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it was on the edge of the Tigris.
a hamlet. old, perhaps ancient. and we halted in place; food and drink before Baghdad.
set up the C.O.C.
-combat operation center.
dug in as the sun dipped beyond the horizon.
360 degrees of security.
240 machine-guns; S.A.W.s; frag grenades; new batteries for our night vision; and yer basic grunt, m-16 greased and ready.
the Zero said the town was cleared.
only friendlies, but he wanted to make sure.
assembled the usual suspects: the Texan; s-3 rogues; Arab translator; and several shit-bird Lance Corporals.
-all trigger pullers.
we leave, armed to the teeth. overkilled on grenades, ammo, and honed K-Bars.
CONTACT RIGHT:
B.M.P.
-russian troop carrier. gutted.
still smoking.
a round detonates from the heat. some pens and pencils. a button. a shred of clothing. food.
still smoking.
wondered what became of the poor bastards manning this beast. found 'em a short time later.
pieces.
teeth.
molars.
a canine.
pieces.
holy shit.
we push on.
an abandoned bungalow. we enter. walking into someones bedroom. a large mirror. clothes scattered here, there.
stones lined up along a window sill.
"prayer stones," says the Texan, digging through clothes.
"ey look-a Pepsi t-shirt."
he shoves it into his cargo pocket.
i take a stone. clay or compressed sand. maybe lime?
dunno, but i still got it.
we leave the bungalow and head towards another.
empty too.
kinda.
parakeets. budgies. dozens. blue and yellow and green. chirping away like there wasn't a War on.
-the nerve.
some lay rigid on the cage floor.
try to take a few out. free 'em, right?
soon as i grab one-CRUNCH-sonofabitch clamps down on my ham hock like it's going outa style.
deep and gnawing. it hurt. so i left the cage open and headed towards the river.
past a palm grove that obscured thousands of enemy artillery rounds.
-future I.E.D.s.
dates cling tight and leathery high up in the trees. their tops seared by rocket fire.
a Mailer novel, i think.
"Naked and the Dead."
and then we saw 'em.
little old ladies. white flags in hand, waving, forcing smiles.
ugly as sin. teeth yellowed, missing. breath: a pungent combo of garlic and ass.
such an ugly place; Iraq, i think.
the translator asks them their business here.
-salvaging personal items.
where were the men?
-the men were gone. maybe dead.
were the men soldiers?
-no, just men.
"fuck saddam," blurts one of the old ladies.
i laugh. "yeah, fuck saddam."
the other Marines clear the house as the interpreter and i watch the old ladies.
"sit down," i say.
they sit.
we fix our m-16s in their general direction. one of the ladies shoots me a nervous smile. i counter with the same.
'no more saddam," she says.
"yeah, no more saddam. bush now." i say. smiling.
how absurd, i think.
these little old ladies sitting down, semi-automatic rifles pointed inches from their heads, on the order of a 23-year old punk.
-me.
and it ain't unique. no. nope. not even fucking close.
holding semi-automatic rifles inches away from little old ladies heads' is S.O.P.
WWI; WWII; Korea, 'Nam; Storm, and now me. Iraq.
looking down at them. homely and scared. just living their lives on the Tigris. something that's been done for a millennia.
KA-BOOM! impacts. outgoing. no. incoming. no...
i dunno.
WHOOMP! WHOOMP! WHOOMP!
Huey's pile past, sucking air.
can only imagine what's going on in these little old ladies heads'.
tell myself they'd slice my throat given the chance.
given the knife. given the opportunity.
and this is why i have to point my semi-automatic rifle inches from your head, ma'am.
i'm sorry. honest. it's all just so ugly.
but can't apologize now. nope. maybe someday.
when it's settled down and there's a starbucks on every corner.
someday.
i can explain why i treated you like a dirty dog. but not today.
today is War.
today the Legion crosses the Rubicon.
and my burden is staying alive.
a sound.
glass shattering. falling.
doors kicked in. wood splintering. pots and pans tumbling, rumbling.
a sickening feeling surges out my gut, up my esophagus-causing me to suck at my teeth.
"hurry the fuck up!" i shout.
they do. they come out; the Marines, one by one, smiling, pockets full of souvenirs.
KA-BOOM!
direct hit! the Tigris explodes; spraying water high, falling in droplets-heavy. mist suspended in air.
another impact. pounds the earth. the ground rolls like an earthquake. something beyond a single man's control and it's goddamn scary.
WHOOSH!
oh shit. and the fear sets in.
outgoing? no. incoming? no...
panic. the little old ladies get hysteric.
running in circles. really. like chickens, sans heads.
they pepper our translator with questions.
"who was firing?"
"what should we do?"
"where do we go?"
"what is all this?"
but we don't stick around.
we have no answers.
double-timing past those first bungalows, i see the parakeets.
still inside their cage. chirping.
eating seed as the world detonates around them.
sure must be nice.
