The Sandbox is a Hellhole
Date unspecified, Somewhere in Iraq and Afghanistan
The Sandbox was a hellhole. Mason McAllistar, Mac to the men of the motor pool, had been here for nearly two and a half years already. It was only getting worse. Rumor had it, though, that the battalion might be getting transferred. Trading one hellhole for another he was pretty sure. Walking back to the tent he shared with five other men from the pool, Mac rubbed the sweat off his forehead with his shirt. There were perks to being here. The game of pick-up football that he’d just finished was one of those things – the guys were generally good people and he enjoyed the camaraderie he’d built with them. He ducked through the open flap and headed for his footlocker to retrieve his shower gear. A “day off” had a whole different connotation here; it didn’t really exist except in terms of having no particular duties to attend to.
A low wolf whistle sounded behind him and Mac looked over his shoulder to see the newest guy in their tent coming through the flap. He was staring at the lid of Mac’s footlocker where the only picture he’d brought with him from stateside was tacked to the inside. “Who’s the looker?” Ruckus asked. “Man, you can’t tell me an old guy like you has a hottie like that at home. Seriously? Christ, what’d you do, man sell your soul?”
Griff and Pendleton walked through the flap as Mac went back to pulling out his towel and soap. “None of your business, Ruckus.” The kid was barely 19 and he hadn’t been in the tent more than a week. Mac’s personal business was just that, and the rest of the guys in the tent had already learned to leave that photo out of any conversation. The two who’d just walked in were two of the only three people in the entire US Army who knew the story of Caroline Thibideaux of Natchez.
Pendleton glanced at Griff and jerked a chin toward Ruckus, whose real name was Randolph. The nickname had been earned by virtue of the fact that no matter where the goddamned kid went on post right now a fight was sure to follow. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut. About anything.
Griff just shook his head. Better the kid learned early on that the girl in the photo was off-limits to any kind of comment. Ruckus rambled up closer behind Mac, leaning down to look closer. “She’s about the sweetest-looking thing I’ve seen. Is she your sister, man?”
Mac slammed the lid of the footlocker. “No.” He stood up and turned to face the kid. “And she’s not your fucking business, Ruck, so shut up about it.”
“Ooooh. Hit a nerve. She your girlfriend then?”
“She’s just a friend.” Mac moved to push past Ruckus, slanting a glance at Pendleton and Griff. Both men were watching with amused smirks, Griff with his arms crossed. Shit, just what he needed. A green noob to put in his place. Why did they keep sticking the kids in with his guys? Seriously.
“Well, if she’s just a friend, maybe you can introduce me,” Ruck begged. He really was a decent kid, but he was just that – a kid. “Man, oh man, I bet she’s got the hottest mouth in the South,” the kid groaned out, the fantasy already taking shape.
Before he knew what hit him the kid was up against the center tent pole with Mac’s hand around his throat tightly. Blue eyes cold as ice were slit to an evil expression. “Kid, you’re new here,” Mac ground out between gritted teeth. “So I’m going to tell you this one time. I ever catch you lookin’ in my shit again, I ever even think you’re fantasizing about that woman, I will rip your dick off and make you eat it. We clear?”
Ruckus looked absolutely terrified. He squeaked out, “Yeah, man! Sorry! I’m clear!” He could barely breathe for the hand at his throat.
Mac dropped him to the floor and walked out of the tent, heading for the showers. The last two men who lived in their tent got out of his way, letting him pass before they ducked inside. “What the fuck’s got Mac’s shorts in a twist?” asked Kane.
Griff gestured at Ruck, who was climbing to his feet next to the center pole. “Dickwad saw Caroline.”
Tanner groaned. “Aw, man! That means Sarge’s gonna be in a piss mood for the rest of down time.” He looked at Ruck. “Fuck’s sake, kid, can’t you keep your mouth shut?”
Pendleton dropped onto his bunk, putting his hands behind his head.
Ruckus just gaped at the group. “You guys knew that was gonna happen!” he accused. “Why didn’t you do anything and make him quit? He coulda killed me!”
Griff rolled his eyes. “Yeah. He coulda. He doesn’t have to, though, does he? Cuz you have a big mouth but you’re smart enough never to bring her up again, right?”
Tanner walked over to the small table in the middle of the tent and Kane pulled out a deck of cards. “Poker, you guys?”
Ruckus just stared. “We’re just gonna play poker like nothing happened?”
Griff pulled bottles of water out of the small fridge on the other side. “Yep,” he said lazily. “We are. You in or out, Pen?”
“But….”
Pendleton didn’t get off his bunk yet. “In,” he finally spoke up. “But nothin’, kid,” he drawled. He and Mac had mustered in together and of the rest of the group he knew Mac the best. “Drop it. He’ll cool off. Maybe by the time he’s done in the shower cuz he knows you’re a friggin’ horndog and a bigmouth. Just pretend it didn’t happen, and don’t ever bring it up again.”
Ruckus just swallowed hard at the men and nodded slowly. “O… okay.”
Kane asked, “You in, kid?”
The entire battalion was exhausted. Leave time was nonexistent for most of them. If Iraq was a hellhole, Afghanistan was worse. Mac couldn’t remember what civilian life was like. Four years out here and what he missed the most was sweet tea. No matter how well the mess hall did tea, there was nothing quite like sweet tea in Mississippi.
