Generation Kill Part 11

We creep forward. AKs crackle in the distance. We pick up speed, clearing the suspected ambush spot. We pa.s.s two black dogs humping in the ditch by the road. Then a billboard of a grinning Saddam.

aHey, anybody got a Sharpie?a Person asks. aWe should do some bathroom art on him, like draw a c.o.c.k and b.a.l.l.s going into his mouth. Iam serious, letas stop and do it.a He starts laughing.

aShush, Person. Take a deep breath,a Colbert says indulgently, like a kindergarten teacher with an unruly child.

aI canat help it,a Person says. aIam running solely on Ripped Fuel tonight.a The sun is now a red disk perched just atop the horizon to the left. Several kilometers ahead, a ma.s.sive fireball erupts, sending a mushroom cloud into the sky. The radios come to life, everyone debating what it is.

We stop, and for several moments the distant fireball burns more brightly than the setting sun. Now the feeling of being on a 1950s sci-fi movie is complete. Surrounded by the red, bermed fields, strange huts and now what look like two suns setting simultaneously, itas like weave arrived on the alien planet.

A FEW MINUTES after the double sunset, the Marines are ordered to be on the lookout for a downed American aircraft. Later, the BBC reports that a Navy F-18 was shot down, leading Fick and others to surmise that the brilliant fireball wead seen had been that jet crash.

We drive for several hours in the darkness, dogged by sporadic mortar fire and enemy forces that keep lighting up the sky with illume flares.

Around midnight the battalion stops a few kilometers south of Al Kut and digs in. The ca.n.a.l is a couple hundred meters to our right, and the ground here is saturated. Boots sink ankle-deep in the mud. It takes twenty minutes just to find a spot dry enough to dig a hole. With enemy mortars and illume flares still going off nearby, Colbertas team excavates a ma.s.sive hole, big enough for everyone, in the event of a bad artillery attack.

Machine-gun fire across the ca.n.a.l is heavy at times. RCT-1 is on the other side, and they are moving into position to a.s.sault into Al Kut. Low-flying American jets crisscross overhead. Bombs and artillery rumble.

I sit in the mud, eating an MRE ration I saved for dinner. After squeezing the contents from the foil pack into my mouth, Iam too tired to discern what it tastes likea"a spaghetti dinner, chicken breast or chunked beefsteak. Thereas not enough light to read the packaging and figure out what these chunks of food in my mouth are. Itas the first time existing in total darkness has bothered me.

The dark and sleepless conditions under which Marines operate have already caused several fatalities. Two men sleeping near their Humvee in another unit were crushed to death by a tracked vehicle, and a third was paralyzed. An infantry Marine crawled into his hole after watch and fatally shot himself in his sleep with his SAW.

Nearby in the darkness, Marines in Bravo pa.s.s around these stories. Some of them now bring up another nighttime activity: acombat jacks.a Theyare trying to tally whoas m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed the most since the invasion started. During long, fatiguing hours of watch, some Marines beat off just to keep awake and pa.s.s the time. aDog, after that first ambush,a one of the men says, referring to a fevered night of combat jacks after the attack at Al Gharraf, aI get into my hole, and I had to go three times, bam, bam, bam! Couldnat stop. Hadnat happened like that since I was seventeen. I thought something was broken.a ON THIS NIGHT, April 2, five kilometers south of Al Kut, First Recon is alone on the western side of the ca.n.a.l. Given the fact that Al Kut is home to thousands of Republican Guard forces and is now being bombed from above by American aircraft while being attacked on the ground by RCT-1 (as well as other Marine units from the west), commanders in First Recon are concerned that enemy forces, fleeing the city, might overrun its encampment on this night of chaos. The battalion pushes foot patrols out beyond the perimeter in order to set up observation posts and watch for approaching Iraqis. Kocher, who spent the previous night reconnoitering the ruins of Al Muwaffaqiyah, now leads a patrol out.

