>"My point is that napalm is not a war crime."
>I clutch my helmet as I vomit off the side of the Huey
>"Napalm was used against the Japs in WW2, no issue. Napalm was used against the Chinks in Korea, and Napalm was used against the Norks in Korea. No fuckin problem."
>The wind causes drops of spittile to flick across my cheek, a big wad slaps itself on my helmet
>"I mean there wasn't a single law against its use, at least until the UN's CCW in 1980 outlawing use against civilians, and the US was not a signatory to the UN's CCW until 2008."
>I lean back against the seat of the chopper and take a deep breath. I watch as Mikey counts off countries with his fingers
>"I mean other countries have used napalm and don't get a bad rap for it. Like Yugoslavia, Argentina, Morocco, Iraq, Iran, Angola, Egypt, India, Pakistan, Nigeria, Israel, and fucking France."
>I grab my M16 back from a platoon member and let the moist winds of the jungle clean the burn of stomach acid from my lungs
>"I don't care if we 'dropped more'. Selective bias is selective bias. The year changes to 1965 and suddenly it's a war crime? NAPALM IS COOL! It's all about optics and narrat---"
>someone throws a cigarette butt at Mikey's helmet, it pings off and rolls off into the green oblivion below the chopper
>"I'll get you for that!"
>he points angrily but with a joking smile on his face
>"With what? The napalm strike the Sarge won't let you call in?"
>that elicits a swell of laughter from the entire Huey
>I think even the pilots laugh
>Out the side of the chopper I take in the setting
>It's like a dream
>there's a mist that hangs above the jungle
>like early morning fog that catches the sun like snowflakes do
>the blooming light making the sky a joyful light blue above a green ocean

>then the jungle floor gives away as the Huey flies on
>we sail over the island's coast
>the insane depth of the Deep is now apparent
>uncountable islands hang beneath us
>some so far down that they're but tiny little green, brown dots
>others are close enough to show their peaks like mountains
>I can see a river flowing off one and the waterfall filling a pool with a gentle whirlpool on one side
>I assume it's a natural portal back to the river's source
>I look back towards the island we just flew over
>its bottom is a jagged tip like it was scooped from the earth, but it's covered in heavy vegetation that sways with the winds of the enormous cavern
>this high up in the Deep you can still see the ceiling of the cave
>the Hehku vines cling to it, their leaves shining like the sun
>I'm told the walls are covered in the vines as well, making sure no matter how deep you get you'll always get "sunlight"
>lord knows the Deep is wide enough where I can't even see the cave walls of it
>you won't get claustrophobia as long as you don't think about how you're underground
>at night the "sunlight" from the Hehku vines are reduced to tiny pinpricks at the tips of the leaves
>giving the impression of a starry sky in the pitch black of the cave
>the Huey chops through a cloud of the jungle mist
>I get a light sprinkle of cool water on my face
>a welcome reprieve from the sweltering hot air

>"GENTLEMEN!"
>Everyone's gaze is taken by the Sarge
>"WE WILL NOT BE LANDING. WE HAVE A HOT LZ!"
>the thought elicits a sigh as the entire chopper tenses up
>other Grunts shift side to side uncomfortably and I hear someone mutter a quiet "fuck"
>the Sarge whips around angrily, his campaign hat almost flying off the Huey
>"WHO SAID THAT? WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT? WHO'S THE SLIMEY, LITTLE COMMUNIST TWINKLE TOED COCKSUCKER DOWN HERE WHO JUST SIGNED HIS OWN DEATH WARRANT?"

>He pounds the side of the chopper
>"THIS IS A CHRISTIAN HUEY! NO SWEARING!"
>He points to a portrait of Jesus held behind bullet proof glass
>"WHEN YOU SWEAR YOU DO IT FRONT OF CHOPPER JESUS!"
>He salutes Chopper Jesus, somehow balancing perfectly despite the slight pitch and roll of the Huey
>"CHOPPER JESUS, IF YOU WEREN'T HERE. I CAN ONLY IMAGINE HOW BAD THIS CHOPPER WOULD BE."
>He stares at all of us angrily
>we all chant in unison
>"Thank you Chopper Jesus."

