Redeployment(8)

LT’s in a corner with Doc. He takes in my legs sticking out of my flak and doesn’t smile, just says, Good thing you wore skivvies today.

I say, Hey, Doc, what the f*ck? And I nod toward the door to the basement.

Doc shakes his head. Beat up pretty bad, he says. I think with hoses. A lot of lacerations all over their skin and the bottoms of their feet especially. And they took a power drill through their ankles, right at the joint, so they’re pretty much f*cked for life. Not life-threatening, though.

LT says, They were gonna videotape them.

Doc says, They put them up in front of the camera, like, “Get ready to die, kuffar,” and then realized they were out of film.

LT says, There’s two more out there. The ones they sent to get film. Probably never see them again, but keep an eye. One might get stupid and try something.

Sir, I hope so, I say.

I go to tell the Marines, but the LT puts a hand on my shoulder. He says quietly, Sergeant, you ever seen anything like this before?

Sometimes I forget it’s his first deployment. I shrug. Adrenaline’s gone now, and I’ve got that deep tired. Not this, exactly, I say, but there’s not much that’d surprise me. At least it’s not kids.

LT nods.

Sir, I say, don’t let yourself think about it until we’re back in the States.

Right, he says. He looks out to the road and adds, Well, EOD’s coming for the cache. They said don’t f*ck with anything.

I say, I don’t play with bombs, sir.

He says, As soon as they’re done, we go check on Sweet. He’s at TQ.

He okay? I say.

He will be, he says.

I go check on my men. EOD comes pretty quick, and I see it’s Staff Sergeant Cody’s team. Cody’s a down-home Tennessee boy, and he points to my bare legs and gives me a big old country grin.

When you’re done f*cking these hajjis, he says, you’re supposed to put your pants back on.

While his team is dealing with the UXO, I deal with Dyer’s flight suit. Moore gets me some gasoline from the basement, and we douse it and set it on fire. These things are supposed to be flame resistant, it’s why we wear them, but it goes up fine.

Looking at the flames, I ask Moore, Were you gonna stomp that hajji downstairs?

Would’ve deserved it, he says.

Not the point, I say. Your Marines see you f*cked up over this, then they start thinking about how f*cked up it all is. And we don’t have time to deal with that. We’ve got another patrol tomorrow.

LT walks over with a spare flight suit. Change, he says. We’re going straight to TQ. Sweet’s stabilized, but they’re gonna fly him to Germany soon. IP and jundi are stabilized, too. Hajji didn’t make it.

I take the flight suit and tell Moore, Pass to the squad that Sweet’s okay, and don’t mention hajji dying.

I go back to the kitchen and change over, and by that time EOD’s done, so we all roll.

As we’re driving to TQ, McKeown says, Hey, at least we saved those guys’ lives.

I say, Yeah, Second Squad to the motherf*cking rescue.

Except I’ve got their eyes in my head. I don’t think they wanted to be saved. After al-Qaeda sets you up in front of the video camera? And you’ve been beaten and tortured and drilled through and you think, Finally. Just let the head come off in one slice. That’s what I’d be thinking. But then, guess what? Ha-ha, motherf*cker. No film. So you’re sitting, in pain, waiting to die, for who knows how long. There isn’t exactly a Walmart nearby.

I didn’t see any tears of joy when we burst in, M4s at the ready. They were dead men. Then we doped them up, CASEVAC’d them out, and they had to live again.

I think, for a second, maybe we should all breathe out tonight as a squad. Get drunk off Listerine and deal with this shit. But I don’t want to pull that trigger unless I have to, and Sweet’s still alive. Today’s a good day. Save that shit for a bad day.

We roll into TQ, which is a huge FOB, all U.S. and Coalition Forces. We all clear our weapons, bring them to Condition 4 at the gate. FOBs are basically safe. And crawling with contractors.

The road signs to the hospital are just like you’d see in the U.S., a blue square with a white H in the middle. And there’s Marines driving civilian-type vehicles in their cammies, without body armor, just like you’d see in any base in the U.S. TQ Surgical’s in the middle of the FOB, next to the Dark Tower, which is what the logistics guys call their command post. The road circles us around the tower, slowly edging closer. I’ve been here before.