SATAN CAPTURED BY GI’S IN IRAQ
Matheus Macedo WORD COUNT: 950
SATAN CAPTURED BY GI’S IN IRAQ
It was hot; I remember that, if nothing else I'll know that it was hot. We had trouble keeping up morale after a mile or so, you can't be expected to perform in heat like this, it's not natural, Billy called it "Hell's wasteland" and that was the truth, not even Satan would want to live here, that's what everyone always said, but than we found out, it's exactly where he liked to stay.
I only remember bits and pieces, that's why I'm sitting here writing this I guess, trying to remember the in between, trying to remember why it was all so easy for me. The lighting isn't great here, I don't even know if I'm writing in straight lines, but it's okay, no one else has to see this, it's for me. For later. So I don't forget and so I won't convince myself it didn't happen.
We were canvassing the neighborhood, knocking on doors begging for people to help us catch criminals. The heat isn't what got to me most, it was the roundabout way they talked, too scared of the enemy to tell us anything and too scared of us to trust us with any real intel. They'd make your head spin with the circle talk and, lie, man those people would lie. I remember thinking I wish they'd tell us something or shut up. I wished they could just stop babbling on and on about nothing. It was the way they looked at you, like you were some dumb cat they could trick with a laser pointer. And the heat. It was just so damn hot.
As it turns out, if we knew what these people were hiding we wouldn't have been so calm and collected while listening to their lies. It was a son, or a nephew, I'm still not sure which, but whoever he was, he'd been sitting up on the roof of their little mud house the entire time, waiting for us to leave and when we didn't, when the kitty didn't chase the little red dot, he got impatient, maybe the heat got to him.
POP.
Like a firecracker, but only to the untrained ear. To us it was time for war. Redwing went down, I guess he'd been targeted cause he was up front, like a leader, a captain or LT to anyone looking from afar, but we all knew he was there to listen to the conversation; he was trying to learn the language. The boy's family started screaming at him to run, a few of the men secured them. I wish they hadn't. I wish they'd run away and hid somewhere, but they didn't. They just lied there on the sand with their hands behind their backs, screaming at the boy, telling him to run.
I ran behind the wall covering for the guys who ran inside the mud house, the boy was too scared to shoot straight. The Sarge made a suicidal run at him and it paid off. The boy's family screamed and cried but it was our man who was lying in the foreign dirt blood spouting from his neck like some hellish sprinkler system. Their boy was just fine.
We rounded the suspects brought them in the house. It was time to call it in, get some trucks, take Redwing's body back, and take the prisoners in. The LT put me in charge of them. Just me and the bandit family in a tiny room while everyone else waited outside. The men were pretty shaken but mostly pissed, pissed about what happened to our comrade, pissed about the fact that it could have been them. Pissed about the circle talk and the lies. In an environment like that, with anger boiling and the heat so overwhelming, anything could happen. I was the one who always stopped the fights, stopped the drunken arguments from getting out of control. That's why they always put me in charge of watching the enemy. I was a safe bet.
There was a scratching sound in the walls. Screeech. It got louder and louder and stopped, as soon as I stopped looking for the source I heard a voice. "What're are you looking for?" I quickly turned to the father, or uncle, the only other man in the room.
"You speak English you son of a bitch?" The man looked at me with a startled and confused expression. He turned to his wife for counsel. I aimed my gun straight at his face but he had no answers.
"He don't speak a lick of anything that could be considered civilized." The voice was not from the father, or uncle, but from another person in the room. Someone who wasn't there before and who didn't come in through any door. He stood in shadow. I couldn't much see him but I could smell him. He smelled like death.
"Who are you?" I asked, but did I know? Somewhere inside I think I did. I could hear the woman; she started whispering to herself in that filthy language of theirs. Praying I guess.
"You know who. I've been knocking all these years, you finally decide to let me in," He looked around "…Interesting place for it." The gun felt heavy and my palms were clammy. The woman wouldn't shut up; she kept rambling, praying, I couldn't stand that heat. My heart was about to burst. The man in the dark smiled and nodded, and somehow, I understood. By the time the Sarge came in I'd already finished with the woman and boy and was halfway done with the father, or uncle... by that time my hands were so tired from sawing I'd begun to stab. When the GI'S told everyone they'd caught the devil, they were talking about me.