>"WE ARE DIVING!"
>I grip any sturdy metal part of the Huey, this is the worst part of landing
>in order to effectively avoid oncoming fire the pilots will dive bomb
>WITH A HELICOPTER
>I hear the pilots turn on some music on the speakers of the Huey
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9cFWclF7p8A
>it dips forward at a frightening angle and begins to roll to avoid oncoming tracer fire
>a green tracer ricochets through the chopper
>a Grunt flinches as it glides past him and off into the Deep
>"FUCK!"
>"AGAIN?"
>The Sarge wiggles his way out from the front of the bird
>his back on the roof of the Huey, held in place by the extreme speed at which we dive
>His head comes extremely close to the head of the Grunt who swore
>"WHAT DID I JUST SAY?"
>somehow the Sarge is standing at attention while fixed to the top of the chopper
>I'm gonna see this in my nightmares
>"YOU SWEAR AGAIN AND I WILL CAST YOU OUT LIKE GOD PUT NIGGER ON CAIN!"
>the Grunt nods quickly, his jaw tight
>the Sarge wiggles back to the front
>one finger pointing at Chopper Jesus as he retreats
>a couple other Grunts give a sigh of relief
>the Huey begins to shudder as the dive gets steeper
>the air of the sighs are pulled right back into our lungs
>we can see the ground of the island we're landing on
>a purple pillar of smoke rising above the LZ
>at the last second the Huey pitches back up to be level

>"OUT! ALL OF YOU MAGGOTS OUT OF MY BIRD! BEFORE I FEED YOU TO MY CHICKS!"
>the Sarge jumps out first 
>he stands proudly with his 1911 in his hand and a shotgun over his shoulder, while we're all prone on the ground
>"WHERE FUCK IS ANON?"
>I pop up
>"Right here Sarge!"
>"ON ME!"
>I follow him into the jungle
>the din of the landing behind us gets quieter
>I'm the first one in the stack behind him
>"I CAN SMELL THEM! SMELLS LIKE… LANDMINES."
>wat
>I look back towards Mikey
>he shrugs his shoulders, making the antenne of his radio bounce up and down
>the Sarge takes one step forward
>BOOM
>all I see is a cloud of red and brown
>"SHIT WE JUST LOST OUR LEAD!"
>"No, we didn't."
>I step over the red on the ground and green flecks of uniform
>"YO ASSHOLE! THIS MUTHAFUCKA'S DEAD!
>I hold up the remains of one of his legs
>Mikey shrugs again
>"He's on his way down."
>I drop the leg and look upwards
>something falls into my hands
>it's the Sarge's head
>"MAGGOT, I LITERALLY CANNOT DIE!"
>drop the head and faint

>I wake up to find the Sarge… "piecing" himself back together
>He slips the needle through his arm through his elbow to reconnect his arm
>"GOOD! YOU'RE AWAKE!"
>He hobbles to me like a much angrier Lt. Dan
>"YOU KNOW WHY I REQUESTED YOU TO BE ASSIGNED TO THIS PLATOON ANON?"
>"No Sarge, I don't know why."
>"IT'S BECAUSE I WAS TOLD YOU WERE THE BEST DAMNED MEDIC ON BASE!"
>"I was the only medic on base."
>"THEN TECHNICALLY YOU ARE BOTH THE BEST AND THE WORST. DAMN IT ANON, YOU'RE THE WORST MEDIC IN THIS WHOLE OUTFIT. YOU GOT SOME WORK TO DO!"
>"I don't have any medical training."
>"THEN HOW IN THE HELL ARE YOU A MEDIC?"
>"We all drew straws and I got the shortest one."
>"YOU WILL GET HANDS ON EXPERIENCE! IF ANYTHING YOU SHOULD BE PAYING US!"
>I see a hand crawling
>"THERE YOU ARE YOU LITTLE SHIT! YOU ARE NOT ON LEAVE. THE LANDMINE DOES NOT DISMISS YOU! I DO!"






