COMBAT CONTINENT LIGHT NOVEL PDF

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Download the Chinese Novel "Douluo Dalu" by Tang Jia San Shao in epub and pdf. Tang San survive in this unknown environment? With a new road to follow, a new legend begins Alternative names: Combat Continent / Lands of Battle / Soul Land Purple God Light. E. Slaughter City. E. Tang San's Third . Douluo Dalu, EPUB and PDF Download. Combat Continent • DD • Lands of Battle • Soul Land • Đấu La Đại Lục • 斗罗大陆 latest chapter. Create Web Novel. Author Topic: [CN][PDF][Eng] Douluo Dalu (Read times) Combat Continent . Re: [Chinese Novel][PDF][English] Douluo Dalu.


Combat Continent Light Novel Pdf

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Read light novel, web novel, korean novel and chinese novel online for free. Douluo Dalu, EPUB and PDF Download. Combat Continent Arts,Mystery, School Life,Xuanhuan - has alternative names: Combat Continent 2,Dd2,Douluo Dalu. Updates: Douluo Continent – Chapter The continent of Douluo Dalu. Chapter - Purple Demon Eye: Asura Demon Light . The evil demon god spirit beast tang kills in this book, its pearl goes to another world and gives its mc power, heavenly . Pingback: Combat Continent is Completed – Gashacon Gamer. Volume 1 - Douluo Continent – Prologue – Tang Third Young Master close combat mage (if you are free) . if you like this light novel, there is the manga version (raudone.info), but it only goes to chapter 7.

Combat Continent DD. How will Tang San survive in this unknown environment? Hayate the Combat Butler;. Jump to: navigation,. Baka- Tsuki has since expanded to become the largest fan- based English light novel agglomerate on the Internet. Purple God Light.

From Baka- Tsuki. English Translations. The continent Journal of Special Operations medicine peer- reviewed article index displays all of our articles listed in alphabetical order. Add category; Cancel Save. In too many stories. Dear friends, For ten years combat it has been our privilege to bring you free digital editions of fine books in Canada' s public domain. I could feel every word pierce my skull. Clear and sunny out here on the islands, same as yesterday, with a UV warning for the a fte r no o n.

Watch out for those sunburns! The barracks werent much more than four sheets of fire-resistant wood propped up together. A poster of a bronze-skinned bikini babe hung on one of the walls. Someone had replaced her head with a shot of the prime minister torn from the base newspaper. The bikini babes head grinned vapidly from its new home atop a macho muscle builder on another nearby poster.

The muscle builders head was MIA.

I stretched in my bunk. The welded aluminum frame squealed in protest. Keiji, sign this. Yonabaru craned his neck over the side of the top bunk. He looked great for a guy Id just seen get impaled.

They say people who die in dreams are supposed to live forever. Jin Yonabaru had joined up three years before me. Three more years of trimming the fat, three more years of packing on muscle. Back when he was a civilian hed been thin as a beanpole. Now he was cut from rock. He was a soldier, and he looked the part. What is it? A confession. The one I told you about. I signed it yesterday. Thats weird. I could hear him rifling through pages above me.

No, not here. Well, sign one for me again, will ya? You trying to pull a fast one on me? Only if you come back in a bodybag. Besides, you can only die once, so what difference does it make how many copies you sign? UDF soldiers on the front line had a tradition. The day before an operation, theyd sneak into the PX and make off with some liquor. Drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. The shot they gave you before battle broke down any acetaldehyde left in the bloodstream.

But if you were caught, theyd bring you up before a disciplinary committeemaybe a court martial if you screwed the pooch real badafter taking stock of inventory once the fighting was over and everyone was back on base. Of course, it was hard to court-martial a corpse. Which is why wed all leave notes before the battle explaining how the robbery had been our idea. Sure enough, when the investigation started, it was always some poor sap whod got himself killed who had masterminded the whole thing.

It was a good system. The people running the PX were wise to the racket, so they made sure to leave out some bottles that wouldnt be missed too much. Youd think theyd just go ahead and give everyone a few drinks the night before a battlefor morales sake, if nothing elsebut no, it was the same old song and dance every time.

