Machine Learning (Captain Allen and DPD SWAT POV)

Sundown

"Our flag's unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in every clime and place
Where we could take a gun;
In the snow of far-off Northern lands
And in sunny tropic scenes,
You will find us always on the job
The United States Marines."

Warning: Contains racial slurs with a little bit of "blasphemy."

The feeling of a 40-millimeter grenade being launched by the pull of your finger never gets old.  The slam of steel on your shoulder.  The kicked-up dust underneath you – around you, and the explosion wherever the fuck it hits...hopefully on target.  The cheers of your squad.  The smart remarks.

None of it.

It was just another afternoon in the office for us.  Fassi on comms, translating an intercepted enemy radio signal.  Bullets ricocheting off the Humvees we took cover behind or inside of.  The clanks of bullets missing us by inches.  I even threatened Cooper that if I didn't count 200 shells from his turret, I'd make him clean up shit with his bare hands.  That thing didn't stop firing except for reload.

Then on the ride back, you wait for it to catch up with you.   You wait for that voice in your head that died long ago to speak – to remind you that this isn't normal, and most people wouldn't be out here laughing and cracking jokes with civilians hiding in fear and terrorists taking potshots at your head.

The trained voice speaks up, though.  Tells you that you aren't most people.

You're a Marine.

And so it never catches up.  It just stays on the battlefield where it belongs...where it should die with the rest of those assholes who thought it was smart to set up an ambush on us.

"'Demolition is the Mission.'" Grenier snickered, staring at the smoking buildings long behind us, "Jesus, what a day."

Grenier, Pierson, and Kaid only made it back by the skin of their teeth.  He was a lot more talkative than she was.

I had my elbow on the edge of the passenger's window, hand gripping the top.  The dips and rolls from suspensions that needed a hell of a lot more work than was offered made my back tweak every time the cabin rumbled.  Particles of dust and sand slipped into my eyes, up my nose, and down my throat like muffled truth sprinkled upon the political lies behind our deployment.

Afghanistan was a beautiful country when it wasn't baring its ugly teeth.  There was nothing quite like a desert sunset.  The gemstone sands rolling as far as the eye could see.  Oranges and pinks – jet trails that looked like pastel streaks in the sky.  A warm touch of a dry heat breeze to whisk away the sweat.

When the monster was sleeping, it almost looked inviting.

"I never thought I would have to kill my people to save my people."  Fassi whispered from the driver's seat next to me.

I turned my head, but I wasn't the first one to answer.

"Sounds like some real Jihadist shit right there-" Chaplain hacked a spitball out the window.

"Cut him some slack, fuckin' asshole whiteboy." Rodriguez interrupted.

I cocked my chin at him, not that he could see my eyes through the black sunglasses.  He got the hint.

"...No offense, Staff Sergeant."

I blew a laugh through my nose, looking back out the window, "'Wonderbread' was always my favorite."

I'd honestly heard a lot worse when I was their age.  Can't even count the amount of times I traded the "N" word for "honkey, redneck, trailer trash, cracker, hick, country bumpkin."  White, black, Hispanic, Asian, didn't matter.  All that don't ask don't tell bullshit didn't matter in the Marines.