The Travelers
Yes, I realize that this is not a fictional writer's community, but I thought that I would share some of my work. "The Pheonix" wasn't recieved very well. Perhaps it is because it doesn't appear to have any value in business. I maintain that the human psychy is at the heart of our business. It is easier for us to become successful if we are able to trust each other with personal artistic renderings. I have taken my mind off of making money and have focused on self improvement. Therefore, I am sharing some of my artistic pieces with this community. If for nothing else, to just give us a little break from our mind straining work. I present this for your enjoyment:
Falujah, Iraq April 2004
The First Infantry Division rolled in to quash the insurgent uprising. Already, debris from mortar attacks littered the roads but Sergeant Jake Simmons was glad to see his destination.
Exhausted by the long sweltering drive from Tikrit, Jake had to snap out of it. He led the first wave of reinforcements for the Coalition, a job he recently inherited following the loss of Captain Jessup's hummer to a roadside bomb on the convoy route. The second wave and his First Sergeant would be another thirty minutes still, if they made it at all.
Sergeant Simmon's convoy approached the rendezvous grid coordinates. He spotted a group of soldiers securing a makeshift command post, one of whom waved down Jake's lead vehicle.
"Simmons, where's Captain Jessup?" Barked Lieutenant Colonel Sparks.
"Gone, sir," Jake replied, "First Sergeant is thirty minutes out, I'm it 'til then."
"Very well, Sergeant, I need your guys to head south. Any snipers?"
"Two teams, sir"
"Place them at these coordinates," Colonel Sparks indicated two points on a map marked by an X. "Your platoon is responsible for securing this grid here." Colonel Sparks pointed to a highlighted area. "Keep your ears on."
"Yes, sir."
Jake instructed his driver to keep the vehicle running while he briefed all the vehicle commanders. After a brief huddle, the two sniper teams headed out and the commanders reported back to their vehicles. Jake addressed his vehicle personnel, "Your job is to provide covering fire and overall security. We've two fire teams, on foot, to clear buildings in our grid. If it doesn't look right, shoot it. I'll be on foot." Jake turned to Corporal Rucker, seated in the back, "You're in charge, and by God keep your ears on and eyes open."
"Yes, Sergeant," replied Corporal Rucker.
"We're here," Jake's driver announced.
"I don't like this, it is too quiet." Jake observed the atmospheric stillness. No weapons being fired, no birds singing, no wind blowing. "Ok, watch our backs."
Jake popped out of the lead vehicle and met up with his two fire teams. He pointed his right hand toward one side of the street and then the other, the group split in twain and headed towards the indicated directions. A crackle in Jake's ear grabbed his attention.
"Team two in position."
Good, Jake thought, one sniper team made it. "Roger," he replied, wondering what was holding up team one.
"Team one in position."
The crackle made Jake jump.
"Eyes on enemy sniper."
"Engage at my command," Jake replied.
He motioned to his fire teams to crouch down.
"Engage," Jake ordered over the radio. An echoing crack rang through the still air. It's way too quiet, Jake thought as he crouched.
"Target down."
"Roger."
Jake motioned his fire teams to start clearing the buildings in his sector. The troops disappeared through the doors. A loud whoosh sounded overhead. Jake observed the RPG round whizz by. He tracked it as he saw the rear vehicle's turret gunner engage the building where the RPG originated. Jake watched the round strike his vehicle. The blast knocked him off his feet. Everything went to black...
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"Allah Akbar!" Sa'id Abdul-Rahim, the eight year old Iraqi boy repeated amid the smoldering carnage that remained on his street. The Americans had been annihilated by the freedom fighters. God is definitely good, Sa'id thought to himself. He was startled by the sound of a man yelling. He looked in the direction of the sound.
"Get out of there!" Sa'id couldn't understand the burly foreigner. Looking at the soldier running towards him, Sa'id demonstrated a look of bewilderment.
"Moazeb bash!"
A wave of panic straightened Sa'id's face. Before he could respond, he felt the wind knocked out of him as he was tackled and tucked in underneath the large foreigner. Sa'id felt the earth tremble as the buildings around them were converted to rubble. He desperately clamped onto the tactical vest of his father's enemy. Clinging to the only protection offered him, Sa'id ripped off a velcro patch. The bombardment ended. Heart racing from the added adrenaline, Sa'id mustered all of his strength to free himself from the American's weight.
Sa'id, more excited than frightened, ran toward the bomb shelter where his family took refuge. He shrieked when he was unexpectedly swept up.
"Calm down"
Sa'id looked at the man holding him, "Uncle!"
"Where were you, Sa'id?"
"Come with me, I will show you."
Sa'id's uncle set Sa'id down and followed him.
"Look!" Sa'id exclaimed looking at his uncle.
"Where?" His uncle inquired.
"There." Sa'id pointed to the place the American had saved him. Turning to see the dead soldier, Sa'id saw only a clear patch of earth where the soldier once lay.
"He is not here," Sa'id said baffled.
"Who?"
Speechless, Sa'id opened his left hand to reveal the velcro patch to his uncle.
The letters on the patch read "RUCKER".
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