Good ideas dont stand a chance against good bureaucracy. I took the paper from Yonabaru. Funny, I thought Id be more nervous. So soon? Save it for the day, man. What do you mean? We suit up this afternoon.

You nuts? How long you plan on wearing that thing? If I dont wear it today, when will I? How about tomorrow, when we roll out? I nearly fell out of bed. For an instant, my eyes settled on the soldier lying on the bunk next to mine.

He was flipping through a porn magazine. Then I stared up into Yonabarus face. What do you mean, tomorrow? They postpone the attack? No, man. Its always been tomorrow. But our secret mission to get hammered starts tonight at nineteen hundred hours. We drink ourselves blind and wake up with a helluva hangover in the morning. A plan not even HQ could fuck up. Wed broken into the PX last night.

I remembered the whole thing. I was nervous about it being my first battle, so Id decided to duck out a bit early. I had come back to my bunk and started reading that mystery novel. I even remembered helping Yonabaru up to his bed when he came staggering in from partying with the ladies. Unlessunless I had dreamed that too?

Yonabaru smirked. You dont look so good, Keiji. I picked the novel up off my bed. Id brought it along to read in my spare time, but Id been so busy drilling formation that it had stayed stuffed in the bottom of my bag.

I remember thinking how appropriately ironic it was that I hadnt had any time to start reading it until the day before I was probably going to die. I opened the book to the last page Id read. The American detective who was supposed to be an expert on the Orient was discussing the finer points of green tea, just like I remembered.

If today was the day before the battle, when had I read the book? Nothing was making any sense. Theres nothin to tomorrows operation. I blinked. Nothin to it, huh? Just get yourself home without shooting anyone in the back, and youll be fine. I grunted in reply. Yonabaru curled his hand into a gun and pointed his index finger at his head. Im serious.

Sweat it too much, youll turn into a feedheadend up losing your mind before they even get a chance to blow your brains out. The guy Id replaced had gone a little haywire, so they pulled him from the front lines.

They say he started picking up comm feeds about how humanity was doomed. Not the kind of shit you want heavily armed UDF Jacket jockeys listening to. We might not lose as many to that as we do to the enemy, but its not pretty either way.

In battle, unless youre sound of body and mind, youre a liability. Id only just arrived on the front lineshadnt even seen any action and already I was having hallucinations. Who knows what warning lights were going off in my head. You ask me, anyone come out of battle not actin a little funny has a screw or three loose. Yonabaru grinned. Hey, no scarin the fresh meat, I protested. I wasnt actually scared, but I was growing increasingly confused.

Just look at Ferrell! Only way to make it is to lose whatever it is that makes you human. A sensitive, caring indivdual like myself aint cut out for fightin, and thats the truth. I dont see anything wrong with the sergeant. Aint a question of right or wrong. Its about having a heart made of tungsten and muscles so big they cut off the blood to your brain. I wouldnt go that far. Next youll be tellin us that Mad Wargarita is just another grunt like the rest of us. Yeah, well, the thing with her is and so the conversation went on, back and forth like we always did.

Our badmouthing of Rita was just hitting its stride when the sergeant showed up. Sergeant Ferrell Bartolome had been around longer than anyone else in our platoon. Hed lived through so many battles, he was more than soldier, he was the glue that kept our company together. They said if you stuck him in a centrifuge, hed come out 70 percent big brother, 20 percent ball-busting drill sergeant, and 10 percent steel-reinforced carbon.

He scowled at me, then looked at Yonabaru, who was hastily bundling up our liquor confessions. His scowl deepened. You the soldier who broke into the PX? Yeah, thats me, my friend confessed without a trace of guilt. The men on the surrounding beds ducked under their sheets with all the speed of cockroaches scattering in the light, porn magazines and playing cards forgotten. Theyd seen the look on the sergeants face. I cleared my throat.

Did security, uh. Ferrells forehead knotted as though he were balancing a stack of armored plating on his head. I had a strong feeling of dj vu.

All this happened in my dream! Something had gone down, unrelated, at the exact time Yonabaru and his buddies were breaking into the PX. Security had gone on alert, and the robbery had come to light ahead of schedule.

Whered you hear that? Just, uh, a lucky guess. Yonabaru leaned out over the edge of his bunk.

