Strike 2
Heat. It was kind of heat that would slap you in the face and put your mother’s stove in the summer to shame. No life, no vegetation other than the mirages your mind conjured as you looked in the distance as the verdant green mirage of a wadi dissipated. It was Summer Break according to the calendar back home. Your sister would be giggling with friends as they were getting ready to go to the Lake for the yearly sojourn back to Heron Cove. Closing your eyes momentarily memories of the cool breeze off the water as you sat on the deck and watched the sunset, an ice cold beer in hand... you were shaken from your reverie as you were jostled by a fellow Marine. Breathing in the sun baked air, you hoisted your pack and walked down into the pits of Hell.