"I'd like to think we were blessed."

“John Travolta.”
“That’s too fucking easy….. John Travolta and Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction.”
“Hmmmm…..Uma Thurman….and Darryl Hannah in Kill Bill.”
“Ooo, good one.”
Playing celebrity trivia games was one way to pass the time on the LOC (pronounced “lock”). When you do the same thing for three weeks, working an 8 hour on, 8 hour off rotation, you just about lose your fucking mind. It’s simple little distractions like playing “7 degrees to Kevin Bacon” that will keep you sane.
“Darryl Hannah and Tom Hanks in Splash!”
“Didn’t you use that on that the last turn?”
Even while talking to the other dudes in my truck, my head swayed back and forth and my eye lids began to fall shut. It’s hard staring at the same stretch of dirt road for days on end.
“Tom Hanks to Tom Sizemore in Saving Private Ryan.”
A LOC is a line of communications. In this case, it was a 2 ½ kilometer stretch of road that ran from our patrol base in Shakarat, through a village named Mohada, across the Al Jazeera and Al Azi neighborhood's of Muqdidiyah, and came to an end on the main highway, Route Vanessa. We had to leave half a platoon stretched our along this route at all times in order to keep it free of IEDs so our daily supply convoy could reach the patrol base. We sat there in our vehicles for hours, days, and weeks on end. I had been pulling security at the same corner just down the road from our patrol base for going on two weeks.
“Tom Sizemore……fuck………Tom Sizemore to Val Kilmer in Heat!”
“Michaels, go ahead and turn the truck around,” I said.
“Roger Corporal.”
We started rolling down the dirt road in order to check out a blind spot in between us and the next vehicle stationed near a Mosque in Mohada. If you leave spots un-watched for too long, then the next time you roll through there, the road will fucking explode. It was a little nerve racking. A week prior, SGT Jax had been roving around in his Humvee when he left a corner in Mohada uncovered for a minute too long. Insurgents snuck an IED into the loose dirt and detonated it directly underneath the engine of his truck. The blast left the gunner, SPC B- deaf in one ear, and twisted SGT Jax’s back so badly he was medevac’d back to the states. (You can watch this IED blast on you tube, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWFJEYirCy8 to see it).
“Slow down Michaels.”
“Yes Corporal.”
I was double fisting Citrus Rip-Its while keeping my head on a swivel. I watched the road, looking for any discolored spots where someone may have been digging. I watched the tops of the walls that flanked both sides of the road, looking for any wires running from the ground, up and over the walls and into the palm groves behind them. I watched the locals and how they were acting. Their reactions were always key indicators whether something bad was about to happen or not.
Despite the threat of being blown into pieces, it was hard to stay awake on the LOC. I was living on a strict diet of MREs (meals ready to eat), NO DOZ and the one hot meal brought to us from the FOB on most days. In between my No Doz regimen I had MRE coffee packets (eaten straight out of the pouch, sometimes mixed with sugar and the flammable creamer powder) and 8 ounce Rip It energy drinks. I usually stayed pretty alert while on the LOC but every so often, if I didn’t space out my caffeine injections in proper intervals, I would crash hard and there would be no amount of Taster’s Choice that would keep me awake. I yelled alot at random times just to keep myself awake.
“Michaels!” I shouted.
Startled, he answered “Yes-s Corporal?”, while slowly guiding the Humvee in between the pot holes and craters made by previous IED blasts.
“You’re doing one hell of a job for your country. You’re defending freedom and bringing democracy to a people who have known nothing but tyranny and dictatorship and what-not. Keep up the good work.”
“Thank you Corporal.” He let out a breath and I could see the tension on his face disappear. It was easy fucking with Michaels.
“And Lobban!”
“What up?” He answered from the turret.
“You just pay the fuck attention up there! I’m trying to go to fucking college. I can’t do that if I’m dead, ya know? I’ve got too much to live for and I need you to stay alert up there so I can further my education one day. I’m not trying to end up like them dudes from the 101st.”
“Yeahhh…”
“What guys from the 101st Corporal?” Michaels asked.
