I was still a kid. Would my parents sign, letting me go in the Army, or just tell me to go back to school?
The helicopter started to descend. My gut floated a little bit. It usually settled down. Not this time. It got stronger. My butt clenched first, then everything else followed until my whole body was stiff.
I forced myself to reach up and rack a shell in the chamber, then repeated it, just to make sure and regretted wasting it. Even with fifteen hundred rounds between my legs, it never felt like I had enough.
This time would be bad. Everyone knew it. The first time had not gone well at all and no one expected what had happened, especially me. I still had not fully recovered from the stark terror I still felt inside from what can only be described as total chaos and I dreaded what lay ahead.
Why did I ever get myself into this situation? How did the decisions I made cause me to end up here? This is nothing at all like I thought it would be and not how things were supposed to happen. How could I have been so completely wrong? I glanced at my watch. It was ten a.m. I would have been in 10th grade Latin class.