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Williams is in a Humvee in a convoy going from Tal Afar to Mosul. Convoys are prime insurgent targets, so convoy duty is pretty nerve wracking. It doesn't help that Iraqis tend to be super-aggressive drivers -- and like bad drivers everywhere, they're blind to the risks they're running. Even if the risk is a nervous soldier with her M4 "on red" -- locked and loaded.
Now I'm noticing this local attempting to pass us. We're driving on the left, and this car is coming up fast on the grass beside us on the left.
It's gloomy and difficult to see, but it's clear that this car is planning to cut in ahead of us. I can tell by the way the driver is glancing back and forth that he is going to cut over.
This is making me nervous. It is also pissing me off. They should know we don't want them to do this. They should know better!
...
So I'm gesturing with my weapon at this car moving up next to us. I'm telling them: Do not cut us off! Back off! DON'T FUCK WITH ME!
The car is not pulling back. He is not getting the message.
It's tremendously loud with no doors. No one in the Humvee but me sees this car yet. It's my field of fire. It's my call to decide what to do next.
I raise my weapon and point directly into the car. I can feel my adrenaline pumping. I do not know what's going to happen.
I will shoot if this car is beginning to feel like a threat.
My weapon status is red. Always red on convoy now. My safety's on, though I know some soldiers are not bothering keeping their weapons on safety anymore. But I do. It's still less than a second. Flip, squeeze. After the first round, I can fire at will.
Just then a passenger on my side turns to look for the first time.
It's a little boy. Not more than eight or nine years old. I'm pointing my weapon at a boy who looks exactly like Rick's little brother.
The boy looks at me looking at him.
I lower my rifle and hold it with one hand across my knees. Without thinking, I wave at the boy with my other hand.
And after a moment he waves back.
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