The moon hasnat risen yet. Creeping through a field in near-absolute darkness, Kocher and two of his men spot an Arab through their NVGs about twenty meters away. The Arab, wearing a robe, is sitting cross-legged in a low spot between some broad, undulating berms.

Kocheras first impulse is to shoot him. Heas upset about Pappy being hit the night before and wouldnat mind exacting some revenge. But as he later explains, Kocher doesnat shoot for fear of giving away his position. Iraqi soldiers are still launching illume flares less than a kilometer away, presumably looking for Americans.

With two of his men covering him, Kocher approaches the lone Arab, confident the guy canat see him in the darkness. Speaking rudimentary Arabic, learned from his Marine cheat sheets, Kocher tells him to put his hands up and stand.

The Arab complies. As he rises, an AK slides out from under his robes and clatters to the ground. Kocher draws nearer. Then he hears footsteps, someone shouting aAhhh!a Captain America runs past, making a bayonet charge for the Arab. He slams him in the chest, and the two of them tumble over with a meaty thud.

aI f.u.c.ked that guy up!a Captain America shouts, rising triumphantly.

Kocher is p.i.s.sed. Itas not just that his commanding officer is running around in the darkness, screaming and bayoneting a prisoner who had been completely under control. Now Kocher figures heas going to have to get out his medical kit and render aid to the Arab if heas not dead.

He rolls the Arab, zip-cuffing his hands behind his back, then spins him around to examine his chest for wounds. Heas unharmed. The Arab wears a chest rig beneath his robe, loaded with ammo. Captain Americaas bayonet smashed apart a rifle magazine in the Arabas vest but failed to penetrate his chest.

aNice going, Captain,a Kocher says. aYou missed him.a aThat guy was resisting,a Captain America says. aI just wanted to jab him.a Kocher strips off the Arabas ammo vest and pulls him to his feet. Captain America curses and tries kicking the Arab in the groin. Instead, he hits Kocher in the stomach.

af.u.c.k! Did I hit you?a aYeah,a Kocher says. He doesnat say anything else. Kocher finds that speaking with his commander just adds to the aggravation. Following this nightas latest escapade, some of Kocheras men begin fantasizing about capping their captain, talking about it openly among themselves. Kocher doesnat. He tries to maintain a balanced view of his commander. aHeas got personal problems,a he says. aIave got no problem with being aggressive, but heas bloodthirsty toward the wrong people, unarmed people.a THE BOMBARDMENT OF AL KUT continues into the morning of April 3. RCT-1as advance into the city is well under way on the other side of the ca.n.a.l. We hear Amtracs clanking past, machine guns, explosions. Some are less than a kilometer away, but from where weare sitting the nearby action has a remote feel, similar to being in a cheap multiplex where you hear sounds of a war movie seeping out from the next theater. First Recon is sitting out this a.s.sault.

Within a couple of hours, the Marines in RCT-1 blast their way to the main bridge over the Tigris. But as soon as they reach it, they will pull back and depart the city. Their mission and First Reconas in Central Iraq will be over. After having sent them all the way here, Maj. Gen. Mattis has decided not to seize Al Kut. First Recon and RCT-1 are ordered to turn around and leave.

First Reconas entire campaign since leaving Nasiriyah has been part of a feinta"a false movement designed to convince the Iraqi leaders.h.i.+p that the main U.S. invasion would be coming through Al Kut. The strategy has been a success. The Iraqis left a key division and other forces in and around Al Kut in order to fight off a Marine advance that now has been abruptly called off. With so many Iraqi forces tied down near Al Kut, Baghdad has been left relatively undefended for the combined Army and Marine a.s.sault now gathering on the outskirts.

Mattis, a key architect of this grand diversion, later boasts to me, aThe Iraqis expected us to go all the way through Al Kuta"that the adumb Marinesa would fight their way through the worst terrain to Baghdad.a While the plan worked brilliantly, Mattis adds, with characteristic modesty, aIam not a great general. I was just up against other generals who donat know s.h.i.+t.a The Marines have known nothing about this feint strategy until the past couple of days, when Fick began guessing that this was his platoonas purpose, based on hints head received from other officers.

