a slack jaw. Eyes twitched beneath heavy lids, dark and sunken. Every breath was shallow, growing slightly stronger. It was too much to see a man so energetic and good-hearted barely clinging onto life. The young woman, like the rest, had seen death far too often. The lives of men they knew and cared about; the men they loved. Attempting to keep Maggie from her mind was a difficulty, knowing there was nothing she could do to comfort her friend.
Knowing that she’d be completely inconsolable if Sgt. Grodin died.
Rachel tried not to think about that, growing hopeful as his vitals improved. The lead surgeon barked out a slew of orders, covered in a stained smock as before slicing open his chest to dig out another slug.
Rumors had begun to circulate while Harris contended with Barnes. The boys were all somber about the entire ordeal. Even O’Neill kept his lips buttoned. Rachel had her own suspicions. They were all sitting ducks until the court martial was ordered.
“Scalpel!” the head surgeon demanded as Kelly quickly complied with a shaking utensil tray. Only a few more slices and the final bullet would be removed from a flattened pectoral. Their odds to stabilize the sergeant were hopeful.
As long they could all stay alive long enough to get him transferred to a chopper and shipped back to the city.
……
An uneasy hush fell over the camp.
Bob was questioned by Harris, who was quick to order a court martial. The captain lived by the book and wanted answers about what the hell unfolded between he and Grodin. Lying in the barracks, the red head could hardly believe how bloody he’d been when the doctors peeled him from the stained stretcher. It was brutal, enough to rip her heart free from an aching body. Sobbing on the ground, Caldwell and Rachel practically had to carry the nurse from the mud to her bed.
Crying herself dry, Maggie felt completely hollow. This was why she didn’t want to get attached; tomorrow was hardly a guarantee in normal times. Throw a war into it and their odds were even lower. Elias Grodin, her light in the dark, all but extinguished.
By one of his own men. And what the hell for? What did Barnes think would happen? Blame it on an attack by the Viet Cong? Did he even consider being caught?
Sadness was swiftly replaced with a white hot anger. Rage wrapped its poisonous fingers around the woman’s heart, suddenly craving revenge. Rain pattered on the roof of the canvas tent when she hopped from the ramshackle bunk. Marching to the mouth of the settlement, the flap was pushed back roughly. A humid mist covered ruddy cheeks as the encampment was searched for Barnes. Harris had left the sergeant alone, still armed to the teeth with his assault rifle. Rain dripped down the mangled scars splitting an angry face, knee wrapped with gauze. Until the court martial arrived, they were unable to spare any of their men. O’Neill sheepishly sidled up to Bob. Words were lost as he gestured to the medical tent, tight red curls soaked. Bob looked irritated, scowling.
Red looked uneasy while Maggie found an opportunity.
Charging like a wild mare, strong legs carried the woman a mere twenty yards before she was colliding with a solid body. Pummeling Bob into the mud had been simple enough, the muddy earth making it easy enough to upend his bad foot. Solid muscle was rendered useless as lithe fingers were fast to attach around a thick neck. Thumb pressing into a soft windpipe, blunt fingernails scraped at open palms.
“You son of a bitch!” Maggie growled with all the vitriolic acid that could be injected into the words. Coughing and grunting against her hands, Bob began to peel himself free of her grasp.
“What the fuck-” he choked. Before the sergeant could say another word, a pale fist collided with the hard plane of a scarred jaw. Large hands reached up to bare down on prominent clavicles as the woman hissed in pain. It felt like the bone would surely give. That was until a sharp knee was brought down onto an unguarded groin.
Howling in pain, one arm attempted to toss her to the side while Maggie was able to land another hit. She could barely register the upheaval of the men around her. Captain Harris was nowhere to be found while Wolfe let the assault unfold. An elbow collided with O’Neill’s nose when he attempted to intervene.
“Fuck,” the man hissed, blood pouring from freckled nostrils as Barnes was bombarded with a fresh attack of smacks and scratches.
