There were endless conflicts, a constant stream of anti-American armed groups, and a whole pile of messes that even the Bald Eagle itself did not understand why it was getting involved in.
Toward evening, the last batch of supplies was loaded onto the aircraft carrier. The massive conveyor belt slowly stopped turning, and the crane at its end lifted high and withdrew back to the dock.
The shore personnel began putting away their tools, while officers handed over documents. The setting sun cast the entire pier in a dark red glow.
The junior NCOs' quarters lay deep within the hull, where the corridors were narrow and the lights dim.
The humid air was mixed with motor oil, sweat, food, and an indescribable moldy smell—the unique scent inside this steel behemoth.
Sleeping compartments lined both sides of the corridor, each one like an iron box, so cramped it was hard to breathe.
The compartment door was not fully closed. A Black man squeezed out through the gap, the sound echoing down the corridor.
Karim lay on his bunk, staring at the underside of the upper berth less than twenty centimeters from his nose.
The bed frame was iron and painted white. There was a small lamp at the head of the bed, casting a yellowish glow, along with a storage locker.
The space was so narrow that even turning over would make his elbow hit the wall beside him.
The air was stifling, while the air conditioner droned endlessly.
The noise on this ship never stopped. It went buzz buzz buzz when they slept, and buzz buzz buzz when they were awake.
"Those white officers really live well." Jackson turned over in the bunk beside him, making the bed frame creak.
"Last time I delivered supplies, I took a look at