Greenhorn

He had checked and rechecked his weapon several times the night before. Every inspection revealed the same clean and well lubricated M-16. It never left his side and wouldn’t for the next year, but nevertheless, every few minutes PFC Toal found it necessary to disassemble his weapon. There wasn’t much he could do; the camp was in the middle of the Kuwaiti desert with few detractions available.
They had crossed the border early that morning, driving at high speed toward Bagdad, their new home. The mangled wrecks of vehicles were surrounded by assorted debris on top sand scorched black. It was unsettling for the men to see such displays of destruction. The jagged metal and smell of burnt rubber welcomed the men of the Fourth Infantry Division into Iraq by providing them with the sudden realization mortality would be the only thought in their mind for the next year.
Most of the men in First platoon were green. The lieutenant was a recent ROTC graduate, something that left the veteran NCOs visibly unnerved. He was tall, with long, unwieldy arms and legs. To the men he appeared like a shy boy talking to a cute girl when he gave orders, almost like he expected the men to tell him off. Specialist Woods, PFC Toal’s team leader, was riding shotgun in the same Humvee as the rode toward Bagdad. He stared out at nothing in particular as he smoked a cigarette.

“Do you think we’ll see any action soon?” PFC Toal asked, breaking the silence that had occupied the Humvee.

Woods turned around, cigarette in mouth and a grim expression on his face.

“You’ll probably see some today, ragheads never miss an opportunity to hit new arrivals,” he said. “Make sure your weapon is ready at all times and never leaves your side. Same thing for ammo and body armor.”

“How much action did you see your first tour?” Toal asked.

“Hopefully enough to keep you greens alive,” Woods said with a chuckle.

Toal was about to ask another question when Woods turned back to the front. Woods was one of the few in the platoon besides the sergeants that had seen combat. He was also one of the men who was especially concerned about their new lieutenant. He had come to the unit right before they had shipped out, and did make a good impression on one particular training mission.
It was a simple raid exercise. All the lieutenant had to do was divide his platoon and have one section suppress the target while the other maneuvered around the flank. They had all done similar exercises again and again in basic. The lieutenant somehow found it prudent to have only a small group suppress the enemy position. As a result, the instructors acting as the enemy overran the supporting element and attacked the assaulting element from behind. The only thing more alarming than the decisive defeat of the platoon was the lieutenant’s bewilderment and disbelief as to the outcome of his battleplan.

“Stay alert, were coming up to a village,” said a cackled voice over the radio.

“At least our platoon sergeant is keeping his eyes open,” said Woods to no one in particular. “The lieutenants so fuckin’ dumb he’d probably mistake it for a rest stop.”

No one else in the humvee spoke; it was pretty insubordinate to speak in such a manner about one’s superior. A squad leader might say such a thing to another squad leader, but a specialist saying such a thing to a private was dangerous ground.

“All squads prepare to stop just sort of the village,” came the voice of the lieutenant over the radio. “I want all squad leaders to meet me up front in five.”

“This fuckin’ retard is gonna get us all killed,” said Woods turning around. “You guys keep your eyes open and your weapons ready.”

Multi-story buildings were littered throughout the village. The road the platoon was traveling across went right through the middle, with fairly large structures on both sides. There were a few bedouin’s supervising some goats on the outskirts of the village, along with some children playing around them. It looked like an innocent enough scene, not what one would expect in the middle of a war zone.

“Don’t let it fool you,” said Woods. “You might see some shepards and some kids, but I see walking bombs.”

“What do you think the lieutenant’s plan is?” asked Toal.

“God knows! All I’ll tell you is nothing is more inviting to some ragheads then I nice American convoy stopped before a village,” said Woods. “Now any insurgents that didn’t know we were visiting have been informed and are gathering their RPG’s and their AK’s and are getting ready to shoot them up our asses.”

The convoy came to an abrupt stop fifty yards from the village. The four squad leaders could be seen making their way up to the lieutenants humvee, obviously befuddled his action. PFC Toal couldn’t help but think that every second they were not moving there was going to be another rifle pointed at his head. It was the most uncomfortable feeling he every experienced; he felt fear, anger, and anxiety to their fullest extent. But beneath it all there he also felt excited; he knew that very shortly he would have to put his training to the test, maybe not today, but certainly soon.

The minute they were stopped felt like an hour. When Toal saw his squad leader, Sergeant Gates, begin to walk over a massive burden was lifted. That burden soon returned when Toal saw his squad leader’s face. He looked as if he had just gotten a call that his father died in a car crash and it was so hard on his mother that she had a heart attack.

“We’re going to be moving through in about five minutes,” said Gates. “The lieutenant wants to scout out around the town.”

“We’re too close for this shit sergeant,” said Woods.
“You control that shit Woods,” said Gates. “If the lieutenant orders you to walk in Fallujah and take a shit in the middle of a mosque you do it.”

“Yes Sergeant!” screamed Woods with an obvious exageration.

“I’m glad you agree, because your fireteam is to be coming with me to scout the right,” said Gates. “You have one minute.”

Stepping out of the relative safety of the humvee left PFC Toal feeling exposed an naked in the desert sun. With a death grip on his rifle and his eyes constantly scanning the village, PFC Toal, SPC Woods and SGT Gates and a few more from first squad walked in a wedge formation along the left side of the village. There wasn’t any cover within reach, putting the squad at a sever disadvantage if they came under fire. Not to mention the fact that the platoon was strongest when it fought together; an insurgent probably wouldn’t attack a platoon, but a lone squad was too temptingly vulnerable to pass up.

Gates reported the squad’s position to the lieutenant.


It happened fast. A shot rang out from the left of the squad’s position, catching the point man in the throat and sending his blood erupting from his neck. Without even thinking Toal was on the ground as more shots began to hit the area around the fireteam.

“Contact left! Return Fire!” said Gates as he grabbed his radio. Toal raised he rifle and began sending rounds down range. The rifle slammed into his shoulder with each pull of the trigger, but he felt panicked; he didn’t know where the enemy were.

“Sir, we have made contact on the right side of the village! I need backup!” Gates shouted into the radio.

“Sir, are you receiving me?” Gates asked to static.

“Toal and Woods, cover us while we withdraw and then we will cover you. Lets move people, before these bastards get cocky!” he said.

Toal slapped a new magazine into his rifle, then sent the bolt home. He saw flashes from a window on the edge of the village. He lined up his sights and fired, seeing his round impact to the side. He fired three more shots in the same general direction, trying to keep the heads of his enemy pinned down. Shots were landing all around them as the fire began to intensify.

“Toal! Woods! On me!” shouted Gates above the escalating gunfire.

Toal and Woods were off the ground as soon as the other group began to fire. Dirt exploded all around them as every gun in the village tried to kill them. Toal felt time come to a stand still, the ten yards or so that he ran felt like a mile.
Toal hit the dirt hard. Shots were landing all around the little group. They had little cover in the open desert, and the bullets were beginning to hit too close to home. Toal fought off the fear that was so near and looked up from the ground. Out ahead of him three figures were begining to move to the left of his position. He brought his rifle up, peered through the ghost ring sight. He could see the outline of a man holding an AK in front of him. He aimed the sights a little to the left to compensate for the man’s movement and fired. He saw the man hold his side, almost tripping on his foot. Then he fell. It wasn’t the dramatic death Toal always thought his first kill would be. It was more akin to pushing a button and watching someone’s life disappear.

The battlefield erupted as the .50 caliber on the lead Humvee opened up on the enemy position. Masonry flew off the buildings in chunks as the convoy drove at top speed toward the recon team. Toal had killed his first man and survived his first battle, and they were barely in Iraq.