The garage Phillip and his crew pretty much lived in had a section converted into a living quarters where most of the men were spending their time. There were a few people talking, but most of the ambient noise was taken over by a radio playing an
old soundtrack that echoed throughout the garage. That wasn't the only significant thing, though. It seems the platoon had everything to themselves in preparation for anything; gunracks holdings their guns, ammo caches, and even a line of tanks; their tanks, the M1 Abrams.
Sitting on the front side of one of those tanks, next to the main gun, was a man who was busy writing down on a sheet of notebook paper. Everyone was going about their business until the sound of a door opening and closing interrupted the sounds of a typical day, but that was also typical for the soldiers who occupied the garage. They simply went about their business as the messenger went to the man sitting on the tank, the commander of the platoon. The one on the tank noticed the soldier and slowly stood up after the orders exchanged hands between himself and the messenger, the man putting his pen and paper away to read over the papers before he started climbing up the tank towards the hatch that had a 50. cal machine gun resting in front of. Once there, the sergeant reached down and checked for his rifle, it was there, so he shouted across the garage.
"Alright boys load up! We gotta move! He shouted, and like that everyone scrambled to grab their things and man their tanks. Within two minutes of call, they were already ready to go. The tanks rolled out after their leader gave the column formation and advance order, and they were on their way to the given coordinates.
The desert was hot, and the sands were kicking around during the usual day in the middle east. In the middle of the sands, there was a dirt road that had little to nobody traveling on them, except two MRAPs, Humvees to be exact that were driving with a little distance between each Humvee. The back one had a man who occupied a heavy caliber turret, the M2 Browning, the man wearing a multifold mask and a US army desert camouflage. There were a total of six men, and their leader sat on the front seat of the vehicle up front, the man pointing ahead and guiding the driver down the road.
"Listen, we just gotta hit up the town, hold up presence for perhaps two hours, then get back home. Should be a simple thing. After we get everything wrapped up we can get showers and go to sleep. Simple, yeh?" The man with the sergeant insignia said over the radio, a couple of brief responses and chuckles being returned to him by his comrades. His uniform and dogtags proved him to be the squad leader; Sergeant Konrad Mullins.
