Mortality

At home, in the states we live in such a safe and organized world. We rely on the law, the cops to keep us safe. There are rules and people follow them. What we don’t realize about the rest of the world, the world that most of our global population lives in, doesn’t have those safeguards. In this world might makes right.
It is a rare car on the road that does not carry an AK. Armed men, what the press calls militias protect villages. Inner city gangs started this way. The veneer of our world is not so thick. Into this world we came, the biggest and baddest gang the world has seen. Some people don’t adjust well.
In an armed world power is so fleeting. We are all just seconds, just ounces of pressure on a trigger from becoming a chunk of meat assuming ambient temperature. Usually that moment can come and go and we never know it.

It was a longer than usual mission to a new FOB. This route required us to push through one of the larger cities here. The run out was a little interesting, but mostly long and cold. Escorting a chunk of army Heavy Equipment Transports, (think flat bed trailers designed to drive a tank onto). On the way back this was a stroke of luck as one of our trucks finally had its generator give up the ghost. With a truck down SSG Moto reorganized to put my truck up in the number two slot.
The desert is cold at night, at least in the winter. We rolled back through that city, a dozen miles from COB Allahlone a little after midnight. One major intersection for us to block. Mighty Mouse was on leave in the beautiful garden nation of Qatar so one of the Lieutenants was filling in.
We pulled into the middle of the intersection, and stopped with my gun pointing over the right side into traffic. The convoy started to roll by behind us. The first few cars stopped, then a white BMW slid through the other cars and rolled towards us. A car all our armor would probably not help us if a car bomb blew up under my barrel. I shined my laser aiming dot at him, and he slowed but kept creeping forward.
How close is too close? When does he go from a guy cutting to the front of the line to a enemy intent on our death? I reached up and fired a pin flare at him. The permanent marker sized launcher is clumsy in my hands. I say “Pin flare” as I snap the trigger. Nothing.
The car keeps rolling, I re-cock and fire it again. A ball of burning phosphorus flies out and bounces off the pavement in of the car, bouncing off into the night. The car keeps rolling. I lean over the ‘240 the triangle aiming dot on the hood of the white BMW. It does not fit the suicide bomber profile, being new and all. I can’t see the occupants.
The ball of my index finger press the safety from SAFE to FIRE, my finger curls around the trigger. My left hand up on top of the stock, holding it tight into my shoulder. Below me CPL W.T. has dismounted, the sound of his armored door pings on the back of my consciousness.
The car stops. In the reflection of the street lamp, I can see two men in the front seat. I recognize the expression on their faces. It is the same one I see as I in my mirror when splitting lanes through rush hour traffic. Frustration at being late. We wait for the convoy to pass, looking at him over my gun sites.
SGT Bulldog bmps us out of the the blocking position, I keep the gun on him, watching SGT Nasty’s laser meet mine on the hood. We speed away into the night.
A little misunderstanding, and he came so close to being chewed into chunks of meat, and assuming the freezing ambient temperature.