Night 1
"A second passes, and then my entire room shakes with inevitability while a M240B machine gun on the roof of the combat outpost returns fire directly above us. I roll out of my bed, getting my legs wrapped up in my poncho liner, and land gracelessly onto my face. SSG Bulldog barrels through our door like a runaway freight train. “It on now, oh yeah, it be on now!” he booms.
"We all start throwing on our gear in great haste with the notable exception of SFC Big Country, who is yawning from his bed, scratching his head. “You probably have time to put on pants Sir,” he advises, causing me to look down at a pair of yellow boxer shorts decorated with shamrocks and beer bottles contrasting sharply with the combat boots, body armor, and helmet I did manage to get on my body.
"I peek my head out the doorway, and not seeing any terrorist hordes coming for my scalp, agree with my platoon sergeant’s assessment. The gunfire above us continues while I find my pants."
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