In the Valley Read Online Free PDF

to a side, sixty total. She was carrying a cheap cardboard box.
    Paul’s halo popped with a new icon. It looked like a cheesy certificate. Underneath it was another icon labeled MOVEMENT ORDERS .
    Henderson turned and spoke as she reached the end of the strip.
    “I hate each and every one of you fuckers,” she ground out.
    Sergeant First Henderson hefted the cardboard box and heaved it down the center of the strip. Small pieces of glittery metal crashed everywhere when thebox crashed down. They were the crossed rifles insignia! Where was the pinning ceremony, the show of pride and dignity for the forces’ newest infantrymen?
    With dawning awareness, Paul realized this was the ceremony. It was like the cherry on the sundae that was basic.
    “Here’s your fucking insignia, assholes! Welcome to the infantry!” Without another word, Sergeant First Henderson left the building.
    One recruit started to cry. Everyone ripped on him and called him a pussy while they picked up their insignia off the floor. The recruits had made it.
    That afternoon, in accordance with his orders, Paul left for Fort Sill in Lawton, Oklahoma. It was time for advanced infantry training, otherwise known as “Suit School.” But at least he was still on Terra Firma.

P aul was cleaning his rifle, eyeballing a reluctant Z-man cleaning his own piece, when the colonel walked up.
    “Hey, Paul, let’s go to a meeting. And by the way, leave your halo here; we’re not going to need them.” Paul raised his eyebrow and looked at the colonel. The colonel just made an exasperated noise and a come-on gesture.
    So Paul did a quick reassembly on his rifle, placed it on his rack, and stood up. First, though, he felt at his hip for his pistol. Yup, there it was. The M-3a1 was loaded with fifteen rounds of caseless 9.5 mm, and the safety was on. Inside the perimeter, that’s all he should need, in theory. You never went anywhere unarmed, ever, on Juneau 3. He hurried a little to catch the colonel.
    “What’s up, sir?” This couldn’t be just any old bullshit; the colonel wasn’t one for show.
    “Commander Mohammed is in Pashto Khel, and we’re going to go get him.”
    A jolt of adrenaline surged through Paul at the colonel’s words. A trip to meet up with Commander Mohammed, the local shithead-and warlord-in-chief, could only mean one thing—combat.
    Paul often thought that
combat
was the ugliest word in the English language. When he thought of that sour word, he thought of a woman falling down a set of stairs. He thought about an antiarmor round detonating right next to his suit. He saw his medic’s eyes narrowed in fear.
Combat
wasn’t just a word; it was a state of mind.
    Combat—so much to look forward to. He had a headache.
    “Great,” Paul said. “Where’s Green at? Is he in on this?” Life without a halo was tough. Paul would have known the answer to his question already if he had his on. The colonel gave him an answer instead.
    “Yeah, he’s waiting for us in Fasi’s tent. Only Fasi and the company commanders are going to be in on this. You know how it goes when all the June-bugs know what we’re doing.”
    Damn straight, thought Paul. Intel and operational security were porous concepts when working with the Juneau 3 Army. If you told any of them anything, you could bet it would go straight to one of their relatives or friends, and then you could forget all about any kind of secrecy. Or worse yet, you’d walk into an ambush. As anyone who has been in combat will tell you, it’s always better to give than to receive. The situation was starting to look as if this time Third Battalion would be the givers. Well, thought Paul, this is a start in the right direction.
    Colonel Fasi, like the advisors, had his tent pitched down on the flat step of Firebase Atarab. It was dead ahead, a dirty white tarp.
    Monkey-Boy, one of Mighty Mike’s Juneau Army soldiers, walked by and waved to Paul. He wore a childish grin on his gawky, swarthy face.