The Man Who Couldn't Die

Exactly four months and eleven days after receiving his notice, Jonathan Walden was on his way to kill people he'd never met and knew nothing about.

All he wanted was to make it back alive.

Excerpt

An efficient young marine lieutenant directed traffic, porting off the new arrivals to the various squads. Jonathan knew enough not to salute in a war zone.

"Name?"

"Private Jonathan Walden, Sir. Casper." It was the nickname he got stuck with during basic training, because he was as pale as a ghost, his complexion courtesy of a very tall English family tree.  

The Lieutenant's face gleamed with a sheen of sweat. He wrote something on his clipboard. "Lucky you, Private. Damn lucky. You're in the Fourth." He pointed to a large canvas tent off to his right. Casper noticed the slight trembling of his hand. "That's Sergeant Wills out front. You listen to him, hear? This isn't Pendleton. You remember that if you want  to go home wearing clothes instead of a flag."