The first set of gates begins to open when we get within 30 meters. I already told these two nubes to have their IDs out, and their weapons clear. I would like to deal with the gate monkeys as little as possible. These mercenary assholes boil my blood. They make 3 times what I do, and do absolutely nothing for it. I’m so glad the government sub-contracts base defense. Your tax dollars at work. Fucking horseshit.
As we pull in to the search area, the dust from the gravel kicks up and everything becomes obscured. Time slows down during the clearing process, and I can pretend I’m anywhere else in the world, other than stuck in this hellhole. During these brief respites, I always picture myself somewhere tropical, getting blown -usually by my wife, but not always. Dreaming ain’t cheating, right? Oh, well.
Just as quickly as it started, the dustcloud dissipates and the glamourous skyline of Eagle Base can once again be seen. The sad part is that, as much as I can’t stand being here, this view always brings a smile to my face. It may suck being here, but it does have a calming presence in this chaotic situation that is Iraq. These motherfuckers would have to work real hard to blow my ass up in here.
As our vehicle is being cleared, I notice the monkeys begin to gather around their window. They point and smile in our direction, and are generally acting like bigger assholes than usual. God, I hate you pricks. I almost hope we get attacked, because you douchebags will be the first to go. No great loss.
As soon as they finally clear us, I motion for the driver to move out. “What the hell was that, Sergeant? They were acting like idiots”, the gunner asks me a few yards down the road.
“Don’t know, and I could honestly care less.” My shoulder shrug and scowl add the emphasis to the point. I tell the driver to drop me off in front of my hooch, because I damn sure am not dragging all my shit back across the post from the motor poll. He pulls up in front of the rancher-style building, and I debark the vehicle. I’ve been gone so long that I nearly walk into someone else’s place. Man, I really gotta put something on the door so I know where the fuck I live. Something like Mac’s scalp.
As I shuffle down two doors with all my bags in tow, a windstorm blasts me out of nowhere, pounding me in the face. The grit of the sand fills my mouth and I spit a huge clump of dirt out. Goddamn, I am so fucking tired of eating dust…81 days and a wake up…81 days and a wake up…
I drop the bags, and pull out my keys. I hesitate opening the door, wondering to myself what kind of mess Mac will have left for me this time. I sigh mightily, and turn the knob, knowing it won’t be pretty.
