THE VOICE OF GOD |

THE VOICE OF GOD
Name: The Usual Suspect
Posting date: 12/3/07
Stationed in: Iraq
Milblog url: theunlikelysoldier.blogspot.com

A fierce and angry, soul-snatching claw wraps around my ankle and jerks at my sleeping bag. I look over my shoulder with perma-sealed sleep eyes and my headphones fall halfway off of my head.

"Wake up, CO needs one vehicle crew to be ready to roll in 20 minutes."

I look at the clock on my computer. The math doesn't add up, because wake-up was supposed to be 0630, but it is clearly two in the morning. No, something about this doesn't add up at all.

I put my uniform on in a stupor, wondering what the hell the deal is. Today's mission was supposed to be another routine borefest, but not in the small hours of the morning. Bullshit.

Out at the trucks, we suck down tiny cans of RipIt, the Army's outsourced energy fuel since RedBull is made by liberal Nazis or something. We wait to leave, rubbing the hibernation sickness out of our eyes.

Standing out of the air guard hatch, flying down the road in the middle of the night with my NODs on (the nightvision shit), the whole world has this bizarre surreal feeling to it. The street lights in the distance along with all the other ambient light create strange glows, and the scenery is all hues of green passing by at 40 miles an hour.

We reach our destination and the ramp drops. I pile out and throw the sling over my shoulder, then start scanning for that boogeyman that isn't even there. We begin our walk to our target. Nightvision in one eye, dim street lights and shadows in the other. Speakers on top of buildings crackle and begin to play.

It's a man alone singing in Arabic. The singing comes in starts and stops, in bursts. The pause...then the next line or verse. It's that haunting Middle Eastern style, the blatantly religious one man choir. Call to Prayer? Or Call to Arms?

My shadow follows me along the walls of courtyards. From the corner of my eye I can see my reflection, all that gear, the rifle, the helmet, and the nightvision optic jutting out. I'm carrying a loadout worth more than my entire enlistment bonus.

The voice starts and stops and we go about our friendly American-style wakeup procedures. Five Star Hotel in nature.

They have some interesting music that creates an odd mood. But then again, so do we...

It is mid afternoon and I am slouching in the back of one of our trucks. We have rigged up speakers and a subwoofer, and I've brought my laptop to plug in so we can have some music on another long and boring day. Until a surprise command of "Dismount" slaps me out of my stupor.

"The Mark Has Been Made" by Nine Inch Nails (featured in the film Man On Fire) is playing as the ramp lowers. Just as the song gets cold and ugly and the drums kick in to deliver that ragged badass moment, we step off of the truck.

An old man with the headdress and all is sitting twenty feet away from us, staring. Kids were running around in the field -- now all their eyes are fixed on us. I wonder what kind of moment they had.