>The Sarge watches as I slowly thread the hand back on his wrist
>His loud, boisterous demeanor pauses for a bit
>"Good job Anon. You're doing fine already."
>Lieutenant Dan comes back through the trees
>"Sarge! I found your helmet!"
>"AND WHAT OF MY LEGS? I LOST MY LEGS! IN THERE FOREST!"
>Sarge puts points to Mikey and me
>"NOW FIND MY BOOT BEFORE IT FINDS YOU AND PLANTS ITSELF UP YOUR ASS!"
>"How are we gonna find his legs?"
>I think they fell off the edge of the island
>the end of the island gives way to the void of the Deep
>it's hypnotizing
>Mikey pulls me back by my ruck
>"Don't want you falling in Anon."
>"Y-Y-Yeah…"
>I know the stories… people who slowly lose their grip eventually end up walking right off the edge of the islands
>if you stare at the void of the Deep too much eventually you'll fall in
>falling maybe until the end of your life
>till you hit the bottom or somehow pass away before then
>Up ahead I hear the crackling of fire
>please don't be Pirates…
>Mikey opens the bush
>I see orange blobs moving along
>leaving a trail of fire that quickly burns away, leaving a black "slime trail" of sticky, wet ash
>Inside their bright orange bodies are a constant black plume of smoke that constantly billows like a stormfront
>"NAPALM STRIKE!"
>"A… A NAPALM STRIKE? On this kind of target, at this kind of distance, in this part of the Deep, all to kill a handful of napalm slimes for your satisfaction?"
>yes.skinner
>"No."
>Shoulder my M16
>The key to killing a napalm slime, really any slime for that matter, is to shoot it through their "core"
>best way to describe them slimes is as oversized single eukaryotic cells
>their "core" is the nucleus, the heart, and the heart all at the same time
>they are rarely at the center, because slimes are clever and move their core around
>Through the peephole of the sight I see two black figures
>point them out to Mikey
>"NAPALM?"
>"NO NOT FUCKING NAPALM, THEY'RE THE SARGE'S LEGS!"

>I lower my gun and whisper yell at them, trying not to disturb the slimes
>the legs hop around next to each other, like two Karens on their way to speak to the manager
>"You assholes! Get the fuck over here!"
>They turn to me, turn to "look" at each other, and turn to leave
>I get up and start to run, the napalm slimes noticing me
>some begin to converge in an attempt to make a larger napalm slime
>I throw a grenade into the crowd of converging slimes
>I aim my rifle and fire bursts into the ones chasing until they explode into a cloud of napalm
>I tackle the legs and drag them back to Sarge
>"JESUS MUFFIN FUCKING CHRIST THAT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!"
>"Glad to see you too Sarge"
>"STOP WITH THE PLEASANTRIES, RE-LEG ME THIS INSTANT!"
>I thread the legs onto his weird vampyric body
>"YOU SMELL THAT? DO YOU SMELL THAT?"
>"Sarge I'm right next to you, you don't need to yell."
>"I LOVE THE SMELL OF THE JUNGLE IN THE MORNING"
>"Don't you mean napalm sir?"
>"NAP-NAPALM? DON'T TELL ME MIKEY HAS BROUGHT YOU INTO THAT WEIRD OBSESSION OF HIS"
>The Sarge sits back as I tug the stitch closed
>"NO SON, IT JUST IS… EMERALD GREEN, GROWING GRASS, VINES LIKE ROPE! LUSCIOUS BOUNTY OF FLORA AND FAUN, ETERNALLY LIT IN A GLOWING DAWN. WONDEROUS TREES TOWERING HIGH, CROWN THE CAVERNOUS VAULT THAT IS THE SKY. A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT BEHELD TO ALL, A PAINTING OF LIFE THAT THE GODS DID DRAW."
>"That was beautiful sir."
>"ARE YOU CALLING ME A FAIRY?"
>"N-No… I was just saying you have a way with words."
>"GOOD!"
>He yells into the jungle
>"MIKEY! GET YOUR TUMOUR OF A SELF OUT HERE!"

>Mikey pokes his head out of the trees
>Something glowing orange in his arms
>oh no
>"HOLY JESUS. WHAT IS THAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT PRIVATE MIKEY?"
>"Sir, a napalm slime, sir!"
>"A NAPALM SLIME?"
>"Sir, yes, sir!"
>"HOW DID IT GET HERE?"
>"Sir, I took it from the jungle, sir!"
>"ARE PETS ALLOWED ON OPS PRIVATE MIKEY?
>"Sir, no, sir!"
>"ARE YOU ALLOWED TO HAVE NAPALM SLIMES PRIVATE MIKEY?"
>"Sir, no, sir!"
>"AND WHY NOT PRIVATE MIKEY?"
>"Becau--- wait… why aren't they allowed?"
>Sarge stands up on his "new" legs
>"BECAUSE I WILL DO THIS!"
>He grabs the napalm slime and boots it off the side of the island
>the heat of it blackening his hands
>curb_your_enthusasim.mp3




