Moon Dust | Generation Kill

Chapter 11: The White Man's Burden

Joining the gathered group around the small radio, Katie kept silent as she listened to what was being reported. Whenever they could, the marines tried to listen to the news as much as possible since they had no idea what was going on in the rest of the country and the rest of the war. 

"-captured american soldiers, some of them apparently wounded," the British voice over the radio reported. "The channel says the Americans were members of the army supply unit and were ambushed outside Nasiriyah. And in fierce fighting in that city, US Marines were said to have suffered heavy casualties."

With that, Brad reached over and shut the radio off. "I heard the hajis are faking surrenders and using civilians to trick marines," Pappy added, his mustache still very much intact despite the fact that Major Sixta was up his ass about it every chance he got.

"I don't fucking believe it." Gunny Wynn shook his head. "How did so many of us get hit?"

Looking around, Doc Bryan gestured to the many idle vehicles around them. "Here we sit with our thumbs up our asses while marines die a few kliks up the road."

Storming over, an expression of stern displeasure on his face, Nate broke up the gossip session. "Why the fuck are there Iraqis walking through our lines?" He pointed back to the many Iraqis that were moving between the vehicles. "Why the fuck is there nobody up on our guns? Come on!"

Grabbing their helmets, the men dispersed quickly. After watching most of them head back to their humvees, Nate turned to Brad. "We've got orders to bust north to Nasiriyah, support the regimental combat team there. And there's been a change in the ROE: anyone with a weapon is declared hostile. If a woman walks away from you with a weapon on her back, shoot her. If an armed Iraqi sells good humor out of the back of a VW, shoot him. I don't care if you hit him with a forty-millimeter grenade."

"Roger that, sir." Brad gave a quick nod before turning to the rest of the men. "Gear up, gents. Move it out!"

Turning around, Katie looked to where Whiskey was resting in what little shade he could find and called him over. "Whiskey, come!" she ordered, and in a matter of seconds, the dog was up on his feet and running to his handler's side. 

Hopping into the humvee, Katie watched out the window as Bryan berated Evan for wearing the dumbest flack vest he had ever seen—one Evan had apparently gotten from e-Bay. Poor Evan, rolling with the big boys before ever even getting a taste of the playground first. He really was in over his head, but to give him credit, he did pick up on things pretty quickly.

Once everyone was geared up and ready to go, the convoy rolled out once more. Before long, the line of humvees passed a group of parked military trucks on the side of the road. With fists and guns in the air, the men cheered as the reconnaissance battalion drove by. "Here comes the Marines, motherfuckers," they shouted. "Look out."

"Fucking POG." Ray rolled his eyes.

Cocking a brow, Evan turned to Katie. "What's a pog?" he inquired, wanting to know every little bit of slang and jargon as possible.

"Persons Other than Grunts," Katie answered his question. "Rear echelon guys."

"Pussies," Ray added.

"All Hitman Two Victors be advised we are now departing friendly lines. TLS, ensure that all weapons are condition one."

With his gaze still firmly planted on the horizon out of his window, Brad sighed. "Brass-check all weapons."

"Aye-aye, Captain." Katie grabbed her gun and made sure it was in perfect firing condition. When Katie looked back up from her weapon, she was slightly taken aback at how quick the scenery had changed. What was once just sand for as far as the eye could see had turned into run-down buildings, some of which were on fire with dark clouds of smoke spilling from them.