"All right, form up!" I stand up straighter and call out to my platoon. Our group is forty strong, plus the CNB crew adding another eight. The men stop gaggling around and line up. They know that our break is over.
"We've got one more Shura to do, then we'll be calling it a day. I know it's been a long one. I know you're tired and hungry and your body just wants your bunk, but let's end this on a good note, boys!" I call out, and watch my guys straighten up and shake off the oppressive heat and dirt to focus on our next job. You can always count on a soldier to put the job first. I would trust each and every one of my boys with my life.
No question.
6
Mack
2012
Cooper and his crew are up front with me as we put our boots to the ground and head down to the last stop of the day. The little village of Gumbad is only about fifteen minutes up the road. Fifteen minutes can feel like five hours when you've been out in the sand since dawn, but I know my platoon will suck it up and finish strong. Just like they always do.
"You know, Captain Forrester, I keep hearing about what your guys plan to do in three weeks. But I don't know what you're going to do when you get back to the United States." Behind Cooper, his camera man is recording us. There are no offline chats when you've got a news anchor shadowing you. Every thought, every movement, every facial expression is bound to be recorded, edited and used in their show.
The dust puffs around our boots and billows up to my knees. On dry days like this, I'm always reminded of pigpen from Charlie Brown. That kid must've done some time on the ground over here. Cause I'm pretty sure that when you get back from a deployment the dirt just hovers around you for life. Your own cloud of misery and filth, following you from the desert to your grave.
"When I get back? Well, after I soak all this dirt out of my pores, I'm planning on doing a cross-country tour on my bike." My heartbeat slows and my skin almost feels cool as I imagine the wind in my hair as I speed down the open freeway.
"Bike?" Cooper drags me back from my mental excursion to reality. "What kind of bike?" He watches me closely, too closely. His blue eyes analyzing my face almost as much as the unblinking eye of the camera.
"A Harley Davidson Fat Boy Lo." I answer simply. I blink, and for a split second, I imagine that the ruck sack digging into my back is the protective metal plates in my leather jacket. That the gritty path beneath my combat boots is the crunch of asphalt under my tires. I scan the barren road we're walking down and the glittering beige sandbox stretched out before me brings me back to the present.
"Harley? You want to end a fifteen-month tour by crossing the United States on your motorcycle?" Cooper tilts his head and his lips curl up into a half-cocked smile. I'm not sure if he's impressed or if he's laughing at me. Either way, I don't care.
"Yes, sir. I've been riding for over ten years now. I've taken a lot of small trips here and there, but I’ve never done a coast-to-coast ride. That's gonna change when I get back."
"Don't you want to spend some R & R on a beach or something? Maybe spend a few weeks at an all-inclusive resort? And, you know, relax a little?" He keeps pace with me without ever removing his piercing stare from my face. It's not like I've been going easy on him either, this whole week Cooper has been keeping up with us like a pro. The guy lugging the camera on his shoulder, capturing our “intimate chat” impresses me even more.
"No offense, sir. But, what kind of an idiot would I have to be to want to spend time on a sandy beach after spending over a year here? If I never see a beach again, I'll die happy I think."
Cooper laughs, a little pink creeps up into his cheeks as he shakes his head from side to side. "Yeah, I guess that wasn't the best example," he looks over his shoulder to his camera man sheepishly. He's only thrown off for a second though before he's back to his poker face, staring into my soul.
"Fair enough, I can understand why you wouldn't want to spend time on a beach then," he continues, "but what I mean is, don't you just want some time to relax? Don't you need a little time to decompress after all this?" Cooper is back on his game.
The wind suddenly picks up and whips some sand at my face. I squint and keep my head down, watching my boots navigate through the filthy fog of dust as I wait for it to pass. I remember when we first got over here and these dust ups would feel like razors against my cheeks, but now my skin is like a leatherback turtle. And my shell is just as hard to crack.
Once the swirling dirt settles back down, I scan the horizon. The village of Gumbad is in sight now. The little clay houses punctuating the vast expanse of nothingness. The day is almost done. One more X on the calendar. One day closer to home.