Everybody basically stands around for awhile wondering if they are cool or not. Ray already knows, personally: "Yeah, looks like Saddam's big bad Republican Guard hajjis got wind I was coming. As the great warrior-poet Ice Cube once said, 'If the day does not require an AK, it is good.'" Brad notes somberly that if they'd actually been, you know, here and manning the tanks, everybody would be dead without even a warning. Um, yeah. That's why I spell "reconnaissance" with a capital "Not until I fucking know for sure."
Ray tells him to lighten up, and Brad looks from the Marines climbing all over the tanks, taking pictures of each other like it's a field trip, to Ray. "Then again, the world wouldn't have to deal with the prospect of you returning to your cretinous daughter-fucking trailer-park red-state shithole and producing mutant, whiskey tango, scrotum-faced, bucktoothed, zit-exploding progeny." Ray almost passes out with pleasure, predictably, and Trombley's like, "Heads up." Because guess who's standing behind Brad suddenly? Godfather! Who is so convinced of his own rightness that he would never even think to connect the dots of "we should all be standing here dead" with "Godfather ordered us to take this heavily-armed military base blind." His arms are akimbo, like the perfect asshole that he is, and get a load of this shit right here:
"Chaos, this is Godfather. Be advised, we have seized the enemy airfield. Early reports are we've captured several enemy tanks and self-propelled triple-a batteries. It appears that we've overrun the entire 255th Mechanized Regiment, who have fled. And sir? [self-aggrandizing drama queen pause] We've sustained zero casualties." He almost cries at Mattis's approval, and takes off. Evan looks up, asking Godfather if the Brits are coming. "No," he says proudly. "We scrubbed their mission. We got here first." Godfather, you have become a perfect buffoon. Brad admits quietly to his team that, vanishing Others or no, they just seized an enemy airfield, which is pretty fucking ninja. Ray laughs and Brad smiles wide.
In a scene intended to viscerally show us that keeping your shoes on for weeks at a time is both horrifying and required by the USMC in this circumstance, Doc deals with Chaffin's feet. But you know who's not dealing with Chaffin's feet? This guy. Next.
Nate calls in the team leaders and tells them they're so far ahead of RCT-1, they can chill for a good 24 hours before they show up. They have to keep 50% watch just in case this area they have no idea or intel about and which moments ago contained 4000 Republican Guard guys turns out to be dangerous. Pappy asks if they've discussed destroying the weapons and ordnance on the base, and Nate gives that deadpan thing he's so good at: "Actually, that did come up. But it seems the Battalion's supply of C-4 is now unaccounted for. The Battalion supply truck we left last night, it is a smoldering heap of twisted metal and failed hopes in the trustworthiness of the Iraqis we are striving so hard to liberate." Face is like, "Huh?" and Nate secretly rolls his eyes, deep inside himself where nobody can see. "It means we're on one meal a day."