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CHAPTER 1
Orders
There was no way of getting out of this one; I was fucked. I scaled each step knowing that in front of me a procession of soldiers were climbing up the staircase too, one that didn't lead to heaven but to a porthole on the side of a big metal bird that was painted a patriotic red, white, and blue. The American flag plastered on its wing waved as though it was flying in the wind, but the metal bird was still. The other soldiers gripped the railing tight with their black-gloved hands, but I didn't raise my head to look where I was going; part of me didn't want to know. I was out of place amid a sea of soldiers dressed in digital gray, soldiers who climbed in mindless unison ahead of and behind me. I watched the stairs as I ascended, the large pixilated gray backpack weighing heavily on my shoulders. I had to slump over to maintain my balance. We filed up the staircase one after another, our weapons in hand and our tactical vests attached, each one of us combat ready as we trudged up the steps. We knew all too well that we might be heading to our deaths, but I kept my head down in a desperate attempt to avoid what I already knew to be true: my fate was as uncertain as it was for the rest of these poor fuckers.
The plane would be overcrowded, the flight full of sweaty soldiers who had been standing on the tarmac long enough to be cooked well done. Though the air was still, the flag on the wing of the metal bird still waved, its stripes not long enough to cover the entire rear wing of the plane. I still carried my head down as I ascended the stairs, still stuck in a sea of digital gray. I still refused to touch the railing with my hand, even though I was struggling to maintain my balance. I heaved my head down and focused on each step that took me farther away from home, farther away from familiarity, farther away from safety.
None of the soldiers looked at each other, the solitary ascension of the inevitable, a short stop and a quick drop; some were not ready for the destination. I overheard one of the section sergeants say when he was waiting on the tarmac that only an idiot would think that this flight was a round-trip.
Each one of us filed up the stairs and into the plane, filling in the seats of the plane from the back to the front. The officers were in the front of the plane and the grunts were in the back, as usual, all of us crammed into that thing like a pack of sardines, all smashed and jammed together as tight as we could go, like shoving five pounds of shit into a two-pound bag. None of us could take off our gear because the overhead bin couldn't withstand the weight. The best we could do was take the helmet off, throw the rifle between our legs, and undo the Velcro that held the vest tightly together so that we could at least breathe and sleep semicomfortably on the six-hour flight to Kuwait International Airport. It took two and a half hours to load both Alpha and Bravo Company's soldiers onto the plane, 150 in all. We were the last of the battalion to leave.
Specialist Tina Kennedy looked over at me. "That tax-free October paycheck is going to look real nice in my bank account."
"That's what you're concerned about right now?"
She shrugged.
I looked around the cabin of the plane and noticed everyone getting comfortable. Tina was already pulling off her vest and laying her rifle on the floor beneath her feet. I wanted to do the same, except I knew that if I took off my vest, it was going to be a bitch to get back on, so I opted for just loosening it. Private Cheyanne Anderson, my battle buddy from basic training, was already asleep next to me on my left; Tina was starting to get comfortable on my right.
"No fucking way are you going to sleep before me," I said. "You kept me up almost all of last night with your damn snoring. Fuck if I'm going let you cheat me out of the sleep I need now. You ever seen me sleep deprived enough to jam my sock down your throat?"
Tina looked at me inquisitively, as if to gauge whether or not I was capable of doing such a thing to her, but the crazy bulging eye stare that I was giving her was proof enough that it might be a good idea to let me sleep without waking me up until we got there.
"All right, you have until ten minutes after takeoff to fall asleep. After that you are on your own because I can be just as much of a bitch if I don't get my sleep either."
"Yeah, don't I know it."
She gave me her patented "fuck you" look, which made me laugh. The plane began to taxi down the runway, and as the flight attendant was telling us the usual spiel about safety, I decided to ad-lib my own version of her required routine safety instructions: "To buckle your safety belt, place the buckle over your lap and insert the flat part into the buckle. If you need assistance because you are too stupid to do it yourself, please don't hit the call button because if you can't figure out a kindergarten-level activity like this, you deserve to die. In case of a water evacuation, your seat may be used as a flotation device. Gently punch the person next to you, taking their flotation device as well as yours and use both of them as floaties in order to maximize your chances of surviving in the event of a water landing. If the plane should spiral into a fiery descent, the exits are located in the front, side, and rear of the cabin. Please find the nearest location to your seat, exit quickly and quietly while trampling anyone in your way since every single one of us is fucked. In the event that the cabin loses pressure, place the mask over your head to hide your scared face from the person next to you. If the person next to you is in need of assistance, please secure your mask first. After you have carefully secured your mask, point and laugh at them for being an idiot. If you are seated in an exit aisle, please take the card that is located in the front pocket of the seat in front of you and read the instructions very fucking carefully, so you don't kill everyone on the plane in the event of an emergency. Thank you for not paying attention to a word I've just said, and on behalf of the flight crew, we hope you enjoy your nonstop flight into a hostile combat zone."
