Jack did not know why they had to walk through the streets. To him it made no sense, but then again that was the Marine Corps. So here they are walking through another market, in another place that smelled like someone farted and left. That was just one more thing he could not stand about these people, they stank. It was not just a small bad smell , or like a workout stink. No this was the stink of all stink. It was almost like they bathed in B.O. The smell was everywhere. As Jack walked and looked around at the faces staring back at him he knew one thing for sure. He had on a helmet and a vest and had been walking for over an hour in 100 degree temperatures and he still did not smell as bad as they did.
So they walked, as they always did. They would spread out enough so if a grenade or I.E.D. went off it would not get more than one or two of them. They stayed close enough to be able to support each other if small arms erupted. Today no one expected much. It was more a show of force. A few days ago, the gods of war had unleashed them on the small city. The insurgents never knew what hit them. It was a real success and the haji’s had been caught by surprise. They attempted to fight, but once they found out it was Marines that they were fighting, they ran.
Jack’s platoon had cut off their escape. It was a good, high body count and the gods of war were appeased. At least for the time being, so this stroll was nothing more than putting a dick on the table to allow everyone to gawk at its size and strength.
Even so Jack stayed alert, as did everyone else. To say they stayed alert was to say that they were all normal. The “Death Dealers” from 8th Marines had been in country for eight months now. They had learned fast. Mistakes here were very costly and Jack’s platoon had not had to “pay the toll” for months now.
So Jack walked at the rear of the formation. He was able to see all the movements of everyone in front of him. His dark Oakelys hid the hate in his eyes. Jack could have cared less about these people. They were cutting each others heads off before he got there and they would still be doing so after he left. Jack had come to the conclusion that these people did not know how to live in peace. War and conflict was a way of life for them. It was as necessary as food and water for survival. Without it these people did not know what to do. So Jack did not walk the streets for them.
Jack did not walk the streets for all those assbags back home either. They all had some option about the war. How this was wrong or that was right. How they supported the troops but not the war. Sell that shit to the Army, because Jack wasn’t buying. A person either believed in their country or they didn’t. That statement just showed how pussified America had become. Nobody wants to lay it on the line, but nobody wants to be left behind either. What a bunch of shit.
Jack walked the streets for the 13 guys that walked the streets with him. He was there for them as they were for him. At this point, in this smelly market, on this dirty street, that was all that mattered.
The point man came to a stop. The formation stopped. Everyone faced outward and took a knee. Jack faced to the rear. He watched as a woman bought fruit from a stand to his left. Three young men were drinking warm sodas sitting at a plastic card table. A man that looked about a hundred years old was shooing away a group of kids from his fly covered meat.
Jack’s M-4 was in his shoulder. The barrel was slanted just enough for him to see the entire area over the front site. Jack looked for the slightest thing out of place. A bag unattended, a man moving to quickly through the market, anything that did not belong, his thumb rested on the safety. The Copenhagen in his mouth had become dry. He sucked hard on it and spit. A woman looked at him in disgust. Jack always got the feeling that something bad was about to happen, but he could not stop it. He controlled his breathing, but he just could not shake that feeling of impending doom. Jack dug the butt of the M-4 tighter into his shoulder.
