The Fog of War

The sun roasted the armored Humvee, turning it into a well-heated oven that we all despised. Dust clung to every sweat pore, crusting around our eyes and mouth as the driver launched down the barren desert road. All heads cast down to hide the fear and doubt we felt, knuckles white around rifles to hide the trembles of adrenaline flooded our systems. The dusty brakes of the old Humvee pierced our ears with a high pitch scream as it slammed to a stop. Sprinting out of the safety of the truck, establishing the defense we rehearsed and practiced for months. SNAP, dust flew up from beside me. CONTACT FRONT I yelled throat bleeding from the dry weather mixed with the strain on my voice. SNAP, someone collapses. BREAK, BREAK, BREAK, echos over the radio as all other voices leave the frequency. STAND BY FOR CAS EVAC NINE LINE. SNAP, the world slowed, dust settled, SNAP, no enemy in sight, sand exploded somewhere behind. FALLBACK, Sargent Ghramm screamed! One at a time we left our positions. Throwing gear and diving into the truck, that we so hated moments before. Hands grabbed and placed the last man on the dusted metal between the seats. Red lines pushed their way through the dust and grim in his uniform, penetrating the folded flag that lived in his pocket forcing the pure white stars to retreat, leaving sinister crimson ones in their place.