“Haven’t you taken enough from me?” An open handed collided with a bloody cheek as the weather morphed into a torrential down pour. “Why don’t you kneel me down at knife point again, you piece of shit!”
Barnes’ squad barely reacted, though that wasn’t shocking; most of them had attempted assaulting several other nurses back on base, succeeding with a few. She wanted Sgt. Barnes to meet his reckoning, beaten into a bloody pulp on enemy soil. By her fists and her fists alone.
King pushed through the throng of onlookers, knowing he was the only one that could talk some sense into the nurse while Harris and Caldwell were preoccupied.
“Maggie!” His voice competed with claps of thunder. “He’s not worth it!”
Thick arms looped around a slender torso, peeling her away. Flailing against the intervention, she attempted to claw herself free of the man. The nurse was easily slung over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Bastard’s got a court martial coming for his ass. Let them handle it.” Taylor attempted to reason with the woman, earning a snicker from Bunny in the process. Angry and ruffled by the mess, the private laid out his compatriot with a sharp blow to the jaw.
“Damn it, Chris,” King turned on his heel, “Get your shit together.”
“That’s not enough! Put me down!” Small fists collided with a broad back as King ignored her protests. Rhah and Taylor flanked the soldier to make sure the scrappy nurse didn’t free herself and run amok.
Ducking into their makeshift barracks, they were hit with the warmth of stale smoke. Unsure what else would calm her, he swaddled the woman in Elias’s hammock. Swinging for a wildly for a moment, Maggie looked desperately at the worried faces hovering above her.
A lone headband hanged on a nail on the same post that kept the hammock stable. Grabbing at the scrap of fabric, Maggie inhaled all that she could. Sweat and weed permeated from it, catching the salty tears being shed.
“Mags,” King dropped to his knees beside her, “He’s not gone. Not yet.”
“What if he doesn’t make it? What do I do then?” voice wavering, the private gave the others a look to grant them some privacy. Crowd thinning, she repeated herself, “What happens to me?”
“We keep fighting, Maggie.” He swallowed down his own sob, “We don’t have a fucking choice. If we don’t fight with Elias, we fight for him.”
Cobalt eyes remained unfocused when King left the nurse alone. The men filed back out into the rain, her only company the groan of the sling beneath her. Squeezing her eyes shut, Maggie imagined muscular arms were wrapped tightly around her before sobbing helplessly into silence.
1971
It had been more than a year of rehabilitation.
Time had passed bitterly when Elias was forced to return home to Wisconsin. He was lucky to be alive, even if it was back in The Dells living with his folks. Mary Grodin was doting if not overbearing. She waited on the landing as he limped down the stairs, arms outstretched.
“I got it, ma.” Forcing a smile, he ignored the scream resonating in both his leg and chest. “I can handle myself okay.”
“I’ll do anything to make life easier on you.” Mary watched attentively, genuine in her motive. Nothing stung a mother’s heart like watching her child struggle to become whole again. The surgeries had been endless, keeping Elias in an induced coma for what felt like years. Mary had stayed by his side whenever she could to assure her eldest wouldn’t wake up alone. Even Art had been genuinely worried for the child he often rooted against. That changed abruptly when Elias returned home.
“You’re a sweetheart.” Grinning softly, the soldier accepted his mother’s hand as he worked down the final few stairs. It wasn’t her fault. Mary Grodin wasn’t perfect but tried her damnedest while her husband refused. Every chance he’d had to call his eldest a pansy or Nancy, Art took it. There was no hiding his disdain for Elias’ near-death experience, the one that would leave him in a world of pain for the remainder of his life.
“Paul’s here.” She was quick to add, watching as Elias limped to the kitchen. Stiffening at the admission he silently grabbed an apple from the counter. “Thought you’d like to say hello to your brother.”
He could read between the lines, seeing his mother’s desperate and searching eyes. His relationship with his brother was strained, leaving part of the family fractured with turmoil.
