Ray pisses in the dust while Brad and Nate and Gunny Wynn look out over the city. "Jesus Christ," Brad breathes. "That's a lot of city." Wynn says if they're not careful, they'll get lost in there. On Brad's Blue Force Tracker, Nate sees it in two dimensions: "Street after street, alley after alley. Look at it." And compared to those little kilometer long towns in their tracks, Wynn notes, it's a different world. There's Fedayeen sniping American units down in the city, as they watch. Nate points Brad to a specific neighborhood, a Shi'a slum called Saddam City. Wynn notes the need to rename that bitch, and they all smile. Everybody mounts up to head in, and Brad quietly signals Ray over to the truck. "Dude, check it out! I wrote USA with my piss!" So noted. Brad grins to himself.
Trombley's up top on the way in. Walt is driving, and Ray is asleep, having finally crashed. He spends this entire episode crashing and crashing, digging more places to crash underneath where he crashed, and then crashing again. Brad starts singing "King Of The Road," because that's how he's feeling: lofty and magnanimous. A man of means, by no means. Somebody calls for Eric Kocher over the radio, and receives the response that he is no longer on Three Two. Say again? "Be advised: the team leader's been fired. Over." For once, the radios are working, so Brad can't get more info. Ray wakes up and asks about Kocher. "He's not riding with Three Two," Brad says darkly. Ray shakes the sleep from his head: "...Were you guys singing 'King Of The Road' without me?"
The trucks head into a warehouse, where Marines are scattering bits of silver paper everywhere, in celebration. One man dances underneath them; somebody else asks him to show his tits. They're encamping in a cigarette factory. It's burning because the entire city is burning. "If these were Marlboros, we'd be fuckin' rich." Chaffin compares smoking "hajji cigarettes" to "eating raghead pussy," because he's really interesting as a person and has super high self-esteem. Ray points out they're standing in the biggest cloud of secondhand smoke possible ever: "They fuckin' execute people for shit like this in California," he says.
It would be a lot funnier if James Ransone hadn't once again decided against acting in this half of the episode. Hey, it's a choice. And frankly drugged into a coma he could still act circles around Jon Huertas, who manages to fuck up every scene he is in this episode twice as bad as usual, which is not even really his fault because of the Poke speeches being shoveled into his mouth at twice their normal rate by some kind of expert bullshit stevedores with zero sense of normal speech rhythms, who still think it's tearjerking shit when you spit it out as loudly and quickly as possible.