Ambush

Let’s make this fast. I’ve been meaning to write this piece for forever and for whatever reason I have been avoiding doing so. So without further ado, here goes it.

After 17 hours of riding in the back of a track (amphibious assault vehicle) we finally take a break (I equate riding in the back of a track with stuffing yourself into an aluminum trash can and rolling yourself down a flight of stairs). By break I mean eat half an MRI, take off our Kevlar for a few seconds and burn one. Afterwards my company is designated lead element for the battalion. I don’t give a shit, I’m just pissed that I have to put out my 3^rd cig in 15 minutes. I load back into the aluminum trash can and we set off. 

It’s hard to explain what a track looks like if you have never seen one. A track looks like a tank but without the armor because a track can float on water. The inside resembles a mini locker room with benches on either side of the inner compartment. On either the side you can detach the ceiling and stand up and get eyes on. At this particular time the guys across from me are on watch. As they stand guard I look down and realize my lucky rubber band is missing from my wrist. This will not do, so irrationally I start digging through my assault pack in the process removing most of its contents. I’m almost frantic, when all of a sudden the Marines across standing watch begin to fire their weapons. What the fuck are these idiots doing is my first thought, what are you shooting at? 17 hours in a track will definitely take some of the killer edge off. I’m in the middle of searching for my missing rubber band and these trigger happy Jarheads are firing at God knows what. Then they’re ducking back into the cabin and I feel the track starting to pivot to the right. I hear the .50 cal open up, the sound is deafening and I’m fucking confused, what the fuck is happening? Then the rear door of the track begins to lower, my CO is jumping from the front of the track yelling for me to get comm up, “where being ambushed”! My confusion turns into absolute panic. I start stuffing everything back into my pack grab my rifle, and rush out of the back fresh on the heels of the CO. The .50 cal is louder than ever, like a malfunctioning chainsaw trying to cut down a tree far too large, but there is also now this weird swooshing sound directly above. I realize its rounds being fired just above my head…. To Be Continued