“What the fuck, man. No, I ain’t looking at your junk. Get a fuckin’ mirror.” I laughed, but there was no way I was looking at another man’s dick voluntarily.
“Hey, I’d do it for you, asshole.”
“Yeah, and that’s what makes you gay,” I retorted, knowing that I was only getting him riled up.
“Was it gay when I fucked Corey’s mom before we left?” Holt said.
I was sitting in my rack with most of my squad, hanging around and waiting for our next patrol. There was a chorus of “oh’s” by the guys because of Holt’s stupid comment. He was fun to pick on, and he often rose to the occasion when it came to taking the bait. He was the youngest out of all of us. I’d found a picture of him before he’d graduated from high school that’d fallen out of his bag. Pretty boy had long shaggy hair that would make Justin Bieber jealous, and a million dollar smile that likely made girls come with a glance. But out here, he was just a kid with zero experience. And his looks wouldn’t save his life from an RPG. I looked out for him more than any of the other guys.
Corey had just walked in when Holt had opened his mouth. “What’d you say about my mom?”
“I said she makes some mean ass snicker doodles, man. In fact, could you ask her to send us some more in the care package?” I chuckled as the kid quickly back peddled.
Corey was the resident hard ass. He was a soldier’s soldier. He grew up wanting to join the Army for as long as he could remember. This was his dream. Serving his country is what gave him a purpose. Corey was an average guy with average looks, but he had a heart of gold. He came from an all-American home and his mom routinely sent us shit in the mail. We each got letters from her at least once a week telling us how proud she was of the men her boy served with. As much as we gave Corey crap for his overbearing mom, I knew we all loved it.
“Yeah, I bet it’s the snicker doodles. We’ll see if she puts any cookies in your box next week if I tell her you’re running your mouth, kid.”
Holt flipped Corey the bird. Busted.
It was just after evening chow and we were all coming back from the Mess Hall. We had an hour before we would head out on our nightly patrol of the eastern side of Fallujah. My squad did four patrols over a twelve hour shift. I laid back on my bed, allowing my meal to digest. Turning my head, I looked over at Rooster, who came strolling in with a shit eating grin on his face and a small box in his hands. For the record, his name was actually Nick Smith. What a generic name. Rooster was a seriously hard headed son of a bitch. We’d been in the same squad together for quite a while. He wouldn’t tell us where the name Rooster came from. He had a wife and two kids at home, and he did his job with a no-nonsense attitude. He was the type that when he got an idea into his head, he followed through with it. So serious, that two years ago he was in the middle of gunfire in Afghanistan and took a bullet in his left shoulder. They’d sent him home immediately and he did a solid year of physical therapy. He said he had been in a really dark place for a long time while he was recovering, but when the doctor cleared him and said he was fit for duty, only then was he was able to life again. In a way, I looked up to him. He was only three years older than my twenty-three years, but the things he’s lived through and done made him worth respecting.
“What’s in the box?” Holt asked, while he was still scratching himself.
Rooster looked at him and curled his lip. “It’s from my wife. But you aren’t touching shit until you wash your hands.”
He sat the box down on his bed and all four sets of our eyes were riveted on Rooster as he opened it. Other than Corey’s mom sending us weekly boxes, we don’t see much from the States.
“Shit,” Rooster said as he held up a hot pink lace thong. He set it down and kept digging. Next he pulled out some lotion that smelled like an apple. That will be empty before the next six months was over, I smiled to myself. I watched as he pulled out condoms, massage oil, risqué pictures she had taken, and then a small stack of dirty magazines. I felt myself gulp. It had been a long damn time since I’d been with a woman. At least seven months, when we’d first come out to this hell hole.
He was about to look through the photos, but he thought better of it when he glanced up and looked at us. We must have looked like a pack of wolves ready to attack, or hump anything with tits and a smile. He put them back in the box along with the other contents and put it under his bed. There were a few grumbles around the room.
“Seriously, boys, that’s my wife. I’m not showing you an inch of her body,” Rooster snickered.