Kocher's team sits in their Humvee, listening. "They could be coming from all sides. They could be coming from all sides!" One of his team is like, "Um, is our Platoon commander okay?" Another guy starts to say that he can just fire their fifty-cal into the nothingness and imaginary guys that are constantly harassing Captain America, and it'll be fine... when AK fire opens up. Kocher thinks it's enemy contact for a second, but the gunner bitterly tells him that this particular AK firing for no reason belongs to their fucking Platoon commander. Kocher radios: "Interrogative. What are you engaging?"
Captain America doesn't answer, because he's too busy blowing an empty and unremarkable minivan to hell. His driver asks why he was shooting the car, and Captain America gruffs, "Denying the enemy transportation." It's weird, because if he were right, about anything, and not just a lunatic, this attitude wouldn't even really be that off-putting, but since he's a tool and seems to be in the grip of hysterical schizophrenia a lot of the time, it's just incredibly annoying. I'm always impressed when a writer -- or in this case, an actor and writers and a director -- manage to make someone so ball-bustingly obstructive and self-righteous and dangerous that you get mad just watching it. I love that trick. So anyway, his tone is completely pissy and fed up, on the radio: "How much longer are we going to be halted here, waiting to die in fucking Ambush Alley? My men really need to know. Out." Some moments later, Charlie Company finishes the casevac and stabilizes the guy, so the whole Battalion gets to start moving again.
Chaffin and Q-Tip -- the white supremacist and his best friend the wigger -- are sitting on the back of a Humvee, singing together, which is like their favorite thing. This time it's that trashy Drowning Pool song, made somehow even tackier: "Something's got to give, now let the hajjis hit the floor, let the hajjis hit the floor!"
Trombley stares out the window through his gunsight, sighting on nothing. "Sergeant, I didn't get to shoot." He looks through the gunsight and he doesn't see people. Ray's still all dosed up on amazingness. "That fucking sucks, Trombley. Your recruiting officer tell you you'd get to shoot people?" Fucking A, he did. "See, Trombley asked about shooting people. I asked about pussy. The guy told me I'd get to go to Thailand, get all kinds of strange. What'd you ask about, Brad? Brad probably saw that TV commercial. The one with the knight who fucks up the dragon then turns into the marine. Ooh, ooh! Dress blues with a sword! That fucking dress-blues commercial, man, that got so many fucking guys. Now look at us! Trombley hasn't killed anybody, I am half a world away from good Thai pussy and Colbert is out here rolling around Fuckbutt, Iraq, hunting for dragons in a MOPP suit that smells like four days of piss and ballsweat." Evan is impressed by this flourishing wordplay, and of course Brad completely adores it, even though he doesn't indicate this in any way. "You should have rolled into battle with a sword, Brad. That would have fucking rocked." OMG it would have, too.