Machine Learning (Captain Allen and DPD SWAT POV)

Heaven's Gates

"My, balls, are on FI-REEE-"

I looked up, a grin peeling on my face and cracking my dried lips.

Private First Class, Jack Cooper. The guy dancing in place in the gunner's seat behind a .50 Cal turret, humming the familiar song with his own, colorful lyrics.

"I'm walkin' on FI-RE-ee-EE!" Grenier answered from the other side, a handheld IED Detector scanning the ground as he took small, controlled steps.

"This, girl is on FIRE!" Pierson called as her trainee marked a mine, his dog sitting at his side.

"Look what you went and started," I said to Jack, "Gonna' have the whole convoy singing about how sweaty their balls are."

"Not the whole convoy," Pierson answered, "Under-boob sweat? That's a whole different story."

"Ya know," Jack leaned on the shield of his turret, "Some of these dude POGs can bitch about under-boob sweat, too."

"No, listen, there are some things that only a woman understands, okay? Don't take that from us."

"Psht-" Grenier snickered, chiming in as he passed between the gap of two Humvees, "Alright, stay over there with your under-boob sweat, then."

My handset crackled, a beep marking a transmission.

"Wr...gler 2... this is ...angler ...3, o...er."

I sighed, rolling my eyes, "Wrangler 2-2, sounds like you're talking through an empty can...try cleanin' your handset and try again."

I let my rifle dangle, taking a sip from a water bottle. I drank until it got to the bottom, where it was the hottest, and drained the rest down the back of my neck.

I tossed the bottle in the window, and it landed on someone's lap.

"A present, Staff Sergeant?" Chaplain leaned out, "For lil' ol' me?"

"I know – you're spoiled."

"Wrangler 2-2 this is Wrangler 2-3, how you read me now?"

I held my handset up to my mouth, "2-3 has you loud and clear, over."

"Roger. Hey, I've got three unknowns moving in along the road right in front of us. I can't see a whole lot, but they've got sagging trunks and they're movin' pretty quick."

"Roger..." I turned my head, pushing my sunglasses up my face, the sweat leading them down the bridge of my nose, "Checking."

I rolled my shoulders, taking a few steps to the right. Sand clouds plumed out behind from a file of white, low-riding cars as their profiles shimmered on the hot horizon.

Everyone was watching, now.

"2-3, try to get eyes on them and see if they're armed."

"Roger."

I took my gun in my hands, waiting patiently for the next relay.

Waiting.

You did a lot of that as a Marine.

You were stowed on some base, in some tent, for days on end. You were expected to keep yourself occupied when you weren't working on trucks, lifting weights, beating the ever-living fuck out of each other just for entertainment. Reading letters from loved ones, or kids sending them from school. Listening to the radio, when allowed, trying to keep tabs on the media's version of what you were doing on the front lines. Playing soccer with the locals' kids as the rest of the unit searched and printed the males of the village, or getting sent out to the boonies to fix a water pump.