SATAN CAPTURED BY GI’S IN IRAQ
It was hot; I remember that, if nothing else I'll know that it was hot. We had trouble keeping up morale after a mile or so, you can't be expected to perform in heat like this, it's not natural, Billy called it "Hell's wasteland" and that was the truth, not even Satan would want to live here, that's what everyone always said, but than we found out, it's exactly where he liked to stay.
I only remember bits and pieces, that's why I'm sitting here writing this I guess, trying to remember the in between, trying to remember why it was all so easy for me. The lighting isn't great here, I don't even know if I'm writing in straight lines, but it's okay, no one else has to see this, it's for me. For later. So I don't forget and so I won't convince myself it didn't happen.
We were canvassing the neighborhood, knocking on doors begging for people to help us catch criminals. The heat isn't what got to me most, it was the roundabout way they talked, too scared of the enemy to tell us anything and too scared of us to trust us with any real intel. They'd make your head spin with the circle talk and, lie, man those people would lie. I remember thinking I wish they'd tell us something or shut up. I wished they could just stop babbling on and on about nothing. It was the way they looked at you, like you were some dumb cat they could trick with a laser pointer. And the heat. It was just so damn hot.
As it turns out, if we knew what these people were hiding we wouldn't have been so calm and collected while listening to their lies. It was a son, or a nephew, I'm still not sure which, but whoever he was, he'd been sitting up on the roof of their little mud house the entire time, waiting for us to leave and when we didn't, when the kitty didn't chase the little red dot, he got impatient, maybe the heat got to him.
POP.
Like a firecracker, but only to the untrained ear. To us it was time for war. Redwing went down, I guess he'd been targeted cause he was up front, like a leader, a captain or LT to anyone looking from afar, but we all knew he was there to listen to the conversation; he was trying to learn the language. The boy's family started screaming at him to run, a few of the men secured them. I wish they hadn't. I wish they'd run away and hid somewhere, but they didn't. They just lied there on the sand with their hands behind their backs, screaming at the boy, telling him to run.
I ran behind the wall covering for the guys who ran inside the mud house, the boy was too scared to shoot straight. The Sarge made a suicidal run at him and it paid off. The boy's family screamed and cried but it was our man who was lying in the foreign dirt blood spouting from his neck like some hellish sprinkler system. Their boy was just fine.
We rounded the suspects brought them in the house. It was time to call it in, get some trucks, take Redwing's body back, and take the prisoners in. The LT put me in charge of them. Just me and the bandit family in a tiny room while everyone else waited outside. The men were pretty shaken but mostly pissed, pissed about what happened to our comrade, pissed about the fact that it could have been them. Pissed about the circle talk and the lies. In an environment like that, with anger boiling and the heat so overwhelming, anything could happen. I was the one who always stopped the fights, stopped the drunken arguments from getting out of control. That's why they always put me in charge of watching the enemy. I was a safe bet.
There was a scratching sound in the walls. Screeech. It got louder and louder and stopped, as soon as I stopped looking for the source I heard a voice. "What're are you looking for?" I quickly turned to the father, or uncle, the only other man in the room.
"You speak English you son of a bitch?" The man looked at me with a startled and confused expression. He turned to his wife for counsel. I aimed my gun straight at his face but he had no answers.
"He don't speak a lick of anything that could be considered civilized." The voice was not from the father, or uncle, but from another person in the room. Someone who wasn't there before and who didn't come in through any door. He stood in shadow. I couldn't much see him but I could smell him. He smelled like death.
"Who are you?" I asked, but did I know? Somewhere inside I think I did. I could hear the woman; she started whispering to herself in that filthy language of theirs. Praying I guess.
"You know who. I've been knocking all these years, you finally decide to let me in," He looked around "…Interesting place for it." The gun felt heavy and my palms were clammy. The woman wouldn't shut up; she kept rambling, praying, I couldn't stand that heat. My heart was about to burst. The man in the dark smiled and nodded, and somehow, I understood. By the time the Sarge came in I'd already finished with the woman and boy and was halfway done with the father, or uncle... by that time my hands were so tired from sawing I'd begun to stab. When the GI'S told everyone they'd caught the devil, they were talking about me.