by S. A. Lowry
“Hey Trev, you here bro?” Andrew asks as he lifts up Trevor’s hooch blanket covering his side of the tent in an aggressive demeanor.
Trevor is there seated in his blue air force ‘aim high’ logo chair with his headphones in watching the TV show Desperate House wives on his laptop.
“Trev man!” Andrew yells as he slaps his brother’s shoulder.
Trevor is startled, then proceeds to pause his show and remove the headphones from his ears. “These bitches are crazy man. Why can’t I live on a block like that?” Trevor swears with curiosity as so many other members of the military decide to incorporate in their vocabulary.
Andrew noticed excitement in his brother’s voice as he described the show. In effect, all Andrew could do was stand there in silence with a raised eye brow as Trevor rambled on about his show.
“Man are we going to chow or what? It’s almost 1930, I’m starving bro. I have been waiting for you all day,” Andrew explains as he tosses Trevor his clear lens eye protection and road guard belt as Trevor throws his ACU top on for dinner. On the way out of the tent, Trevor lights up another Miami behind Andrew’s back as he begins walking. Andrew turns around, gives a face then decides to pull one out for himself.
“You know baby brother, if you ever married a girl like any of the ones on Desperate Housewives me and you may run into some problems on family outings,” Trevor jokingly proclaims with a wide mischievous grin on his face.
“Yeah well if we were in the show Desperate Housewives I would expect my wife to do something like that to me with my brother. So in effect I would just have to return the favor to you,” Andrew snaps back, frustrated with an empty belly and quickly smoking his cigarette.
The pair laughs. Once they are finished, they walk off through the gravel stained sand and across parked military vehicles up against the perimeter fence line which secures their camp within the FOB. Upon arriving to the dining facility, they get their military identification cards cleared by one of the Triple Canopy Ugandan gate guards who guard the main entry control point. Once inside, they realize the lines are a mile long. As procedure goes, they file through like sheep to wash their hands in the communal sink only to file through another line to dry their hands off in a dyson air blade blower which is standard procedure for anyone who walks into the dining facility on FOB Basra.
After cleaning themselves, the brothers decide to wait in the hamburger line. They usually put up with the extra wait to receive a double cheeseburger which reminds them of when their mom and dad used to take them out when they were kids to a small town burger shack not too far from where they grew up. The burger joint was called Shakey’s. Never would they ever taste another double cheeseburger like that again because they ran out of business not too long ago. The brother’s parents were good friends with the owner and when his business went under the kind of slipped off the deep end. Nobody ever heard from him again after he had moved.
As the brothers wait and converse about how their days went, they are startled by a sudden female’s scream and a dining room chair smacking the tiled floor. The loud echo of it bounces around the building for everyone to hear. They quickly turn around to find out what the commotion is.
Seemingly, a soldier sitting down at the table eating his dinner just suddenly passed out and is now positioned face first into his plate lifelessly. Someone sitting next to him got spooked and ran off while dropping his chair on the way out. A number of soldiers rushed to the lifeless soldier’s aid to lift him up and check for a pulse while others kept asking him if he was okay. No response.
“What the fu . . . . ,” Trevor shockingly exclaims, but suddenly cut off when the soldier they were just looking at falls to the ground and begins going through convulsions. Appearing to be a violent seizure episode, his arms and legs push back and forth every which way on the floor striking various soldiers around him who were trying to help him.
One of the NCO’s at the scene notice the afflicted soldier trying to swallow his tongue during the seizure. He attempts to place his two fingers in the victim’s mouth to prevent him from choking. Another minute of struggle ensues while some yell for a medic and others sprint for their vehicles parked out front to pull around so they can rush him to the TMC(troop medical clinic) on base.
Once the troops come back with their vehicle parked out front they yell for the soldiers and NCO to load up the victim on the back. Right before they go to pick him up however, the soldier’s seizure stops as the victim now appears to be dead.
