The Humvee lurched forward. Behind them, the highway burned. Ahead, only more highway. And somewhere in between, a boy who had raised his hands like he was asking a question no one would answer.
“Ravage, report.”
“Roger that, Hitman. Looks like… a kid. Maybe fourteen.” --HOT-- Download Film Generation Kill
Sergeant Lenihan’s Humvee, “Ravage 2-4,” had a transmission that sounded like a dying animal. Every gear change was a prayer. They’d been rolling for forty hours straight, living on Rip Its and the stale dust of every vehicle ahead of them. The Humvee lurched forward
The battalion’s call-sign crackled back: “Ravage, this is Hitman. Verify. No friendlies north of the river.” And somewhere in between, a boy who had
Reade sank back into his seat. “That’s it? We’re not even going to talk about it?”
Silence. Then: “Negative, Ravage. Rules of engagement: no unauthorized personnel within two hundred meters of the supply route. You know the drill.”