Chapter 2: A-stan

The C-130 landed on the tarmac at Bagram air base in Afghanistan, carrying a load of the newest reinforcements for the 5-73 Cavalry of the 82nd Airborne division. Once the plane had come to a stop and the rear ramp had dropped, Private Freddie Benson along with his platoon-mates exfilled the cavernous cargo bay of the plane. From the darkness of the planes interior, Freddie was immediately blinded by the light of the burning sun over the Afghan desert, and absolutely broiled by the wave of heat that hit him from outside once the ramp opened. Wearing his ACU's, full combat pack, his IOTV on, and his weapon, an M4, strapped to his front, the heat seemed to make everything heavier, and his uniform stifling.

"Hey ese, its fuckin A-stan! Feels like back home in Tuscon, eh, sept the fuckin hajji's wipe their asses with their hands!" squawked Freddie's squad-mate, PFC Antonio Esquivel, a fast talking latino SAW gunner, with a penchant for taquitos, titties, and cerveza. "Mane, even back home, the most chinga motherfuckers still wipe their ass with papel! You know what I'm sayeeng?"

Freddie smiled, Esquivel was always a hoot, not to mention a deadly accurate shot with his huge M249 SAW.

Once the platoon had exfilled the C-130, they were called to attention by the Lieutenant, Lieutenant Danvers, simply known by his men as the LT. Standing in formation for inspection by the General who was receiving them was no cakewalk under the hot sun, and Freddie felt every one of the nearly 200 pounds of gear and weapons that were strapped to his back and chest. Especially the fuckin IOTV, if the damn vest wasn't so damn protective, he'd just throw the fucker off.

The platoon's sergeant,major, the right hand man of the LT, a grizzled old bastard by the name of Steele stood at the head of the alert platoon and barked out in his husky voice an order that Freddie wasn't so happy to receive.

"All-righty boys, lets show the General what cav scouts are made of, Hooah?"

"Hooah!" the platoon echoed.

"Now drop down an gimme fifty!"

The mass of men dropped their packs and hit the deck, rising up and down rhythmically to the sound of the sergeants cadence. Sweat poured off of Freddie like Niagra Falls. Was this really better than having to think of Sam being fucked by some jerk, he thought wryly. Survey says yes, I'd take an ass-whooping from the Sarge any day before I'd have to see another man making her happier than I.

Welcome to fucking Afghanistan.