It's the type of cold that makes you hate being alive, the type of cold that’d make a cup of lava look drinkable. We were on gate duty 24hr. shifts with 12hrs off between. Whoever thought of that schedule will have a nice warm spot in hell waiting for them. Me and PFC Edwards on this goddamn elevated platform looking into the pitch black of Afghanistan. Our orders to observe and question any approaching vehicles.

  The radio sqwaked

  ”South tower this is Hawk1 respond over”

  “This is south tower over” I respond

  “We are code red, any vehicles approaching southern gate are to be considered hostile over”

  “roger that over”

  Orders change.

  Edwards, a greenie, follows my lead. Our feet move to position, our weapons find a comfortable firing position, and safety’s are rotated to fire. The cold melts away, and the pitch black becomes the open mouth of a titanic serpent readying for a feast.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “Why code red?” Edwards ask.

  “No clue man, they got some intel, or its a safety precaution”

  Edwards shakes his head.

  “this isn’t my MOS man, i’m not supposed to be here” panic tinges his voice.

  ”Just relax, this happens all the time, 99% of the time nothin’ happens. Keep your eyes ahead of you, control your breathin’”

  Edwards is silent, an eternal 30 minutes pass, just enough time for the cold to make its return and for a dime size sliver of light to enter the sky. I can feel his tensions start to relieve when two lights come on up the road about 100 meters out.

  “Ah shit man, what is that?” Edwards nearly screams.

  We both see it. incoming vehicle. Moving fast.

  I depressed the comms button on my shoulder.

  god it's moving fast. No time. My hands take over.

  The reports are so deafening you don't hear them, gun powder enters the nose, hot brass finds skin. Edwards freezes into place, his head tucked like a turtle, zero rounds leave his weapon.

  The vehicle rolls to a stop 10 meters from the gate, broken glass, tiny pin holes pock the car, silence and stillness follow. QRF rolls up, they approach the vehicle, weapons drawn, no other shots fired, no survivors.

  Two military aged men and two children was the verbiage used, no weapons found, no bombs, nothing that suggested violent terrorists. We were given medals for following orders. Weeks later two men approached the FOB looking for their brother, their nephew and two nieces that were traveling here for emergency medical attention.