CHAPTER FIVEJune 2005
Iraq was cold the morning of his first patrol. Briggs was the newbie, the fish, the one most likely to die first because he was as green as a brand-new sea bag, void of discolorations and scars from journeys traveled. Everyone gave him a wide berth. But as the patrol went on through the day, the more experienced Marines could see that he fit in; maybe he was green, but he was instinctively smart. He rarely spoke and flawlessly executed and responded to every hand signal. Mostly he observed, taking in the activity around him, both obvious and subtle, learning, turning things over in his mind, cultivating his understanding. His footfalls light and balanced, he moved phantom-like, soundless and purposeful. He was aware of his proximity to cover, and he knew to keep the
