For the fourth time in the space of half an hour Capt Dogra patted himself down. The M4 was still clipped to his chest, the M9 in its holster, ear plugs in his pocket, extra ammo all around his mid-section, and a flash grenade pouch filled with energy bars. He clicked his small, red LED light on and off.
“Why’s this thing called a rodeo?”
“I dunno, Dogra. Cause…buck you, I guess.”
Dogra stared out across the flight line. Blue lights faded in and out of existence, mock stars under a clouded sky. His chu was on the other side somewhere, humble accomodations such as it was. He wondered if four nights in a sleeping bag would make him miss his seven noisy roommates.
“Are we going in Chinooks or Blackhawks?”
“Doggy-baby, pray it’s Blackhawks, unless you like getting sandblasted.”
There wasn’t much else to do but wait. Hurry up and wait. Sit it out. The young captain had a giggle to himself thinking of the new motto used so commonly out here, a nice example of Army humor, “Embrace the suck.”