We are outside Ramadi, clearing a route none of us has driven before, and that alone is enough to put everyone on edge. The usual roads are paved; you learn how to read them over time, learn the language of fresh asphalt and disturbed dirt, the subtle signs that something has been opened and closed again. But this road offers no such cues. It's unpaved, a supply line cutting through open terrain, stripped of landmarks or patterns, giving us nothing familiar to anchor to.
The streets are empty, and the emptiness feels deliberate.
No kids selling cigarettes. No old men walking goats. No women hauling baskets to market. The everyday rhythms of a place trying to stay alive in the middle of a war have vanished, like someone swept the board clean before we arrived. They know something. They always know before we do.
From rural Haiti to Brooklyn, New York, from enlisted Army to Special Forces, follow along with Jay as he learns how to survive in the least hospitable conditions and come out on top.