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Jan. 11, 2005 THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND IS WRITTEN FOR AN INTERNET FRIEND WHO GOES BY THE NAME OF MAC... “Yep, the head is down and the helmet is on.” “Roger that Echo 3 out” The radio went silent after the hourly check in and Echo 3 took his turn to rest, to lie prone protected by the short wall and the platoon he ran. Echo platoon had been on the dusty roof for over a day and a half with the same amount of time left before they got relieved. The Iraqi sun couldn’t possibly be the same one that rose up over Mt. Lafayette in Maine. The sun in Maine didn’t burn the land day after day at a hundred twenty degree’s. A hot day in Maine was eighty and that only on a rare day or week never for months at a time. It just simply couldn’t be the same sun… Echo 3, the sergeant, a combat veteran of Bosnia and mop up duty in Desert Storm had never liked the heat of the day in this place. He hated the quarts of water that had to be dragged around as a part of the load out every time they left the base camp for these short times as the forward post, looking “and watching as the citizens of this country moved about their business. His mind drifted to Maine, everyone’s mind drifted at times the key was not having everyone drift at the same time. He trusted the men and women he served with, Echo platoon especially. They were easy to get along with, easier than the crowd he ran with before…before he’d become a professional soldier, before he’d turned to the defense of freedom, “just before”; he thought. But his mind continued over the land of his birth, the ocean he loved to go to and sit and watch the sun come up over, past the narrows and the up the winding curving road to the top of the mountain. His headlights picking up the damp rock walls as his car moved around and up. He thought about the many times, even before he was a soldier how he went over the railing in the dark to find a place to sit away from the early bird tourists who were too shy to climb the rail knowing some authority was going to make them stand back and be a part of the herd that was fortunate enough to be allowed by the rangers to see the sun come up over their own nation. Echo 3 laughed aloud and some of the kids next to him looked but left him alone, intuitively knowing he was home, a place they too thought of often when it was their turn to rest. He felt them looking at his prone body and his mind drifted back to a roof top in Iraq. They weren’t kids; not anymore but Echo 3 couldn’t think of them as anything else, he was ten years older than the youngest of them. He knew because he’d seen it happen…any last chance at being kids was kicked out of them in this place. Youth was forced from the kids in his platoon and every single soldier who came to this here. He knew it as deeply as he knew there was nothing he could do about it except lead; soldier on. Everyone has to slough off the being a kid. It should happen at thirty though; not eighteen and nineteen. Echo 3 lost his at that age and it solidified in his mind what he wanted to do with the rest of his life but these kids…these kids should be home drinking on Friday nights after a hard week in school or on a job doing something that didn’t involve being shot at. He let out a small sigh as he just let his mind wander where it would. None but the closest to him heard and none of them bothered a glance towards him. They knew it would soon enough be them laying down being tortured by the sun and covered by their brothers and sisters with eyes and weapons trained out.. Now though was the time to watch and watching meant not looking towards them they were tasked with keeping safe so there was no dying in the sun. Each of them had seen enough of the dying part of being in Iraq. Dying beyond the death of what they were before they came here. All of them had been shot at and attacked by the shadow people who didn’t want them here. They worst was when they had to move, none of them liked to move. It was much better to secure a position and stay there. No roadside bombs and at least an even chance to continue this struggle to liberate this land of all that had leaked into it before they could secure the borders. They all knew what death was. They had mostly lost the fear of it and thought it better to deal that card to others than get it in their own hand. That is what war is Echo 3 thought; playing a lethal card game with a cagey opponent across the table. In vague general terms he saw the big picture but it was irrelevant to him and them he was charged with getting back home. Whenever that would be; most of them had rotated home once for a few weeks and had come back to have their 12 months here extended to eighteen. He thought about that often, not about himself being extended he was going to soldier on no matter where the boss told him to go but the kids, most of them had first enlisted to get college money. Then the card table was set, this particular saloon opened for business and here they were and they wanted to simply live through the hands they were dealt. He had to get them home so it would be them that continued to build freedom back in the land that mattered most to them. “Damn it’s hot”; he thought, leaving the wandering for a return to this world, this place of sand and heat and two lane roads more dangerous than anything he’d ever seen before. He let his mind drift over the posts his troops were at, listening to the quiet conversations they were having, not hearing the words but listening for tension or fear or any of the other million or so distractions that get someone killed. He rolled over on his stomach and stood hunched over; no taller than three feet as small a target as possible for any sniper that may be watching he moved over to his radio operator who was waiting his turn to think about West Virginia… “Echo 1, Echo 3 actual…” He held the mice and waited for the response. “Echo 3, Echo 1 over.” “My head is down and the helmet is on…over” “Roger that out.” ------------ About the author Mark C. Durfee: I am a retired person who takes only the big things seriously. I never sleep and I never exercise. I have manuscripts that are complete and and that is past I have more words in the can that I can pull out (see that's a joke) as the situation warrents but the biggest most important word I know is Peace. Email: mcd5255@hotmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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