Writing in Cadence

“Here we go again,” he said.

 Private First Class Yester muttered as the crowd began to build around his vehicle. The sun was just cresting the sky as the convoy arrived through the gates of Forward Operating Base Puma. Already the locals were swarming the armored Humvees in hopes that the Americans would toss out the usual rarities: water, food, batteries. Even the Rip-it energy drinks that the soldiers stocked up on were sought after here. Yester wasn’t heartless, and once he had gotten to Iraq the teenage angst disappeared when he saw how people lived in comparison to his own. It still bothered him that they never stopped asking for the stuff. 

A hand reached up to his turret and a man’s voice followed with it.

“Batteries?” he said. “Mister, you have batteries?”

Yester swatted it away. “No, I don’t have any damn batteries, ya vultures,” he snapped back. A chuckle came in through his headset and Yester kicked the shoulder of his driver, Private Second Class Bonneville. Bonneville reached back, grabbed Yester by the leg to pull him down through the turret, and they began to struggle with each other. The front passenger door opened with a heavy groan, and their truck commander popped his head in.

“Hey! Don’t make me kick both of your asses,” he said. “Lock it up; we’re rolling in five.”

The door slammed shut with the same heaviness that opened it, and he was gone. Yester kicked Bonneville again, softer this time, and he got an elbow to the shin in response.

“See if I help you clean that gun after we get back now,” he said.

They both started laughing. Yester always cleaned it by himself. He looked down at the M240B medium machine gun in the turret mount in front of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want the help, or that he was compensating for this hunk of metal he wielded; he just felt the weight of responsibility that came with it. He was the eyes and ears of their truck and one of four defenses in the convoy. That gun couldn’t go down and he had to be the one to make sure of it. If it did, it wouldn’t be Bonneville’s fault; it would be his. So, the 240 got cleaned after every mission, no matter the sleep it cost him, and the ritual became something both honored. In this moment, however, Yester was tempted to ask him for help; it was going to be a long day. Their team leader, and truck commander, Staff Sergeant Kotowski jumped back into the vehicle as way to confirm that thought.

“Alright, ladies, here’s the update,” he said. “The Iraqi Police are joining us on this one. They are providing two trucks and will fall into the middle of the convoy. Bonneville, we’re in the rear. Yester, that means you’re covering our six. How’s the radio?”

Bonneville replied coolly as is Alabama drawl slid out.

“Comms have been clear, Sarge,” he said. “Nothing on the net since we rolled in.”

SSG Kotowski grabbed the mic and conducted a radio check and announced a green status in his vehicle; everyone was good to go. A crackling response came back over the radio as the other trucks in the convoy followed suit and the convoy commander initiated the command to move out. As the American Humvees began to slowly roll out of the main gate, the Iraqi Humvees fell in line; their white and blue paint were a contrast against the tan colors of their counterparts and their countryside.

Yester waited until they were clear of the gate to rack the bolt back on his gun and confirmed the safety was engaged. He was now facing away from the convoy’s direction of travel and kept an eye on incoming traffic. There was always the uncertainty that a driver might get closer than allowed to deliver an improvised explosive device imbedded in their car. As he leveled his weapon and looked out at the unfamiliar faces staring back at him, he said a quiet prayer hoping that evil didn’t lurk on the road that day. He was brought back to the moment when SSG Kotowski’s voice came in over the internal comms.

“Hey Yester,” he said, “the boys over at the FOB clean you out today?”

Bonneville piped in before he could reply.

“Naw, Sarge, you know he didn’t let those boys get him,” he said. “Our Rip-its are safe!”

They both bust out laughing and Yester fired back.

“Laugh all you want to,” he said. “I didn’t come over here to give these people everything I own. I don’t even have anything! And what I do have, I need to survive this hellhole. Hell, I didn’t see you opening up the doors of generosity today, Bones.”

Bonneville started to reply there paused as they had arrived at the first traffic circle on their route. All concentration was shifted outward as they navigated one of the most dangerous spots in the country. Traffic circles were easy locations to hide IEDs in due to their constricting nature and the natural way they forced the convoy to slow down. Yester began swiveling in his turret as they circled through, eyeing every angle at once to make sure there weren’t any wires or markers on the road. Safely through, Bonneville continued the conversation as if there hadn’t been a break at all.

