There’s a storm inside of us. I’ve heard many team guys speak of this. A burning. A river. A drive. An unrelenting desire to push yourself harder and further than anyone could think possible. Pushing ourselves into those cold, dark corners, where the bad things live. Where the bad things fight. We wanted that fight at the highest volume. A loud fight. The loudest, coldest, darkest, most unpleasant of the unpleasant fights.
Why are you doing this to me?
It’s not a cursed op. There’s no curses. It’s just Afghanistan, that’s all.
Well, we could light these goats on fire, smoke signal our way outta here.
You could get some interesting tile ideas down there, bro. Afghan dirt brown, goat skin blond. Shit, she’ll dig that a helluva lot more than, what is it? Fucking honey cream?
I think we’re about fixin’ to get into a pretty good gunfight.
Looks like I voted wrong.
You are never out of the fight.
