Moon Dust | Generation Kill

Chapter 10: Warrior Society

"All Hitman Two Victors, keep tight dispersion when linking up with the column. Make sure other units don't get mixed in."

With a small smile and a wave, Katie acknowledged the family of Iraqi farmers as the humvee rolled passed. The family, which consisted of a mother, father, and a little girl, waved back happily, the goats around them running in small circles away from the road.

"Yes, we are the conquering heroes," Brad muttered to himself as he raised a single hand and gave a single wave. 

As the convoy of humvees drove over the upcoming bridge, all eyes were on the underpass as a horde of military vehicle passed—humvees, jeeps, supply trucks, tanks; you name it, it was there. 

"Goddam." Katie gawked at the force to be reckoned with below her. "That's a fucking traffic jam waiting to happen if I've ever seen one."

"Look at this." Brad pointed to the spectacle. "Little more than forty-eight hours into the war, and the first Marine division out of Camp Pendleton, Oceanside, California, is rolling with impunity on Saddam's highways."

As Bravo Company's convoy of humvees turned onto the off-ramp and squeezed into the mass migration of American marine vehicles, the pace slowed down exceptionally. With the sudden increase in machine noise, Whiskey popped up from where he had been sleeping on the floor of the humvee and stuck his head out of the open window. 

Before long, the constant starting and stopping got a little tiresome, but on the upside, there was certainly a lot to look at. Coming to a stop beside another armoured vehicle, Katie looked up and locked eyes with the first female besides herself that she had seen since stepping into that God-forsaken country. The woman, who looked a little shocked as well, removed one hand from the main gun she was positioned at and gave a quick wave.

Katie waved back, followed by a quick bark from Whiskey. "My God, look at this." Ray began looking around as well, his main focus being on the many obnoxious stickers and painted sayings on the vehicles around them. "'Angry American.' 'Get some'? 'Don't tread on me"? 'Let's roll'?" He scoffed. "Fuck, man. I hate that fucking cheesy moto bullshit."

Brad nodded. "Ray, when you're right, you're right."

"You know, it's like that song: 'When stars and stripes and eagles fly'?" Ray quoted the song by Aaron Tippin. "Fuck, man, eagles fly in Canada too. When we got back from Afghanistan my mom tried to play me that song and I'm all like 'Fuck, no, Mom, I'm a Marine. I don't need to fly a little fucking patriotic flag on my car to show that I'm patriotic.'"

"That song is straight homosexual country-music special Olympic gay." Brad pointed out as if it were an opinion that everyone in the vehicle shared. Ray, of course, giggled at that, but Katie and Evan stayed silent in the backseat like usual. 

As the lines moved up again and Ray stepped on the gas just long enough to have to step on the breaks again, the humvee pulled up next to a blinged-out truck with traditional Iraqi music blaring from the speakers. Looking down on the smaller vehicle, the Iraqi in the passenger's seat gave a salute, to which Ray responded by spitting out of his window and onto the pavement.

"Echo Four Papa, I think that haji's getting sweet on you," someone from one of the other humvees said over the radio, having obviously witnessed the interaction between the trucker and Ray. 

Letting out a loud groan, Ray unclipped his chin strap and removed his helmet as another farmer passed in front of the humvee with his goats in tow. "Brad, this fucking sucks! We're in the rear with the fucking chicks, the supply trucks, and the haji truckers."

"I'm a chick," Katie spoke up, reminding anyone who might have forgotten her presence. "So technically, you're always with a 'chick'." 

"You know what I mean." Ray rolled his eyes. "We trained for that bridge mission for six fucking weeks and they take it right out from underneath of us."