The sun was starting to come up over the horizon, promising another day of heat, the morning already beginning to warm. Sleep cut into my eyes, the hum of promised dreamless sleep hovering on the periphery of my consciousness.

Trucks crushed loose gravel as they rolled out. Team Four was hitting the roads, pulling a convoy back, trying to get out the gate before the window for movement south closed now that the roads were no longer red. Team Six was behind them, waiting to roll. We would follow all of them back, not having to pull a convoy, bringing up the rear. They could proof the lane and if something happened, maybe we could respond.

The sky was a solid blue now, dust filling up the air lethargically. I poured another cup of coffee from the Thermos trying to knock back the edge of drowsiness. Team Six started shuffling to the gate for its departure. We would be rolling soon enough; the heat of the cabin of the truck and the long ride with the monotonous hum of the tires would be enough to bring on the monster of sleep. I needed to be alert.

And then we were suiting up, throwing on armor, rolling for the gate, me bringing up the rear of the patrol, hitting the gate, weapon hot, right hand turn, on into morning. Onto the roads, heading south for home, longing for bed. Passing underneath the Blue Boobies. Over the bridge, onto the Tikrit bypass. The pale colorless sand of the desert visible in the daylight. The hum of the tires and the drone of the engine.

The caffeine was not working as hoped, though. Drowsiness was starting to creep in, that half second delay processing what was going on, that slight pause in recognizing what was there. Or, alternatively, not there.

One came on the net and focused the wandering attention in a hurry. “Team Six up ahead got hit in the vicinity of Check Point One Five Five Alpha. One truck is down and the driver has minor injuries. They are ground-evacking him. QRF is on the scene already outta some place. Only the southbound lane is red, so we should be able to pass on the northbound lane.”

I dutifully relayed that to the crew. We were plenty awake now. The day was heating up, literally and figuratively.

“How far up ahead?” my gunner asked.

I glanced at the map. “Maybe six or seven clicks. Right after the bridge that goes over the Tigris.”

In the distance was the first indication of what was happening: a thin tendril of black smoke, wafting over the road, way off in the distance. We crossed over into the northbound lane, and crept up on the thing in the distance. As we approached, we could see clearly the remains of the trailer, burning furiously, and the smoke thickening as we closed. Ironically, the rusted out remains of another vehicle lay in the sands to the left of the road.

The smoke was thicker now as we passed the dead truck. It was perfectly straight in the road, as though it were frozen in motion, the driver having pressed pause in the picture of life. Right before setting fire to everything and vanishing from sight. Red and orange flames leapt from underneath the truck, pouring through where glass had once been, angry ghosts and spirits freed from the now opened Pandora’s Box. Smoke black as the intent of the attackers came from the tires and the engine, covering the road as we passed through. It was hard to believe that the driver had gotten away at all, let alone with only minor injuries.

A QRF element had set up on the site, pulling security, letting Team Six continue on its mission, waiting for the fire to burn itself out so the recovery team could scrape up what was left from the roads. From the looks of it, this would only be another rippled spot in the road from where the heat melted and deformed the asphalt. Maybe. Then again, maybe the cargo would be salvaged. We passed through the smoke, crossed back into the southbound lane, and continued on.

“Okay, heads up people,” I yelled out. “This is going to get sketchy.”

The radio crackled. Team Four was stopped ahead, Team Six behind it. Team Four had been hit this time, ahead at check Point One Five Five Alpha. RPGs and small arms fire. “They have two trucks down.”

“Gun trucks?” someone asked on the net.

“Negative, it sounds like tractor trailers,” came the reply. “I’m on their net now trying to find out what happened.”

Shit. We continued on south, slowly moving up on the mess ahead. “They have pulled the hit convoy ahead, and Team Six is behind that stopped on the road. They are reporting continued small arms, so heads up. The fire is coming from the east, so keep an eye out.”

We caught the end of Team Six and came to a halt. “Hey, they have small arms on the left, so face that way,” I told my gunner. “But keep an eye out everywhere. We’re kind of the ass end of this whole shit-pot.” I glanced to the right, watching for whatever was going to rear its ugly head and say boo.

The heat and boredom were starting to get to me. I shifted around in my seat to keep from getting too comfortable in on spot. A splash of water and a quick drink. I reached over and turned up the speakers of the radio. Noise, any kind, was needed. Music, especially loud, mad, angry-at-the-world-and-my-parents kind of music, kept the mind going. Pointless conversation back and forth on inane randomness. Something, anything, to keep tabs on each other and make sure that the eyes and ears were not closed. Light up another cigarette after the last one was thrown into a nearly empty water bottle to have something to do. Fuck, this was a bitch sometimes. Hand to gland combat with the sleep monster, fighting the forces of boredom. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and popped open the door. Out onto the street I stepped.

I still had the radio mike jammed in my helmet so that I could hear the traffic on the net. Pulling out my rifle, I pulled the mike cables taut and closed the door with a heavy metallic *clump*. If nothing else, keep the ballistic protection of the vehicle for the rest of the crew. No use having stuff go through an open door. Can’t make it too easy for The Bad Guys.

The heat and standing did me some good, even though I was effectively leashed to the truck, able to take two steps in any direction. The weight of armor and moving around a little got the heart pumping a little, brushing away the drowsy fringes. After a few moments of exposing myself to the outside world, I got back in the truck and lit a cigarette.