“I don’t know, ma.” Elias took a contemplative bite of the red fruit. “We’re not the best of buddies.”
“He’s been worried about you,” Mary added somberly. “It’d do you both good to talk, to leave the past behind.”
“It’s not that simple,” he ignored how his mother’s eyes glistened, tears ready to fall. Taking another bite, the man sighed. He’d do it just to appease Mary; all she ever wanted was a happy family and was given endless arguments and an onslaught of verbal abuse. Pressing a kiss to a wrinkled temple, Elias headed to the living room.
Art sat in his chair, Paul on the sofa as the pigskin was tossed across the screen of the hulking Zenith television. Both men nursed beers, ignoring Elias as he sauntered over to an empty armchair.
"Dad, Paul." Crossing one leg, Elias bounced his foot nervously before Art’s attention was suddenly on him. A loud crunch was taken out of a dwindling apple.
“Haven’t been to the barber.” He grumbled, the youngest of the group smirking before coming to his brother’s defense.
“A little shag looks nice.” Paul added hollowly. Sporting honey blond hair and standing at a towering 6’2, the younger Grodin was traditionally handsome. Though he also suffered from severe aggression and anger issues. But he was in decent spirits, genuinely curious how his brother’s recovery was going. Art was sullen, though less hostile than usual. It was painfully obvious how unwelcome he was in his own family.
“How’s the ball game going?” Elias asked awkwardly, never giving much of a damn about the sport. Arthur rolled dark eyes as Paul wordlessly gestured to the score on the screen. The Packers were winning. At least that meant his father would be in a better mood for the evening. “How’s Bonnie and the kids?”
“Good, good.” Paul nodded before cracking open another beer. He and Elias had never known how to hold a conversation, sharing no common interests. The veteran had always been closer with his sister, who was far more empathetic and interesting. His father and brother exuded an unwelcomeness that confirmed Elias was a piece of the puzzle that no longer fit, if he ever really did to begin with.
Paul stayed for a strained dinner, quietly buttering a roll as Mary scooped a hearty helping of casserole onto each plate. Elias' appetite had been minimal. He felt like a picky child that didn’t like the meal his mother so meticulously made.
“You gonna eat tonight?” Arthur questioned gruffly.
“I’m not a kid.” Blue eyes offered a warning gaze as a sharp jaw set.
“Then stop acting like one and eat your damned dinner.” A balled fist struck the table, sending a tumultuous shake across the surface. Paul pretended not to notice while Mary burrowed her hand in a weathered one.
“How’s the baby?” their mother turned the attention back to the younger of the two, giving her eldest a moment to gather himself. Living with Arthur Grodin as a father had been difficult enough the first time around. Now the man was incensed, angered by the fact that Elias was only human and suffered the repercussions of gunshot wounds. He hated that the slamming of a door or a balloon popping would send his son into a panicked frenzy. Mind racing, the addled vet tried not to think of their troubled past, the broken ribs or bloody noses. Not to mention the amount of drugs that had been consumed in attempt to soften mental wounds.
Paul shared a couple stories about the new edition, Mary ecstatic to hear about her grandchild. There were a couple pointed comments about the childless Elias, who ignored the conversation completely.
Breathing becoming shallow, a lean body shook nervously as anxiety surged through the man. He wasn’t even sure what triggered him as large hands clutched the table. Nails dug into the underside of the wood, splinters digging into calloused skin.
“What the hell was it this time?” Art grumbled with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Paul looked genuinely worried as Mary was rushing to her son’s side. “You’ve got to stop babying him or he’ll never get better!”
“Hush, now. That isn’t helping,” silvery blonde fell worried eyes as she gently rubbed broad shoulders. Elias looked up to his mother, eyes watering with desperation as she helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you upstairs, honey.”
Elias nodded as she led him carefully from the dining room and to the dim stairwell. It wasn’t a quick enough exit to save him from his Art’s words. They raced through the folds of a tired mind as his body sagged into the twin mattress. Mary sought a warm blanket and prepared a cup of tea, the best comfort she could provide.