One of the NCO’s who tried to prevent him from choking with his two fingers, pulls his hand out of the soldier’s mouth only to realize he is now bleeding. During the seizure the victim’s teeth clamped down into the individual’s fingers who was trying to help him. Everyone just now stood around the dead soldier in silence for a few seconds while one of the medics who was eating checks his pulse.
“He’s still alive!” declares the medic.
The group then decides to pick him up and take him back to the truck outside along with the other soldier who has just been bitten.
“What the hell just happened little man,” a now worried Trevor asks his brother as everyone in the dining facility stares on upright in their seats.
“I don’t know Trev,” a pre-occupied Andrew answers as he stares on in disbelief.
Trevor then suddenly decides to push forward to the front of the line after it cleared out from the incident while Andrew follows.
“That must be the third weirdest thing I’ve seen all day baby bro,” exclaims Trevor as one of the foreign dining facility workers slap a double cheeseburger on his plate.
“Yeah you ain’t the only one,” answers Andrew.
The brothers then decide to sit down and try to forget about their day while enjoying their meal and engaging in conversation other than what they just saw.
. . . . The alarm clock goes off with it’s annoying loud ringing sound once again. Bright numeric numbers read 4:00 AM. Andrew rises from his bunk. Time to start another day he tells himself as he gets out of his bunk and gets dressed into PT’s. One day left until R&R then I’ll be able to sleep in until noon or 1700 he thinks to himself as he struggles to find his belt and other various items in the dark. Upon conducting his normal morning routine, he makes it to formation only to find out he will be conducting yet another squad run. Not surprising he tells himself.
Upon hitting perimeter road with his squad, the pace picks up. Now sort of exhausted at this point only after running a half mile to the start of the perimeter hardball road, Andrew begins to fall behind the rest of his squad members.
Day in and day out of running just seem to have worn him out. So he decides to go his own pace. A much slower pace as the rest of his squad continues to get visually smaller off into the distance the further up they pass him. As he is running, he notices the first guard tower he passed up is abandoned. This is unusual because the contracting company Triple Canopy, who employs Ugandans to provide perimeter and internal FOB security has not left the country yet.
He knows the Ugandan guards are still on contract and should be manning their post watching outward into sector. He blows this thought off though the further down the road he gets as he approaches a second guard tower a quarter of a mile out. As the five mile trail continues, he passes up an additional third guard tower which is also left abandoned. He now realizes the north eastern quadrant of the base is now left unsecure.
Andrew’s squad has now seemed to hit their turn around point and are heading back towards his direction.
As his squad passes, one of the NCO’s in the formation calls out to Andrew, “Pick it up speed bump!” the man yells as they run right by him. Andrew pays him no mind. As he reaches the turnaround point, he decides to stop and catch his breath. While leaning over, he notices yet another C-130 take off from Basrah International Airport which is connected to the base. He now counts eight flights within the past twenty four hours. Something he has never seen before. He decides to
shake the thought off and head back to the start point.
“Stalker 5 is redcon 1,” Trevor reports. “Stalker 3 is redcon 1,” another truck reports.
“Stalker 6 is redcon 1 at this time,” the platoon leader adds.
“Roger. Push out to the gate Stalker 5,” calls his platoon sergeant as Trevor begins his push out of ECP Ritz which is Ugandan controlled.
ECP Alpha is Iraqi Army controlled.
“Hey sergeant, where did the gate guards go?” asks Price from the turret of the vehicle as they roll through.
“Not a clue,” Trevor responds without hesitation. That seemed to be the question of the moment as they rolled down the long straight away strip which parallels the airport. As Trevor’s vehicle passes the front entrance of the airport, Price positions his turret in the direction of it as they pass by. Trevor knew this because the distinctive metallic bumping sound the turret makes as it spins.
“Here’s another odd question, sergeant,” exclaims Price.
“Shoot,” answers Trevor.