One came across the net. “Okay, here’s what we have. Team Four has two tractor trailers down, no MEDEVAC needed, and recovery is coming up. Once they get on the scene, Recovery will take control of the downed vehicles and we will roll. Recovery is expected in ten minutes or so.”

“No MEDEVAC?”

“Nah, the trucks got shot up, but the drivers were treated at the scene and okay, so they are going to ride out on the other trucks.”

We kept an eye out. After a few minutes, One came back on the net. “Recovery just got ambushed about a click south of the site. They’re stopped on the road, and QRF is en route now. They say that they were hit from the east, too, so keep your eyes open to the left.”

“Any idea what they got hit with?”

“More small arms and possibly an RPG.”

Shit. This was getting out of control. Usually this sort of thing is a hit and run. Cook a couple of trucks and split. At least we didn’t have any cats to herd to complicate this. Maybe since we were running dead head, we could help out somehow.

“Can we move up?” someone asked.

“I’m asking them right now,” One called back.

I leaned back so the crew could hear me better. “Recovery got hit before they got to the site. Small arms and RPG. It came from about 11 o’clock or so to us, a couple of clicks ahead from here, so stay alert.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope. This could get interesting fast. One is finding out if we can move up and help out somehow seeing as how we are dead heading.”

A few moments later we got the answer. “Okay, we are going to move up past Team Six on the other side of the road and set up near the downed trucks. We’ll secure the site until recovery makes it up with QRF.” And with that, we started to move up.

The sun kept rising with the heat, beads of sweat rolling down our faces smearing our sunglasses. Air conditioning struggled to keep up and keep the temperature reasonable, or at least bearable, in the truck with no success. Civilian cars were stacked up on the road now, falling in behind the trail convoy staged on the road.

Impatient and unable to pass us, the civilian traffic was passing on the surrounding country, following a set of train tracks to the west looking for a bypass. The fire coming from the opposite side, this was at least a safer route for them. Hopefully, if there were any forces to the west, the traffic would provide some cover. Or, barring that, provide some warning to us when they scattered like birds or disintegrated in a ball of fire.

The two downed trucks were plainly visible as we came up on the scene. One each on the left and the right skidded into ditches during the firefight. The one on the right was simply jackknifed, canted slightly, resting in some brush that lined that side of the road. The one on the left had fared worse, rolling over on its side as it crashed off the roadway, leaving a trail of broken glass and fluids on the road.

In the course of the radio chatter, we discover that these two were not actually hit. In fact, no vehicle was. The volume of fire and the passing rockets scared the crap out of the drivers. As a result, they panicked, overcorrected with the steering, and crashed. Thus, the minor injuries to the drivers and no need for evacuation. Good thing for seatbelts, though, since the one truck took one hell of a spill going down.

Ahead, we could see the outline of the first tank from the approaching QRF appear over a distant rise in the road. Immediately behind there was a second one, leading the pack of gun trucks that was responding to the ambush of the recovery element. They were clearing the way and escorting the other vehicles up to the site, providing some extra muscle if it was needed.

Suddenly the turrets on the tanks traversed over sharply and the tanks pulled over in that direction, engines throttling up to a while. The first left the road, leaving a wake of dust, chasing after something in the surrounding country. Civilian cars stopped where they were, scattering in some places, still too far to interfere with operations, but too close for the drivers’ comfort.

Shots rang out, and the first tank weaved around the obstacles in its path, the coaxial machine gun letting loose. The gun trucks left on the road halted and pulled security, focusing more in the direction that the tank took off in. His wingman of the second tank puttered along behind, swinging wide to flush out whatever it is that they were chasing. Turrets on the gun trucks swiveled idly, spectators to the bigger brothers out chasing the bullies.

One came on the net. “QRF is reporting small arms fire coming from eleven o’clock. They took off after it, but recovery is stopped and refusing to come on until it is clear.”

This was really getting out of hand. “Hey,” I called to my crew. “Those dumb asses opened up on the tanks. The fire came from eleven o’clock. It was small arms, but they had RPGs here earlier, so keep an eye out.”

The tanks came rolling back towards the road, crossed it, and headed to the other side. Something, or some things, had gotten their attention. They were in a mood to give back some undivided attention from the looks of it. After a few minutes of wandering around, though, and no more fire, they were satisfied and stilled. The recovery trucks came up with their gun trucks and started to set up shop.

A few minutes later the call came. “Okay, Recovery has control of the scene, so we are going to be moving out. We are going to move up along Team Four and take the lead. Two, when you are ready, go ahead and roll out.”

“Okay, kids,” I called to the crew. “We’re rolling soon. We’re going to move past Team Four and lead the way home.” Shortly after, Three pulled out and we tucked in behind them, moving past the trucks of the other convoy one by one until we had cleared them and their gun trucks. Once free, we opened it up and set the normal pace.

Soon enough, though, Team Four called us. One relayed the message to us. “Get this. Team Four said they want us to pick up the pace.”

“To what?” asked Two.

“They said that if we didn’t start going faster, they would pass us and take the lead.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? What do they want to do?”

“Fifty or fifty-five.”

“That’s why they get blown up all the time.”

“I thought of that. So, let’s take it up five and see how that goes. If you start feeling froggy, let me know and they can pass us and get blown up for all I care.”

So we bumped it up. They egged us on a little, but we found a balance of speed to get home, and comfort that we could react.