On Patrol

It was summer, 2005. I was with other members of my squad as we patrolled by foot on the border between Kuwait and Iraq. It was late afternoon but still unbearably hot as we looked forward to dusk and cooler temperatures. We had more water than ammo. Proper hydration was critical and two armed Humvees not only provided tactical back-up but doubled as water couriers, doling it out when needed. The Humvees followed close by as we stopped to check out what appeared to be movement in the distance on the Iraqi side. We all squatted in an attempt to reduce our profiles as there was no stationary cover to shield ourselves behind. I signaled the Humvees to space themselves apart but remain close by. I removed a water soaked cloth from around my face, lifted my tinted googles up to the top front of my Kevlar helmut, and wiped the sand dust from my brow before placing the binoculars up to my eyes for a better look. I chuckled. My sheriff’s deputy friend who had been sent over to the middle east with me asked, “what is it?” I lowered the binoculars, turned my head and looked at him. It’s just a Bedouin and his damn herd of goats!” Everybody breathed a little sigh of relief and began laughing. “On your feet, everybody,” I barked in amusement as I stood, my military assault rifle swinging freely on the adjustable strap in front of me. I gave the all clear signal to the Humvees as we resumed patrol. Just another day in the desert.