Yet his mother’s tenderness didn’t shake what his father had so casually spat out. Elias wasn’t sure if he was meant for him to hear or not, but now he was plagued to remember. Those words hurt worse than any bullet ever could. Stifling a cry, tears were hot running down a stricken face. Curling around his pillow, his body shuddered as the sobs became impossible to hold back.
Sometimes I wish he didn’t come back at all.
Like a punch to gut, he was instantly grounded. What really stung was the remorse the sentence was delivered with. Not angry or vitriolic. Only resigned and sympathetic. Elias bit his tongue while trying to swallow the thoughts bubbling up a dry throat. Bitter and scarring, the voice in his head urged him to end it all. He never took the subconscious advice though it made him ache more. What was his purpose if not to ache and suffer? What if his father was right? What if he were better off rotting alone in the jungle?
Blue eyes screwed tightly shut as watery rivulets danced across a sharp cheeks. Pillow now damp, he attempted to will the tears away until sleep won the battle.
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Hai Van Pass
Morning broke. The sounds of a chunky V8 engine carrying a huge metal frame, roared, spluttered & thundered into earshot, pierced the daybreak. "My names Bi... but you can call me Bumblebee" said the driver with a cheerful boyish grin. Parking up the retired Army Jeep, now converted into a retro transport solution for people wanting to head over to Hoi An Rambo style, the engine quietened and the stereo could be hear playing The Eagles now that the fiery V8 was sleeping. We took in the envious glances of every passer by as we hopped on the back.
This was gonna be fun.
The Hai Van pass is the popular seaside winding road made famous by Top Gear (at least for Brits). *Jeremy Clarkson Voice* may be the best coastal road drive.... in the world. You can travel it in a number of ways, the most popular is to rent a scooter and drive across it yourself, taking in the vast ocean landscape as you scale the winding roads up and down a soaring cliff road. then back down again, sweeping along the coast circling Da Nang. You'll never want to settle for the M25 again.
Instead of the scooter route though (neither of us has been up to the bravery required to give them a go, given the fear of ending up with some kind of injury that'd spoil the 6 month trip) we got the bad-ass version. Loading up into a surplus US Army jeep retrofitted to pump out tunes and loaded with cold beers into the cooler box in the back. Why the hell would you wanna travel any other way?
" My friend and me used to smoke a lot of weed, one day he just called me bumble because of how I got after and that name sorta stuck" said our driver for the day Bumblebee. This guy deserves some kinda commendation in life. He's been through the mill, seen his demons up close and come out again fighting.
His family had been "re-educated" by the Viet Cong following the fall of Saigon and the end of the war.; losing them for years at a time when he was growing up. COVID, not the easiest time for anyone hit Bumbleebee hard. He lost his father to a motorbike accident, fell into a deep gambling addiction that caused his wife to throw him out of the family home and away from his young son and fell into deep depression. He told us he thought of ending it all at times, only his son, who he loves dearly, talking about him non-stop, stopped him from taking that dark twisted turn.
Now Bumbleebee doesn't gamble. He works 4 jobs to put his kid through school. He's a driver, a security guard, a delivery guy. A hero. You're a bigger man than me B.
Tearing through the streets, back roads, following the path of lakes and streams & trying to take in all the huts and shrines; we pulled up on our first stop of the day, the Ghost City.
Imagine an eastern spiritual take on Keeping up with the Jones's. Your neighbour here, let's call him Jay. He's worked hard. Saved up. He's thinking of retirement. What does Jay wanna do with his hard earned life's work. Beach house? Building that den in the basement with his own bar? Maybe that little cabin he's had bookmarked in that catalogue under the living room reading lamp all these year.
None of those. Jay wants to build his own Pyramid of Giza to mark his journey to the afterlife.
