R4

He couldn't take it any more. Slightly unhitching the stopgap of his gas-mask, he rolled into the sticky broad leaf grass. Gasping and greedily sucking fresh air. Twitching started and he wasn't sure if it was part of his act or part of real crisis. Platoon jumped at his side to help. He saw gratitude in their eyes.

"Sir, s'rg'nt, Rankovic fell down, he can't..." soldier nicknamed Leskovac squeaked as he gobbled vowels.

Sargeant Jovanovic, barely older from greenhorns under his command didn't even flinch. He was enjoying the conversation with fellow NCOs and smoking.

Soldiers really went overboard to help Rankovic. They put him on his feet, then relieved him of the combat kit, assault rifle and the mask. Then they gently put him down to sit while fellow chubby Bunjevac sprinkled water from the canteen on Rankovic's face.

"I'm allright, I'm allright" he gasped repeating feeling only slight tingle of guilt for being a faker. Mostly because he knew that his skill at pretending he is on the brink of dying from exhaustion was impeccable. He did look like modern day Phillipides, though the truth was that he was just too bored to bother wearing mask and running around in full kit. He had a very good accomplice at this shennanigan, and that accomplice was his own body. The power of his lazyness transcended mind and will, bending Rankovic's own bodily reactions entirely to his intentions.

Platoon knew very well that Rankovic's skill will come to their rescue many more times before the basic training in the Guards is over. Thats why they were very eager to help their malingering friend. Someone fished a piece of chocolate from their pocket. Rankovic sucked on it eagerly, but since the chocolate didn't find the straight way to his mouth, due to his wobbly dizzyness, he looked less like a soldier hit by a heatstroke and more like fat slobbering pig who simply decided to fall like a log and interrupt the afternoon exercize.

Sargeant waved over corporal Perazic and ordered him to gather the troops. Sargeant Bojan Jovanovic had nasty habbit to mumble incoherently under his chin, as way of speaking. Only person able to decipher sarge's muttering was Rankovic. Soldier Mitrovic could understand some, so finally they understood that sarge wanted them to spread the combat webbing and toss all of their empty canteens in there. Bicskai Gabor and Ahmed Jashari got the orders to fetch the water for the platoon.

While they limped and shuffled uphill, Rankovic thoght how Gabor has really firm ass and wondered if Hungarian fellow would wear cammo undies. Image of lieutanant Djurisic came to his mind, as the officer really wore cammo undies. Ranovic remembered sway of the officer's chest hair, and the picture of stocky blonde guy from Montenegro was replaced by another newbie officer, lieutanant Matic who indeed went to roll call dressed in cammo pj's. Matic had sunken chest and elongated neck, so the image of him was not so appealing, though he did walk with gayish gait, as if his ass was just moments ago destroyed by team of big black cocks.

Breakfast mixed with cheap ham and half liter of yoghurt of the Guardian supplement ration burst out of Rankovic's mouth in a perfect arc. He tried desperately to tame the rumbling storm in his stommach. Soldiers were awed. To be a procrastinating lazy bum and faker in a special forces elite unit was not an easy task. They viewed vomitng as special efect, an irrefutable proof that either Rankovic was really fucked up, or that he was the biggest fag of a faker that ever enlisted the Guards.