The rumble of the unpaved road made Cletus' helmeted head bounce off the window of the Humvee, jolting him awake. Grumbling to himself, Cletus yawned and watched the desert pass by. "Just another day in the sandbox huh Peaches?" Cletus smirked and glanced over at the broad shouldered Hispanic man sitting next to him. "Got that right Carlos, ol' Major bag o' wind got an ass reaming from up top. Parently we ain't kicking enough ass and now we need to go looking for trouble." Carlos barked out a laugh as he kicked the seat in front of him. "Yo Tuna! Drive better! Princess back here is tryna get some beauty rest." The driver of the Humvee simply held up a stiff middle finger for the passengers to see as a soldier with a goatee and sunglasses turned to face Cletus and Carlos. "Behave now ladies, at least try to pretend like you are actual Marines. I swear you all somehow manage to piss off everybody you meet. We are almost there, get your shit together."
The four Marines were clad in the standard issue desert fatigues and helmets, though Carlos wore a green bandana instead of a helmet (much to the annoyance of his commanding officer). The Humvee the Marines were sitting in was in the middle of a large convoy of American vehicles speeding down the road towards a nearby town. It was August and the Iraq climate was doing it's best to annoy the Marines with heat, sand, and the occasional dust storm. Cletus continued to banter with his squad mates as the convoy suddenly came to a halt. The seargent in sunglasses listened intently to the radio as Carlos rolled down his window and stuck his head out to see what was going on. Cletus sighed as the voices on the radio talked and everyone waited. "What's the news Sarge? War over? A bus of busty girls need help changin a tire?" The Seargent shook his head and leaned back in his seat. "Looks like the ragheads left a IED on the road, fuckers must be getting lazy because the point Humvee saw it a mile away. Now we just gotta sit, boil in our sweat, and wait."
Unbeknownst to the Marines, they were all sitting in a deadly trap. Contrary to what they thought, everything was going exactly as planned for the insurgents hiding nearby. The abandoned car on the side of the road was a ruse, a means to get the American convoy to stop on top of the actual IEDs buried under the road. Cletus glanced out his window and spotted a flash of brown fabric disappear behind a nearby pile of rocks. Poking the Seargent who was trying to listen to the radio, Cletus pointed at the rocks. "Sarge, think we got Tangos over by the ro-". He was cut off as the ground beneath the Humvee in a roaring explosion of dust and shrapnel, flipping the heavy American vehicle over onto it's side as gunfire and explosions erupted around the convoy. Cletus coughed as he tried to stop the world from spinning and sit up. He had gotten thrown from the Humvee and lay a few meters away as bullets from both sides zipped overhead. Cletus tried to call out to his friends but could not catch his breath, his eyes widening in shock as he saw what had happened to his squad mates. Tuna the driver lay slumped over the steering wheel as blood oozed from multiple bullet holes in his torso. Seargant Harrison hung halfway out of the truck, missing most of his head and his left arm. Splayed out on the sandy dirt, Carlos convulsed as he tried to stem the blood gushing from his shrapnel filled neck and face. Gritting his teeth, Cletus tried to pull himself over to Carlos, until he realized he could not feel his arms. Looking down at himself for the first time, Cletus' stomach sunk as he realized why he couldn't move. His legs were a mangled mess, with splintered bones poking out of his trousers and his feet twisted in the wrong direction. His arms were even worse, his left arm hanging by a small strip of muscle and skin while his right arm was a burned and blackened mess. Letting his head fall back, Cletus looked at the sky as he felt death creeping over him.
"I'm scared...I don't wanna die...not like this...please God, take care Dad, Mom, Jenny, and Mary...I feel so cold..."
A few moments later, Cletus died. Far away from home and scared of what would come next.
First there was darkness. Cletus felt himself laying on something hard as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Is this hell? I don't wanna go to hell." Slowly his senses came back to him. Cletus felt a soft breeze wash over his face, the cool air refreshing to someone who was used to the heat of the desert. Realizing that he could now feel his body again, Cletus mentally braced himself for the worst and tried moving his legs. Shockingly, his legs felt fine. With the small ember of hope lit inside his mind, Cletus experimentally moved his hands and arms. Relief flooded through the bewildered marine as he tried to process what was going on. Finally, Cletus slowly sat up and opened his eyes.
Looking around, Cletus tried to think of where he was. He had been laying on the hard packed dirt in some kind of forest. The breeze was cool and the air smelled like wet dirt and dead leaves. Looking down at himself, Cletus patted himself over to double check that he was not falling victim to some sort of underworld prank. He was still wearing his digital pattern desert fatigues, body armor, and helmet. In his pockets he found his small metal multi-tool, the standard issue OKC3S bayonet, a small notepad and pencil, his (empty) canteen, and finally the high-powered binoculars with reflection obscuring lenses he received after joining the Marine Scout Sniper Division. All in all it was not much, but it was at least something.
"Guess God didn't feel like making things easy and starting me off with a gun. Now time to find out where the hell I am." Pushing himself to his feet, Cletus looked around as he nervously tapped his fingers against his leg. After some observation, Cletus noticed that the ground began to gradually slope upwards in one direction. Deciding that high ground would be better to see where he was, Cletus began his trek through the forest. For almost thirty minutes Cletus hiked as he tried to figure out how he died and woke up in a forest. Suddenly in the distance, the distinct sound of ammunition cooking off echoed from nearby. Hearing the sound, Cletus froze as he pulled out his bayonet. After some deliberation, Cletus began to carefully walk towards the source of the gunfire. It was a calculated risk, but gunfire meant people, and people meant information. Cletus did not know if the people would be hostile or not, but nothing ventured is nothing gained. After a few more minutes of hiking, Cletus hears the sound of raised voice. Getting into a crouch, Cletus slowly works his way through some brambles and underbrush until he spots the source of the voices. A bloodied and frail looking girl, a rough looking man in old-timey clothes, and a man wearing somewhat modern clothes holding a rifle. It appeared as though Cletus had stumbled upon some strange standoff. Deciding to play it safe, Cletus hunkered down underneath the nearby bushes and tried to determine what was being said. The rifle wielding man seemed to be American from the few words Cletus could make out. The medieval looking fellow with his hands up had a strange accent Cletus could not place and the girl was speaking...french?" Cletus furrowed his brows as he tried to think of a logical scenario where an American would be holding some woodsman hostage while a bloodied girl yelled at him in French. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind, leaving Cletus only more confused. "What the fuck is going on?"
