Another day, another German convoy.
Troy waved his hand and skidded down the hill toward Hitch's jeep, ready to hop in.
Tully and Hitch tore the dust covers off the .50 cals.
Moffitt readjusted his goggles and readied his weapon.
The jeeps bounded out toward the convoy, revealing themselves from the sand dune they'd been hiding behind. Sandy grit forced its way into Tully's mouth, just like it always did, and he didn't bother spitting it out. More would take its place soon enough if he did.
Moffitt tapped his shoulder. He looked up for an instant.
The jeep's front left wheel slammed into a large, mostly hidden rock. Tully and Moffitt slammed forward, falling out of the jeep, bruised, if not bloody.
Tully scrambled to get up, assess the damage, rejoin the fight. Hitch and Sarge couldn't hold them off forever.
A German bullet bit into his back.
