Bad Boy: The Beginning

Chapter 5 | Mack 2012

"I'll be happy when we're done winning over hearts and minds for the day, sir," Corporal Thompson mutters as the camera crew is busy taking shots of the landscape for their footage.

Landscape. That's hilarious. By landscape I mean endless sea of sand. We're not on high enough ground to really enjoy the mountains Afghanistan has to offer. Instead, we're deep in its bowels. Gritty, dirty, brown expanses for as far as the eye can see.

"Keep your head up, Corporal. This last Shura will be about forty-five minutes and then we can get back to the base for some grub," I reassure him.

Truth is, I'm not so sure how much time we should be wasting on these Shura expeditions either. Every time we trek all over hell's half acre to meet the village elders and have a pow-wow with them about how we're here to help, not hurt them and their kids, I can't help but feel like we're the butt of a national joke.

People aren't idiots. They know a propaganda campaign when they see one. It's difficult to occupy a country in war and also try to convince its citizens you're not the enemy. That's the real battle, and I'm not sure we're ever gonna win that one.

"I'll tell ya, I can't wait to get back. I hope with the time difference it's not too late to get a hold of Nadine." Thompson squints and twists his head as he tries to solve the time zone equation in his head. "Three weeks. It's crazy how it's so short but feels so long."

"It'll fly by, Corporal," I reassure him.

But I know it's a lie.

Kids waiting for Christmas ain't got nothing on us. After over fourteen months of duty, the last three weeks will make molasses look like an Olympic sprinter. In some ways it feels like I was just getting settled into camp yesterday. In other ways it feels like this stretch of time has somehow expanded beyond my own lifeline. Like I was born into this war. Like I'll die from it.

"Don't worry, you'll be back with her soon."

I watch as the camera crew from CNB gathers around the silver-haired news anchor who's come to capture a glimpse of our time over here. They've been following us for damn near a week, pulling guys aside with little interviews and generally disrupting our routine. It's the nature of the beast, though. Without news coverage, we'd get no support back home. People get too caught up in the morality of the war and forget there are real people torn from their real lives fighting it.

The news guy, Cooper Sanders, has been great as far as these guys go. He's been real gung-ho about experiencing everything for himself. When I first met him, I wrote him off as just another Hollywood type. Full of Botox and bravado, but he's kept up with us pretty good. Even running an obstacle course we threw together, in full gear, just for shits and giggles. He's good in my books. Even if he does wear makeup.

I let my eyes travel over to his personal makeup artist, Tiffany. She's clearly been watching me for a while 'cause her face lights up like a light bulb when she notices my gaze.

I shouldn't have fucked her.

"I hope you're right, Captain," Thompson continues. "I just got a bad feeling, ya know? I know there are only a few weeks left, but I keep thinking this is when we're gonna get in the shit. If I could cut it short and go home today, I'd be on the first flight out. I just wanna be back with my woman and meet my son."

"We know, Thompson. We know," Corporal Armstrong interrupts. "Most of the guys just wanna get home and get some poon, man. You, though . . . all you keep going on about is meeting a baby. Me, I'm gonna get back to the US and try to make babies with every girl who gives me the time of day. Just try to make 'em, mind ya. Not get all hormonal about actually having them, like this guy." Armstrong throws his arm around Corporal Thompson's neck and tugs his head under his armpit in a headlock.