• It had only been three months since my deployment into the Iraqi desert and I've already grown to despise the damned country. Sand was everywhere. When you weren't spending countless hours patrolling some god-forsaken back-alley slum, you spent your time knocking the sand out of your boots and brushing the annoying little grains from your rifle.

    This wasn't why I joined the military. I joined the Corpsman to get away from my tedious and boring lifestyle. I was a slightly above average kid, but I didn't significantly stand out amongst my peers in school. I graduated high school with C's and B's and went on to attend a sub-standard university and get a degree in medicine. After college I went on to work at a local pharmacy. After a mere month of working there however, I quit to pursue what I had hoped to be a more exciting lifestyle. I wanted to do something more with my life and make a difference. I just didn't believe that I was contributing anything positive by giving a few pills to some women with heartburn or ointment to a pimple-faced teenager. Against my parents wishes, I applied for the Navy Corpsman, a branch of medical specialists who served both in the rear and on the frontlines providing aid to the sick and wounded. After a year of medical training in the States, I kissed my girlfriend goodbye and was immediately shipped overseas.

    Unbeknown to me, my natural physique had given me priority to serve on the frontlines. When I learned that I would serve as a battlefield corpsman and would be serving with the Marines, I was exhilarated, confident that I would see combat. To my dismay, the glory and epic gun battles of Hollywood were far-flung from the barren Iraqi desert. For three months I, Hospital Corpsman Third Class Ryan Durham, have not seen any combat.

    As I stared out at the endless sea of sand, I was knocked in the back of the head. Turning around, I saw that it was none other than the squad jackass, PFC. Booker. Everyone just called him "Rook" on account of the fact that he's only been with the squad for a little while. He joined the squad about a month ago to replace Cpl. Doyle who had been shipped home on account of getting slammed by a small car going 15 MPH on a busy street. He'd argue that the, "S.O.B. was going at least 45 MPH" but honestly, he failed to follow the fundamental rule of looking both ways before crossing. Rook provided a refreshing change of pace for the squad...and a sense of humor, even if that sense is a bit childish. Rook eventually grew on everybody and acted sort of as the "little brother".

    Booker quickly retracted his hand and began to whistle like a child trying to play innocent. Seeing the look of creeping anger on my face Rook couldn't help but crack a smile.
    "C'mon Doc," he said. "Cap'n wants us to regroup. Shifts done for the day."
    I eased up and shouldered my M4. Walking back towards the Humvee, I gave Rook a hard punch on the arm. Rook kind of tensed up for a moment and let out a disgruntled, "Owwww...b*****d." Typical kid brother attitude. As I approached the Humvee, I gave a little mock salute to the hulking Gunnery Sgt. Hughes who was sitting in the driver's seat.

    If Rook was the "little brother" of the squad, then Sgt. Hughes was its "big brother". Towering at around 6 ft. 5 in., Hughes was a truly a sight to behold. Built like an ox, it was only natural that he served the squad's support role toting around a massive M249 Squad Automatic Weapon. He has always held a happy-go-lucky demeanor and an optimistic attitude. When Rook asked him why he insisted on carrying around a 22lb light machine gun when he could simply swap it for the much lighter M4A1 assault rifle he bluntly replied, "I'd feel better knowing that if some Al-Qaeda madman starts shooting at me that my gun is much better than his..."

    "Hop in." Sgt. Hughes said.
    Rook suddenly dashed in front of me and propped the back door open for him.
    "Oh. Lemme get that for you miss." He said sarcastically.
    "Well aren't you a ******** prince?" I replied and reluctantly got in.
    "I try..." He said, scooting into the seat next to Ryan.

    "Now, now kids, don't make me turn this Humvee around..." said Captain Marcel.

    Captain "Mac" sat in the passenger seat of the Humvee. Always laid back and cool, he's been leading Marines into battle since the Gulf War in the 90's. Apparently that's the same time that him and Sgt. Hughes became acquainted. But of course, Sgt. Hughes had only been a lowly private then...

    Due to his exceptional display of efficiency on the battlefield, Cpt. Mac was offered a promotion to Lieutenant twice during his term of service in the Gulf War and twice rejected it believing that his responsibilities were on the battlefield. Apparently he was quite the soldier back then, I would've loved to see him in combat.

    Those days were over though, as all of us were subjected to a petty service of boring patrols, mopping up of what's left of the terrorist threat in the Middle East. Little did I know, that was all about to change...