A Snowball's Chance
by Sarah Black
Ahmed crouched behind the back tire of the Humvee, then lay down with his cheek in the snow. The American soldiers were running, leaping like goats and shouting. Ahmed could see the powdery explosions when the snowballs hit the ground.
Ahmed's older brother, Hamid, peeked around the muddy back bumper. "They're throwing snow at each other."
He sat up, joined Hamid at the bumper. The soldiers were wearing their uniforms. They had their vests and their helmets and some of them had their rifles slung across their backs. But they were playing, flying across the ground and throwing balls of snow, ducking behind the vehicles, then popping up with great shouts.
"Let's go," Hamid said, tugging on his arm. "They won't have any work for us if they're playing."
Heavy boots crunched through the snow, and a giant American soldier ducked behind the Humvee. Ahmed froze, made a tiny bubble of noise, and the man flinched, his hand jerking toward his belt. Then he relaxed and smiled. Ahmed knew this soldier. He had carried his laundry sack twice and the American had given him quarters.
"Hey, little buddies, what are you two doing back here?" A snowball hit the bumper of the Humvee, and soft snow rained down on Ahmed's face. "You ever have a snowball fight? Sure you have. It's in our boy chromosome."
The soldier had eyes that were deep, clear blue, like the sky in summer. He reached for a couple of handfuls of snow, formed a rough snowball, and handed it to Hamid. Hamid dropped it and backed away, his face stiff. The soldier opened his mouth, then he knelt down on one knee next to them. "It's just a game." He made another snowball and handed it to Ahmed.
Ahmed turned the snowball over and over in his hands, packing the snow down hard.
"Stop it!" Hamid tugged on his arm. "You can't throw anything at them. They can shoot you. They'll say it was a rock and shoot you!"
"It's just a game, little buddies." He was still down on one knee.
The soldier make a tiny snowball, tossed it at Ahmed. It disintegrated with a splat, and an icy tickle of snow slid down his chest. Ahmed felt a sudden delight, like his head was full of clear blue summer sky, and he threw his snowball at the soldier. The soldier fell over backward in the snow with a comical gasp, clutching his chest. Ahmed's heart stuttered and he leaned forward, but the soldier popped up with a big goofy grin, knocked on his chest with his knuckles. He was wearing a bulletproof vest.
The soldier gathered a small lump of snow, the size of a nut, and tossed it at Ahmed's chest again. He threw one at Hamid, too, but Hamid had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring at the ground.
Ahmed slid around the back of the Humvee, scooped up snow on the fly, pounded snowballs, leapt up and threw them at the soldier as fast as he could. The soldier ducked and yelled and fell over backward, threw some snow, but mostly he just opened his arms and made his big American chest a target. Ahmed's arm felt as strong as his grandfather's. He was running so swiftly he didn't feel his feet touch the ground until one of his snowballs hit the soldier in the face. The soldier gasped and put his hands to his cheek, and when he pulled them away his fingertips were bloody, with a cut dark as night under his eye.
Hamid gave a low, keening wail, slapped Ahmed hard over his ear. Ahmed landed on his knees in the snow. "Ahmed, what did you do?"
"Whoa, whoa, little buddies, let's not get..." But Hamid was gone, racing across the compound. Ahmed was still down on his hands and knees, gasping form the blow, and the soldier bent over and lifted Ahmed into his arms.
Ahmed felt his hands suddenly, aching with wet and cold. The soldier carried him to one of the B-huts where they slept. There were eight bunks inside, with lockers and shoes and games and a microwave and a stereo and a computer. Ahmed couldn't believe how many things the American soldiers slept with.
The big soldier set him down on his bunk, went down to his knee again. "You're not in trouble, okay? Just relax." The soldier took a white cloth and wiped the blood off his face. Then he taped the cut closed. He turned around and winked at Ahmed and checked his ear carefully. "Bandaids. Great American invention." He wiped muddy tears off Ahmed's face. "You got an arm like a rocket, kid. In America, I'd have you signed up for Little League in a minute. You ever played baseball? You look a little like Nolan Ryan. But you and me? We're Diamondback fans." The soldier winced, pressed his fingers gently next to the cut. "Can you say Diamondbacks?"
Ahmed shook his head. The soldier reached down and pulled a cap out of his locker. "What's your name?"
"Ahmed." His head was spinning a little, and he held his hands between his knees to warm them up. The soldier wrote something inside the cap. "I put your name in there so you'll know it belongs to you. You better run on home, okay?" Ahmed scrambled off the bed. At the door he looked back, but the soldier wasn't looking at him anymore.
He ran through the compound, the cap hidden against his belly. When he was close to home he pulled it out and looked at it. It had a purple brim, and a picture of a snake curled up and a fancy letter D. Ahmed fitted it over his head. "Diamondbacks," he said to himself. "An arm like a rocket."
Thanks to the men and women of the National Guard for their service, and thanks to Evan for telling Sarah about the snowball fight on Christmas Day in Afghanistan.
Sarah Black is a writer and a former military officer; she recently moved to Alaska. She has several novellas being published by Loose ID, and has published short fiction at flashquake, Word Riot, Rio Grande Review, The Angler, and Slow Trains.