Without warning

‘Goddamn,’ muttered one of the sergeants, loud enough for Melton to hear. The enlisted men around him strained to pick up a few clues without being too obvious about it. They were spread out along a side street running between two shops, both of which had been cleared not fifteen minutes earlier. Euler had men inside both, and crawling around on the rooftops, denying the high ground to any hostiles. Anxiety crept stealthily down the line of soldiers, as men who’d been sitting in the dirt, catching a few minutes’ respite, picked up on the changed vibe in the leadership group and slowly began to attend to them. Eyes that had been closed now cracked open, heads turned almost imperceptibly, bodies shifted just a little bit, leaning in towards the lieutenant, hoping to catch some scrap of information that might provide a clue as to what mess they’d stepped in now.

At last the NCOs dispersed down the line, carrying the news with them. Corporal Shetty – a short, dense, African-American version of The Thing from The Fantastic Four - rumbled over, his face a study in disgust.

‘Choppers had to bug out,’ he informed them. Suddenly Melton realised for the first time that the constant droning thud of the Apaches and Blackhawks that had shepherded them through the dusty maze of An Nasiriyah was missing. He saw men craning their heads upwards all along the shadowed alleyway as they heard the news.

Alcibiades asked the obvious question. ‘Why?’

Shetty glared at him, like the absence was his fault. ‘Fucking Iranians,’ he said, as if those two words were enough. When they were found to be patently not enough, however, he continued. ‘Iran declared war on America an hour ago. Their air force is up and trying to punch through, to get to us. It is a full-on fur ball out in the Gulf. Hundreds of speed boats and jet skis. All of ‘em suicide runners. They been swarmin’ the navy. Air force and some British units are mixing it up with the Iranian planes right now, trying to keep ‘em off us here.’

‘Holy shit,’ cursed Alcibiades, his swarthy features paling noticeably.

‘Yeah, anyway. Choppers are outta here for the moment. If we want air cover, we gotta call in A-10s, and they’re only coming when they can get their own cover. It’s fucked up.’

‘Shit, what about arty then?’ Some private, he was a replacement pulled out of the division’s 123rd Signal Battalion and it showed every time he nearly shot himself in the foot with his M16. Melton stayed far away from him, because it was going to end in tears for that commo puke. He knew it in his bones.

‘They’re busy hammering a column of Republican Guard who are trying to get to us,’ Shetty said. ‘So no artillery, no air, nothing but Buffalo Soldiers and the grunts.’

Melton yawned so hard he nearly swallowed his stale wad of chew. He was exhausted but it was a nervous gesture too, one of his personal ‘tells’ that he was under pressure. He fingered the crap out of his mouth, took a sip from his camel-back and tapped Corporal Shetty on the shoulder.

‘Corporal, is it just Iran?’ he asked. ‘Do we know if anyone else is moving? Syria, Israel maybe?’

The non-com’s head swivelled like a gun turret. Back and forth, once. ‘Dunno, Mr Melton. You’d be better placed to find out than any of us, if your satellite phone is working.’

‘Battery’s dead. Went down yesterday and I haven’t been able to recharge,’ Melton said. ‘Sat coverage has gotten awfully spotty of late anyway.’

Shetty took that piece of news like a dustbowl farmer absorbing yet another month without rain. Such was life. ‘Lieutenant’s talking with Lohberger, getting instructions,’ he went on. ‘If we can’t hammer down the bad guys with air support, it makes this whole deal a lot fucking harder.’

‘But the brass still wants this bridge,’ Melton said without any real enthusiasm.

‘Yep. They still want it. Why they want it, I’ve no fucking clue, but they still want it.’

‘Man, this is totally fucked,’ said Bakic. ‘What the fuck are we even doing here? It sure as shit ain’t paying the rent anymore.’

‘What we’re doing here, bitch,’ growled Shetty, ‘is trying to get the fuck outta the ‘hood without losing too many worthless motherfuckers like you along the way. That good enough reason for you? Or would you like to just lay down your fucking arms and walk out there and tell the towel heads, “Yo, dogs, it’s my bad. I’m gonna ease on up outta here and head back to my new crib up in Alaska, yo”? Is that what you want to do, Private?’

The chastened soldier mumbled something like ‘Sorry Corporal, no Corporal’ and devoted himself to the intense study of the dirt at his feet. Up and down the line, similar scenes played themselves out as the men dealt with the shock of losing their air cover and gaining a new enemy.