Bakr and I waited out the daylight hours observing the movements and numbers of the Iraqi position.They were a mix of infantry, four 122-mm. M-1974 (2S1) Self-Propelled Howitzers and a couple of, what looked to me like, BMP-2 Infantry Fighting Vehicles, as well as a couple of covered flatbed trucks and three small quarter ton pickup trucks. We counted forty three troops and twelve officers, none higher ranking than a Major.The terrain in front of the Iraqi's camp was nearly flat, with a few dips and gullies to break up the mind numbing emptiness. Behind them, where we were, were a few small hills. Thru these hills ran the one and only hard packed dirt road for miles. It was along this road that our General was expected to arrive within the next twenty four hours. If he came at all. We were dug in two miles from the Iraqi's, on top of one of the small hills north of their encampment, but fairly close to a dogleg bend in the road. The General's convoy would have to pass below us. Lt.. .. push-ups in here or something?”“Just ... trying to stay in shape,” I said. “You know, cardio’s important.”“Right,” she said. She grabbed a bottle of body spray. “Might want to spritz up. It’s a little ripe in here.”Fifteen minutes later, we were walking into The Polka Dot Dress, the only clothing store in Jefferson, the small town in Central Oregon that we lived. It was a farming community of just a few hundred. It existed as much for the truck stop off I-5 as the surrounding farms around it. The store got shipments of new clothes once a month, the owner trying hard to get fashionable items for people of all ages.It was dominated by the girls’ section.“Oh, my god, they are cute,” moaned my friend as she flew to the new rack of jeans. She pulled one off. “Look at the stitching on the back pocket. That is going to have every guy staring at our asses.”I nodded my head. I pretended I was into guys. “Yep. Come September, every guy at Oregon State’s going to be drooling over our.
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