Chapter One
June 2007
Duncan could not wait to get the fuck out of this sand pit. He had grit in his junk, his armpits, the creases of his eyes. It didn’t do any good to try to rub it away because all you did was scratch yourself.
Fucking desert.
Jungle fighting would be welcome right now, and that said a lot. He hated the jungle.
Three more months before he reached the end of his tour and could go home. His last tour. He’d already decided to go on drill instructor duty when he was done, so he could train recruits at Parris Island in relative comfort instead of here. He’d served his time. Perhaps he and Melanie could actually build a life together.
The Humvee rattled over a rock, bouncing him in the seat.
“Monroe, you gotta hit every damn rock on the road?” Bates groused. “My ass is killin’ me.”
The driver grinned and glanced behind him at the other two Marines. Bates always complained. “Dude, you’ve been here long enough to know the damn rocks breed like crazy. Scrape ‘em off and they’re right back with a new layer. I’m following the tracks exactly.”
The men snorted in the back and Duncan looked out the window. The monochrome, hilly landscape stretched for miles, leading to the mountains in the distance. Rocky outcrops dotted the land, interspersed with scrub grass clumps, perfect ambush points they had to pass to get to the northern base, where they were due to relieve the current MP force rotating out. The convoy had been traveling for hours. It was slow going through this rough terrain. Driving in Iraq wasn’t like driving in Colorado. You had to be aware of everything and follow in the path of the truck in front of you. Too many men had died already by IEDs this year, and more died every day.
Beauchamp had been the most recent. Blown to hell by a young Iraqi on a motorcycle that pulled alongside his window while he was talking to a group of kids. Three of the kids had been blown away as well, but insurgents didn’t care about them. They were supposedly blessed by Allah for dying a glorious death. He wondered if the mothers felt the same way as they gathered up pieces of their children.
The radio squawked to life with men yelling. His ears were hit with a reverberation of sound and he knew immediately that an IED had been triggered. Duncan gripped his weapon, ready to jump to the ground as he searched for the source of the explosion. Monroe slammed on the brakes, sending the Humvee skidding in the loose gravel. Duncan glanced in the side mirror. The vehicles behind them had disappeared in a cloud of smoke and fire. Burning debris rained down in chunks on their vehicle. Black smoke swirled upward. Duncan saw the vehicles were still there, but heavily damaged, all shoved akilter. The men’s screams reached his ears before they were drowned out by rifle fire.
“Out of the vehicle! Bates and Clark, cover fire! We’ve got men down!”
He threw himself out of the Humvee and shouldered his M16. There was a copse of rocks several hundred yards to the west. The attack seemed to be coming from there so he fired in that direction. Smoke obscured his vision as he took cover behind the truck, but he could still hear men screaming. “Monroe, get on the horn and make sure we have air support coming!”
Crouching, Duncan ran across the open expanse of ground between his vehicle and the one behind him in the caravan, the M16 barking in his arms. Bates and Clark laid down cover fire as he ran. The first Marine he reached was already gone, a gaping hole in his sternum. Duncan circled the truck, which sat at an odd angle, flipped with the roof to his side. The front passenger’s side wheel was in a hole, but the ass end poked in the air. He tried to follow the sound of screaming while staying under cover. At the back of the truck, he found another young Marine trying to crabwalk around the vehicle. The distinctive chatter of the enemy’s AK47s echoed through the air, and the
June 2007
Duncan could not wait to get the fuck out of this sand pit. He had grit in his junk, his armpits, the creases of his eyes. It didn’t do any good to try to rub it away because all you did was scratch yourself.
Fucking desert.
Jungle fighting would be welcome right now, and that said a lot. He hated the jungle.
Three more months before he reached the end of his tour and could go home. His last tour. He’d already decided to go on drill instructor duty when he was done, so he could train recruits at Parris Island in relative comfort instead of here. He’d served his time. Perhaps he and Melanie could actually build a life together.
The Humvee rattled over a rock, bouncing him in the seat.
“Monroe, you gotta hit every damn rock on the road?” Bates groused. “My ass is killin’ me.”
The driver grinned and glanced behind him at the other two Marines. Bates always complained. “Dude, you’ve been here long enough to know the damn rocks breed like crazy. Scrape ‘em off and they’re right back with a new layer. I’m following the tracks exactly.”
The men snorted in the back and Duncan looked out the window. The monochrome, hilly landscape stretched for miles, leading to the mountains in the distance. Rocky outcrops dotted the land, interspersed with scrub grass clumps, perfect ambush points they had to pass to get to the northern base, where they were due to relieve the current MP force rotating out. The convoy had been traveling for hours. It was slow going through this rough terrain. Driving in Iraq wasn’t like driving in Colorado. You had to be aware of everything and follow in the path of the truck in front of you. Too many men had died already by IEDs this year, and more died every day.
Beauchamp had been the most recent. Blown to hell by a young Iraqi on a motorcycle that pulled alongside his window while he was talking to a group of kids. Three of the kids had been blown away as well, but insurgents didn’t care about them. They were supposedly blessed by Allah for dying a glorious death. He wondered if the mothers felt the same way as they gathered up pieces of their children.
The radio squawked to life with men yelling. His ears were hit with a reverberation of sound and he knew immediately that an IED had been triggered. Duncan gripped his weapon, ready to jump to the ground as he searched for the source of the explosion. Monroe slammed on the brakes, sending the Humvee skidding in the loose gravel. Duncan glanced in the side mirror. The vehicles behind them had disappeared in a cloud of smoke and fire. Burning debris rained down in chunks on their vehicle. Black smoke swirled upward. Duncan saw the vehicles were still there, but heavily damaged, all shoved akilter. The men’s screams reached his ears before they were drowned out by rifle fire.
“Out of the vehicle! Bates and Clark, cover fire! We’ve got men down!”
He threw himself out of the Humvee and shouldered his M16. There was a copse of rocks several hundred yards to the west. The attack seemed to be coming from there so he fired in that direction. Smoke obscured his vision as he took cover behind the truck, but he could still hear men screaming. “Monroe, get on the horn and make sure we have air support coming!”
Crouching, Duncan ran across the open expanse of ground between his vehicle and the one behind him in the caravan, the M16 barking in his arms. Bates and Clark laid down cover fire as he ran. The first Marine he reached was already gone, a gaping hole in his sternum. Duncan circled the truck, which sat at an odd angle, flipped with the roof to his side. The front passenger’s side wheel was in a hole, but the ass end poked in the air. He tried to follow the sound of screaming while staying under cover. At the back of the truck, he found another young Marine trying to crabwalk around the vehicle. The distinctive chatter of the enemy’s AK47s echoed through the air, and the
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