of the Humvees is a serious threat.”
Kellan turned back and watched the small motorcycle kick up a large plume of moon dust.
“There’s always a chance they’re from the village and are just waiting to see where we’re headed,” said the staff sergeant.
Kellan hoped so, but a glance at Jonah told him they both had their doubts.
The platoon pulled into the small, tribal village. One large structure stood at the far end of the main road, such as it was. Smaller structures dotted the immediate area, separated by narrow foot paths. Nothing was paved, everything was covered in the ubiquitous gritty sand and fine moon dust.
The victors came to a stop in the center of the main road, arranged in a herringbone pattern for easy access and quick egress if necessary. The Marines clambered out, immediately setting up a wide perimeter, M16s tucked to their shoulders, muzzles lowered. The gunners all stayed in their turrets, adjusting the ranges of their .50-cals and Mark-19s.
Immediately, children began to gather in clusters. They tried to engage the Marines in conversation with hand gestures and broken English. The platoon was friendly, but Kellan knew they had all extended their situational awareness.
Their team leader leaned in the window. “Captain Miller says the two of you are to stay put while we’re here. Take advantage of the Humvee’s armor.”
“Understood, staff sergeant,” Kellan acknowledged. He just hoped this was a quick stop.
“If we come under threat and it’s no longer safe, some of us will come move you,” the staff sergeant said and started to turn away.
“How long are we expected to be here?” Jonah asked as the team leader withdrew from the window. There he went again, reading Kellan’s mind.
“An hour, unless we encounter trouble,” replied the staff sergeant before he disappeared.
“Let’s hope we don’t encounter trouble,” Jonah muttered under his breath.
The children were still gathered around but kept at a distance from the Humvees. A small number of women watched them warily as they went about their business. Young men gathered in groups, much like the children, and eyed the Marines with hostility.
Kellan’s leg bounced violently. He’d been in situations like this before, many of them in downtown Baghdad. Except he’d been the one in command then, and he’d been outside of his victor and armed with his M16.
“I miss my M4,” Jonah murmured.
Kellan was about to make a joke about mind reading when a sound caught his attention. The high-pitched whine of the motorcycle drifted from the distance. Closing his eyes and focusing, Kellan thought he detected it coming from their six.
He resisted the temptation to verify the Marines were aware of the motorcycle’s proximity. He had to let them do their jobs.
“You guys hear that?” Kellan turned to see Jonah talking with a Marine just outside of his window. He looked casual and almost disinterested but Kellan felt the tension and aggression rolling off of him.
“Yeah, they been trackin’ us,” the Marine replied. “Captain had a team punch out to get eyes on.”
Kellan was reassured. He just hoped they’d be stepping off soon.
The sound of gunfire erupted around them. Kellan’s heart slammed in his chest and his fingers tightened reflexively around the grip of a non-existent M16.
“Contact, nine o’clock,” shouted one Marine. M16s and AK-47s continued to chatter. A blast sounded nearby and Kellan looked over at Jonah.
“Grenade,” Jonah confirmed Kellan’s suspicion.
All around them, Marines scrambled. Kellan could see blurred figures pass by his window. He heard them shouting but couldn’t make out words. Their gunner’s legs twisted in front of Kellan as the Marine spun his gun in the turret. Kellan just got his ears covered when the .50-cal roared. Blistering casings rained down into the Humvee’s interior. Kellan and Jonah did their best to avoid them, not wanting a .50-caliber hickey.
Grenades
Kellan turned back and watched the small motorcycle kick up a large plume of moon dust.
“There’s always a chance they’re from the village and are just waiting to see where we’re headed,” said the staff sergeant.
Kellan hoped so, but a glance at Jonah told him they both had their doubts.
The platoon pulled into the small, tribal village. One large structure stood at the far end of the main road, such as it was. Smaller structures dotted the immediate area, separated by narrow foot paths. Nothing was paved, everything was covered in the ubiquitous gritty sand and fine moon dust.
The victors came to a stop in the center of the main road, arranged in a herringbone pattern for easy access and quick egress if necessary. The Marines clambered out, immediately setting up a wide perimeter, M16s tucked to their shoulders, muzzles lowered. The gunners all stayed in their turrets, adjusting the ranges of their .50-cals and Mark-19s.
Immediately, children began to gather in clusters. They tried to engage the Marines in conversation with hand gestures and broken English. The platoon was friendly, but Kellan knew they had all extended their situational awareness.
Their team leader leaned in the window. “Captain Miller says the two of you are to stay put while we’re here. Take advantage of the Humvee’s armor.”
“Understood, staff sergeant,” Kellan acknowledged. He just hoped this was a quick stop.
“If we come under threat and it’s no longer safe, some of us will come move you,” the staff sergeant said and started to turn away.
“How long are we expected to be here?” Jonah asked as the team leader withdrew from the window. There he went again, reading Kellan’s mind.
“An hour, unless we encounter trouble,” replied the staff sergeant before he disappeared.
“Let’s hope we don’t encounter trouble,” Jonah muttered under his breath.
The children were still gathered around but kept at a distance from the Humvees. A small number of women watched them warily as they went about their business. Young men gathered in groups, much like the children, and eyed the Marines with hostility.
Kellan’s leg bounced violently. He’d been in situations like this before, many of them in downtown Baghdad. Except he’d been the one in command then, and he’d been outside of his victor and armed with his M16.
“I miss my M4,” Jonah murmured.
Kellan was about to make a joke about mind reading when a sound caught his attention. The high-pitched whine of the motorcycle drifted from the distance. Closing his eyes and focusing, Kellan thought he detected it coming from their six.
He resisted the temptation to verify the Marines were aware of the motorcycle’s proximity. He had to let them do their jobs.
“You guys hear that?” Kellan turned to see Jonah talking with a Marine just outside of his window. He looked casual and almost disinterested but Kellan felt the tension and aggression rolling off of him.
“Yeah, they been trackin’ us,” the Marine replied. “Captain had a team punch out to get eyes on.”
Kellan was reassured. He just hoped they’d be stepping off soon.
The sound of gunfire erupted around them. Kellan’s heart slammed in his chest and his fingers tightened reflexively around the grip of a non-existent M16.
“Contact, nine o’clock,” shouted one Marine. M16s and AK-47s continued to chatter. A blast sounded nearby and Kellan looked over at Jonah.
“Grenade,” Jonah confirmed Kellan’s suspicion.
All around them, Marines scrambled. Kellan could see blurred figures pass by his window. He heard them shouting but couldn’t make out words. Their gunner’s legs twisted in front of Kellan as the Marine spun his gun in the turret. Kellan just got his ears covered when the .50-cal roared. Blistering casings rained down into the Humvee’s interior. Kellan and Jonah did their best to avoid them, not wanting a .50-caliber hickey.
Grenades
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