What kind of trouble? Someone stepped in a knee-deep pile of pig shit. Now that may not have anything to do with you, but nevertheless, at oh-ninehundred, youre going to assemble at the No. Pass the word to the rest of those knuckleheads you call a platoon. You gotta be kidding! Were goin into battle tomorrow, and youre sending us off for PT? Thats an order, Corporal. Sir, reporting to the No. But, uh, one thing, Sarge. We been doin that liquor raid for years. Why give us a hard time about it now?

You really want to know? Ferrell rolled his eyes. I swallowed hard. Nah, I already know the answer. He always seemed to be grinning. Its because the chain of command around here is fucked to hell. Youll find out for yourself. Wait, Sarge! Ferrell took three regulation-length paces and stopped. Cmon, not even a hint? Yonabaru called from where he was taking cover behind the metal bed frame and bundled confessions. The generals the one with his panties in a bunch about the rotten excuse for security we have on this base, so dont look at me, and dont look at the captain, either.

In fact, you might as well just shut up and do what youre told for a change. I sighed.

Soul Land I

Hes not gonna have us out there weaving baskets, is he? Yonabaru shook his head. Maybe we can all do a group hug. Fucking asshole. I knew where this ended. Id dreamed all this, too. After their defeat a year and a half ago at the Battle of Okinawa Beach, the Japanese Corps made it a matter of honor to recapture a little island perched off the coast of the Boso Peninsula, a place named Kotoiushi.

With a foothold there, the Mimics were only a stones throw away from Tokyo. The Imperial Palace and central government retreated and ruled from Nagano, but there wasnt any way to relocate the economic engine that was Japans largest city.

The Defense Ministry knew that Japans future was riding on the outcome of this operation, so in addition to mustering twentyfive thousand Jackets, an endless stream of overeager generals had been pooling in this little base on the Flower Line that led down Boso Peninsula. Theyd even decided to allow Americans, Special Operators, into the game; the U. The Americans probably didnt give a damn whether or not Tokyo was reduced to a smoking wasteland, but letting the industrial area responsible for producing the lightest, toughest, composite armor plating fall to the Mimics was out of the question.

Seventy percent of the parts that went into a state-of-the-art Jacket came from China, but the suits still couldnt be made without Japanese technology.

So convincing the Americans to come hadnt been difficult. The catch was that with foreign troops came tighter security. Suddenly there were checks on things like missing alcohol that base security would have turned a blind eye to before. When the brass found out what had been going on, they were royally pissed. Hows that for luck? I wonder who fucked up. It aint us. I knew the Americans would be watchin over their precious battalion like hawks. We were careful as a virgin on prom night.

Yonabaru let out an exaggerated moan. Ungh, my stomach. My stomach just started hurtin real bad! I think its my appendix. Or maybe I got tetanus back when I hurt myself training. Yeah, thats gotta be it! I doubt it will clear up before tonight, so just make sure you stay hydrated.

It wont last until tomorrow, hear me? Oh, man. It really hurts. See that he drinks some water. Ignoring Yonabarus continued performance, Ferrell walked out of the barracks.

As soon as his audience was gone, Yonabaru sat up and made a rude gesture in the direction of the door. Hes really got a stick up his ass. Wouldnt understand a good joke if it came with a fucking manual. Aint no way Im gonna be like that when I get old. Am I right? I guess. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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Today is turnin to shit. It was all playing out how I remembered. The 17th Armored would spend the next three hours in PT. Exhausted, we would listen to some commissioned officer, his chest bristling with medals, lecture us for another half hour before being dismissed. I could still hear him threatening to pluck the hairs off our asses one by one with Jacket-augmented fingers. My dream was looking less like one by the minute.

You lift your body like you would in an ordinary push-up, then you hold that position. Its a lot harder than it sounds. You can feel your arms and abs trembling, and eventually you lose your sense of time. After youve counted something like the thousandth sheep jumping a fence, youll beg to be doing ordinary push-ups, anything but this. Your arms arent designed to be pillars.

