Whatever Happened to Jody?

            Iraqis do not hurry. I suppose a culture that reaches back over four millennia discarded urgency long ago; perhaps when they embraced generational thinking. The meeting, replete with Samoons, Dolmas and endless cups of syrupy sweet tea, stretched late into the afternoon. So, after promises, farewells and collecting security forces while the sun dropped toward the tent of evening, two HMMWVs snarled down the elevated stretch of the Qidisaya Expressway heading toward BIAP (Baghdad International Airport). Light drained from the sky, leaving behind a purple burka where early stars winked on in the spreading blackness. Urged by nervous drivers, engines and tires roared. Crouched behind dully gleaming SAWs (light machine guns) armored men resolutely scanned the dark houses flicking past. The thin sheet steel of the turret provides scant protection. Ignoring safe speeds the small convoy raced toward the FOB (Forward Operating Base) and perceived safety. Without warning emerald tracers reached out from the hulking mass of houses, hoping to greet, to touch the men sweating in their heavy burden.

            “Sir! They’re shooting at us!” bellows a driver.

            “I see.” the figure replies out of the grim darkness, “Just drive fast. They can’t hit us from this angle.” Dun HMMWVs and flaring bullets race together in a meeting engagement of peril, perspiration, panting, and pounding heart. At the last moment razor green lines arc past, disappearing into another shadowy mass of homes, as the thrumming fades into the darkness.

            Inside the FOB, relieved men gather around vehicles as engines softly ping in the night. Evaporating sweat cools them as they chat. Helmets hang from canteens as they start to account for comrades and equipment. Some rattle belted ammunition back into metal cans, Tupperware for soldiers, to wait the next round. Perhaps then they will burst out in that burning ecstasy of purpose fulfilled, racing out to their destiny accompanied by the strange pops of atmospheric applause.

            “Sergeant, thanks for the use of your vehicles.”

            “Sure thing Sir. Just try to get back before dark next time. I heard you ran into some fireworks coming back.”

            “Yes, but it was nothing serious. Just some harassing fire from the houses along the route.” Another bulky figure in full-battle-rattle resolves out of the darkness, shuffling past the now quiet HMMWV.

            “Hey Sarge, did you have an extra antenna kit on this vehicle? ‘Cause I don’t remember those holes in the side of this hummer.”

            “Has anyone seen Jody?” Confidence evaporates as the men nervously glance around. Unnoticed, dark liquid slowly drips from the floor of the HMMWV, disappearing into the thirsty sand.