Tina was laughing hysterically as the plane began to lift off the runway and make its ascent into the clouds. I looked out the nearby port window and watched as the runway and the air base faded away into a tiny speck; it was my last glance at what a peaceful country looked like. I turned to look over at Tina.
With a glare she said, "You have ten minutes."
I leaned my head on the headrest behind me and lowered my helmet over my eyebrows just enough so I could use my hair bun as a pillow. I put on my black Oakleys and closed my eyes, but what seemed like only minutes asleep had passed into hours.
The loud extension of the landing gear shook me awake. I nearly jumped out of my seat from the loud banging. I looked over at Tina. She was staring at me. I must have been talking in my sleep or something. She gave me a weird look and then shook her head. Over the loudspeaker the flight attendant was telling us to prepare for landing. Moments later the wheels would touch the ground. We would be in country, but this wasn't Iraq. No, it was much worse. Kuwait.
Tina chimed in as the flight attendant prepared the doors for arrival: "Thank you for flying Iraq Airlines. We hope you enjoyed your flight. Please take all belongings with you as you exit the aircraft. Items left on the aircraft, such as hopes and dreams, will be thrown away upon your exit. We do hope you remember when going into a hostile territory that you think of Iraq Airlines as your number-one choice when flying to your death. We know you have no choice, but on behalf of Iraq Airlines and the flight crew, we thank you for letting us overcharge your government for this shitty flight and hope you have a horrible stay in country."
Choking back a laugh as I sipped water from my canteen, I turned to look at Tina, who was holding her hand over her mouth like she was talking into the airplane intercom. She stood up and pulled her gear to her shoulders but fell back onto me. I put my canteen away and pushed her off me. Her gear weighed more than she did, but it didn't stop the red-headed, freckle-framed, buck-o-five twig of a battle buddy I had from swinging her 120-pound flak vest onto her back again. It was loaded to the teeth with ammunition, and the vest looked as though it would swallow her tiny frame whole. "Tiny Tina," as I called her, was one of the only female friends I had in the Bravo Company because I trusted her not to stab me in the back or throw me underneath the bus like all the other female soldiers. It was a girl thing that I could never understand; the kill-or-be-killed mentality that women in the military had for one another. Soon that wouldn't matter much to me, not in this place.
"Are you just going sit there and watch me struggle or are you going help a sister out?"
Realizing that I was just sitting there watching her struggle, I tried to help. In a cramped airplane seat Tina and I tried to stand and lift the vest onto her back.
"Damn, Brooke, just stick your ass in my face why don't you."
I turned my head to look at Anderson, who had her arms up in the air in a big Y shape, as if silently saying with her gesture, "What the fuck!"
"It's not the first time my ass has been in your face."
"Yeah, well, you better move your ass before I slap it."
I rolled my eyes and turned back around.
"Tina, why in the hell does your vest weigh more than mine? You're a 92 Alpha. Supply clerks sit behind a desk all day and push paper around. How much ammo do you really need?"
"You're a mechanic that fixes trucks all day. You think you need that much ammo too?"
"Touché."
As I tried to get her arm through one of the vest armholes, I grumbled out a retort to her argument. "Well, at least I might actually see combat, seeing as I'm on the recovery team."
"I wouldn't advertise that, Brooke. Sergeant Lippert's not exactly a nice guy."
As she finally folded the front flap over, attached the Velcro to the vest front, and sat down, I glanced over at Sergeant Lippert. He was sitting next to Sergeant Helm, across the way from us and up one aisle. His black Oakley sunglasses scanned the airplane until he turned his head and made eye contact with me.
"Sit the fuck down, Private!"
It was not exactly what I was expecting and the shocked look on my face made him laugh.
"Are you deaf, Private?"
Tina yanked the handle on the back of my vest and pulled me to my seat.
"Have you lost your fucking mind? I told you not to go advertising. Do yourself a favor, since it's your first deployment: keep your head down and your mouth shut. Don't volunteer for anything or draw attention to yourself, and that includes standing up on a plane that is full of sergeants who would love to chew a newbie like you a new ass."
Her advice sounded like something out of Full Metal Jacket. Sergeant Lippert looked like the Gunnery Sergeant Hartman type. I half expected him to come over and yell at me at the top of his lungs, eyes bulging out of his face, two inches from my head, screaming, "You had best unfuck yourself or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck." I tried not to make eye contact with him again.
