Rounds zoomed by Corporal India Gaither’s head. Her skin matched the night. She exhibited perfect trigger control and remembered keyword BRASS: Breathe, Relax, Aim, Slack, Squeeze. Neither of her fellow Marines remained in the best of shape. Lance Corporal Dannon Bowe and Slevin Fowler had sustained wounds to their calf muscles, almost in the exact same places. Sergeant Carlo Paz sat down beside India behind the armored vehicle.
The desert heat seemed to hug them. It enwrapped and held them that Friday afternoon and it lasted from the early morning sun to the dying twilight. For Corporal Foster Depp and PFCs Rondo Alexander and Saturn Livingston, the ability to be able to hit the road and go into the country of Yuma, Arizona proved to be welcoming. Depp showed off tanned white skin from being in this sunny climate for more months than the PFCs. He possessed high cheek bones. Alexander boasted coffee black skin, a trim fade, and a square jaw. Livingston, on the other hand, exhibited rather pale skin with flaxen hair, a somewhat long face, but blue eyes that could cut through sheet metal like lasers. Both of the PFCs had reached the age of nineteen. They had all passed inspection of their barracks. Depp had passed his vehicle inspection for the weekend. All of the necessities had been covered and the three Marines looked forward to some well-deserved R&R.
As the armored vehicles barreled through the city of Mashhad, the Marines stayed focused. Staff Sergeant Terri Nair looked at her black wristwatch. It read three o’clock in the morning. The rumbling of the vehicles startled some and aroused suspicion and even ire amongst the people of the city. Sergeant Boston Salloway clipped his fingernails.
Patrols ruled the day. Each Marine kept his or her head on a swivel searching, always searching. Whether it was a dog in the road, some scraps of refuse tossed to the wayside, or children running up and down the place, the Marines kept a keen eye on their surroundings.
Two military police (MP) stand guard at a checkpoint in Tehran, Iran. They are the first line of defense against any shady characters that may attempt to pass through the fences and other barriers set up outside their station.
The sky streaked pinkish gray, similar to the ever coveted pink mist. It was about seventy degrees at eight in the morning despite it still being just spring. That’s desert weather, though.