>"PRIVATE ANON! GO OUT AND SET UP A CLAYMORTH!"
>"A claymore sir?"
>"NO YOU MOORROONN! A. CLAY. MORTH. CLAYMORTH. ONE WORD. NOT CLAYMORE.
>"I… don't have one."
>The Sarge stares at me angrily
>I'm dragged out by the scruff of my neck into the jungle
>"WHILE THE REST OF THE PLATOON IS ON PATROL, WE WILL BEGIN TO SET UP OUR CAMP FOR THE NIGHT. STARTING WITH THE CLAYMORTH."
>The Sarge pulls out a long machine gun barrel
>He drives it into the ground next to me
>"THE CLAYMORTH IS THE GRUNT'S BEST FRIEND."
>He hits a release on the side of the barrel
>the tip lights up
>The Sarge sits and lights a cigarette
>"AND NOW WE WAIT."
>He motions for me to sit down
>We watch as the bulb casts a wire frame out, with a beam of green "printing" out the turret of the claymorth
>the Sarge points with his cigarette
>"HARDLIGHT SON! BEST DAMN THING SINCE GOD GAVE MAN NAPALM, AND THEN GAVE US TARGETS TO DROP IT ON."
>"Don't you mean people?"
>"COMMUNISTS AREN'T PEOPLE SON, THEY ARE PROPERTY OF THE STATE."
>the Sarge reclines as he takes another drag
>"HARDLIGHT AND THE DEEP GO HAND IN HAND LIKE FAGS AND QUEERS, LIKE HIV AND AIDS, LIKE… LIKE…"
>"Rockets and helicopters?"
>"YES."
>the claymorth has finished constructing itself
>It looks like a Stoner 63 but with a large M1941 rotary magazine sticking out the right side, along with a flashlight on the left hand side
>the Sarge hands me a bucket of ammunition
>yes, a bucket, of just random bullets
>"PUT THEM IN THE GUN!"
>he takes a handful out and jams it through the loading gate
>rounds ranging from .50 to .22
>"IT'S A CLAY ROTARY MAGAZINE MAGGOT! THE CLAY HOLDS THE BULLET UNTIL IT ENTERS THE CHAMBER, IT CAN HOLD AS DAMN MANY AS YOU WANT."
>I feed some 7.62x39 through the side
>it opens up a lot like a VCR machine, and gives a little blinding light when the gate swings up

>"Sarge is there Hardlight inside?"
>"FINALLY, YOU'RE LEARNING. HARDLIGHT GRAINS ALLOW US TO CREATE A PSEUDO-BAG OF HOLDING. IT WILL WEIGH DOWN THE GUN. IF WE PLACE YOUR MOTHER INTO IT, SURELY THE GUN WILL TOPPLE OVER!"
>before I can protest the Sarge slaps the button on the left side of the claymorth
>the gun begins slowly fanning side to side
>two antenne slip out from the front of the "flashlight"
>like little green jelly beans
>"THIS HERE IS AN ANCIENT WEAPON DESIGN. BROUGHT DOWN FROM SOME WAR WITH A RACE FAR TO THE NORTH. MODERNIZED WITH HARD LIGHT CAPACITORS WE HAVE A NEW SENTRY GUN TO ENSURE SECURE SLEEPING. SO MIKEY CAN HAVE HIS LITTLE WET DREAMS ABOUT NAPALM!"

>that night I sleep like a baby
>even with the claymorth shooting down random wildlife in the jungle
>it sounds oddly like an M60
>I get up to take a piss and hear a voice in the jungle
>I ease the rifle down quietly
>my hands tight on my gun
>the handguards on the verge of breaking
>I peek around the tree
>it's Mikey
>he's licking the radio antenne
>"ohhh yeah that's the stuff."
>what the fuck
>he catches a bit of static
>PINK_GUY.moan
>"get me some hot stuff all over my jungle."
>"MIKEY WHAT THE FUCK?"

>the next morning we follow the Sarge through the jungle
>I step over the elves that the claymorth shot
>the Sarge marks down Hardlight deposits the patrol found happily
>he sets his shotgun down on a rock and points to a clearing near the edge of the island
>"TODAY. WE WILL SUMMON A HUEY!"
>that draws groans from the platoon
>He puts his hand over his heart
>"WE SHALL NOW SAY A PRAYER!"
>the entire platoon gets on their knees
>I follow
>"DEAR CHOPPER JESUS, OUR SPINNING LORD WHO GUIDES ALL HUEYS. PLEASE BE MERCIFUL AS WE SUMMON ONE OF YOUR MAJESTIC BEASTS TO CARRY US HOME. LIKE CLIFFORD THE BIG RED DOG. BUT NOT A DOG, NOT THAT RED, NOT THAT BIG, BUT FLIES TOO. AMEN."
>He lifts his shotgun and fires a shot into the air for good luck
>it rips his arms off

