Baker teams all gone..
The humidity from the foreign jungle had become natural to those who served on foreign soil, fighting and or getting settled in a land that wasn't their own. Rambo, Ortega, Danforth, Westmore, Messner, Krakauer, had all been killed one way or another. Rambo himself had parted from Messner to make it to the Landing zone for the extraction chopper once there, Rambo had gotten word that Messner and Danforth were still in the jungle and pinned down by Guerilla forces."You'll make it.." Rambo turned his head to the largest member of the team, an African American male who was their support gunner - he knew that Barry had a family to get home to and he too had his mom and dad who were waiting for him. But right now? He was thinking more about Danforth and that red Chevy convertible, that f***ing car that he wouldn't stop talking about; The grassy terrain rumbled and cast a shroud of smoke to conceal the Vietcongs from moving in on the chopper, but still the lone soldier descended swiftly by hopping from the side of the Army Huey. Time seemed to slow down, as he rapidly approached the terrain beneath him, and slowly he turned his body to where his shoulder had taken the momentum of the fall. This had caused Rambo to tumble several times when he struck the ground, and there he immediately upturned his dark brown orbs to focus on the chopper. "Move it move it!! GET OUT!!"
Rambo attempted to shout over the sounds of the battle around him, he was surrounded with limited ammo and little hope. But he cradled that M4A1 in hand and sprinted through the open field dodging mortar drops and enemy gunfire - the snaps from the 762 rounds sounded near him, as he passed through the unto the branchline. He turned to jog backward with the M4 positioned at his hip. His thick index digit squeezed against the trigger of the rifle, and then a burst of three rounds penetrated the approaching enemies torso with the final bullet straying off to the side to strike him against the side of the skull. Rambo turned to sprint through the jungle the sole of his black boot sole hitting the flat of bolder, as he brought his hand to rest on the carrying handle of his rifle thus making his run all the more easy. Well easier given the humidity that he had to work in order to reach Danforths location. The sound of rustling grass sounded with every step from his military boots. "Huah..heh..heh.." He panted softly, as he lifted his rifle to where his hand gripped at the shroud, and the collapsible stock was positioned against his rock-like bicep. He took the moment of silence to downturn his gaze at the various tracks that were printed into the soil.
From what he could tell there were several types of prints, but two distinctive ones had stood out in the muddy terrain - treads matching the soles of his own - Danforth or Messner. No both, but there was something wrong. Rambo knelt to the mud to get a better look at the soil and dabbed his prints to the half print that connected with the soil every so often. What's more, was that the second pair of boots seemed to have gotten heavier - one of them was wounded. They stuck to the river; Rambo had his trail, and he reached his fingers back to pull back on the slide checking the chamber for a single brass coated round that was ready to be fired. He kept his pace at a jog so that he could stay on track with the prints, making sure that the Vietcongs hadn't detected him. A few rounds had snapped and cracked into the terrain next to him, and Rambo return fired to drop a few more of them. They were driven by a hatred of invaders there was no changing their mind with fear, but he needed to press on until he found his comrades.
Rambo had finally reached a hill that looked like the boots were sliding down the muck, but after a great few attempts they finally made it up. That also meant that they weren't being fired upon, at least not here. "Huh.." Swiftly he ascended the hill whilst swinging the rifle in hand, he kept going keeping a 360 focus on the trees around him, and the Vietcongs were nowhere to be seen. SNAP SNAP SNAP! thumpthumpthumpthump...The distant fire of a friendly M16 sounded throughout the dense of the jungle, and Rambo immediately rushed right toward the source. Stopping only to rest his hide up against the protective base of a thick jungle tree. He pressed the magazine eject on his rifle and slipped a freshly loaded one from the belt across his torso. The magazine lifted to fit into the bottom of the rifle, and he pulled back on the slide to tug a single brass coated round into the chamber. His digit squeezing on the trigger when he had spotted several enemy vietcongs approaching a broken down hut. The rounds weren't meant to kill but to cause them to scatter from the shots.
The rounds embedded into the trees next to them and forced the straw hat soldiers to conceal themselves from his gunfire. "Don't worry Danforth! We'll get ya home." The familiar voice of Messner sounded from the hut once his hearing had returned to him - slightly ringing due to the bombs dropping only a few clicks back to the field. "Ah, god dammit my leg..ah god!" Danforth called out in agony, and Rambo kept the rifle raised with the ironsight fixated upon the ferns that the enemy was using for concealment. He squeezed on the trigger several times to unleash a volley of fifteen or so rounds at the direction that they used, a sickening crack followed one or several of the shots and that was when his Green Beret brethren had noticed their savior. "Johnny! Help me out, man. Ah, sh*t it hurts." Rambo pressed his palm on the railing of the house and approached his wounded comrade, his mudied boots leaving behind some very clear brown footprints on the stray lined matting. "Hold still, and hold onto this. John reached behind his head to remove his Olive drab bandana, folded it up several times so that he could fit the cloth between his lips. Dark brown orbs turned to the injured leg, the source of it had seemed to penetrate the muscle sinew of the thigh. Lucky bastard. Rambo reached up to snatch the cloth from his mouth and fit the bandana over the wound. "Danforth! Eyes on me..keep them on me."
'Jesus Johnny, no!! GOD DAMMIT!! aahh.'
Rambo tied the cloth in a firm knot around the leaking leg, and secured the ends of the cloth so that they fed into the dressing around the leg. 'I wanna drive my convertible, Johnny. Please get me out of here..' Rambo shouldered his weight beneath Danforth's arm, and escorted him out of the house..