Lest We Forget by leo jenkins

delegates to his platoon sergeants, those platoon sergeants pass the information to their squad leaders, the squad leaders pass the info to their team leaders who pass it to their privates.  You may not have picked up on it but "let the medic know what the fuck is going on" isn't really in that chain.  Most of the time I had to pester one of my buddies who was a team leader to let me know what we were doing.
    One of the guys begins to complain of a severe headache and I am worried that it may be altitude sickness.  48 hours ago we were sitting at sea level and if I was cool enough to have one of those sweet GPS watches like the other guys I could tell you that we were sitting at nearly 10,000ft.  Even if someone did get altitude sickness there wasn’t much I could do about it.  The treatment calls for a drug called Mannitol, in a dose that would have been way too much to carry with me.  It was a risk that we were going to be taking.
    The first night is quiet but no one sleeps.  The entire platoon understands that this is a very important mission.  As the sun rises it exposes the most beautiful country that my eyes have ever seen.  It was the most expansive, remote and wild terrain imaginable.  Even at the end of June when the midday highs would reach 100+ there were snow-capped mountains in the distance.
    My gazing session would be short lived, the sun was up and it was time to begin our first patrol.  My inexperience is made evident as I realize that having both an aid bag and an assault pack would make navigating this terrain miserable.  Why did I bring two bags?  I use a carabineer to snap the two together.  Within the first 40 meters of our movement I realized this was going to be awful!  The assault pack is sitting on top of my aid bag and every step causes it to swing around to the side and smack me in the head. If you're going to be dumb you better be tough I suppose and I was stupid for not packing more effectively.
    We traverse some of the gnarliest terrain my feet have ever experienced.  We have shifted from a wedge type formation into a more snake like single file.  I am the third to last person in the movement.  The guy behind me is an Air Force Combat Controller.  The guy behind him is an Afghan Special forces member known as a "Mohawk" that was on loan from our OGA (Other Governmental Agency) buddies.  I ask them both if they get the feeling that we are being followed.  They both have the same feeling.  I hear footsteps behind us.  We're being hunted.  Maybe not the same way Apollo Creed and Governor Schwarzenegger were hunted in that Predator movie, but it was still pretty eerie.  I relayed this information to my Platoon Sergeant that was directly ahead of me.  This was my first mission as SFC Bent’s medic as he was recently assigned to 3rd Battalion.  He took over our platoon several weeks before this deployment and I had attempted to avoid him as best as I could in the train up.  I would come to find out later that he was a great guy but at this time all that I remember of him was him making me low crawl through a partially frozen mud puddle in December at Cole Range during RIP.
    Not more than thirty seconds after I relay the information to him I hear POP POP POP POP. 
    "Enemy target, 200 meters to the right!" one of the squad leaders announces.
    Every weapon system in the platoon orients in that direction.  As my Platoon Sergeant spins to get eyes on the target he loses his footing.  He slides 30 feet down the steep terrain and is finally stopped by a stump.  My first thought was, that's what you get for making me crawl in that fucking ice pond you prick!  That thought was quickly followed by the instinct to run in the direction of the enemy.  I took off, in a hard sprint up that hill and to the right of our platoon.  I dropped behind a cluster of rocks that provided a perfect cover for the firefight that was sure to take place.  My Platoon Sergeant makes his way up the