The night

We have driven the sun from the sky and roll on through the night. The trucks are far enough from any city to have left the glow of city lights far below the horizon. A stream of white lights on the empty black desert, the moon is down and only the stars and our lights show for as far as the eye can see. I am listening to Kim Harrison’s first Hollows book on tape as I alternate sitting down in the turret and standing up like my Panzer Commander genes urge me to. Our heater didn’t work when we first drew this truck, the problem is simple, the heater core had been removed or fallen out. The mechanics say it is on back order, like everything else.
The Transmission and thin dog house between the driver and TC keep Life guard and the guest driver for this mission warm. My upper torso is sniveled up, with long underwear, and my First Gear fleece, what motorcycle gear companies could teach the army about staying warm would fill volumes.
“HEY THREE, THIS IS ONE, WE NEED A SHORT HALT TO ADJUST THE HEAD LIGHTS.” The radio crackles. Sasquatch and his minions looking up in the front are asking for a piss break.
“RODGER ONE, BREAK, ALL RED ELEMENTS SHORT HALT.” SSG Moto replies.
The slinky of trucks three or four clicks long begins to compress as each vehicle pulls up to 50 meters from the one in front of it, and turns off it’s lights. In a minute or two we are in complete darkness. The night here is not the enshrouding cloak of Fantasia. It is an emptiness, a lack, there is no moisture in the air, even in the winter. While SSG Lifeguard dismounts and waters the tires I scan the horizon through the pale green of Night vision. Left and right sides clear I take a few seconds to look up.
Millions of dots of light spread from horizon to horizon. First there is Orion, then I begin try to pick out others, Ursa Major and Minor, are all I know. Back to work I scan around. Tonight we are an all green convoy. Army Heavy Equipment Transports fill the gaps between out relatively small escort vehicles.
Truck drivers hold the 88M Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) and are generally not considered the military elite. I know that we have a lot of stupid rules, but their chain of command has been smoking the crack pipe every day. They have to wear body armor to the pre-mission brief, and reflective belts while on the road. The two guys behind me are looking their tiny windows, scanning the horizon. What absolute moron orders his soldiers to wear a reflective belt in the field? I have an urge to find him and take him out with us to pull security in the empty clack knowing that he glows in the dark.
The night is cold, the weather report said in the low 30s or high 20s. It jabs at my body like a knife seeking any chink in the layers of cloth. I stare off at the stars for another few seconds before picking up my scan. It is not the perfect quiet of a desert night, the deep rumble of diesel engines provides a background noise. You never turn off your truck on the road if you can control it. With the state of our trucks it may not turn back on, or you may blow a fuse to the radio. Besides it keeps the crew warm. Back when I was a lot more junior I spent many a night cuddled up to the heat of the transmission in a hummer.
“TRUCK 3 THIS IS SASQUATCH, WE ARE REDCON 1 AND DEFCON 1”
“RODGER, ALL RED ELEMENTS CHARLIE MIKE.”
I can see the lights of the forward security element come on, then on down the road. The lights come to life, I turn off my NVGs and restart the MP3 player. A soft feminine voice is telling me a story. A woman reading to me as I roll down this blank country side. Just like my legs are warm in the truck and my torso freezes in the breeze, my mind is living in two worlds.