The City of Ghosts is a vast complex of private family tombs. Tombs used for 1-2 days a year, glistening with broken chinese porcelain art, with Hindu, Buddhist and Christian relicery. Tombs worth up to $5m USD for miles and miles. No one in this town works anymore. They don't have to. It's filled with guys who made their fortune overseas or have cash cows living in the States, Europe or elsewhere funelling cash back home. They live in this semi-live state. Among graves and finery, building their own tombs in advance before waiting amongst them for the big day. It's a real insight into human obsession with death and legacy but most of all, it's a monument to vanity and envy. Gotta build a bigger tomb than Brian says Jay to himself. He spent $4m, mines gotta have 8 towers now. It's a strange old place and not one I think I liked. I preferred the odd huts we kept passing that when I asked, turned out to be "mushroom huts" where the locals can temp control grow any fungi they wish, magic or not
"You know there's 65 million Scooters in Vietnam"? says Bee as we parted them like the red sea in the Jeep. Sending them flying away from us seemingly by negative magnetic force. There's 100 million people in Vietnam, it's kinda crazy how Scooters dominate the place. We asked a place to watch the Premier League's opening game later that night "I got a bar for you... my Pussycat works there" as he wrote down the details of the Shamrock bar Hoi An for us. Bee had a recommendation, a story, a guy he knew at every turn.
"Top.. you emailed my boss man! He's the big boss".. Top was the owner of the company who ran the Jeep tours, he moved to the US, owns 2 hotels and 5 ex-Army Jeeps. He paints with his spare time and likely bankrolls 3-4 tombs in the Ghost City.
It was fun just to talk to Bee as we drove. The scenes themselves were incredible, speeding past Vietnam's biggest lake, taking in herds of Water Buffalo grazing in the grass and absorbing vast fields of Oyster Farms, we made our second stop. The local swimming hole.
Here we were told all about the COVID embezzlement scams that ran rife in Vietnam and were only just being prosecuted (the details are here and are really scandalous examples of corruption at every level of government). We scaled some rocks, threw down a picnic blanket and jumped into a clear stream, swimming aronud in the sunshine without a care in the world for 30 minutes before hopping out to get some lunch at a nearby seaside shack.
Bee at this point (unsurprisingly given his high energy levels combined with the fact he worked a billion jobs and never seemed to sleep) went for a nap. We ordered some lunch and took in a common sight in east Asia, but one that nevertheless takes some real getting used to. The local lunchtime karaoke slot.
Get the image out of your head of your late night trips down to Lucky Voice and Rowan's. The karaoke here isn't confined to dark corners and fuelled with secret shame. These guys live and breathe the stuff like a national passtime. An 8 strong group of octegenarians had their favourite table. Out of nowhere a crate of Huda beer appears, followed by a kid wheeing out a full size, top spec Karaoke machine. One solitary mic, the equivalent of the Lord of the Flies Conch is passed round. Earnestly, each diner sings their turn while the others at their table sit as if nothing's happening.
The earnest nature of what's happening. The sheer lack of any shame or self consciousness is just something to behold. This is serious crooning. Hell it's at 2pm on a Sunday afternoon in broad daylight in a beach shack. I've never dreamed of doing karaoke in that kind of fiery hellzone. These guys have some cojones. There's stories of houses kkicking off proceedings in the Karoke at 9am and not stopping til 24 hours later. Bumblee had a family in his village who'd had to have their power cut off to just stop them damn singing. To say Karaoke's a national obsession doesn't quite capture it.
Makes it hard to nap though... Sorry Bee.
This brought us post lunch to the main event. The big coastal drive. It's a stunning drive. The only thing I've ever done that touches Big Sur on the American west coast. The ride up is punctuated by verdant greens, as jungle and forest surrounds one side of the car, while the other opens on to a vast endless ocean.
You climb higher and higher, snaking, twisting and turning up and up the pointed mountain with scooters and trucks haring past. The view never recedes. Never lets up. It only widens or changes scene to something else breathtaking. Cliffs, rocks, private military beaches without a soul on them. Everything pristine and sublime. I wish I could have driven it myself, the thrill would have just been incredible.
