By the time Delta Company and the reservists that served within it had rolled into the POG camp, Alpha and Bravo were already well on their way to gearing up for the ride into Baqubah.
True to his word, Godfather had found another mission for his marines.
"This is how it comes down to us." Brad brushed away some of the dead weeds on the ground and used the empty Beefaroni cans as markers for the humvees. "We're on point for the battalion, but first we're linking up with war pig."
"Great," Ray huffed. "We're gonna be rolling with some real ass. The fuckin' LAVs."
"Good news, bad news, Ray," Brad continued. "They're giving us the LAVs but that's because they're sending us North of Baghdad, where all Saddam's people are from. And they don't love us up there like they do down South."
Trombley smirked. "So fuck 'em where they live."
"We'll be surrounded by friendlies until here, the magic line." Brad drew a line in the dirt with a stick. "No American unit has gone past this line. A couple tried yesterday and got ambushed. This is bad guy country."
Katie and the men took a few seconds to observe the crude diagram Brad had drawn and let the plan sink in.
"All right, we got 30 Mikes." Brad tossed his stick somewhere over his shoulder. "Somebody's got to win this."
"What the fuck are you all moto about?" Poke spat into the dirt.
Brad, however, wasn't paying attention. Instead, he was looking at something over Poke's shoulder. "Jumpin' jehoshaphat." He smiled as a man Katie had never met before, meaning he was most like with Delta, sauntered over. "Are we that desperate for cannon fodder that they're clearing out the sick, the lame, the crazy?"
"Look at you boys." The man started clapping people on the back and shaking hands. It was obvious everyone knew each each other. "Look at these guys."
"How the fuck did you find us?" Brad shook the mystery man's hand.
"I came up with Delta."
Ray winced. "Shit, the fuckin' reservists, dude?"
"Brad, you're not gonna believe it. It has been madness since day one."
"What happened to your cushy liaison gig at Al Jabar?" Brad questioned.
"Yeah, rockin' the fucking side pipe with them air force hotties," Ray added because he always had to make things weird.
The man grimaced. "Fuck that, I ain't had a war since Somalia. I had to get some. But I seriously would not have jumped ship if it meant rolling with Delta."
"What?" Poke prodded for further details. "Clusterfuck?"
"They're off the hook. Dude, they don't got any gear or food. They were pulling escort duty just to eat. And then they got to rollin' into these hamlets and doing these shows of force, you know, cowboy shit for fun. Like this one time, I swear to God, they thought it'd be funny to give these little kids, like, porn mags like Hustler and Maxim and shit; show the little hajis what we're fighting for. This old Iraqi comes storming out, starts screaming at our interpreter about how we're fucking up their morals or some dumb shit, right? And he's super fucking pissed. The old man's got an RPG."
"What?" Poke shook his head.
"Delta fuckin' freaks," the guy continued. "They lob like 26 mark-19 rounds. They fuck up the whole hamlet."
"Bull-fucking-shit." Ray called his bluff.
"Ollie North filmed the whole fucking thing."
Ray's expression switched from doubt to intrigue. "The Oliver North?"
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Moon Dust | Generation Kill
Historical FictionKatie Shaw and her bomb detection dog, Whiskey, have only ever known the inside of base camp and routine patrols. After returning from their first tour, the duo is deployed to Iraq where they will serve alongside the First Reconnaissance Battalion a...
