We unloaded the vehicles and found ourselves under the direction of First Sergeant Keating, the company First Sergeant for 3/11 Kilo Battery. He stood tall but looked worn down. I took his demeanor for what it was—a man who had been through too much in a very short period of time. As the augmenting force, we were only going to complete the deployment, which meant we had a little over three, maybe four months out here. If First Sergeant’s face were any indication of what we were in for, I was ready for the most hellish months of my life.

“Welcome to Camp Fallujah, Marines. As you know, you were sent here to help augment the infantry units. It’s no secret that we’re taking hits left and fucking right. All of you are experienced in theater. Nothing has changed. Stay on high alert, and keep your fucking head down.”

“Oorah!”

“Where is Sgt. Cruz?”

“Right here, First Sergeant.”

“I’ll need to see you Sergeant. The rest of you go to the last tent and check in with Admin. You’ll get assigned your bunks and be ready to go at zero seven.”

The guys walked down the long, dirt walkway to the last tent on the left. First Sergeant Keating and I stepped into a vacant tent at the front of the camp.

“I spoke with Master Sergeant Finny just before you boys arrived here. He says you’ve been selected for Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, I have, First Sergeant.”

“You’ll pin on in the next couple of weeks. In the meantime, you’ll carry the Staff NCO billet. We’re getting picked like sitting fucking ducks out there, Cruz. I know you have multiple deployments of combat experience, but some of these guys have never been and are scared to fucking death. I need you to lead, do you understand that?”

“Yes, First Sergeant.”

“Good. Head on down to the tent. Have the boys up and fed by zero seven. We have a briefing to go over in the morning.”

“Will do, First Sergeant.”

He nodded his head then turned and walked away. He wasn’t a man to mince words. The insurgents in this area were quick and deadly, and apparently were winning the battle. I had a task on my hands, and although it wasn’t ideal, I relished it. Being in theater was a double-edged sword: no one wanted to face death every time they stepped outside of the confines of base, but once you were in the thick of it, it filled your veins and powered you. It was now your challenge, your lifeline. You embraced it and moved on, or you dreaded it, then succumbed to it. I was not going with the latter.

After checking in with Admin and finding my tent and cot, I tried the phone center, hoping I could call Cassie and hear her sweet voice before the bullshit started. No luck. Because we had taken so many casualties in the last couple of days, we’d been put in River City. No communication was to get out until all next of kin had been notified. It could be days before I’d be able to talk to her. The thought pissed me off, but I understood the reasoning. The last thing we needed was someone finding out through the grapevine that their loved one had died. That shit had happened before, and it was insensitive as fuck.

Morning came before I knew it. I had the guys up and in the chow hall, then back to the meeting area for our briefing from First Sergeant for the day.

Corporal Vega was a twenty-one year old kid from El Paso, Texas. He had been to Iraq once before and had earned a Purple Heart for taking shrapnel to his legs from a roadside bomb. It was nice to know that he was battle tested. He knew exactly what to expect, and he’d be an asset when we were in the streets of this fucking hell hole.

Lance Corporal White was a nineteen year old kid who had been to Iraq once before. He had a wife back in Twentynine who was pregnant with their first kid. He looked a lot like Dalton—tall and blond with blue eyes and a baby face. I couldn’t believe this kid, after only two years in the Corps, was already back in this fucking sandbox for a second time. But alas, he was, and like Vega, he was an asset.

Finally, there was Lance Corporal Avery, a twenty year old who had never seen land outside of the United States. Fear blanketed this kid from head to toe. He was nervous, jumpy and worried me. The last thing I needed was a kid who would shoot at anything moving, putting the rest of us in danger. I quickly reigned his ass in and let him know that this shit was real, and it was time to man up.

In our briefing, First Sergeant informed us that most casualties were coming from IEDs, followed by ambush. The insurgents in the area were growing bolder, and it was spilling into the sister town of Ramadi. I had seen this shit too many times to grow complacent. A simple drive outside the gates could turn into the fucking fight of your life. It was that simple. Stay locked and loaded and keep your head down. That was the key to surviving this shit.