“You never heard about them 4 guys? They were doing the same shit we’re doing, sitting on some road south of Baghdad pulling security. They’d been there for like a week. They let themselves get complacent. Their truck was ambushed, the driver got shot in the face, the other dudes were captured. They found their bodies awhile later all tortured and shit.” I told him. The tension on his face returned.
“I heard they had like explosives stuffed in their bodies or some shit” Lobban added.
“Yup. All right Michaels, slow it down up here…”
We approached the blind spot and made sure to stop at a point we’d been able to see from our previous position. Our eyes meticulously picked over every rock, every piece of trash, across every wall and into every window and alleyway visible for signs of some muj asshole waiting for the right moment to trigger the bomb that may kill us all. There was nothing out of the usual. We drove through the blind spot, muscles tensed the whole way, got to a point where the Humvee crew near the mosque was able to see us, turned around, and headed back.
I made Michaels stop the truck before we reached our usual spot and I dismounted with CPL C-, one of our medics who was with me this particular day. I crept up to the curve in the road and peeked around a fence hoping to catch some punk ass kid off guard while he planted an IED in the road. Nobody in the road this time. Damn. But a group of youths were hanging around a street corner further down the road. It seemed like every time an IED went off on the LOC, this group of kids would be out on the street casing us before it happened. The insurgents would use these little kids to observe and report on our locations, how often we moved, when we moved, etc. I could go over and search them, but they were smarter than that and they never actually kept anything on them. Detaining them was pointless since I had no evidence. They would just be released the same day. A little kid acting as a spotter is as dangerous as a grown man with an AK47. After 4 days on the LOC and 6 IEDs later, we were finally given permission to fire warning shots at these little bastards. So I did. Frequently.
POP! I fired a shot at the wall above their heads and they all scattered down the alleyways. There was always a kid who was tossing pigeons from a rooftop in Mohada. SGT Jax and LT swore up and down that this kid was up there throwing his birds in the air before every IED. So I shot at him too, every chance I got.
“Who were we on?” asked CPL C- from the back seat.
“I dunno, let’s start over…” I suggested.
“It’s Michaels turn to start.”
“Fuck that, Michaels is too goddamn old to start. I wasn’t even alive when most of the movies he knows came out. You start C-“
It was true too. Michaels, at 43 years old, was the oldest guy in our Troop. His rank was Specialist due to the fact that he had once served 4 yours in the Air Force before I was even born. Despite the age gap, he was my soldier and my responsibility. At times, when he deserved it, I would have to speak to him in elevated tones in order to convey my displeasure at his job performance. For those of you who aren’t capable of picking up on the subtleties in that previous sentence, I yelled at him. A lot. He was a new guy, just out of basic and he fucked up a lot. Only a couple of days after arriving at FOB Normandy, he was put in the back of a Bradley and driven out to K-Wal. Though I wasn’t there to see it, I heard as soon as the ramp of the Bradley dropped at K-Wal, all of my buddies were surprised to see this really old, really short dude roll out of the back puking his guts out. Apparently, he wasn’t accustomed to the bumpy rideand the hellacious weather. Sometimes, I found it very awkward screaming at a dude who was old enough to be my father. I mean shit, he was quite literally twice my age. He was also a very timid guy and I couldn’t stand that about him. He said he joined the army because he wanted to come over and “help out”. He wanted to “do his part”. I think it would have been better for everyone if he’d joined up to be a chaplain’s assistant or maybe a finance clerk. Scouts are supposed to be aggressive, not timid. We’re supposed to take risks, not treat situations in combat with the caution of a 90 year old woman who’s afraid to fall down. But he worked hard and did what he wast told. I couldn't ask much more than that I suppose. He was also a born again Christian. Deeply religious. I am not religious. Not at all. The fact that he was such a Christ freak was made even more odd by the fact that that he used to be a hard core punk rocker back in the ‘80’s. I could talk to him all day about Black Flag or the Dead Kennedys. But those were the old days. If I got too deep into a conversation with him, words like “faith” and “prayer” would come out and I’d have to cut him off.
“Jonny Depp.”
“Jonny Depp to Keira Knightly in Pirates of the Caribbean.”
