The gun trucks are lined up again. Part of the big push. This time there’s a really, really long line of them, each encumbered with its own assortment of barbed wire coils, orange traffic cones, spare tires, gas cans, bed rolls, and back boards. It’s a dusty, cloudy, crappy day, and it’s not getting any better with all of these trucks adding their diesel fumes to the air. Then, a faint whistle from the front of the line and off they go. The line starts with a jerk, like a train, inching forward until each vehicle finally finds its proper spacing. Engines rumble, springs squeak and the gunners rotate guns out and adjust their goggles. WAIT!! That’s Jack in the back seat window! He’s waving to me – he wants me JACK!! JACK! I want to get out of the truck but I can’t can’t can’t open the door there he is WAIT, JACK!!

I’m outside of the truck now. God damn those doors! Someone inside the humvee pulls Jack from the small window. Lisanne and Anais’ laughing faces in the window now. Laughing. They wave from the window. WAIT! YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU’RE GOING!! I run, no… two people grab me tight and I can’t struggle free HE’S GETTING AWAY!!! THEY’RE ALL GETTING AWAY!! I hate being restrained God I hate it THEY ARE GETTING AWAY GOD DAMMIT!

The blackhawks come in low over the creek, just like they did at Victory the other day. They look very large from this angle. So low, and so damned loud that they DROWN EVERYTHING ELSE OUT for a minute. Loud like it almost hurts again. Then, at the last minute they turn away, towards the city. I look down and the line of trucks rolls through the gate and onto Irish. STOP! It comes out a whisper....

I hear the firing, and smoke… now the fifties. RATTA TAT TAT TAT. THUMP! Get away you bastard! They’re out there! Stop holding me! Helpless.

I wake up covered in sweat. Again.