Still, it had gotten pretty shaky there toward the end. As the troops drew down, those remaining were blown up more often. Three of the IED strikes had been in his last three weeks in. And the T-man, with fewer targets, was shooting a lot more lead at his MRAP’s armor hoping to find a hole. When he lay down to sleep at night, he could still here the deafening rattle of the gunfire pinging off his vehicle.
Not there anymore. Now here. He’d been saying that to himself a lot lately.
The pack. The trail. Hold the focus. Get your heavy-a*s load moving.
Of course now, without the “Three A’s” of ammo, armor, and more ammo—which still felt weird as hell, like he was walking around n***d—the weight he carried wasn’t all that different.
He’d grown up in downtown Phoenix. Going to college in Miss
