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By Root 1379 0

“Three of those motherfuckers, all in superior [higher] positions from us, two guys on PK machine guns, and one with an RPG.” Bradley was referring to a standard ambush technique frequently seen in the area: often beginning with an RPG hit, two machine gunners from different positions “open up” so that their respective lines of fire meet exactly on the target, “interlocking” those streams of rounds, forming a triangular “tip of death” as RPG rounds rain down. Such an ambush can make three bad guys seem like thirty—or even a hundred and thirty—and had been preferred by the mujahideen as a way to hold up massive columns of Soviet armor. Although in the event of an ambush, Kinser would immediately start a call for fire from Doghouse, potential ambushers need just five seconds to send enough rounds downrange to kill a small group of Marines standing close together. Dusk was a preferred time to strike, with enough light to see a target with the naked eye, but not dark enough for the grunts’ night-vision goggles to work.

There would be no ambush that night, however. Kinser stared out at the Pech River, its thunderous roar fed by the massive snowmelt of one of the wettest winters on record. Like clockwork, CAAT-Alpha arrived, with an additional local Toyota truck to help carry the Marines and their gear. Having spent the past month up and down the Pech Road, Kinser had seen the water level slowly climb, nearing the road in some places. He also knew that the road itself was in bad shape, making night driving all the more dangerous with its washouts and deep ruts. He wanted the CAAT drivers to run with headlights, not have to operate blacked out on NVGs (night-vision goggles). But his commander had mandated running dark. So they loaded their gear into the Toyota and the highback Humvee (a troop transport Humvee fitted with benches, surrounded by light armor high enough to protect Marines while sitting), then jumped into the trucks.

“You know, Joyce, you never complain about anything,” Bradley said to the young lance corporal, who, at just 135 pounds, was one of the smallest in the platoon. “I love that about you.” A SAW gunner (squad automatic weapon, or M249, a fully automatic weapon much heavier than an M16), Joyce quickly developed a reputation in the platoon as one of the best Marines of the bunch, one who never once complained about any patrol, food, living quarters—anything—and who always volunteered first for any mission or project. He was tough, but with a magnetically kind demeanor; shy but absolutely reliable. He smiled at Bradley and jumped into the highback. “Okay, bitches, let’s get the fuck back to that wonderful wonderland of Camp Blessing!” Bradley slammed the heavy doors shut on the highback and jumped into the Hilux, then the convoy slipped into the pitch darkness of the June night.

The condition of the road proved even worse than Kinser had remembered. The drivers, who sped the convoy along as fast as possible to minimize time windows for any IED triggermen to set off explosives, slammed the Humvees into ruts and potholes, sending the Marines in the highback flying off their benches. They hit one pothole so hard that the Marines thought they’d been struck by a small IED. Then a slam into a rut knocked the NVGs off the driver of the highback, blinding him as he veered into a deep rut on the edge of the road. The violent jolt flung three of the Marines out of the rear of the truck, over the steep riverbank, and into the icy, roiling waters of the Pech, ten feet below the road. The convoy screeched to a halt. Bradley, Fisher, and the other Marines jumped into action, scrambling down the embankment and wading into the numbing water as Marines who’d fallen into the river clung to rocks and boulders, fighting off the crushing cold and gasping for breath, the weight of their flak jackets with heavy ceramic plates and helmets filled with water adding to their struggle. “Gimme a fuckin’ HEAD COUNT!” Everybody was there, but one: Joyce.

“Where the FUCK is he?” Fish yelled over the thunderous rush of the pitiless river.