KRA-KOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’m up like a shot from my sleep at the sound of the explosion. My hands instantly leap to my head, to making sure it’s still intact. Not sure why. Must have had a bad dream. Good God, another-
SPLAT!!!! The vehicle comes to a hard stop, and I can’t brace myself before bouncing my head off the windshield.
“HOLY FUCK!” The driver’s face turned ashen as my eyes caught his. He’s nearing hysterics and pointing at the hood. A huge hunk of something has landed there and it is smoldering. From the look of things, it was char-broiled. The smell of burned flesh instantly fills the Humm-Vee and it’s causing the driver to gag. What looked to be an arm and part of a torso was still smoking on the hood. I re-adjust my Kevlar and turn back to the gunner, grabbing his leg. “What the fuck was that and where did it come from?”
The gunner, a young, black kid, out of Baltimore he had told me during the trip, points off in the direction we were headed. “Car bomb, sergeant, right around the next corner!”
I turn back forward. We clear the corner and begin our turn on to the street where the explosion took place. I have viewed this scene too many times now, and it never gets easier to see.
The hulk of burning metal in the middle of the street was what used to be a car. The occupant’s remains are strewn about the area haphazardly. The ground is scorched black in a circular pattern several feet around the spot where the explosion took place. The storefronts in the area all have their windows blownout, due to either this one, or a previous suicide bomb. Several locals are scattering to the four winds, screaming and crying from shock and/or injury. I hear a siren wailing off in the distance, bringing with it a police force full of fear and incompetence.
Once we hit the street, all eyes turn towards us, wondering why we are here, praying we have come to help, despising us because we are who we are. The looks of horror and pain as we get closer to a group of indigents flash by like a re-run of the only show in town. These people’s daily suffering is immeasurable. If only there was something…
I hear the gunner rack the .50 Cal, as his turret spins free, allowing him to track any threat and address it aggressively. I already know where that barrel is pointing. He ducks his body down, still scanning the area. “Should we stop, Sergeant?”
As he asked this, my mind slips back to an earlier mission when this question was asked, only at that time I had been the inquisitor. Had it really been that long ago? I’ve been in this fucking country for almost 18 months. Jesus Christ. Fucking Iraq will never be stabilized. These bastards will continue to set traps to kill each other, and US soldiers. The allegiances we have with the religious, and therefore political, leaders are nebulous at best. They are rabid dogs who just want to control their alley, and could give a fuck for the rest of the country. We pretend to care, but use them like toys that we just discard when we are done with them.
“Sergeant!”
My mind is wondering again. I can’t afford this right now. Already fell asleep during this trip. That little slip could have gotten these boys, and more importantly me, killed, and now I’m hesitating. It’s happening more and more now. Gotta pull it together.
The gunner’s hand grips my shoulder,yanking me back into the here and now. “Sergeant! Did you hear me?”
“Did you see what happened?”, I yell back at him. He squats down in the turret so that he can see me better. I can see the panic over every inch of his face. The sweat is pouring off his brow.
“No, but-”, he begins to say.
I fire right back at him, perhaps going a bit overboard. “BUT WHAT?! We don’t stop on this mission, and we sure as hell don’t get involved. Fuck ‘em, anyway! They wanna blow themselves up, more power to ‘em.” I could see shock come over his face at my callousness. Hopefully, he can develop it himself. It’s the only way to stay alive in this shithole. “I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired and hungry, and I want to get back to post. Let the locals handle their own. They gotta start somewhere.” Before I see the inevitable anger at me come over him, I turn my attention to the driver, another fresh face who will probably end up in a pine box. His eyes are as big as saucers.
“Charlie Mike!” I put some bass in it to snap him out of whatever dream state he is in. He looks at me and his eyes show a new awareness, perhaps he realizes he’s not going to die today.
“Roger, Sergeant!” He steps on the gas and puts distance between us and that scene.
The few moments it takes to pass through the area seem to take a thousand years. What I assume to be friends and family of the dearly departed Haji begin to congregate on the street in a scence right out of a movie. Women rending garments,children wailing, and the men stare at us with knives in their eyes as we drive by.
As much as I like to believe I am a progressive person, in that we need to build rapport and trust with these people, I would love to just toss a grenade right into the middle of them. Anything that would get me the fuck out of this country. It’s always so Goddamn ho, and these bullshit missions. It’s not even about fighting terror at all. Shit, we’re the-
My thoughts are cut short as the Iraqi police scream by us headed for the scene. Their siren blaring and guns drawn. I am sure that someone else will die there today. Who gives a damn. At least I can see the post from here. Almost home.