That feeling quickly receded as I opened a beer in the back of the Jeep. "Yeah no actually, being driven open top here is kinda better".. Stops for photos for us, became photo opportunities for everyone else. Excited kids and grown ups piling up next to the Jeep hoping to get photos themselves. We were happy to oblige, feeling like the most popular guys on the mountain.
"See you tomorrow" was Bee's favourite joke as he constantly faux threatened to leave at every opportunity we left to go to a bathroom, swimming hole or photo spot. I guess it was endearing. It kept us guessing if we'd ever actually just be abandoned with a long way down to come, but eventually we started the descent. Flying through the air with Da Nang and Hoi An in sight from our eagle eyed vantage point, we slithered down the mountain roads into Da Nang, one of the larger cities in Vietnam that we'd be returning to in a few days.
Rising up in this city, amidst sky scrapers, resorts and beaches are the famous Marble Mountains. A Buddhist monastery carved into the marble rocks in the middle of town provides an amazing sight to see in a beach town. It's made for old timers who can't handle a few steps. Hell there's a lift up to the top if you just don't care for your Fitbit yelling at you for your laziness at all.
All around the bottom are stone carvers and hawkers, flogging anything they can to people wanting their souvenir marble. It's worth pointing out that it's been illegal to sell marble quarried from the Marble mountains themselves since the mid 90's... so either these guys are getting it from somewhere a little less local... or sales have been real slow.
We pulled up to the final stop, our hostel in Hoi An, the Backhome Hostel. The ATM I'd chosen to get the cash out for this trip had only had 50,000 Dong notes available. I needed to go about 4 rounds with this machine to get the several Million we needed to pay and had something a small drug-lord on a Baltimore corner would have considered a decent day's take popping out of my pocket in small bills. Bee laughed as he had to count it all, but I'm a trustworthy guy so all cool and we said our goodbyes, gave him a tip for himself given the amazing day he'd given us and settled down into our new place. Welcome to Hoi An
You can find their tour here
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SNEAK PEEK: Eyes of Army Green
An upcoming patron exclusive story series. Omegaverse Alex and Kara as Marines in Vietnam, where Kara is assigned to Guard Senator Luthor’s daughter and Alex meets a cute nurse named Kelly...
If people like it enough, I might do one of them back stateside getting caught up on the whole ‘peace, sex and drugs’ thing.
More goodies at: https://www.patreon.com/alephthirteen?fan_landing=true
War is nasty. Watching this brute buzz Kara's golden curls off is a goddamned crime. The boys on the bus gave them a lot of shit—girls can't be Marines—and Alex politely reminded them that any alpha can volunteer if she so fucking chooses and on a bus full of college boys whose number came up, that was all it took.
At least they got sorted to the same barracks. Kara even has the bunk above her, which is so lucky it feels like her birthday, Christmas, and the first time an omega sucked her off all at once. Then again, that may be because there's only three women here, them and a dark-eyed brunette who seems ready to stab anyone and everyone here. The stranger is bunked with a massive black recruit with a shaved head.
Now a man with a face like a clenched asshole and a haircut made entirely of right angles is walking up and down the bunks.
"I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your Senior Drill Instructor. From now on, you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and last words out of your filthy sewers will be 'Sir!' Do you maggots understand that?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Bullshit! I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair."
"SIR, YES, SIR!"
"If you ladies leave my island, if you survive recruit training ... you will be a weapon, you will be a minister of death, praying for war. But until that day you are pukes! You're the lowest form of life on Earth. You are not even human fucking beings!"
"Because I am hard, you will not like me. But the more you hate me, the more you will learn. I am hard, but I am fair!" "And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps! Do you maggots understand that?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Bullshit! I can't hear you!"
"SIR, YES, SIR!"
Alex expected bad but even Jeremiah's warnings didn't prepare them. The first thing Hartman does is take their names.
