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SUMMARY: The fragile comedy of existence

We were in the jungle. The only tenuous connection we had to the world was a rutty track scored into the ground by the arrival of the troop transports, vehicles that had vanished again into the foliage only minutes after arriving. There are about 200 grass green soldiers out here, I being only one.
No wait, calling us soldiers is unfair. That makes it sound like I had any choice or desire to be here. I didn't and I don't. But I have to do what I'm told, if I don't I'll get killed by the large blank eyed monster that is running our outfit. The stupid irony is that I'll probably be killed anyway. In the three days since I had the displeasure of seeing him for the first time his expression has never changed from the scowl that is there presently. He is standing outside of where the work is being done, his tank sized arms crossed over his chest. He is wearing dark oversized sunglasses, the kind Latin Dictators used to wear.
When we woke, having been abducted from our beds in the middle of the night, our blank eyed buddy shot a someone at random, to demonstrate that he had no compunction about doing so. That first action, performed while most of us were still groggy and lethargic from the gas, or injection, or whatever they used to knock us out, had set the tone for everything that had happened since. There was only confusion and fear.
I don't know where I am, and although I am supposed to be a soldier, the fatigues guarantee that much, they haven't provided us with any personal weaponry. There are all kinds of rumors floating around concerning shortages, but I cannot believe its so bad that that they cannot at least give us pocket knives or something. No I think that they keep us unarmed because they don't want to waste the weapons. Our only shelter is a pre-fab barracks that is supposed to arrive by helicopter.
It arrived on time, appearing on the horizon like a dragonfly carrying a shoebox. The blades gave off their steady droning whoomp whoomp. The weight of the large rectangular box was obviously right at the chopper's limit, the bowing of the blades was obvious and bordering on dangerous. We all stood watching as the chopper approached, the sun was bright behind it. We had to cover our eyes from the glare. Its arrival was so loud I could think of nothing else as the shelter arrived. I thought about how hard it would be for others not to know we were out here.
As it turns out, I was right. There were lookouts watching for troop deployment and we were being marked, catalogued, and planned for, even before the barracks arrived. The barracks were specially designed structures, cramped and completely ready to go before we ever set eyes on it. I would prefer to sleep under a mosquito net or in a tree if it meant the end of the terrible racket the helicopter was causing.
I felt sore and uncomfortable in the humid climate of the jungle. My body was still rebelling from what the sergeant termed "Boot Camp." This had mostly consisted of insanely strenuous physical exercise and a distinct lack of sleep.