I have been in Iraq a grand total of 32 days-- and to be quite frank everyone hates me. To try and help acclimate me better to my environment they have moved me to the Rangers bunks—because they're special too.
I'm frightened of Agent Booth enough—and now they're going to put me in a place with like 25 of him? They really don't like me, not at all. We're en route to the new bunks and the feel of the standard issue handgun is heavy and sizzling hot against my hip.
I hate that particular piece of equipment, but as I walk into the Rangers bunks I am suddenly thankful for it. I think maybe it makes me look less like a little kid playing dress up in his father's clothes and more like I belong here.
I am tired and worn out-- I just identified over 350 bodies, for the simple basic facts of age, sex, height—the bare basics to find out truly how many people were killed under Hussein's rule or dictatorship, if you would like to be honest. Tomorrow though—I will be doing something much, much worse- a bomb has gone off and left many soldiers with bones severed—I am to help identify exactly which bone goes where, so those soldiers can finally go home.
As I lay down in my bunk I hear some of the more seasoned Rangers discuss the more legendary Rangers who have visited the Middle East. Apparently one soldier is relating stories of his one mission with a hero of a Ranger. I can't help but let a small chuckle escape as the soldier finishes his story of his time with "the great Seely Booth", as Booth would be blushing crimson red at this reverence everyone treats the stories of him.
A soldier has heard me and turns sharply and demands to know why I am laughing because I am nowhere near half the man Booth is. Without thinking I reply that of course I am aware of this seeing as when I am back in the states I work with him on nearly a daily basis and I was simply chuckling at the thought of Booth's embarrassment to the story the have just told.
At first they don't believe my "lies" but when I produce a picture Cam insisted on taking of everyone one at the lab to help remind me of home before I left, they gasp as the soldier (whom I now know is Johnny) confirms that this is in fact the great Seely.
I am then beseeched with questions about him, and I actually feel like part of the group for once.
For once, I understand why in high school everyone claims to be associated with people they aren't-- because if it helps with acceptance and makes you included, then maybe that annoying but yet ancient ritual is worth it.