Muscles and joints are there to flex and bend. Flex and bend. Sounds nice just thinking about it. But you cant think about it, or youll feel even worse. Youre pillars, hear me? Nice strong pillars. Muscle isnt really all that important for a Jacket jockey. Whether a persons grip is thirty kilos or seventy, as soon as they put on that Jacket, theyll have kilos of force in the palm of their hands. What a Jacket jockey needs is endurance and controlthe ability to hold one position without twitching a muscle.

Iso push-ups are just the thing for that. Wall sitting isnt half bad, either. Some claimed iso push-ups had become the favored form of discipline in the old Japan Self-Defense Force after they banned corporal punishment. But whoever thought of it, I hope he died a slow, painful death. Staring into the ground, we barked desperately in time with the drill sergeant, sweat streaming into our eyes. Eight hundred! Fuck OFF! Our shadows were crisp and clear under the scorching sun. The companys flag snapped and fluttered high above the field.

The wind that buffeted the training grounds reeked of salt and left a briny layer of slime on our skin. There, motionless in the middle of that gargantuan training field, men from the 17th Company of the Armored Infantry Division held their iso push-ups.

Three platoon leaders stood, as motionless as their men, one in front of each platoon. Our captain watched over the scene with a grimace from the shade of the barracks tent. Sitting beside him was a brigadier general from the General Staff Office. The general whod opened his mouth and started this farce was probably off sipping green tea in an air-conditioned office. A general was a being from the heavens above. A being perched on a gilded throne, higher than me, higher than Yonabaru, higher than Ferrell, higher than the lieutenant in charge of our platoon, the captain in charge of our company, the lieutenant colonel in charge of our battalion; higher than the colonel in charge of our regiment, higher even than the base commander.

The generals were the gods of Flower Line and all who trained, slept, and shat within its walls. So high, they seemed distant and unreal. Generals didnt steal liquor. They were early to bed, early to rise, always brushing their teeth after every meal, never skipping a morning shave goddamned messiahs. Generals went into battle facing death with their chins held high, calm as you please. Hell, all they had to do was sit back in Nagano drawing up their battle plans.

One order from them and us mortals on the front lines would move like pawns across a chessboard to our grisly fates. Id like to see just one of them here with us in the mud.

We had our own rules down here. Which is probably why they stayed away. Hell, if one of them showed, Id see to it a stray bullet put them on the KIA list. This was the least damning thought running through my head, any one of which would have been enough to send me to a firing squad. The brass in the tent werent the only spectators around to watch our torture.

The guys in 4th Company were really laughing it up. A while back we beat them in an intramural rugby match by more than thirty points, so I guess they felt this was some sort of twisted payback.

The liquor wed swiped was for them too, so this display of solidarity was touching. What a bunch of assholes. If they got into trouble on Kotoiushi, I sure as hell wasnt going to bail them out. The U. Spec Ops and some journalist imbedded in their squad had gathered around the field to watch us from a safe distance. Maybe they didnt do iso push-ups where they came from, but whatever the reason, they were pointing their fat fingers at us and laughing.

The breeze coming off the water picked up their voices and dumped them on us. Even at this distance, the commentary was loud and grating. Fingernails on a chalkboard grating. Is that a camera? Is he seriously taking pictures? All right, thats it, motherfucker. Youre next on my KIA list. Pain and fatigue racked my body. My blood pumped slow as lead. This was getting old. Counting my dream, this was the second time Id endured this particular session of PT.

Not just PT, iso push-ups. In training they taught us that even when youre in excruciating painespecially when youre in painthe best thing to do was to find some sort of distraction, something else to focus on other than the burning in your muscles and the sweat streaking down your forehead. Careful not to move my head, I looked around out of the corner of one eye.

The American journalist was snapping pictures, a visitors pass dangling from his neck. Say cheese! He was a brawny fellow. You could line him up with any of those U. Special Forces guys and youd never know the difference. Hed look more at home on a battlefield than I would, thats for sure. Pain and suffering were old friends to men like them. They walked up to the face of danger, smiled, and asked what took him so long to get there.

They were in a whole nother league from a recruit like me. In the middle of the testosterone display, the lone woman stuck out like a sore pinky. She was a tiny little thing standing off by herself a short distance from the rest of the squad.

Seeing her there beside the rest of her super-sized squad, something seemed out of whack. Anne of Green Gables Goes to War. I figure the book would be a spin-off set around World War I.