Alex becomes Private Rusty, after the sprouts of red hair still visible.
James Olsen becomes Private Eightball.
Kara seems to be a particular project of his. He spends a full hour yelling how she ought to be in Playboy, or a strip club, or anywhere other than in 'his Beloved Corps' so the next day she annihilates the obstacle course, setting a record for recruits from Able Company's barracks.
Now she's Private Supergirl.
A beta with a movie stars jaw and a growly voice—Lockwood—becomes Private Pretty Boy.
A shy young man from Texas named Winn becomes Private Cowboy, and Hartman makes a point of making fun of his Cross of David necklace three times a day. Alex stuffs hers into her footlocker, figuring she'll take it out when they graduate. Winn's an omega, which is in nearly as short supply as female alphas here.
Worst are the Graves twins. The one bunking with James—Mercy—doesn't get a degrading nickname and given all the talk about killers, that's terrifying. Her brother Otis becomes Private Pyle, and he can't do anything right. Hartman takes it out on them and Kara adopts Otis to 'unfuck him' as the Sergeant so delicately puts it.
It works a charm...until it doesn't.
Alex is assigned to recon and Kara to military journalism. The day after they get their assignments, Alex finds Otis in the toilets with the top half of his head missing.
Every single thing about his rifle is perfect. Polished. Oiled. Maintained.He could barely figure out which end the bullets came out of until Kara taught him.
Private Pretty Boy says he's her first confirmed kill, and Kara beats the smug-faced beta so hard he has the limp two weeks later at graduation.
Alex looks up at Jeremiah and Eliza. Both beam down at her and Kara.
Her stomach leaps into her throat the moment they board the plane headed for Vietnam and stays there for two days until they're touching down in Saigon.
Alex develops a knack for quiet kills and clearing enemy tunnels. Kara develops a knack for following her somehow, and the moment their captain sees her photos from the bush, they forgive Kara for going semi-AWOL and give no more punishment than latrine duty.
After that, someone has the brilliant idea of putting Kara with Alex's squad and making celebrities of them. Night after night in the rainy, reeking jungle with James, Winn, and a man the size of a refrigerator named Animal Mother.
She takes the advice of the nastiest marine they meet and tells her team to strip Vietcong corpses for their weapons. Whoever builds their guns knows how to build something that mud, muck, and just pure wet don't affect. So they squirrel away enemy guns in their rucksacks and keep their M-16s handy for inspection day.
James stays back to back with Alex, his shotgun clearing whatever Alex doesn't with her rifle.
Winn proves to be a competent sniper after he gets ahold of a Soviet rifle. Kara somehow scores a zoom lens the size of an artillery shell and acts as his spotter while taking her photos. She has killed no one yet, and that suits Alex just fine.
They've been in Da Nang for three weeks now. The Sea Tiger is changing leadership and they park the whole so that no one takes any photos or writes any articles that the brass wouldn't care for. Kara loves it. She's eaten sixteen types of noodles in the last week and taken photos of each.
"You do realize that some of these cooks are probably VC, right? Any one of those could be poisoned," Alex huffs as she scoops her rations into her mouth.
"I'd smell it."
"How?"
"Supersenses. Didn't you hear? I'm Supergirl!"
One thing that they don't have to deal with is the whores. They seem to avoid female alphas like the plague. The men aren't so restrained, and the shed behind the motor pool reeks of omega, jism and stovetop cooked perfume.
Alex jokes that their balls might be blue as a Navy dress uniform, but at least they haven't gotten the clap. Kara jokes that she'll probably meet the love of her life over here.
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Nugoth Band List
I started this blog specifically for all those people out there tired seeing goth blogs listing all of the same five bands from the eighties that aren’t active anymore, looking for something different and something that still exists. This list will have bands most of which started no later than 2010 (not even that new at the time that this list is being made) and that are still active. They will be arranged according to subgenre. I will update this list accordingly.
