The Gunny and Sugar Daddy looked at me when I approached, but neither man stood up. I hadn’t expected them to. I was becoming fully adjusted to life beyond Marine training and stateside barracks behavior. I dumped my supply of C-rations, and other stuff I’d gotten from the re-supply piles, on my poncho liner before turning to squat down and join them.
“Fourth Platoon has a problem with the new guys,” the Gunny began, his coffee steaming up out of his canteen holder held right next to the dying chunk of composition B he’d used to heat it.
I looked around. Once again Fusner, Stevens, Zippo, and Nguyen had somehow managed to blend back into the jungle, taking Pilson, the Gunny’s radio operator with them. Both Prick 25 radios left behind continued to comment and his meaningless transmissions through their small speakers.