Mongolia makes a land grab, and theres Anne, machine gun tucked daintily under one arm. Her hair was the color of rusted steel, faded to a dull red. Some redheads conjured up images of blood, fire, deeds of valor. Not her. If it werent for the sand-colored shirt she was wearing, shed have looked like some kid whod come to the base on a field trip and gotten herself lost. The others were fanned out around this girl who barely came up to their chests like awed, medieval peasants gawking at nobility.

Suddenly it hit me. Thats Rita! It had to be. It was the only way to explain how this woman, who couldnt have looked less like a Jacket jockey if she had been wearing a ball gown, was in the company of the spec ops. Most women who suited up looked like some sort of cross between a gorilla and an uglier gorilla.

They were the only ones who could cut it on the front lines in the Armored Infantry. Rita Vrataski was the most famous soldier in the world. Back when I signed up for the UDF, you couldnt go a day without seeing the news feeds sing her praises. Id even heard Hollywood was gonna make a movie about her, but I was already in the UDF by the time it came out, so I never saw it. About half of all the Mimic kills humanity had ever made could be attributed to battles her squad had fought in.

In less than three years, theyd slaughtered as many Mimics as the whole UDF put together had in the twenty years before. Rita was a savior descended from on high to help turn the odds in this endless, losing battle. Thats what they said, anyway. We all figured she was part of some propaganda squad they were using to make inroads into enemy territory. A front for some secret weapon or new strategy that really deserved the credit. Sixty percent of soldiers were men.

That figure shot up to 85 percent when you started talking about the Jacket jockeys who were out bleeding on the front lines. After twenty years fighting an enemy whose identity we didnt even know, losing ground day by day, we grunts didnt need another muscle-bound savior who grunted and sweat and had hamburger for brains just like we did. Yeah, if it were me calling the shots in the General Staff Office, Id have picked a woman too. Wherever the U.

Spec Ops were deployed, morale soared. The UDF had been beaten to the cliffs edge, but they were finally able to start moving back from the brink. Now theyd come to Japan, where the enemy was knocking on the door of the main island of Honshu. When no one was listening, we called her Mad Wargarita.

Ritas Jacket was as red as the rising sun. She thumbed her nose at the lab coats whod spent sleepless months refining the Jackets polymer paint to absorb every last radar wave possible. Her suit was gunmetal redno, more than that, it glowed. In the dark it would catch the faintest light, smoldering crimson. Was she crazy? Behind her back they said she painted her suit with the blood of her squad. When you stand out like that on the battlefield, you tend to draw more than your share of enemy fire.

Others said shed stop at nothing to make her squad look good, that she even took cover behind a fellow soldier once. If she had a bad headache, shed go apeshit, killing friend and foe alike.

And yet not a single enemy round had ever so much as grazed her Jacket. She could walk into any hell and come back unscathed. They had a million stories. Your rank and file soldier ended up with a lot of time on his hands, and listening to that sort of talk, passing it on, embellishing itthat was just the sort of thing he needed to kill time and to keep the subject off dead comrades. Rita had been a Jacket jockey eating and sleeping on the same base as me, but Id never seen her face until that moment.

We might have resented the special treatment she got, if wed had the chance to think about it. I couldnt take my eyes off the line of her hairshe wore it shortas it bobbed in the wind. There was a graceful balance to her features.

You might even have called her beautiful. She had a thin nose, a sharp chin. Her neck was long and white where most Jacket jockeys didnt even have necks. Her chest, however, was completely flat, at odds with the images of Caucasian women you saw plastered on the walls of every barracks cell.

Not that it bothered me. Whoever had looked at her and thought up the name Full Metal Bitch needed to have his head checked. She was closer to a puppy than a bitch. I suppose even in a litter of pit bulls theres room for one sweet one in the bunch.

If, in my dream, the shell of that red Jacket had popped open and shed climbed out, I would have shit my bunk. Id seen her face and Jacket plenty on the news feeds, but they never gave you a good idea of what she really looked like in person. I had always pictured Rita Vrataski as tall and ruthless, with a knockout body and an air of total selfconfidence.

Then our eyes met. I looked away immediately, but it was already too late. She started walking toward me. She moved with purpose, one foot planted firmly on the ground before the other moveda relentless, unstoppable force.