Last updated: December 2, 2020
Postpunk/General Goth
-Astari Nite
-Secret Shame
-Masquerade
-Mtvaris Dabneleba
-Cliff and Ivy
-Shadow Age
-Scary Black
-Creux Lies
-Frozen Charlottes
-Esses
-Dignitary
-Swan Wash
-La Scaltra
-This Cold Night
-Whispering Sons
-Bleib Modern
-Ritual Howl
-Wisteria
-Trashlight
-The Objects
-Slaughterstein
-Screature
-DETOXI
-Fearing
-Publicist UK
-Aztec Death
-Leding
-Blotter
-Sleeping Pills
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Everyone on there strikes me as a really lonely person for some reason. Like, I read it because I enjoy the pics etc but people just seem really insecure and agitated about the most pointless things. Spending $5000 on a CF doesn give you style or make you cool, as much as you want it to. Byline: Ken Rodriguez Miami HeraldBeyond the grave of Tim Richmond lies a trail of pretty women, following him into the ground.Fresh flowers rest beside the tombstone of one former lover. A second ex girlfriend, fighting for her life, has picked out her casket. At least two former partners are in seclusion on the East Coast, awaiting the inevitable. With some grains and nuts it is very easy to see where the oil comes from. For example, if you squeeze a sesame seed or a sunflower seed between two sheets of paper, you can see the oil. Corn isn't quite that oily, but it does contain oil. You can always say no. Also. Really try and pursue any interests you have that give you joy in life. I wish this shit wasn taken as such "it already happened" mentality. I mean, Ence was given 0 chance when it came to Liquid from the "analyzing crew". It was ridiculous how "done and dusted" the mentality was with it. Put the meat on the cooler side(200 degrees) and flip it every 15 minutes. Remember to turn the heat down to keep the meat side at 200. Over time you learn where you should set it. You probably already have some regular bedtime habits, even if you haven't realized it. Brushing and flossing your teeth, lowering the thermostat, and setting your alarm clock may all be part of your evening routine. To help you get to sleep, you should perform these activities in the same manner 예천출장샵 and order every night.. I start up. She is wringing her hands. 'What is wrong?' I cry, but I know before she answers. That extremely funny to me, especially seeing how similar to the trixie and katya show the series with his brother was (won even talk about how similar his videos became to other youtubers through one of his editors). He started giving credits but has now stopped, and is whining about something so irrelevant like this and saying "all of his ideas are stolen", bitch wtf? The fact that he is so annoyed by the video she did about influencers is rather suspicious. Lastly, i believe he should definitely know how long filming etc takes, being a youtuber. Her watercolor renderings of Wright's designs soon became synonymous with Wright's work, though she was never credited by him. Marion worked for Wright until 1909, when Wright left for Europe. Though Marion was offered to obtain the studio's commissions, she declined and was subsequently hired by Wright's successor and granted full control of design. Thank you! The whole reason this began was because Jackie simply stated why she would not use his products. It was as respectful as possible. Jeffree responded by throwing bigoted slurs at her. After the world navy bombarded the crap of my poor allied city state I sent in a scout to liberate it. Mission accomplished. I end the war with Dido and cede the tiny island city south of me back to her, once again taking everything she has in the process. I have that and Chimchak Boss ("cool boss"), Kkotboda Keu euk ("more sensual than a flower"), 예천출장샵 Kkotboda Sallang ("gentler than a flower"), and I plan to hoard more when I go back to Korea. It a pity they haven tried marketing/selling it abroad. 4 points submitted 2 months ago. It was Ernie's telephone call, in the darkness of the early hours of the 31st January, which alerted Julian to the Tet Offensive. Ernie was staying in a hotel close to the Presidential Palace and he called Julian to tell him there was heavy fighting in the streets nearby. As Julian says, "In Saigon we were used to the lullaby of distant gunfire, but this was something much more immediate the unmistakable thump of a heavy machine gun, far too close for comfort.".
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