Redeployment(13)

Timhead was gripping the table. “Fuck you, Harvey.”

“Yo,” said Harvey, the smile dropping from his face. “I was just playing, man. I’m just playing.”





? ? ?


I wasn’t getting good sleep. Neither was Timhead.

Didn’t matter if we had a mission in four hours, we’d be in our beds, on the video games. I’d tell myself, I need it to come down. Some brainless time on the PSP.

Except it was every day, time I could be sleeping spent coming down. Being so tired all the time makes everything a haze.

One convoy we stopped for two hours for an IED that turned out to just be random junk, wires not going anywhere but looking suspicious as hell. I was chugging Rip Its, jacked up so much on caffeine that my hands were shaking, but my eyelids kept sliding down like they were hung with weights. It’s a crazy feeling when your heart rate is 150 miles per hour and your brain is sliding into sleep and you know when the convoy gets going that if you miss something, it will kill you. And your friends.

When I got back I smashed my PSP with a rock.





? ? ?


I told Timhead, “I never even liked people calling me ‘killer’ before this bullshit.”

“Okay,” he said, “so suck it up, vagina.”

I tried a different tack. “You know what? You owe me.”

“How’s that?”

I didn’t answer. I stared him down, and he looked away.

“You owe me,” I said again.

He laughed a weak little laugh. “Well, I ain’t gonna let you suck my dick.”

“What’s going on with you?” I said. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. What?”

“You know.”

He looked down at his feet. “I signed up to kill hajjis.”

“No, you f*cking didn’t,” I said. Timhead signed up because his older brother had been in the MPs and got blown up in 2005, burns over his whole body, and Timhead joined to take his place.

Timhead looked away from me. I waited for him to respond.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

“You f*cked in the head, man?”

“No,” he said. “It’s just weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“My little brother’s in juvie.”

“I didn’t know that.”

There was a loud boom somewhere outside our can. Probably artillery going off.

“He’s sixteen,” said Timhead. “He set a couple fires.”

“Okay.”

“That’s some dumb shit. But he’s a kid, right?”

“Sixteen’s only three years younger than me.”

“Three years is a big difference.”

“Sure.”

“I was crazy when I was sixteen. Besides, my brother did it when he was fifteen.”

We didn’t say anything for a bit.

“How old you think that kid I shot was?”

“Old enough,” I said.

“For what?”

“Old enough to know it’s a bad f*cking idea to shoot at U.S. Marines.”

Timhead shrugged.

“He was trying to kill you. Us. He was trying to kill everybody.”

“Here’s what I see. Everything dust. And the flashes from the AK, going wild in circles.”

I nod my head.

“And then I see the kid’s face. Then the mom.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the shit, right there. I see that too.”

Timhead shrugged. I didn’t know what to say. After a minute, he went back to his game.





? ? ?


Two days later Jobrani and me opened up on a house after a SAF attack in Fallujah. I don’t think I hit anything. I don’t think Jobrani did either. When the convoy was done, Harvey gave Jobrani a high five and said, “Yeah, Jobrani. Jihad for America.”

Timhead laughed and said, “I’m pretty sure you’re still sleeper cell, Jobrani.”





? ? ?


Afterward, I went and talked to Staff Sergeant. I told him everything Timhead said about the kid, but like it was me.

He said, “Look, it f*cking sucks. Firefights are the scariest f*cking thing you’ll ever f*cking face, but you handled it, right?”