He ripped off the top of the packet and began squeezing the partially solidified, sticky blob into his mouth. He forced it down and despite being a gel, he found himself having to chew his way through the taste. It didn’t go down well but he knew it was an essential need to fuel his body for the path ahead.
Just imagine it tastes like honey-ham sandwich, maple soaked bacon and a gushing over-easy egg.
The mental imagery didn’t work and he burped something which tasted like a cross between an oyster and a blob of highly processed fruit.
The race continued to thin out as the faster runners increased their lead. Meanwhile, several runners mistook the aid station for a rest area of sorts during the timed event. Several people were around him, but as he left the refreshments area there was more than enough room on the road for him to become comfortable and settle into his own personal imaginary lane. Stephen saw his path forward and continued to force down the last of the gel packet. The road ahead led past an abandoned warehouse and on the other side was a long clear stretch with a gentle grade. The sun continued to press above the horizon, warming the road and eventually succeeded in repelling the frigid darts which had persisted in hitchhiking along the wind. Most runners welcomed the sun’s late rise from its slumber as it heaved back heavy blankets of clouds. The long stretch of its rays met the morning and began to gradually raise the temperature. The sun’s emerging heat reached out from the horizon and pressed against Stephen’s back to reveal his shadow along the road. It was as if the day had woke ready to announce that this would be a bright and cloud free day after all. Sensing the foreshadowing of the magnificently clear day which lay ahead, a pit formed in Stephen’s stomach as he recalled another day which began just as charming. A day which taught him that a beautifully clear day could still be the darkest of them all.
Mile 4
Even in the arid heat of the Iraqi desert, early spring was a pleasant time of year. The daytime weather was cool but without a trace of humidity. Stephen had taken time to appreciate the slightly cooler mornings. The desert area west of Baghdad was a bit windier thanks to the chilled air coming off Habbaniyah Lake. Being surrounded by a desert, there wasn’t much to see. The thought of catching the tranquil glare of sunlight reflecting off of a desert lake that happened to be in a war zone was an appealing contradiction not lost on him. Given time, it might be nice to take a detour with the squad and spend a couple of hours doing recon at the lake; from the interior of the lake, of course. He knew how unlikely that would be. Thinking about the heightened sense of urgency coming from the brass in recent days, Stephen put visiting the lake on his list of things-that-are-most-likely-not-to-get-done-anytime-soon. Still, he took a moment to set aside those thoughts and simply focused on the brilliance of what was determined to become a beautifully cloudless day.
“Sarge. Hey, Sarge!” Hooper’s voice from the backseat loudly interrupted the vehicle’s heavy rumble. “I’m off. Your turn.” Hooper reached in from his crouched perch in the humvee’s open gunner mount where he had been bent over having a conversation with stateside family. He stretched out his arm to pass the borrowed satellite phone over to Chelp.
Time to call home was always at a premium when they were ‘in theater’. Their benevolent Colonel had secured a few satellite phones for the unit to pass around. While not perfect, the satellite phone’s signal was much better than a cell phone. But more importantly, it meant soldiers didn’t have to pack roaming minutes onto their personal cells which typically ran upwards of five dollars per minute. Thanks to the duty officer leaving a memo for SSG Lantz to “call home,” his squad had been given the privilege of using one of the Colonel’s satellite phones. Ensuring his squad members had the opportunity to use it first; it was now Stephen’s turn. He placed an open palm on his shoulder to receive the phone. His eyes, cloaked behind the hardened plastic of heavily tinted sunglasses, remained fixed on the duvet of sand expanding beyond his sight.
Other than the never-ending swirl of gritty sand, the day’s unchanging scenery was garnished with the olive-green backside of a troop-loaded M35 diesel truck; affectionately known as the deuce-and-a-half. The M35 was an extremely loud 15,000 pound workhorse for several armed services throughout the world. While the majority of the American units came to Iraq with light to medium tactical vehicles, Stephen’s unit, like many Guard units, relied on a healthy supply of the 10-wheeled deuce-and-a-halfs. The heavy transport vehicles came coupled with those individuals who were comfortable driving and fixing them in all types of terrains, including the unending and ever-corrosive sand bed they trudged through on this day.
The goal of caravan speed, though quicker in hostile territory, was to stay a safe but consistently tight distance behind the vehicle in front of you. Maintaining a steady speed with his team’s humvee was an easy task for Tomlison. He felt a comfort staring at the back half of other vehicles for long stretches of the day. It reminded the Illinois native of his life back in the states. Even if Chicago traffic wasn’t the most appealing part of the Windy City, he often mentioned that he felt more secure and at ease when packed in tightly within the barriers of the concrete jungle he called home. Tomlison did, however, prefer having granulars of sand kicked into his windshield to the unpredictability of blinding rain and snow.
A few weeks prior, a ragged band of foreign insurgents had hit an American convoy in the city of Al Fallujah. One of the soldiers killed in the ambush was a general who served as a commander in the 82nd Airborne. Stephen knew plenty of airborne paratroopers and they were the type who took an attack on their commander extremely personally. It had gotten ugly and now units from the 82nd were making daily hits in the city to suppress and disarm locals who had turned hostile towards American troops. The situation inside Al Fallujah was going from worse to intolerable as the city turned against its foreign ally, and self-proclaimed magistrates began publically torturing and brutally killing anyone suspected of being an informant for the Americans. There was even talk about pulling out the non-military contractors from the city. But then arrived the superior officers which meant politicians became involved. And with politicians came cameras. Cameras which caused rational, strategically thinking men to wander far into the land of fairies and pixy dust where they pandered to the media and made promises they knew they wouldn’t be around to keep. Unicorns were in full gallop by the time the American viewership was promised a calm, peaceful resolution to the “temporary disagreement.” Now Stephen and his men were assisting in the work to resolve that disagreement by riding down a highway and pulling security for a deuce-and-a-half loaded with soldiers who were armed to the teeth. All the while, Hooper kept a watchful eye from atop their humvee and a ready two-handed grip on the trigger lever of his mounted .50 caliber machine gun.
Stephen closed his grip on the phone Chelp had placed into his palm and looked for an opportunity to finally interrupt Tomlison; who was going nonstop about the Chicago Redwings and how hockey was among the few true sports based purely on the speed in which you could lose teeth. Within his pontification, Tomlison did give an off-handed compliment in the direction of rugby players. “They know how to hit but they can’t skate. It takes real talent to pull off a full body check while racing at top speed down on the ice.” To the best of Stephen’s memory, nobody had even mentioned rugby players. But Tomlison was a guy who could generate both sides of a discussion and he didn’t wait around for rebuttals. Thinking this one through, Stephen was pretty sure no one had even spoken to Tomlison since he started talking, that of course being the moment they entered the humvee.