But her steps were small, the net result being a harried, flustered gait.

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Im not sure Id ever seen anyone walk quite like that before. Cmon, dont do this to me. I cant even move. Give a guy a break and get lost, would ya? Go on. Rita stopped. The muscles in my arms started to tremble. Then, purposefully, she walked away. Somehow shed heard my prayer, making a ninety-degree turn right in front of me and heading toward the brigadier general where he sat under the tent. She snapped a perfunctory salute. Not so sloppy as to be insulting, but not so stiff you could hear anything cracking, either.

A fitting salute for the Full Metal Bitch.

Douluo Dalu

The brigadier general cast a doubtful glance at Rita. Rita was a sergeant major. In the military hierarchy, the difference between a brigadier general and a sergeant major was about the same as the difference between a four-course meal at a snooty restaurant and an allyou-can-eat buffet. Recruits like me were strictly fast food, complete with an oversized side of fries. But it wasnt that simple. It never was. Rita was U. Rank aside, it was hard to say which one of them really held more power.

Rita stood in silence. The brigadier general was the first to speak. Yes, Sergeant? Sir, would it be possible for me to join the PT, sir. The same high voice from my dream, speaking in perfectly intoned Burst. You have a major operation coming up tomorrow. So do they, sir. My squad has never participated in this form of PT, sir. I believe my participation could be vital in ensuring the successful coordination and execution of tomorrows joint operation.

The general was at a loss for words. Special Forces around the field started to whoop and cheer. Request permission to participate in the PT, sir, she said. Sir, thank you, sir! She flashed a quick salute. Doing an about-face, she slipped among the rows of men staring intently into the ground.

She chose a spot beside me and started her iso push-up. I could feel the heat coming off her body through the chilly air between us. I didnt move. Rita didnt move. The sun hung high in the sky, showering its rays over us, slowly roasting our skin.

A drop of sweat formed in my armpit, then traced its way slowly to the ground. Sweat had started to bead on Ritas skin too. I felt like a chicken crammed into the same oven as the Christmas turkey. Ritas lips made the subtlest of movements. A low voice only I could hear. Do I have something on my face? Youve been staring at me for a while now. I thought maybe there was a laser bead on my forehead. There wasntits nothing.

All right. Shit-for-brains Kiriya! Youre slipping! I quickly extended my arm back into position. Beside me, Rita Vrataski, with the disinterested expression of someone whod never had a need for human contact her entire life, continued her iso push-up. PT ended less than an hour later. The general, the taste of bile in his mouth forgotten, returned to the barracks without further instructions. The 17th Company had spent a productive prebattle afternoon.

It hadnt played out the way I remembered it. In my dream, I never made eye contact with Rita, and she hadnt joined in the PT. Maybe I was reading too much into things, but Id say she did it just to piss the general off. It took a Valkyrie reborn to throw a monkey wrench into a disciplinary training session planned with military precision and get away with it.

Then again, her antenna may just have picked up something that made her want to see what this weird iso push-up thing was all about.

Maybe she had just been curious. One thing was for sure, though. Rita Vrataski wasnt the bitch everyone made her out to be. That shit was tight. You said it. With reflexes like that, that girl must be hiding springs in that little body of hers. I could feel it all the way into my abs. She hears you talkin like that, best watch out. Who doesnt like a compliment? Im just sayin she was good. As he spoke, Yonabaru thrust his hips. Seeing someone move like that in a Jacket was pretty damn funny.

Translating Douluo Dalu by Tang Jia San Shao

An everyday gesture with enough power behind it to level a house. Our platoon was on the northern tip of Kotoiushi Island, waiting to spring the ambush, Jackets in sleep mode. A screen about half a meter tall stood in front of us, projecting an image of the terrain behind. Its what they called active camouflage. It was supposed to render us undetectable from an enemy looking at us head on.

Of course, we could have just used a painting. The terrain had been bombed into oblivion, so any direction you looked, all you saw was the same charred wasteland. Most of the time, the Mimics lurked in caves that twisted deep under the seabed. Before a ground assault, we fired bunker buster bombs that penetrated into the ground before detonating.