“Why are there hundreds of packed cars in line to get into the front entrance of the airport. Is there something we don’t know?” Price curiously states. Now curious himself, Trevor decides to call his platoon sergeant and inform him of the two out of place details they just noticed within minutes apart of each other. The platoon sergeant has no direct answer for him. However, does inform him that the current flight taking off as they pass by is probably one crowded plane.
Trevor agrees. Trevor’s platoon is on patrol to yet another sector on the outskirts of Basrah city. However, not the same one as yesterday. After the platoon leader’s debriefing to the commander yesterday after their mission regarding abandoned villages, the commander sent them out again to check out a few more villages to see if the demographics are the same as the others.
As the convey pushes down the main strip of highway to their objective area, they notice less traffic than usual. In addition, Trevor reported several abandoned Iraqi Army checkpoints along the freeway which is also highly unusual. The platoon leader decides to send these reports back to the company via radio.
Shortly after, Trevor’s vehicle approaches the turn off from the freeway to their area they are to be patrolling which leads to a village near the Tigris river. As the convey pushes forward down the dirt trail which leads towards the isolated Iraqi village, they noticed abandoned bongo trucks along the way facing towards the freeway off the sides of the road.
In addition, Trevor noticed abandoned donkey carts. Also including various scattered mopeds. Upon entering the village, Trevor notices something strange. “Stalker 6 this is stalker 5. Be advised, we’ve got three military aged males off to my 2 o clock on their knees facing each other. Not sure what they are doing, however it looks likes like they all have some erratic movement going on with their hands and face. I’m going to slow down as we pass them so my gunner can get better eyes on. Over,” Trevor transmits. The platoon leader acknowledges.
“Hunter, slow it down a bit up here. Just bring it down to a creeping pace. I want to see what these guys are doing,” Trevor instructs his driver.
“I got you sergeant no problem,” Hunter says with a curious look on his face as he stares at the individuals off into the distance. The platoon sergeant then follows up over the radio and informs the gunners to keep their eyes open as a result. As Trevor’s truck passes by the group of men off the side of the road, whom are all wearing man dresses, Price makes a startling discovery.
“Jesus Christ!” Price exclaims as his truck passes by the men.
“What! What is it! Come on boy, spit it out!” demands Trevor.
“Ser, ser, sergeant. those men are eating that dog. It’s like we aren’t even here. They didn’t even notice us pass by,” Price nervously explains.
Everyone is silent for a moment.
Trevor then busts out laughing. “All stalker elements this is stalker 5, be advised, we got some hungry Iraqis off to the three. These cats are chewing down on old fido. Revenge at its finest I tell you what,” jokes Trevor over the net.
As a result, the rest of the patrol begins cracking jokes over the net and laughing.
“Stalker 6 this is stalker 9, hey, what do you want to do about this?” the platoon sergeant asks the platoon leader as if he was holding back from laughing.
“We all got to eat. Let em’ be,” answers the platoon leader in a dismissive tone of voice.
The patrol continues.
Price goes on to describe what he just saw close up to the soldiers in the back of the truck.
“So you mean to tell me that they didn’t even look up at you?” asks Christopher. “Hell no sergeant. I saw one of their eyes though. The man I saw didn’t look like he had any pupils. Also, their skin looked really clammy and pale. One of them had scratch marks all over his face and neck. You couldn’t pay me enough to dismount and approach them,” explains a still shakened up Price.
Then Price asks Trevor a question about all the abandoned cars back there on the trail to the village. Trevor explains that abandoned vehicles in Iraq is not an uncommon thing seeing as how they don’t have proper gas stations. Trevor then goes on to make the point that Iraqis are usually too poor to fill their tanks up. Sometimes a combination of just neglecting their gauges as well. This puts Price in a sense of ease and begins calming him down.
That’s when Ringo chimes in, “Yeah but that still doesn’t explain why this village is abandoned too,” Ringo reminds. Trevor stays silent. Price begins getting all jittery again.
