October 5, 2008. It's almost 1900 hours, the rest of the platoon is settling in for the night. I hear heavy footsteps of the platoon smokers climbing the stairs to the second floor of our barracks. I sit quietly and watch as some lay down, others picking up cell phones to call loved ones. Private Jones walk over to a worried looking Private Mendoza. They talk for a moment, can't quite make out what was said, then Jones pats Mendoza on the shoulder and walks away. All I can assume is it has something to do with his girl. Always seems to happen to us during pre-mob, depending on how serious it is the question is will this alter his performance as a soldier. Tough to tell, sometimes it takes months before you really start to notice a change.

I step outside and peer off the second floor balcony. Cold night, I hate the cold, guess it's a good thing we're heading to Iraq. Not that the nights get any warmer over there this time of year. Behind me the door opens and Mendoza heads down the balcony steps. He's got his phone, guess his girl got off work and finally called. I watch him for a bit, looks like the conversation is escalating. He starts muttering something over and over as he pulls the phone away from his face. He turned his head and I saw the tears. Some of the guys outside walk over and check on him, he's crying and sobbing loudly between exaggerated breaths of anxiety.

Stepping back inside I head downstairs to the Sergeant's quarters. I walk over to one of the bunks.

"Sergeant Ployhar?"

"What is it Cookie?" he grumbled.

"I think Mendoza has a problem, looks like his girl broke it off."

"About time, knew it wasn't gonna last. All these young kids thinking marriage works the first time. You need at least three good trys before you realize you're better off single. Ain't that right Slaybough?"

"That's right, always say a single man is a free man. He can do his work in peace without a woman draggin' him down." The thin Sergeant turns over on his bunk with a twisted smile.

"Cookie why don't you go talk to him for me, I'm gonna get some shut eye. Headin' over to the Aid Station early in the morning. Too tired to deal with this school boy nonsense." He turns over and hides in his blanket.

"Roger that Sergeant."

I head toward the back door. I wonder what I'm gonna say to him, nothing is gonna fix this. Only one that can do that is him, but a broken heart takes time to mend. This is the wrong time for it, one month from now we'll be running convoy security and we need every joe focused on the task at hand.

My cap fits snuggly on my head, the crisp cold air stinging my ears. I take a deep breath and walk towards where Mendoza is still sitting slumped over and crying.

"I hate pre-mob." I sigh.