Six Humvees sped out of the entry control point at Camp Pendleton, and moved eastbound down Ammunition Road. Each truck was outfitted with several water-filled jerry cans mounted on the back in addition to a spare tire. Camo netting was tightly rolled up on each side of the vehicles, and peeking out from the hatch at the top were four Marines manning crew-served machine guns. These crew serves consisted of three M240B’s and one M2 Browning .50 cal, which was mounted on top of the lead vehicle.
Lieutenant John Hartstock commanded the lead vehicle. He sat in the passenger seat and manned the radio and Blue Force Tracker, a device that showed satellite imagery of the convoy’s current location and route. The operations order that had been briefed to him by the commander about two hours earlier had outlined exactly what this mission was going to entail. He and his convoy would move along Ammunition Road until they reached South Mission Road, where they would take a left and keep going north until they reached West Fallbrook Street. It would be here that the convoy would halt and block off the intersection and try to locate survivors. John knew however, as did the rest of his platoon, that this task would be easier said than done.
John reached into the front pouch of his body armor and retrieved an M-4 magazine. He carefully loaded into his carbine, pulled the charging handle back, and chambered a round. He then picked up the radio hand-mic and addressed the convoy.
"All victors this net, this is Renegade-1 Actual. Radio check over.”
John listened for a response.
“Renegade-1, Renegade-2. I read you loud and clear.”
"Renegade-3. Lima Charlie.”
“Renegade-4. Lima Charlie.”
“Renegade-5. Lima Charlie.”
“Renegade-6. Lima Charlie.”
Once all vehicles in the convoy acknowledged his initial transmission, LT John Hartstock keyed up on the mic once more.
“All victors, Be advised. We are now at weapon condition one. Maintain proper distance and spacing from the victors ahead of you. From this point on, execute proper noise and sound discipline. We are about 20 mikes out from our objective. Keep your eyes and ears open, and stay frosty.”
John looked over at his driver, Lance Corporal Sykes. The kid was either eighteen or nineteen years old, John couldn’t remember for sure. He knew Sykes was from Riverside, and enjoyed skateboarding and surfing on his free time. He gave the kid a faint smile, but it was not returned.
He’s nervous. John thought to himself.
In the seat behind him sat Gunnery Sergeant Thaddeus Shull, a combat veteran of three deployments to Iraq during OIF and one deployment the year before to Afghanistan during OEF. He was tough-as-nails, and everyone in the platoon knew it. John was glad to have him as his platoon sergeant.
Seated in the passenger seat behind the driver was Private First Class Williams. He was a native of Las Angeles, and had ties to various street gangs. Although his family ties are questionable, his sense of duty and loyalty to the Corps has never been an issue. He has always accomplished tasks on time and to the standard, and John considered him a great addition to the team.
Manning the .50 cal was Private Barns. He was a quiet one, from what John could remember, and only seemed to speak until he was spoken to. His fellow squad members considered him a little weird because of this fact. However he could effectively put more rounds on target than anyone in the entire company, which is also why John had him as his gunner.
“At least we have priority for showers when we get back.” John said, trying to lighten the mood.
Gunny Shull grunted, “Yeah, but I bet those Bravo Company losers waste all of the hot water.”
John laughed. “Well Gunny, you can’t have your cake and eat it too.”
“I don’t eat cake, sir. It isn’t healthy.”
“Oh right, I forgot. You’re on the cigarette and brandy diet.” John mocked.
“Say what you want, sir. But I still max my PT test.”
John rolled his eyes and turned back around to face the front. “I still can’t believe you’re riding my ass. My grader didn’t count one of my pull-ups, otherwise I would have maxed too.”
“Excuses, sir.” Gunny Shull snickered.
At this point the six vehicle convoy reached the intersection of South Mission Road.
“All victors, be advised. Renegade-1 Actual crossing Checkpoint 1.” LT John Hartstock stated, as the six humvees took a left onto South Mission Road. A few seconds later, he heard truck six acknowledge his transmission.
“Renegade-6 crossing Checkpoint 1.”
