(A possible new work in progress, having nothing to do with Champions Online. First draft, done yesterday.)
“How many fucking goats does this guy have?”
The platoon was stalled outside of Fallujah, a total of eight men waiting for a shepherd, his charges, and his son or grandson herding the stragglers behind.
Rick laid on the horn again. “He’s not going to move any faster,” said Custer.
“Makes me feel better, sarge.”
“The faster he moves, the longer we stay out of the Green Zone.”
Rick leaned on the steering wheel. Custer glanced behind him, looking at the three men in the back seat of the humvee. All of them had done this dozens of times before. All of them came home in one piece.
Today was going to be hairy. During Ramadan, the high holy Islamic holiday, people fasted during the day and celebrated at night. Sometimes those celebrations involved fires, alcohol, and guns, which never mixed well even in the best of circumstances. As long as they got back before sunset, they were safe.
Finally the last few goats cleared the road. Rick stomped on the gas and they lurched forward, in a cloud of dust.
“Hearts and minds, Rick,” said Custer, and checked the rearview. “Wetback’s slow.”
“Left,” said the man in the middle in the back seat. He said it in a normal voice, but Rick turned left immediately. The truck with the heavy gun behind them also jerked left.
The man in the middle did not have a gun across his lap like the other two men beside him. He had a fine, natural wood walking stick, with an ivory handle. Custer said, “Anything there?”
“A feeling,” said the man in the middle.
Custer and Rick nodded. A young blond kid turned to look at the stick, then at the man in the middle. He gave a barely audible sigh and turned away. The man in the middle said, “Sorry, Corey. Doing my job.”
“It’s freaky,” said Corey. “I know, we went through this before, but it’s still freaky.”
“Be happy that he’s saved our hide more than once with his ‘freaky’,” said the man on the other side of the one with the stick.
The truck slowed down. There were kids playing ball in the street. As with the goat herder, they didn’t seem in a hurry to move. Rick beeped the horn. They finally completed whatever round they were on and Rick went between two groups of teenagers. Custer and the men in the back watched them, wondering which one of them might have the bomb.
“Will we make it?” said Custer.
The man to the right side had a GPS in hand. “This road is parallel to the one we were going to take. It might be even shorter.”
“Good thing,” said Rick, “Or I’d have to kick the Wizard’s ass.”
“Like the last time?” said the middle man with a smirk.
“You cheated!”
“You said full contact.”
“Full contact,” Rick huffed, and absently rubbed his chest. Corey made the sign of the cross.
They hooked up eventually with an engineer platoon from the 103rd. they were busy helping to clean up a street and needed Custer’s platoon as lookouts.
Custer was called that because of his fiery red hair and beard that he kept as long as regimentally alowed. He was the only one who caried a pistol in addition to his rifle.
The men piled out of the truck. Rick got his rifle from the holster next to his seat. He was strong as an ox, built like bear, and just as quick.
Cory was the youngest, and the one who knelt by his cot and still said his prayers every night. He had signed a waiver – no matter what happened to him, the Wizard would not save him. He wore a black dot on his dog tags to prove it.
Jason was Nav, a tall and thin kid fresh out of ROTC. He was Custer’s assistant and planned their routes, gave the specific orders and interpreted for them. OPne of two corporals, he didn’t let it go to his head.
Last came the Wizard, who touched the ground with his walking stick before stepping out of the humvee. He paused, getting a lay of the land and a sense of the air. He was a war mage, mostly offense, some basic defense. He knew enough first aid spells to stabilize the most extensive wounds, but his specialty lay in hurting people and destroying things.
The Wizard waved up at Naden, who manned the truck with the [heavy gun]. When he waved, it was all clear, but Naden didn’t dismount.
Neither did the driver of the truck, Jose. Jose parked a good distance away but close enough to give covering fire to the platoon.
It was expected to be generally easy. Some young kids came out of nowhere to watch the men work. Rick, although big and intimidating, had a soft spot for the little boys about 6-10 years old. At that aged, they hadn’t been turned, he believed. They liked the lollipops that he brought with him.
Meanwhile, Custer and Jason talked up the locals. They tried to get intelligence, depending if the locals talked. Al Queda and Hamaas still held sway here, but Custer wanted to present the Americans as gentle and not occupiers, so that possibly the neighborhood might remember and not go over to the other side.
The Wizard patrolled the area like the rest of the men. His stick poked at the ground, touching things before he would touch them, or digging up tiny bits of ground.