Theme, Week three

Jackson was dreading this assignment. He had been on it several times before and there had always been problems.

"Are you ready?" He asked his driver.

Edwards responded quickly, "I'm ready Sarg."

"Good lets go!"

The two men climbed into a drab and crowded Humvee. Pushing on the giant radio mount between the two seats, Specialist Edwards mumbled, half to himself but loud enough for the sergeant to hear,

"This crap does more harm than good!"

The sergeant tossed a tired look in his direction.

"That's why people don't pay you to think Specialist Edwards. Hand me the log book."

"Huaaah"

Sergeant Jackson quickly noted the time on his watch and recorded it in his book.

"Move out Edwards."

The Humvees moved like a train of speedy camels through the weaving barriers of the gate.

Jackson knew what Edwards was complaining about. The placement of the radio mount blocked their alternate escape route; "Another great example of the army's attention to detail", he thought to himself.

At the end the barriers, where the road began, stood three ragged men wearing blue shirts and shiny badges.

"Do those sons-of-bitches do anything but stand around?" Edwards sneered.

"Just pay attention to the road and lock it up!"

The Iraqi police where notoriously lazy. From the gate soldiers would watch them sleeping in their guard houses; adding to the feeling of trust between the two sides.

As they moved through town the bright colors of the buildings made Jackson feel like he was in a crayon box.

An orange car stopped in front of them.

"Wave him off gunner!" Jackson demanded.

Private Dodd, who was manning the position on top of the Humvee, swung his arms wildly at the driver of the car.

"Move it!"

Throwing his hands into the air, the Iraqi pointed at the red light.

Dodd swung his turret so that the 50 Cal. was aiming into the back window of the tiny Honda.

Quickly, the driver pulled to the side of the road, making a path for the convoy.

Jackson hated having to slow down. That was when things were the most dangerous.

He grabbed the radio's handmike, "This is Bravo One Two, radio check over."

A voice came over the radio, "Bravo One Two, This is Blacklion X-Ray, Roger out."

The convoy moved swiftly along the highway. Trash lay strewn along the roadside; perfect for hiding Sgt Jackson's greatest fear: Roadside bombs. As they moved through traffic, helicopters flew overhead filling the sky with brown dust and loose trash from the streets. The sergeant's eyes quickly scanned the horizon; his eyes traveling from the old man standing by the roadside to the tire conveniently lying on the opposite side of the street. A young woman, dressed in a long black hood, which went down to her ankles, scurried into a nearby building. Jackson's eye's snapped to the roof tops; nothing.

"Clear that tire," he barked at Edwards.

Edwards swung the convoy to the right of the road, hugging the edge of the faded white lines. The old man stepped back from the road, disgruntled by the sudden American intrusion. They had cleared the tire.

Suddenly, there was an explosion behind them. Jackson knew what was coming. The insurgents almost always set up more than one bomb, letting the first vehicle pass and than hitting it after the entire convoy was in the "kill zone."

A flash blinded the sergeant as he looked, wildly for the bomb. The concussion pressed his body armor against his chest. He could feel the side of his door cave in against his leg. Glass from the windows shattered in tiny, hale like fragments, covering everything inside of the Humvee. Edwards shouted as he pressed his foot hard against the gas pedal. The tires were flopping against the pavement; steel rims sent sparks into their wake. The Humvee was still going.

"Dodd! Are you hit?" Jackson bellowed, turning his head to view his soldier's legs.

"Not bad Sarg, Good to go!"

Jackson looked back in his rear view mirror. One of the middle Humvees was flipped onto its roof behind them. He scanned for any insurgents moving in and saw nothing. They hadn't hit him hard enough and they knew it. He grabbed his handmike and shouted for the other vehicles to form a perimeter.

"Turn it around Edwards!" He shouted to the driver.

Edwards swung the vehicle around and sped toward the injured Humvee.

The sergeant grabbed his handmike again, "Blacklion X-ray this is Bravo One Two, we've taken enemy fire at position Lima Alpha Tango in rout to Spiker, standby over!"

The call came back," Roger standing bye over."

Jackson pushed hard on his crumpled door and it opened. He ran to the flipped vehicle and looked inside. The driver of the vehicle was unconscious; the gunner and truck commander were trying to pull him from his seat belt but couldn't reach him because of the radio mount; blood covered the overturned roof of the Humvee. Jackson grabbed his knife and cut threw the seat belt holding the driver up. As he did he could see that some of the blood was coming from a cut across the young man's forehead. Pulling him from the wreckage, Jackson rushed to his own Humvee with the injured soldier on his back. As he threw him into the back seat, against private Dodd's legs, he saw his nametag: Dubois. Other soldiers had already grabbed the two remaining evacuees and were calling over the radio that they were "Good to go".

"Move out!" Jackson yelled.

Edwards let out a quick, "Moving" and began to cut back toward the road.

There was no firing, just silence; it had been quick and cowardly; a hit and run. Two cobra helicopters appeared alongside the convoy as it sped down the road; watching ahead for a possible ambush. Sergeant Jackson could see that the unconscious soldier was starting to move in the back. He grabbed his arm and told him not to.

"Where are you hit?" He asked Dubois.

"I think just on my forehead!"

Jackson squinted his eyes to see threw the wind and saw the entrance to Spiker ahead. Soldiers were rushing to swing the gate open. As he approached the lead guard he flashed his I.D. at him and was pointed toward the awaiting medics. They had made it.

He looked at Edwards and said, "Good job Edwards, we made it."

Edwards nodded and closed his eyes. Pulling out his pen, Sergeant Jackson noted the time of arrival and began to fill out an action report. His hand shook; he had made it.