The plane was making its descent into Kuwait International Airport. As everyone prepared to land in full battle rattle, the soldiers shuffled their weight around trying to get comfortable in their seat, but no one spoke. The plane was silent. Tina was putting on her helmet, making sure to tuck her long red bangs behind each ear in an attempt to avoid helmet hair. I lowered my head in thought and straddled my m4.
The back wheels touched down, and from the runway you could see the vast desert that was Kuwait. A place in the middle of fucking nowhere and somewhere every soldier didn't want to be. As the plane taxied, Tina lowered her head and whispered, "Brooke, it's not as bad as you think. This is my second time around. Each time gets easier. I promise. I know that you're scared, but so was I my first deployment."
"That's easy for you to say. You have a cake job. I'm a mechanic with recovery training. It's not a matter of if I go outside the wire; it's a matter of when."
As she pulled on her tan military-issue combat aviator gloves, she peered at me. I sat there in my confined seat, still straddling my m4 with a newfound death grip. A long strand of my brown hair, not quite long enough to pull all the way back into my bun, kept falling in my face. I struggled to keep it out of my eyes, which were started to well up with tears. Tina could still make out that something was wrong with me beneath my reflective Oakley sunglasses. She placed her hand on my forearm.
"It'll be okay. We're in this thing together, battle."
I looked at her and smiled. When the port door opened, each soldier stood, filed into the aisle, and walked off the plane. I followed Tina. Walking into the doorway of the plane, a wall of heat hit me, almost like your body slamming up against a brick building; there was no give. I could see the ripples of blistering heat wafting off the tarmac. Below the staircase were three rows of fully air-conditioned buses, but all I could think about as I walked down the staircase was if I was going to survive this deployment in one piece.
The long, unsteady trudge down the stairs had dowsed me in sweat, soaking my crisp new "fresh from basic" acus. I followed the lined procession of soldiers walking toward the buses, but for a moment I looked out over the desert beyond the tarmac as the sun began setting in violent oranges and reds and realized in that moment that even though I was far from home, I could still enjoy the sunset.
"Private, get on the fucking bus."
Sergeant Lippert was behind me in the line and had been following me to the buses. My sudden pause and reflection had held up the line of soldiers. I turned around to see fifteen soldiers giving me the stink eye and Sergeant Lippert's black Oakleys staring me straight in the face.
"Well, Private. You officially just made my shit list. You better hope to God you ain't in my section."
From behind me I felt someone yank me away from Sergeant Lippert, who was chuckling a low, bellowing laugh at the "scared shitless" look on my face. I whipped my head around to notice that Tina had pulled me to safety.
"This is going to be a long deployment if I have to keep pulling you out of the fire."
With a blank stare on my face, Tina shook her head, rolled her eyes, and pushed me to the front of the line, where she had been before my second encounter with Sergeant Lippert.
I have to admit it: back then I had a knack for getting into trouble.
* * *
The heat coming off the land in Kuwait burned on your skin like a long day in the sun at the beach. The sweat poured down your back on your spinal column as it made its way to your belt line, gathering in a pool as it drenched your tan undershirt. The nights were cold, a reprieve from the heat, but they were longer and made it seems as though the weeks of not pushing north to Iraq were a scene from Groundhog Day, Bill Murray's stagnant face staring blankly off into space as he realizes the date on the newspaper is the same as it was the day before.
Our battalion began taking on equipment, hand-me-downs from the last brigade that was making its way back home. We were their relief, but with no orders to go any farther than Kuwait we sat in the desert for a month waiting until it was our turn to jump into the sandbox and get our boots weighed down by the war. I had tried to avoid Rob, my husband, while in Kuwait, sticking to groups, never letting us be alone together, but somehow he managed to get me alone the night before we were to finally push north. He begged for my forgiveness, for all the time spent bickering and fighting, but I had none in me to give. I had told him as much, but the emptiness in his eyes told me that though he was at fault for his behavior, his training and previous deployments had worn his soul thin enough to make his mind incapable of being human again. He had succumbed to so much and still had not been able to come out the same. I looked at him that night knowing that this might be the last time I would see him, that somehow I would be rid of him after all this was over. In the motor pool that night, I looked over vehicles, checked connexes, and double-checked manifests to make sure all of our equipment would make it to Baghdad. At night I watched the c-130s take off from the airstrip toward Iraq. Their evasive combat aerial maneuvers were made like the ducks and dives of a water fowl trying to avoid the barrel of a hunter's gun. I had watched this every night for a month. October had come and gone as we waited for orders that we thought would never come, but as I sat there watching them I thought about how fitting it was that tomorrow we were to be in the line of fire and how much courage I would need to summon for it.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "War Flower"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Brooke King.
Excerpted by permission of UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA PRESS.
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