Eat that. Each one of those babies cost more than Id make in my entire lifetime.

But the Mimics had an uncanny way of avoiding the bombs. It was enough to make you wonder if they were getting a copy of our attack plans in advance.

On paper we may have had air superiority, but we ended up in a drawn-out land war anyhow. Since our platoon was part of an ambush, we werent packing the largebore cannonsmassive weapons that were each the size of a small car fully assembled.

What we did have were 20mm rifles, fuel-air grenades, pile drivers, and rocket launchers loaded with three rounds apiece. Since it was Ferrells platoon, we were all linked to him via comm. I glanced at my Jackets HUD. It was twenty-eight degrees Celsius.

Pressure was millibars. The primary strike force would be on the move any minute. Last night, after that endless hour of PT, Id decided to go to the party. It wasnt what I remembered doing from the dream, but I didnt really feel like rereading that book.

The part about helping Yonabaru up to his bunk after he stumbled back to the barracks stayed the same. Word around the platoon was that Yonabarus girlfriend was a Jacket jockey too. With the exception of Special Forces, men and women fought in separate platoons, so we wouldnt have run into her on the battlefield anyway. Ifand Im just talkinbut if one of you got killed.

I ventured. Id feel like shit. But you still see each other anyway. Heaven aint some Swiss bank. You cant squirrel away money in some secret account up there and expect to make a withdrawal. You gotta do what you can before goin into battle.

Thats the first rule of soldierin. Yeah, I guess. But Im tellin ya, you gotta hook yourself up with some pussy.

Armaell's Library

Carpe diem, brother. Carpe something. What about Mad Wargarita? Yall were talkin during PT, right? Youd tap that, I know you would. Dont even go there. Tiny girl like herI bet shes a wolverine in the sack. The smaller they are, the better they fuck, you know. Show some respect. Sex aint got nothin to do with respect. From the lowest peon to His Majesty the general, everybody wants to do a little poundin between the legs.

All Im sayin is thats how we evolved Just shut the fuck up, I said. That any way to talk to me in front of the sergeant? Im hurt. Ive got a very sensitive disposition. Im just talkin trash to keep my mind off things. Same as everybody else.

Hes right, someone else chipped in over the comm link. Hey, dont I get a vote? It was like this was the excuse everyone in the platoon had been waiting for. Everyone started talking at once. Im gonna have to cast my ballot for Yonabaru. Ive set this thing to filter out your jokes, so stop wastin your breath. Sounds like Kiriyas gonna have to step up his training if he doesnt want Yonabaru to take the piss out of him so easy.

I think I need to reboot my Jacket, sir! I dont want it crashing during the battle! Aw man, Id kill for a cigarette. Musta left em in my other Jacket. I thought you quit smokin? Hey, keep it down! Im tryin to get some sleep! And so it went.

Back and forth through the comm link, like it was an Internet chat room. All Ferrell could do was sigh and shake his Jacketed head. When youre so nervous youve run out of nails to bite, thinking about something you enjoy helps take the pressure off. They taught us that in training too. Of course, you get a bunch of animals like these together, pretty much the only thing they think about is sex. There was only one girl I could think about, my sweet little librarian whose face I could hardly picture anymore.

Who knew what she was doing. Itd been half a year since she got married. She was probably knocked up by now. I enlisted right after I graduated from high school, and she broke my heart. I dont think the two things were related. Who can say? I had signed up thinking I could make some sense of this fuckedup world by betting my life in battle and seeing what fate dealt me.

Boy was I ever green. If I was tea-green now, I mustve been limegreen back then. Turns out my life isnt even worth enough to download one of those pricey bombs, and what cards fate has dealt me dont have any rhyme or reason.

Nuts to this.Users that manage the website will need a cookie containing a unique session identifier when logging into the backend of the website.

An incoming friendly transmission. But if you were caught, theyd bring you up before a disciplinary committeemaybe a court martial if you screwed the pooch real badafter taking stock of inventory once the fighting was over and everyone was back on base. And yet not a single enemy round had ever so much as grazed her Jacket. As he spoke, Yonabaru thrust his hips.

CONNIE from Bonita Springs
I do like sharing PDF docs not. Also read my other articles. I take pleasure in dog sport.
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