It was around midday and we were shoveling hot chow down our throats in the relative comfort of the air conditioned Humvee. The 4 truck QRF from FOB Normandy had just passed us on the LOC and brought chow, fuel, and any and all other logistical support we needed to run K-Wal (you can see them getting blown up on youtube as well, just go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuQcIpd7XyU and see the convoy get hit with an IED as they bring us chow). Seelye and his crew had driven out to each of our vehicles on the LOC, bringing us hot plates and cold sodas.
On our first day at K-Wal for this rotation, SGT Schmidt had driven his Bradley up the road from his southernmost position near the highway, to meet the food runner halfway so he wouldn’t have to come all the way down the LOC. He left his spot on the LOC unwatched for 5 minutes at most. On his way back, an IED blew off the reactive armor on the side of his Bradley and took out the transmission. Aside from some mild concussions, everyone was all right. (Guess what? You can see that IED on you tube also at http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=related&v=xAcymTWT7es if you look closely at the left side of the Bradley turret, you can actually see Schmidt’s head sticking up).
“Keira Knightley to Matthew Macfayden in Pride and Prejudice.” I said with a smile, happy with my answer.
A short pause ensued.
“Did you just say Pride and Prejudice?” CPL C- was looking at me with disgust from the back seat while I finished my chicken and rice. Michaels was chuckling at me over his Dr. Pepper.
“Yeah, so?” I perked up, ready to defend my answer.
“First of all, you’re gay. Second, who the fuck is Matthew Mac-whatever?”
“Whoa whoa whoa…” I started. “Keira Knightley is fucking hot. There’s nothing gay about that!”
CPL C- just shook his head. “Dammit Corky,” I hated it when he called me that, so he did it often, "Can you think of another movie this guy’s been in?”
Dammit. “Hold on let me think….no.”
“Then you can’t use him, simple as that. You’re out.”
“I fucking hate you.”
Michaels was laughing at me now. “Turn the truck around Michaels.”
“Roger Corporal.”
We checked the blind spot and again, nothing out of the ordinary. We stopped in Mohada for a minute or two so I could get out and search an old man pushing a cart full of grass. I'd seen this guy about everyday. In the mornings his cart would be empty. When he came back through in the afternoons it was stacked high with long blades of grass. He usually had his daughter with him. I prodded the grass with my bayonet to make sure he wasn’t moving 155mm artillery shells or Italian made anti-tank mines around. He wasn’t. I thanked him for not being a terrorist. His little 10 year old daughter was smiling at me so I gave her a piece of gum. She smiled and thanked me. He glanced around nervously, afraid who might have seen the American soldier giving his young daughter a gift. I'd hate to think something happened to those two, but one day, they stopped showing up all together. Who knows?
We mounted up and headed back. W’d left one corner un-watched for three, maybe four minutes, at most. A couple hundred seconds. That’s how long we were gone. And that is all it takes.
We rounded the last corner before the stretch of dirt road that leads directly to K-Wal. I was just about to tell Michaels to turn the truck back around and park. There was a loud POP! sound and dirt and rocks went flying across the hood of our truck, coming from a spot on the road directly next to Michaels in the driver’s seat.
“OH FUCK!” yelled CPL C-.
"GO! GO! GO! GO!" I yelled at Michaels who was already flooring it. We gotta get out of the kill zone!
"Lobban start spraying the fucking palm grove!" My initial thought was that a grenade had been thrown at us and we were being ambushed. Lobban stood up behind his machine gun and emptied half a box of ammo into the tree line. There was no follow on small arms fire, and the truck seemed to be working just fine. I ordered Michaels to halt the truck and yelled at Lobban to cease fire.
The explosion wasn’t deafening like an IED blast, and it wasn’t as loud as a gunshot. It sounded more like a powerful firecracker.
I knew it couldn’t have been a grenade, cause it wasn’t loud enough. What the fuck was that!?
I called up a contact report.
“Any station this net, this is Bushmaster 6, contact I-E-D…or something.” I know, I know, you’re probably thinking that’s not exactly very accurate reporting there, Scout. But I had no clue what the hell had just happened. Lobban didn’t see anybody moving around in the palm groves and no one was shooting our way. We were about 75 meters from the “blast” site. I got out of the truck and used my opened door to steady my M4 as I looked at what appeared to be a brick in the road. An Iraqi Army truck had pulled up from its position at the traffic control point outside K-Wal. The driver hopped out and asked if we were all okay. I recognized him from a few joint patrols we'd been on together in the past. He appeared genuinely relieved to hear that we were all right. I pointed down the road at the object lying in the middle of our “kill zone” and asked him if he knew what it was.