>We set up claymorths and Mikey sets up a radio next to the Sarge
>"DUE TO HOW THE INTENSE RADIO SIGNAL OF SUMMON A CHOPPER, IRRITATES THE LOCAL WILDLIFE AND GENERALLY BRINGS PIRATES. I SHALL NOW PERFORM AN ANCIENT HUMAN WAR SONG TO BEGIN THE RITUAL."
>we all wait
>Mikey turns on the beacon
>in the distance some griffons fly off, already irritated
>"PRIVATE MIKEY! MUSIC! NOW!"
>fortunate son starts playing
>mfw
>the Sarge begins to dance in the middle of the field
>green tracers try to jump through him from the jungle
>SHIT'S GOING FROM 0 TO A 100 REAL FUCKIN QUICK
>I dive down and begin popping shots at some Pirates who have very quickly found our signal
>their patrol boat hovers above them, while they rappel from ropes
>fucking assholes with their flying boats
>I watch our demo send an M72 rocket through it
>more bullets fly over head and the griffons begin to swarm the field
>somehow the Sarge's breakdancing saves him from any of their swooping attacks
>he does every dance imaginable
>while destruction rains down around him
>a Grunt runs by with a flamethrower, burning some elves who decided to join in
>why the fuck do they want a chopper?
>it's pure chaos
>"SARGE?"
>Mikey waves his arms and points to side of the island
>many more Pirates have docked and are joining the fight
>oh god oh fuck
>"LOOK!"
>the Sarge doesn't even stop dancing as he grooves over to us
>"SARGE CAN WE USE NAPALM?"
>He does Turk's dance from Scrubs as he thinks
>"SARGE PLEASE?"
>He does Gangnam style as he thinks
>"SARGE?"
>the Sarge hits the ground, doing the worm
>"DO IT MIKEY! CALL IT IN!"
>Mikey's eyes light up
>after so long
>his time has come
>one should understand the logistics here
>we have to get a fucking jet, with napalm down into the deep, and it has to fly perfectly over the target
>it costs a lot for fire support
>I think the Sarge is more generous thanks to us finding so many Hardlight deposits

>"Tamale, this is Roswell Bravo 2-6. I have a target for your fast movers, grid ref 8, 5, 2, 3-2, 974. BURN EM FOR ME WILL YA! BRAVO 2-6 OVER!"
>Mikey waits bouncing with excitement
>"NAPALM INBOUND!"
>I hear the engines of the jets already
>sparks flying off the metal wings from portal static
>the entire platoon watches as it flies over
>the Sarge now discoing
>I see the canisters detach and fly towards the Pirates
>it whiffs them
>entirely
>they fly off the side of the island
>Mikey falls to his knees
>tears in his eyes
>The Sarge calmly dances over
>"Look maggot, this is why we never even let you do that. You're useless."
>"We're all gonna die aren't we."
>"You? Yes. Me? Not a chance."
>he continues to dance to Fortunate Son out in the middle of the field
>Mikey cries on my shoulder

>somehow we survive and the choppers touch down
>"Do we have to do that everytime we need a chopper? Play Fortunate Son while you dance to summon it?"
>"NOPE, JUST MORE FUN THAT WAY!"
>it lands perfectly on the grass
>god damn it
>the Sarge jumps in
>a bunch of red splattering out and onto my face
>all that's inside the Huey is a bunch of blood and an RPG's rocket
>The Sarge turns to us
>"IT'S CLEAR WHAT HAPPENED HERE! THE ROCKET DECLARED THIS TO BE ITS TERRITORY AND DEFENDED IT!"
>He hops in the pilot's seat and forces me next to him
>"Sarge? You're a fucking pilot?"
>He slaps me
>"NOT IN FRONT OF CHOPPER BUDDHA!"
>sure enough on the dash is a small buddha statue
>"MAGGOT! THIS BIRD HAS A 6:1 CRASH TO LAND RATIO! WE'LL BE FINE!"

>the Sarge lifts his window and chucks the rocket out
>it falls and blows up a schoolhouse
>"SARGE WHAT THE FU--- HECK?"
>"THE ELUSIVE ROCKET, EVER SO TERRITORIAL."
>"IT PREFERS TO PREYS ON VIETNAMESE CHILDREN. IT'S JUST NATURE TAKING ITS COURSE!"
>I look back at the ruins of the school house
>a rocket flies past us
>He turns back angrily to the rest of the chopper
>like a soccer mom when her kids are too loud
>"OK, WHO HERE IS A SMALL VIETNAMESE CHILD?"