Read None Left Behind for Free Online

out of vehicles, much like those who accompanied armored knights of old to hoist them into their saddles.
    â€œAnd yours will probably be named what? Sancho Panza?” Jimenez’ buddy, Specialist Shaun Gopaul, joked back.
    It took the modern American soldier in Iraq longer to get ready for combat than any previous GI in history. A doughboy in World War I or a dogface in World War II or Korea drew on a pair of fatigues or woolens, buckled on his webgear, put on his “steel pot,” picked up his Springfield or M-1 Garand, and he was ready to go out and fight. A grunt in Vietnam sometimes donned a flak jacket. But it wasn’t until the end of the twentiethcentury that the military became more concerned with the protection of individual soldiers on the battlefield. A Joe in Iraq sometimes wore or lugged around as much as 150 pounds of “battle rattle.” With that kind of weight, the infantry
had
to become mechanized. Units weren’t about to go foot slogging over the Italian Alps or marching all the way across Germany.
    Today, the well-dressed combat soldier started with a set of flameretardant, heavy-duty digital-patterned ACUs (Advanced Combat Uniform) and rough-out tan boots. To that he added an armored vest padded with Kevlar SAPI plates that protected his front and back, both sides, shoulders, throat, armpits and, with the addition of a special flap, his family jewels. Theoretically, the armor would stop most shrapnel and bullets up to 7.62mm, the standard round for the Russian or Chicom-made AK-47 rifle used throughout much of the world. That meant the enemy now tried to aim his shots at the face, arms, or legs.
    Optional knee pads protected against crawling and scrambling around in the rubble of a battlefield, not against bullets.
    The FLK (Full Load Kit), or “flick,” took the place of the old LBE (Load-Bearing Equipment) webgear used since World War I. It was a vest worn outside personal body armor for toting ammo, grenades, and other battle essentials. It was designed in such a way that a flip of the skirt while in the prone position placed everything within easy hand’s reach.
    The modern soldier’s assault pack wasn’t that much different from those carried into battle as far back as the Civil War. Nor was the nature of its contents, only their character: plastic bottles of water; an extra MRE (Meal, Ready to Eat) or two; fresh socks and underwear; a weapons-cleaning kit; extra ammo; shaving kit; a paperback novel; a couple of to-be-reread letters from back home; and a few other items that might be needed or might make life a little more comfortable.
    A Kevlar ACH (Advanced Combat Helmet), or “nitch” as it was called, topped off the ensemble. No previous American grunt had ever gone to war so heavily laden.
    On top of everything else, Sammy Rhodes, twenty, lean with long muscles on a modest frame, carried his squad’s “two-forty,” a 7.62mmM240B machine gun that was the updated version of the old M60 used in Vietnam. It was a solid, dependable weapon with range enough to reach way out there and touch about anything. It weighed over twenty pounds with a belt of ammo in its feed tray.
    Rhodes’ mouth was dry, his tongue like a cactus in a bed of sand, as his squad loaded onto the waiting aircraft. Who would have ever thought he’d be flying in a dragonfly? Around him, his platoon mates kept up a running patter to conceal the apprehension they were all experiencing. Apprehension, hell! They were scared to death, and they were scared their buddies would know they were scared. They were also excited.
    Dan “Corny” Courneya, a nineteen-year-old PFC from Michigan, crowded onto the canvas seating next to Rhodes. “This ain’t no place for a Polar Bear!” he shouted to be heard above the noise. “Do you see any snow?”
    â€œSo this is war, huh?” marveled Christopher Murphy, a short, squat little PFC carrying a