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“You ever fuck a lady boy?” I ask, smiling.

“What the fuck? A lady boy? Fuck no!” Navas laughs and fakes throwing up into his mic. Do they not hear how loud that shit is? Pull the mic away from your faces, assholes!

“You know, I’ve heard surgery is so good over there that you can’t even tell a procedure has been done,” I say, causing the radio to sit silent for a moment. Then Elkins and Thomas burst out laughing, and Dixon goes back to playing with the navigation.

Navas clears his throat and turns his attention back to Elkins. “Elkins, you’re twenty years old. You got a lot more living, and a hell of a lot more fuckin’ to do before you get to my level.”

“Well … Thomas is a fuckin’ virgin!” Elkins huffs and prods a finger into Thomas’s ear, causing him to jerk his head away.

“I'm not a virgin, you fucking asshole.” Thomas keeps his attention on the road, his rich, olive-colored eyes watching intently as he guides the Humvee off the dirt path and onto a paved four-lane highway. This particular road is essential for travel and is one we use nearly every day.

“One girl and a hand job is pretty much a virgin, dude,” Elkins chides.

"I told you that in confidence, fuck stick. Fuck you! With all the Arkansas trailer trash you've been with, your dick is about ready to fall off anyway. I'll take my one bitch and a hand job any fucking day, bro,” Thomas snaps, shooting a glare toward Elkins through the rearview.

“Fuck you, dude!” Elkins yells, playfully kicking the back of Thomas’s seat, causing the Humvee to swerve. I backhand him hard on the arm.

“Hey dumbass, don’t fuck with the driver—” I swallow my next words as an explosion erupts in the distance, so strong it violently rattles our Humvee. Navas instinctually dives from the turret hatch down into the vehicle.

“Well, fuck,” he says, climbing back onto the turret strap almost as quickly as he came down.

"What the fuck! Where the fuck was that from?" Thomas asks, slowing the vehicle down a bit.

"Keep driving, Thomas." I reach for my headset and click the button that communicates between each Humvee. I call up the last one in our convoy. "Gator three Alpha, this is Gator four Bravo, are you guys okay?"

The radio fizzles a second before Sergeant Adams’ voice breaks through. "Roger. We’re all good. Nothing hit any of us."

"Roger that. Sounds like it came from our six o'clock. Making a U-turn. Over,” I say, directing Thomas to make the turn. He clutches the steering wheel so hard his skin turns white as he traverses the unpaved median, the easiest place to plant a roadside bomb. I hold my breath. I don’t know why, but I always do.

"FUCK! You guys see that?" As Navas says this, I see what he’s talking about. An enormous plume of thick black smoke breaches the clouds about a mile down the road, just off the highway. It owns the sky. This is a bad one.

"What the fuck, man? Must have been a car bomb. No way we would've felt it from that far away otherwise." I take it all in for a second, wondering what exactly we are about to encounter and praying that there are no casualties on our side. Or women. Or children. Fuck, why does anyone have to die?

I tap Lieutenant Dixon on the shoulder. "Sir, do you want me to call this in to headquarters? See if we can get some support?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I was just about to have you do that," Dixon says through a tight jaw. His sweat now runs freely down the back of his neck. I can hear the fear behind his words and it makes me hate him that much more.

I call in the blast and ask for another squad to meet us onsite just as we pull up to the carnage. No U.S. casualties that I can see. No women or children either. I’m thankful for that at least.

The target was an Iraqi police checkpoint. I see a shredded engine block at the bottom of a hole that’s three feet deep and five feet wide. The pit is charred black and contains mangled pieces of what was once a Geo Metro. More parts lie upwards of a hundred yards away, and three police trucks are lying damaged around the pit. The distinct smell of cooked flesh and burnt fuel begins to creep into the vehicle, thick and nauseating, as we come to a stop. I scan the area through the windshield and see some police scattered around the hole with missing arms or legs—or in some cases, both. They writhe on the ground, moaning in agony. They paw at raw stumps or tightly grip limbs hanging by threads of skin.

Others are just fragments of human beings left adorning the sides of neighboring homes to cake in the afternoon sun. The police who remain untouched are coated black with ash and wandering aimlessly, some howling into the sky.

Erratic rounds start to come in around us, some kicking up dirt and rocks while others pierce homes and damaged police trucks.

“Where the fuck is that coming from?” I ask, peering as best I can through the window.

“Elkins, grab me the binos,” Navas barks down through the hatch. Elkins frantically digs through the trunk compartment using a slot in the back. He locates the binoculars and passes them off quickly. Navas waits for the fire to stall, then takes a long look through the binos as I anxiously wait for word. He slowly lowers himself into the vehicle and sets the binoculars beside him. “Son of a bitch!” The words erupt from his mouth. “Motherfuckers!” He tears the headset from his head and throws it to the Humvee floor. “It’s the other fucking checkpoint. The fuckin’ IPs are firing on us from the other fuckin’ checkpoint, man. God fuckin’ damn it!”

I look to Dixon whose hands fidget with his headset, his gaze fixated on the navigation and bottom lip clutched nervously between his teeth.

“Sir, we’ve gotta do something. There are either dumbass motherfuckers at that checkpoint, or we’ve got enemy dressed like IPs,” Navas says to Lieutenant Dixon.

No response.

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“Sir, we’ve gotta do something! We’re just sitting ducks here.” I try my hardest to subdue the anger in my voice, but I fail to do so and Dixon picks up on it.