PHOTOGRAPH
First Mountain
| GUIDO SPORIN
flags flying from all four windows. It failed to brake at the stop sign 600 meters from us. A Bradley, our best light armor, fired a short burst of tracer rounds to warn it, but the Mercedes kept coming. At 400 meters, the Bradley cuts loose its chain-gun, putting half a dozen 25-mikemike canon rounds into the car, but it charged on. at miracle did it. Everyone opened up, 25 mm from the Bradley, .50 cal and 7.62 from machine guns in four Humvee turrets, and a hail of 5.56 by dismounted individuals like me with M4s. It was a free-fire frenzy. Everything came off: tires, mirrors, bumpers, the grille, lights, the hood and top, trunk, a couple doors, and all the flags. e car rolled through the din and dust on three bare steel wheels and lurched to a stop about 20 meters in front of us. ere was no white paint left, no distinct contours—no way to know it was a Mercedes.”
6 | Montana Mouthful
Vol. 1 • Issue 1