Free Unspoken Abandonment by Bryan Wood Page A

us in fear that it will piss off the warl ord; however, I guess it could also make us a target for rival groups who hate him even more than they hate us . We could just end up in the crossfire.
    For the past month that I ha ve been here, I can see that the relationship between us and our illustrious neighbor is less than harmonious. During the day, our compound is usually buzzing with activity and always very loud. Trucks are coming in and out all day, people are constantly yelling, and we are basically shitty neighbors. A ny time we play wi ffle ball in the rear of the compound, the ball always manages to make its way over the wall and into his yard. From the shit they yell back at us, I can only assume it pisses him off an awful lot .
    Early this morning, at the very end of the midnight shift , our neighbor came to the front gate demanding to see the commander about something that pissed him off. The “gate” is n ot really much of a gate; it i s just a short driveway that cuts through the compound with a checkpoint at each end. There is a bar that can be raised at each checkpoint, along with a lot of machineguns.
    The Colonel said he was n o t coming out to meet with the warlord, and he instructed the Sergeant on duty to go in his place. The Sergeant informed our neighbor that the Colonel was n o t coming, and he became infuriated. He announced that he was coming in anyway, and he proceeded to walk past the first checkpoint. The Sergeant tried cutting in front of him, but the warlord sidestepped and continued to walk. The Sergeant then forced himself in front of the warlord.
    Another Sergeant yelled over the radio, “Wood, put your sights on him. If he reaches for anything, touches Sarge, or gets to that second checkpoint, you fucking drop him.”
    My M249 was already aimed right at his chest, locked and loaded, with my finger on the trigger. I slowed my breathing down, and watched his hands as he and the Sergeant yelled back and forth. Even though it was no warmer than fifty degrees outside, I could feel a bead of sweat form on my brow.
    He was pacing towards the second checkpoint as he was yelling, and he reached a point where I figured he was about five steps from the checkpoint. I decided that would be my decision point, and if he continued any further, I would kill him on the fifth step.
    He continued to yell at the Sergeant, and was making a gesture with his hands in which he was smashing the side of his right fist into his left palm. He turned and started walking in what felt like slow motion: one step, two steps, and three steps. As he made the forth step, I began to pull up the slack on my weapon ’ s trigger and gently squeeze in; four steps. I prepared for the fifth step, and he suddenly stopped and yelled “Fuck you, Americans. Fuck you,” and he turned and walked away from the gate. As he rounded the corner back toward the street, I released the trigger tension and exhaled deeply .
    As soon as the incident with our neighbor ended, I turned around and noticed my morning relief was there, and my shift was over. There were no missions today, so I had a little “me” time to check email, take a shower, and play volleyball with the guys. I hit the gym for a little while, and now I am here writing about my day. If I go to sleep right now, I am actually going to get a good seven hours of sleep before I need to be up again for the next midnight shift. Seven hours of sleep never sounded so good! I hope the next month goes by faster than th e past one.
    March 23, 2003 :
    Last night, before shift, a few of us were starting to wake up around ten thirty. I like to sleep all the way until eleven thirty, but some of the guys like to get up early and make something to eat. They were making just enough noise to start wak ing me up, but not enough to completely wake me.
    The Platoon Sergeant stormed into the room yelling for us to gear up and get ready to move. He said a mission came in, and first and second squad needed