“Come one, Yest.” he said. “It ain’t about giving or not giving. It’s about understanding the world we are in ain’t the world we know. These people think we have it better than them, and they ain’t wrong. You know as bad as life was for both of us before basic, it was still a hell of a lot better than what they’ve got goin’ on over here. Those are fields of trash they’re living in.”

Yester’s green eyes never stopped their rapid scanning of the cars and rooftops in sight, but his mind was moving just as quickly.

“Man, I know it’s hell over here,” he replied.” “I know what they’re living in outside the base. But I’m not supposed to get mad at being sent to a country that is taking all the resources, people and lives we are giving to them and then spitting in our face to spite us?”

He shook his head in frustration and continued.

“It just gets old riding into these police stations knowing that we’re going to have a dozen Iraqis breathing down our necks for everything we own just because we’ve got it,” he said. “I bet they’ve got more gear than I do with everyone giving it to them!”

Bonneville sighed as he slowed down; the convoy was reaching an intersection and began the familiar process of making a right-handed turn together. As they approached the intersection, Bonneville sped up and moved their vehicle to the middle of the road and blocked all traffic to allow the convoy to continue its flow; as the last truck passed by, they fell back into the rear.

“Listen, no one is saying it’s easy,” he said.” “But try to appreciate their situation. What if it was you that was living here? How would you be if people started coming around with access to stuff that you couldn’t get?”

The conversation was interrupted by the lead truck jumping on the radio to announce the arrival of the convoy to the destination at an ETA of ten minutes. SSG Kotowski tapped Yester on the leg.

“Come on, Yester,” he said. “Bones is right. This is a temporary situation for us; it’s not for them. We get to leave this desert in a few months and take all this pay we haven’t been spending back home and live better lives than we remembered. The only change for these people will be in what we can help bring them while we’re here. Rip-its, water, batteries, none of those will last and they won’t remember any of it. The one thing that we can give them that they’ll hold on to is the right attitude when we’re around. They’ll remember Americans as being good people, or they’ll remember Americans as being shitty. That’s it.”

Yester just stared out at the cars behind him and thought about the words of his teammates. He had always wanted to join the military, remembered watching the Twin Towers collapse on TV. He wanted to stop the evil in the world, but at 19 years old he hadn’t expected the world to be as big as it was. He couldn’t take it all on by himself. He could barely hold back some of the cars that got closer than the 500 meters the sign on the back of his truck warned about, and they were guilty of nothing more than having no situational awareness.

“You’re right Sarge,” he finally said. “I know they’re not all bad blood out there. Just gets annoying knowing that they’re gonna ask for stuff the second we roll in.”

“Just wait ‘til you have children,” SSG Kotowski said with a laugh. “You’re a good kid, Yest. Just remember that we can do more good over here with our actions than with our guns. Now look alive, you two; we’re here.”

The convoy had arrived at their destination, a cramped neighborhood shoved on top of endless others in the middle of Baghdad. They pulled up to a corner house belonging to leaders of the Sons of Iraq and the trucks began to set up their security. Humvees were placed at both ends of the street with space inside for the remaining American and Iraqi Police vehicles. The perimeter was scanned, and soldiers began dismounting to set up the perimeter security. SSG Kotowski looked at Bonneville before exiting the vehicle.

“We still don’t know how long this meeting will take,” he said. “Plan for the long haul. SSG Karson is in charge of things out here. Monitor the radio and stay alert.”

Looking up through the gunner’s hatch, he yelled.

“Yester!” he said.” “Karson is setting up a team on the roof. You’ve got security on the road to our rear, but he’s going to help with the overwatch for around the corner. You’ll get some warning if something’s heading your way.”

He jumped out of the vehicle without waiting to hear their response.

“Roger Sergeant!” they said.

The intensity of the moment passed as the rest of the platoon found their places and began playing the time-honored military tradition of the waiting game. Yester and Bonneville continued their tasks of radio watch, security sweeps, and keeping each other awake as the sun slowly sank lower towards the earth. The temperature began to cool, but the heat of the day had already taken its toll. They were both too tired to fight over who had it worse: the guy outside, or the guy in the metal container with the crappy AC. They simply conceded that it was hot, and they were tired.