A few days went by, and communication was still locked down. I couldn’t remember it ever taking this long and I was growing antsy and overly impatient because I hadn’t spoken to Cassie.

In the few days that my boots had touched down on Iraqi soil, fierce clashes between our forces and theirs raged throughout the city. Contractors had been ambushed and kidnapped, and now our forces were on the prowl to find them with explicit orders to shoot and kill anyone who posed a threat. Tensions were high, and trigger fingers were ready.

This was a replay of the time I lost six of my brothers and felt as if I should have died with them. Having the shaking rookie with me wasn’t making that feeling any fucking better.

Our third mission was quite eventful. A terrorist safe haven was scouted on the outskirts of town, posing as a children’s playhouse. Kids filled the street just before it, playing soccer and talking to Marines as we patrolled the area. Suspicious looks always met us from the adults at the house. They never spoke, and watched us carefully. It was as if they thought we’d make off with their kids, but that was the last thing on our mind. These kids were funny but obnoxious. It made me thankful that I didn’t have any, and wouldn’t for a long while if I had anything to say about it.

Cpl. Vega led his usual patrol path, running across a long cord poorly hidden in the dirt that lined the streets. Following the cord, he found what looked like an old beat up cell phone attached to it. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it was, and he immediately radioed in for help.

“What is that?” Avery asked, lips quivering as he held his rifle in the ready position. If the situation we were in weren’t so serious, I would have laughed at him.

“It’s an IED, Avery. Calm down. EOD will be here shortly to get rid of it.”

He nodded, eyes wide and breathing hard. The poor kid was on high alert, and I briefly wondered if I resembled him my first time in the sandbox, but that thought was quickly erased as I remembered that this kid was quite sheltered and had never even fired a gun until he was at the range in boot camp. I couldn’t fault him for being so scared.

Two middle aged Iraqi men stomped outside of the house, shouting obscenities at us as our EOD techs diffused the poorly constructed bomb. Avery stood with his rifle primed and ready, further infuriating the men who felt that they had done nothing wrong, but were being led by a couple of MPs in handcuffs. Scores of women filed out of the house, crying and hugging their children as the men were led away. They charged our position, prompting me to step up and intercept them before things went bad in a hurry.

“Qef!” I growled, holding up my hand. The women came to a dead stop, staring at me, but still yelling obscenities. “We just need to find out why that bomb was here.”

They continued to yell, grabbing their children and shooing them off in the direction of the house. They were told not to talk to us. A little boy turned around and stuck his tongue out at us, pissing off LCpl. White. He yelled at the child to get into the house, then turned and met the rest of us down by the street. When all the women and children were inside, we got back to our patrol, laughing about the little run in.

“How do you guys laugh about this, Sergeant?” Avery asked, wiping sweat from his face.

“Because if you don’t the constant fear will kill you before anything else.”

He didn’t respond, but continued on his way, nervous as fuck. If we could have alcohol in theater, I would get his ass plastered. He needed to relax, or we were all in for some shit when the time for him to combust finally came around.

The confrontation from earlier was an after-thought as we trudged along, heading back to base to complete our patrol shift. It wasn’t until we were about a block and a half away from base that we saw something puzzling. There were two little boys, probably no more than seven or eight in age, sitting on the rock, crying their eyes out. I motioned for Vega to head to the front with me, cautiously making our way over to where the boys sat. We had no idea what was wrong with them, but whatever it was, in a place like this, everyone was your friend and your enemy.

We approached with rifles in hand, down by our sides, but ready to pull the trigger if this were simply a diversion. It wasn’t beneath these fucking cowards out here to use kids to draw in American forces, then attack once the kids had successfully done their jobs.

White, Avery, and a couple of guys moving with us brought up the rear, covering our sides and asses in case we were being lured into an ambush. I could feel Avery’s heartbeat damn near banging its way out of his chest. His nerves were at an all-time high, sweat dripping from his face as his Kevlar vest heaved up and down, matching the erratic nature of his uncontrollable breathing. I motioned for him to get himself under control, which he acknowledged, but failed miserably at actually accomplishing.