The MRX*

They deftly maneuver and muscle for rank,
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank.
Reckless and wild, they pour through the turns.
-Cake, The Distance

::::::

It had been too long since the main gate had first requested an interpreter from us that day. Ajjusshi, my team leader, sent me to escort our 'terp, Bashir, to the main gate of FOB Brassfield--the forward operating base for U.S. forces operating in Samarra, Iraq. Bashir is a class 1 interpreter--he is not a U.S. citizen and has no security clearance. He cannot be trusted to wander the FOB freely.

I had dropped Bashir off at the gate with the boys from Nemesis troop and returned to my section, expecting him back in 15 minutes. Three Iraqi locals had come up to the gate, demanding something in Arabic, but since FOB security does not have its own dedicated interpreter, they'd called us to lend them ours.

When Nemesis had not returned him after almost an hour, I grabbed my weapon and went to investigate.

When I got there, I saw that Bashir was entangled in a new problem. The three other visitors had gone, but now there was a humvee parked at the gate. It had Iraqi flags on its side panels, and the driver's door was open. Next to the vehicle, Bashir and an American soldier were standing out there, smokin' and jokin' with a guy wearing the Iraqi Army uniform. I yelled to the sergeant in charge of the gate, "What's going on here?"

"This guy at the gate says he's here to link up with one of the companies for a mission this afternoon. Says he's Iraqi Army, but he wasn't on the access roster."

"What are we waiting for now, then?"

"We called the S2 to send someone to clear this up." The S2 is a field-grade shop that handles securities and intel for the entire squadron.

Just then, I saw a lone soldier trotting up to the gate from the direction of the Tactical Operations Center. He jogged by me and outside the gate and exchanged a few words with the Iraqi soldier before turning around and walking back inside the gate.

The Iraqi got inside his humvee and turned it around. We watched the vehicle kick up dust as it rolled away, and just as it disappeared around a bend in the road, AK fire broke out from the wood line, not 20 meters southwest from one of the gate guards and my 'terp. They were still outside the wire.

Immediately the 240B machine gunner in the guard tower returned bursts after bursts of rounds into to woods. Even if the shots hadn't killed the attackers, the machine-gun fire would keep the enemy's head down and allow our men to run back inside. The lone gate guard rushed back inside and fell into his fighting position in the guard shack. Bashir ran back inside, one hand atop his helmet and the other swinging madly. Over the staccato crackle of small arms fire, I heard a whistle and someone yelling, "INCOMING!"

I reached Bashir just as the first mortar landed. I have no idea where it hit, but no doubt the attackers would walk their fire towards the gate, right where we were. I grabbed Bashir's hand, pulled him from the gate, and we both took off towards the nearest break in the berm, 50 meters away. More mortars fell, getting closer and closer to our position. Even if behind proper cover, when a mortar lands close enough it causes a concussive blast that often disorients soldiers and makes them dizzy enough to vomit.

We hopped ditches, cut diagonally towards the opening, and I shouted, "There!" as we crossed through the berm and sighted the buildings of our own mortar teams. It was another 50-meter sprint before we crashed through their door, seeking refuge from the incoming bombardment.

There was some private inside hastily strapping on his body armor. He looked up at us, puzzled about who the fuck we were.

"We were at the gate. Took small arms fire and when we returned fire, they mortared us. You got a radio or a phone in here?"

"Yeah," he replied, motioning towards the desk at the back of the room full of cots.

Without asking, I walked past all of the empty cots, picked up the phone and dialed my team. When our FOB comes under attack, we bunker up inside of a hard shelter and take accountability of all of forces. No doubt my team leader was worried that I'd been caught up in the attack.

"Hey, Ajjusshi, I went to pick Bashir up, and we took small arms and mortar fire just as a local at the gate left. We're inside the mortars' building now. Gimme a call back when they announce the all clear."

"All right, man. That might be awhile. It just came over the net that there was a breach in the perimeter and there might be enemy inside the FOB right now."

"Roger that. Out."

I looked up at Bashir, who was breathing hard. Bashir is an older man, mid-40's, balding with a son almost 20 years old. I was surprised that he was able to keep pace with me as we sprinted from the gate to the mortars' building. We smiled at each other, and I told him, "You lucky son of a bitch. That was almost you dead out there!"

::::::

*MRX = Mission Rehearsal Exercise, the scenario-based prolonged field exercise that units go through as a final training before deployment.