Hell, this guy’s probably planted a few IEDs in his life, I thought to myself. He shook his head and decided the best course of action we could take was shooting the unknown object. He took a knee, aimed his AK and began firing. The IA soldier manning the PKC machine gun in the turret of their Humvee, got excited and also started spraying bullets down the road. I saw rounds kick up dirt around the object and impact the mud wall just past it. But none hit the intended target. Disgusted with their lack of basic marksmanship skills, I told them to cease fire, and without really thinking about what the hell I was doing, I steadied my weapon on the object. Now I know you’re probably thinking, Hey, dumbass, that thing that just nearly exploded on you, yeah that thing, it’s probably not very compatible with hot metal objects hitting it, not a good idea to shoot at it, dickhead. That’s what I’m thinking as I write this anyways. But I just had to show off my marksmanship skills. It was an easy shot to make with my ACOG (advanced combat optical gun-sight, it has a 3X magnification). My first round hit the object causing it to flare up in bright white flames and jump a couple of feet off the ground. The IA soldier congratulated me on my fine marksmanship and suggested we not shoot at it anymore. I agreed.
I called the Troop CP (command post) at K-Wal and requested EOD be sent out from FOB Normandy. We had to secure the site until they arrived. Trouble was, from where we were sitting, there was an almost 500 meter stretch of the LOC not being watched. So when the QRF with EOD showed up, they'd would certainly get blown up if we didn't cover that route.This meant, we had to drive back past whatever that was lying in the road to secure the route. I considered sending the IA in their truck down there, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Fuck it, it's my fault that they were able to get that thing in the road. We'll go.
I told the IA to keep their truck there while we secured the far side. As we rolled back through the “kill zone” I was nervous as all hell about riding back past the unkown object in the road. I had Michaels floor it again as we drove through and as we passed it on my side, I saw that it was a very large anti-tank mine that had been hastily buried just inches under the surface. The command wire ran from the mine, directly to the top of a mud wall, and into the palm groves Lobban had engaged. It was so fucking blatant that I am very ashamed of the fact that none of us spotted it. EOD came out and blew the mine in place. It was an old Soviet Anti-Tank mine. A PRC 62 or something. The loud Pop! we’d heard was the sound of the blasting cap attached to the wire going off. For whatever reason, the anti-tank mine itself failed to detonate.
After EOD and QRF had left, we sat there, at our usual spot, staring at the hole on the side of the road, dwelling on how close we came to having a very, very bad day.
I wonder if I’m alive right now because back in the 80’s some drunk factory worker in the Soviet Union overlooked some faulty piece on his assembly line. That thing could’ve fucked us up.
We sat there awhile longer, each man lost in his own thoughts. I decided to break the silence with a smile and a little bit of humor. That was my defense mechanism. It helped me cope.
“Man, Micheals... that thing would have fucked you up!” I exclaimed loudly while gazing wide eyed over the top of the radio’s at my driver, his hands still shaking.
“Yess-s, Corporal.”
“Man, that thing would’ve thrown me out of the truck.” Lobban said from the turret.
“Nah,” I said reassuringly, “it probably would have blown Michaels in half, taken off CPL C-‘s legs, and maybe taken out one of your legs at the knee, that’s all… I’m sure I would have been just fine though.” I’m good at reassuring my soldiers in their time of need. Don’t you agree?
I lit up a smoke and smiled at Michaels. “We’re some lucky sons-uh-bitches, huh?” I asked him.
“I’d like to think we were blessed, Corporal.” Replied Michaels.
“Oh yeah?”
He was staring at me, his eyes bulging out of his head, his face stern, serious. “The power of prayer is the most powerful weapon in our arsenal, Corporal. We just don’t utilize it enough.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say. For a second or two I just stared at him, waiting for a punch line.
“Well, you just keep on doing what you’ve been doing there, guy.”
“Do you have faith, Corporal?” He was still leering at me over the radio’s.
“Michaels…turn the truck around.”
“Yes Corporal.”