DAY THREE
9
At 0615, Cengo stood alone outside the Company CP, reflecting on the many strange things around him as he waited for the Wolfhounds to pick him up. Even after working for the Americans for more than a year, this place, the FOB, still felt like an alien camp, an incredible foreign creation inside his own country. What the American Army had constructed was a miracle. These people were rich, so very rich. And everything organized. Exact rows of olive green tents set on wooden floors. Neatly arranged square metal boxes all over the camp funneled electricity for America’s Army. Hundreds of new same-sized rectangular metal living trailers, all with hinged doors in the center and two windows spaced equally on each side of the door. Cengo had never lived in a home with a glass window
