"I managed to smuggle the pokeball with my Bulbasaur out to Canada, before the draft hit our town. I wanted to escape too, but I couldn't risk it - they were using psychic sentries at the borders, screening any and all draft dodgers. I tried the conscience objector route, joining protests and the like, but it was no good. They deployed Jigglypuffs that one time, the assholes, and by the time I woke up I was on a truck heading straight for Tigerland.
(Can you imagine that, the little pink balls in full riot gear? You weren't alive back then - you just can't. The photos aren't the same thing.)
Then I was in a PBR on the *crag*ing Mekong Delta, flushing out dear old Victor Charlie. I still remember the crew: Slim Jim the radioman, Salieri manning the M60, Sergeant Mack and me. We were all packing pokes, of course - Army and Navy SOP after the Korean fiasco. They had given me a Chikorita, a nice little dude with a mean scar from Basic on his head. The rest were all carrying water types: I remember the Sarge having a Wartortle that loved to chew cigars for some reason.
I never got to see that much action, and I'm *crag*ing glad - the one time we did cost us dearly. It was right after the Tet Offensive, when Charlie was howling every day and night for our blood like a Houndoom with rabies. Salieri had spotted a couple of boats on suspicious maneuvers during the night near one of the river villages, and the Sarge was taking no chances - we had just completed a Hearts and Minds job there, getting to know people and letting the kids play with the pokes, and Charlie loved to hit those places hard and fast."
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He never got the chance. A shadow went over us: I looked up only to see a *crag*ing kite, of all things. You know what was hanging from that kite?
A goddamn Pikachu.
(To this date, I don't know where they got the little yellow rat. There are no Pikachu breeding grounds in Southeast Asia, that much I know. Stolen from US stores and retrained, perhaps, or a gift from the Soviets or the Chinese?)
The little *crag*er blinded us with a flash before Salieri could punch a hole or two in the kite. All around us, the jungle exploded with fire: Charlie was putting up one hell of an ambush. Not that they could hit the broad side of a Snorlax, but the sheer volume of fire had us pinned down. That's when Slim Jim tried to deploy his poke.
He threw the ball as far as he could, hoping to get it to pop out away from the ambush spot or something, I'll never know. Poor bastard never noticed the bullet that got him in the head, and the pokeball went flying by like he were playing softball - until a bullet hit it.
I know what you're thinking. Pokeballs are nearly indestructible, and when they do crack, they just phase out harmlessly. I tell you, that's Grade A Bullshit. The ball started creaking in the air, sparks flying everywhere, and that's when we heard it.
Shit, I can't even think of it without...
Give me a moment."
"Alright.
Now, nothing I can tell you will do it justice.
No, justice is not the word.
It's agony.
Whatever was inside that pokeball let out a... scream of pure, undiluted agony. I never knew how pokeballs worked, and to this day I don't want to know. The ball just stood there, in the air, screaming for all too long seconds, and then it broke down, with a soft sound of plastic and metal.
I heard Salieri sobbing behind me.
Even Charlie had stopped firing: they were definitely not expecting that, and they weren't hardcore North Vietnamese commandos or anything. Sarge snapped out of it first, pushing the throttle and steering us out of harm's way before they got their shit together.
We got back to Dong Tam safely after that. I don't know what happened to the village, and honestly I don't care: you may think this is cold, but I would rather let ten of them burn than hearing that scream again.
Salieri never really got over it, though - he got a Section Eight and we lost sight of him. I stayed with Sergeant Mack during the rest of my tour, but I never faced Charlie a second time. I returned the Chikorita when I hit the States: I couldn't bear to see another pokeball again. As for my Bulbasaur...
...nah, it's best this way. This is no country for Pokemon."