Page 24 of Point of Contact

“What?”

“Time for watch, Byrney,” the shadowy figure said, and Jesse grunted in acknowledgement, hauling himself upright and grabbing his M4. He exited the hooch in the chilly predawn darkness, making a brief stop at the piss tubes before trudging toward the observation “tower,” which was nothing more than some wood stacked together and lined with sandbags.

Behind the wall of HESCOs nearby some dark shapes sprawled in the dirt, and as he drew closer, Jesse could see it was a Scout team returned from three days of recon patrol. They were piled in a heap, heads pillowed on shoulders, on thighs, on stomachs. Jesse imagined it was the first decent rest they’d gotten since they stepped off.

He made the short climb up to the overwatch position, bumping knuckles with the guy he was relieving. “Anything going on?” he asked, sinking down on a nearby ammo crate.

The guy leaned over and spit, a wad of dip stuffed in his lower lip visible even in the dim light of the moon. “Nah. Miller and his squad returned to base about 0300, said they’ll debrief Six once they grab a little shut-eye. Other than that, all clear, brother.”

They bumped knuckles again before the dude disappeared down the slope toward his hooch, and Jesse hunkered next to the powerful .50-cal machine gun, settling in for his two hours of watch. It was still dark, and there was nothing to do but monitor the radio and keep his ears peeled for the sound of enemy movement.

Time dragged as Jesse shifted around on the crate trying to get comfortable, almost wishing he’d taken up smoking just so he had something to do with his hands. A loud rustling in the trees came from somewhere off to his left, and he listened carefully, relaxing again when a monkey chattered, another one answering it. The forest was loud, even in the middle of the night—owls hooting, wild dogs on the hunt, the ever-present monkeys. In the darkness, sitting alone, it messed with the mind. Jesse remembered his first night on watch all those months ago, jumping at every sound, wondering each time if it was a contingent of Taliban creeping up to kill them.

As the sky lightened, the village below slowly became visible, smoke from the inhabitants’ early morning cooking fires starting to drift upwards. Jesse grabbed the binos and glassed down toward the collection of primitive stone dwellings, seeing women doing their chores, goats and chickens milling around waiting to be fed. A few children darted in and out of doorways, men with hoes over their shoulders going to till their nearby fields.

Jesse heard voices coming from the outpost, the acrid smell of cigarettes drifting to his nose as the men started to wake up. Footsteps crunched behind him, and Jesse turned to see Miller, the Scout team leader, approaching. He was filthy, his uniform caked with dirt and sweat and full of holes from crawling around in the unforgiving terrain.

He climbed into the gun pit and crouched next to Jesse, staring impassively out at the vista below. “Never fuckin’ ceases to amaze me,” he muttered around the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, “how pretty this place is.”

Jesse followed his gaze, nodding his agreement. The sunrise was spreading its pinkish glow over the lush forest, illuminating the soaring peaks of the seemingly endless mountain ranges that ringed them. Rivers and creeks winked in the light, birds wheeled in the sky. It was a gorgeous view, but what made it beautiful also made it deadly. There were countless caves, cliffs and fissures for enemy fighters to hide in and stage from, and those men, with their generations’-old knowledge of the land, took advantage of every one.

Miller smoked while a tongue-tied Jesse counted off the last minutes of his guard shift. Army Scouts were a breed all their own, hand-selected for their level of fitness, able to march for days with little food and no sleep. They were known as jacks-of-all-trades, mastering everything from reconnaissance to explosives. Intimidating badasses, every single one of them.

Finally Miller dropped the butt to the ground and kicked some dirt over it before ambling down the short slope back to the outpost, already lighting up another cigarette. As soon as his watch relief arrived, Jesse headed for his hooch. There was a flurry of activity just outside the command center, and Jesse glanced around at the assembled men, kitted out in full battle rattle, weapons slung over their shoulders.

“What’s up?”

Riley plopped his helmet on his head, buckling the strap. “Lieutenant ordered an HA run.” He tilted his head to his left. “PR op,” he said meaningfully, and Jesse followed his gaze to see Kimi standing there, wearing an ill-fitting vest of her own, the ceramic plates weighing her down. An oversize helmet perched on her head, and her eyes were bright with excitement.

“My first time actually meeting the villagers,” she said, settling her camera around her neck. “Humanitarian aid will make for some awesome shots. Can’t wait.”

She and Riley high-fived each other, and Kimi went to grab a five-pound bag of rice and another one of beans, hefting them and lining up in the middle of the group ready to step off. Riley followed her with his eyes, and Jesse punched his shoulder.

“Watch your six out there, not hers, you horny bastard.”

Riley grinned. “No promises, man. No promises. She’s mine, she just don’t know it yet.”

Jesse snorted. “Tell that to her fiancé.”

“She can tell him herself when she dumps his ass for me.”

Riley waggled his eyebrows before hefting a ten-pound bag of flour to each shoulder, falling into place at the rear. Jesse couldn’t help but wince as they wended their way out of the outpost down the narrow path toward the village, everyone with their hands full of food, guns dangling uselessly from their straps. Not a good tactical move, but the humanitarian aid missions were never attacked. Big surprise.

“Didn’t join the Army to deliver food to the Taliban like we’re motherfuckin’ Pizza Hut.”

Jesse glanced over at Enriquez, who was watching the departing squad with disgust.

“Do what I do, and think of the women and children,” he said mildly. “They didn’t ask for this war.”

Enriquez guffawed in derision. “You know damn well those people don’t get one bean or piece of rice, Jess.”

Jesse couldn’t argue. “Well, at least no one can say we don’t leave the enemy well-fed, right?”

The sudden, sharp crack of gunfire off in the distance sent them scrabbling for their kits, and they ran toward the sandbag wall to throw themselves down behind it.

“What’s going on?” Jesse demanded breathlessly, priming his weapon, ready to rock whatever threat was presenting itself.

“Squad is in contact!” Watkins screamed from the guard tower, peering through the scope down at the village and swinging the .50-cal wildly in a semicircle as he looked for something to shoot at. “Fuck! Can’t fire and risk hitting our own guys!”