“Damnit. The ordeal in the DFAC last night then this. What the hell is going on? I mean, what a wild week,” explains Price. “Yeah Price is right, I almost shart my pants last night at the ice cream bar when home boy started acting like a dying fish. If I ever go into a seizure like that, record it so I can blog it on Facebook later,” Reagal jokes as he pops in a pinch of Copenhagen Longcut.
Everybody on the truck, with the exception of Christopher, begins to laugh hysterically.
“Yeah well guess what Reagal, you wouldn’t be able to blog it on your Facebook because that guy died last night in the TMC shortly after. Maybe you should watch your damn mouth before I wash it out with my fist,” threatens Christopher.
Reagal with a scared look on his face complies. Everyone on the truck including Trevor stops laughing. Then silence consumes the vehicle once again. A few hours pass by on the patrol which concluded uneventful. Trevor led the convey through various trails connecting multiple villages only a few hundred meters apart from each other. Not a sign of life in any of them, except with what they saw earlier upon approaching the entrance of the village. Trevor decides to take the convey back to base. Upon turning onto the freeway, Hunter kicks his speed up to 50 mph. Nice cruising pace Trevor compliments his driver as he lights a Miami cigarette for him, then one for himself for the ride back.
Trevor is the first one to pass underneath the bridge which leads to the front gate of FOB Basrah. Seconds after clearing it, his truck begins merging onto the on-ramp which leads to the bridge overlapping the main freeway they just came off on. Upon clearing the on-ramp, now with IA controlled ECP Alpha in plain view, they noticed yet another thing out of the ordinary.
Massive civilian crowds trying to push through the front gate against the Iraqi Army’s consent. Trevor warns the convey behind him and tells them to slow their pace down so they don’t hit anybody on the ground. The platoon leader reports a potential protest to the CP. Trevor realizes quickly, that this is no normal protest. There are many screaming and crying children who must be no older than ten years old with their mothers who are in an apparent argument with the gate guards.
Some of them are on their knees appearing to beg while sticking their children up towards the Iraqi Army soldiers as an offering. Some of the husbands or fathers attempt to sprint through the gate on foot only to be met by Iraqi Army soldiers beating them down with their American issued M-16A2 Assault Rifles with iron sights.
&n
bsp; The crowd, Trevor estimates, looks to be in the mid hundreds. As the convey creeps ahead, the now apparent desperate Iraqi civilians clear a path for them as they pass by so they do not get ran over. Many put their arms out while begging and screaming. Trevor notices some of their complexions doesn’t look normal. Many are sick and some of them are throwing up on the sides of the road as this ordeal goes on. “Better not dismount here. Might only incite more unrest. Let these IA dudes handle it. It’s their job anyway,” explains the platoon leader over the net.
All of the truck commanders acknowledge as they push through and witness more civilians suffer beatings from Iraqi soldiers trying to push past them. Trevor lights up yet another Miami. Hunter shakes his head. Reagal pops another dip in. Ringo sits there emotionless and stoic. Christopher continues to move his head around the back window trying to see the incident unfold. Gilroy appears lost and Price picks up his scan with his M240 Bravo machine gun due to the high potential threat of the crowd.
“Specialist Wilcott. You’ve got Mayor Cell detail tomorrow at 0500 hours. I need you to be there fifteen minutes prior,” reminds Andrew’s squad leader as he passes out notes before a Battalion formation for end of tour awards in the motorpool.
All the soldiers in the Battalion seem to be hanging out smoking cigarettes and conversing while waiting for their Battalion Commander and Sergeant Major to show up so the traditional ceremony can begin. Afterwards, Andrew scurries the company groups for his brother. After some searching and weaving in and out of people talking, he spots his brother and proceeds to approach him.
“Hey bro, there you are. How you been man?” asks Andrew. “Had a crazy freaking day baby bro. There is some crazy stuff going on around here and I don’t know what to make of it. I am glad that you are skipping town soon. Maybe when you get back things would have gone back to normal,” preaches Trevor.