“Hey man, get your head out of your ass,” Pendleton quipped. “You can’t have short-timer syndrome yet. It’s three months still.”
Mac chuckled. “Nah, it’s not that.” They were driving down a rutted road with Griff and Howard in the back seat. “I was actually thinking I can’t fuckin’ remember what ‘normal’ is like. And if I’d be able to go back.”
Pen smirked at him from the driver’s seat. “Well, you said you had a couple of those bands from the USO who might be interested in your management skills. Look ‘em up when you get back. You’ll settle in.” His eyes went back to the road. “You could always go somewhere other than Natchez, you know. Hell, head for Nashville or something.”
“Eh, I don’t know,” Mac demurred. “We’ll have to see how it plays out. Oh , shit, watch it, Pen!”
Pendleton saw the dead dog on the side of the road at the same time Mac did, swerving the wheel hard left to avoid the carcass.
The next thing Mac knew, he was waking up. And he hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. The HumVee was upside down and his ears were ringing like mad. What the hell? Turning his head, he realized he was hanging in his seatbelt upside down. Pendleton wasn’t moving and he couldn’t hear anything from the back seat either. Struggling to get himself loose, Mac dropped to the roof-turned-floor of the vehicle clumsily, his balance off. A quick check assured him that Pen was alive, just unconscious. He squirmed about trying to check the back seat, but there wasn’t room. He crawled backward out his window and tried to wrench the back door open to get at Griff and Howard.
When the back door finally came open, something fell out onto his foot. He stared in dumb shock at the arm from the elbow down that rested there. Goddamn it, he kept telling Griff not to prop his fucking arm on the sill! How many times did he have to tell the man?
Mac’s eyes came up and his gut clenched. Shrapnel from the bomb had shredded half of the man’s face off and in spite of the helmet and armor Mac could see from the way his eyes stared blankly at the sky that Griff wouldn’t ever hear his bitching again. He checked in vain for a pulse, but only because it seemed like the last thing he could do for his friend.
Howard, on the far side of the car, started to come around. The sound of gunfire from somewhere in the canyon to the west of them galvanized Mac to action. “Howard,” he barked. “Get up, man. Get on the horn and give the base our coordinates.” He pulled back out of the car and climbed up on top of it to get a better look.
When he climbed back down, Howard was groggily climbing out of the window on his side, hauling the radio gear with him. “Tell ‘em we’re going to be moving .75 kliks southwest – there are some caves there and we’ll hole up til the helo gets here. We’ve got hostiles not more than 2 kliks away from us, they need to hurry. We’ve got one man down and one man unconscious.”
Howard fiddled with the radio quickly, sending out their distress call. As soon as an acknowledgement came back, he hauled himself to his feet and pulled the gear onto his back. Without another word between them, the two men pulled their comrades from the vehicle. Because of their heights, Mac was better suited to handling Griff and letting Howard take Pen. They were going to have to move fast to get secure before those tangos got to them. And hauling 180 lbs-plus of dead weight each wasn’t going to make things simple.
“Hoo-rah, Howard,” Mac gritted out, hoisting the body of Griff onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry so that he could keep his M4 slung across his front. “You ready, man?”
“Ready as it gets,” Howard grunted. “Pen’s coming around.”
Indeed the tall Norse-looking soldier was lifting his head to demand, “What the fuck?” in a dazed voice.
Howard hauled him upright, holding one of Pen’s arms around his shoulders and his own arm around the man’s waist. “On your feet, fucker. You’re too heavy to carry all the way. Move it. Tangos incoming.”
Pendleton was a good soldier. He fumbled for his machine gun and then let Howard hoist him up. He was limping but it was better than unconscious.
The small squad of men moved as quickly as they could, Howard taking the time to try to cover their tracks. In spite of the fact that Mac was bleeding from shrapnel wounds to his face and arm, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. In the instant the explosion ripped through the car he’d turned his back and caught most of it on his armor. He was torn up, but he wasn’t dripping blood or anything.
Once all of them were in the cave that Mac had spotted, he and Howard went back out and did what they could to camouflage their hiding place.
“ETA on the helo?” Mac asked quietly as they piled brush.
Checking his watch, Howard grimaced. “We gotta hold out for half an hour, man.”
Scrambling back into their cover, leaving Pen leaning back against the cave wall with his concussion – or at least that’s what Mac was assuming it was – the two men took watch.
It was a harrowing half hour. Ragged Afghan militia men were combing the area near the truck, slowly spreading out. And it’s not as if they were able to do a great job covering their tracks. There were still ten minutes remaining to the evac chopper’s arrival when one of the soldiers picked up their trail and gestured excitedly to his friends. They all made straight for the caves.
When the helo arrived, Howard and Mac were shooting at nearly a dozen men out front of their cave. Thank God there were men with mounted weapons that helo. It came around for several passes, the high-powered gunfire from the doors scattering the tangos on the ground. Only then did the helo set down. A six-man team poured out of the doors, covering their escape as Mac carried Griff’s body with him and Howard helped Pendleton to the vehicle.
It was a hell of a way to end a tour. Mac had thought that all of his guys were going to make it. He looked out over the desolate landscape as they lifted off, his expression bleak.