Yester nudged his driver with his toe, his attention having shifted away from the heat momentarily.

“Hey, Bones,” he said. “There’s a street vendor coming down the road!”

Bonneville hopped out of the Humvee to see.

“Aww, man,” he said, “I could go for something cold right now!”

Yester pulled some cash from the canvas wallet he kept his I.D. and orders in and leaned over the turret to Bonneville.

“Here, see if he has any cokes!” he said. “I’ll buy if you fly!”

Bonneville took the folded cash and disconnected his headset from the radio.

“Alright, monitor the set till I get back,” he said. “And cover me, dammit!”

With a grin, he headed towards the vendor. Yester watched from behind his gun, knowing that this was riskier than it should have to be to get a drink, and not only because SSG Kotowski would kill them himself if someone got hurt over a soda run. But his buddy was already at the street cart and exchanging hand gestures with a man who was smiling from ear to ear. Yester couldn’t make out everything, but it looked like the vendor was shaking his head no and moving his hand in the fashion customary there to emphasize the thought. His decision was final, whatever it was. But Bonneville was heading back with cans in a familiar red and Arabic white lettering, and a smile. As he got to the truck, he tossed one up to Yester. Yester waited for the usual crackle that came with the reconnecting of a headset.

“What was that all about?” he said.

Bonneville’s hand came through the turret hole, money in hand.

“The drinks were on him,” he said. “He wouldn’t let me pay. I think he was trying to show us he was grateful for us being here.”

Yester looked at the ice-cold Coca-Cola in his hand and wondered how much this cost the man. How much did giving these away cost his family? He raised the drink in the direction of the vendor and yelled out one of the few words he had picked up in his time here.

“Shukran!” he said.

The vendor smiled and waved back before moving on down the road.

The sun disappeared completely as the soldiers enjoyed the refreshing gift they had received. There was a reverent silence that hung over the Humvee as all focus was on the radio, the road, and the cool bubbling sensation that was connecting them to home. Just as the last drops were being shaken from the can, the leadership team began pouring out of the house. Laughter carried from the doorway where handshakes and cheek kisses were exchanged before people began to get into their respective vehicles. SSG Kotowski jumped into the truck and Yester yelled down into the hole.

“Welcome back, Sarge,” he said. “We missed you!”

SSG Kotowski smirked.

“You mean you just want to get back to base,” he replied.

“Same thing, right?”

SSG Kotowski allowed a chuckle to escape as he, too, showed wearing from the day.

“Yea, yea,” he said. “Well, good news, the meeting was successful. So much so that we’re coming back in the morning so that they can hash out some details while everyone is still all warm and fuzzy with each other. Better get some sleep while you can tonight.”

His soldiers weren’t about to let the threat of another long day get in the way of the good mood they were in. Bonneville jumped in to change the subject.

“Well, we have good news for you too, Sarge,” he said. “We found a coke vendor out here. First hit is always free.”

Bonneville displayed the last Coke for their leader who took it with a grin.

“Can’t leave you two alone for a minute,” he said. “Go ahead and get to chow when we get back tonight. I’ll take care of the truck.”

The rest of the security detail was loaded up and the radio came alive as all the trucks reported their status. The convoy began to move out and Yester flipped on his night vision goggles for the ride back. The streets were dark from a lack of streetlights, but the moon, only at its first quarter, gave off plenty of light for the NVG’s to pick up. The streets were filled with less traffic, as well, due to curfew restrictions, but that didn’t make the dark any less potent than the light. He continued to scan his sector as they rolled towards their own base; the Iraqi Police vehicles had already split off to head back home.

He thought about the street vendor and the small, but not insignificant gift that had been given simply out of gratitude. Not out of gratitude of anything Yester had done; he had never seen him before. Maybe another soldier had come through and done something for that man? Had he saved his family from some horrible attack? Had he simply been kind to him in a moment that was needed? Yester realized that was what his teammates had been talking about earlier that day. How would the people he had acted towards treat other soldiers based on the memories of interactions with himself? Yester knew he had a job to do. Tonight, when he got back from chow, he was going to clean that 240. Maybe he’d ask Bones to help this time. And before he racked out for what little night he had for himself, he was going to pack some extra batteries.