The Worst of It
He said that the majority of the time, the
average day to day, was like civilian life, a regular
9 to 5. Occasional guard duty, but mostly working
on trucks. Inside on a good day, out of the dust and sand,
otherwise you couldn’t leave your tools laying out, unless
you wanted 3rd degree burns on your
hands. That was the worst of it, he said, the heat.
Day in, day out; 110, 120, in the shade. But,
every once in a while (and here’s where his eyes became shaded and looked away)
sometimes you saw other shit. Like the time
he was driving with a crew to some little town outside Baghdad and
they saw a group of people on a huge pile of rubble up this side street, and
from where they were it kinda looked like they were carrying rifles, and
one of them had something else, but
they couldn’t really tell, they might’ve just been carrying shovels or lumber
(and some of ‘em looked pretty little, like fuckin’ kids) and
they didn’t have orders to get any closer, but they called it in anyways, and
they got the response back...
Light ‘em up.
So they did.