Now, midmorning on April 3, while RCT-1 is still pulling back from its diversion into Al Kut, Fick gathers the men by Colbertas vehicle in their muddy encampment and explains whatas going on. aBy coming up here, weave tied down two Republican Guard divisions,a he says. The swagger he had up on the bridge outside of Al Hayy is back. aAnd for most of the way we were out in front, rolling into these villages and towns ahead of every other American. Often, it was you guys in this platoon at the absolute tippity-tip of the spear. Not to rest on our laurels now, but every one of you should be proud.a aBut what about Al Kut?a Garza asks. aAfter coming all this way we ainat going to Al Kut?a aNo,a Fick says. aThe feintas over. Weare pulling out of here later today.a Garza, sitting by a hole, etching lines in the mud with his boot heels, digests the news. He twists his head up, annoyed. aWe just spent a week getting shot at, bombing everything, all based on a f.u.c.king wrong turn?a

TWENTY-SEVEN.

EVEN THOUGH THE IRAQIS have been beaten in Al Kut, theyare still dropping mortars around First Reconas encampment, where it has remained through the morning of April 3. In the opinion of the Marines, Iraqis donat fight very hard, but the men are beginning to notice that Iraqis never really seem to completely surrender, either.

ad.a.m.n,a Person says after another blast. aDidnat RCT-1 already kick their a.s.s once today?a Everyone is waiting for orders to begin the march to Baghdad to join the final a.s.sault. Itas grown into a hot day. Earlier, Marines were ordered into their rubber MOPP boots in case of a gas attack. Still, n.o.body minds the added hards.h.i.+p too much. The platoon was resupplied with food today. Colbertas team sits around their Humvee in the mud, gorging themselves on MREs.

Ha.s.ser is still not talking. He leans against the front wheel, writing an after-action summary on the shooting of the man in the blue car, which Fick told him to hand in in case thereas an investigation. Person walks over to him and starts dry-humping his shoulder like a dog.

aHow you doing, Walt?a aGet out of here.a Fick walks up. aWalt, when you finish that, weare going to see if thereas a better way to stop these cars.a aWaltas got a great way to stop cars,a Person says. aShoot the driver.a Behind Ha.s.seras back, his buddies all talk about him in worried, hushed tones, trying to figure out if heas okay. To his face, they tease him unmercifully. For the Marines, this is their attempt at therapy.

Espera comes to Ha.s.seras defense. aMaybe you were a hair too aggressive yesterday, but these motherf.u.c.kers are trying to kill us. We canat get soft now because of a few mistakes. Iam lighting up any motherf.u.c.ker who comes within one hundred meters.a SIGNS OF THE REGIMEaS unraveling greet the Marines as they pull south, away from Al Kut, later in the afternoon. We drive on a straight, narrow asphalt road through an utterly flat, thinly populated area of croplands. On the way, we pa.s.s a truck full of naked Iraqi men, waving underwear as surrender flags. They say they were robbed of their clothes by fleeing soldiers. Farther along thereas a car with two fatally shot men in it. A guy cowering by the road tells a translator the men were killed by rampaging Iraqi soldiers, who in defeat have become bandits.

First Recon sets up a camp twenty kilometers south of Al Kut. The next morning, April 4, the men confront a new, ugly side of war. Refugees begin streaming up to their roadblock on the northern end of the highway.

Second Platoon is tasked with escorting the refugees through First Reconas lines, along a three-kilometer stretch between their roadblocks on the highway. About fifty refugees are gathered by the roadblock when Colbertas team rolls up.

Many of the refugees have been on the road for three days now, walking and hitchhiking all the way from Baghdad, about 250 kilometers from here. The men wear Western clothesa"dusty suits and sleek loafers, shredded from three days of walking. The women, mostly in black, carry infants and are surrounded by small children. Many carry sacks of grain, bags of clothing and other household possessions. Thereas one little boy, maybe six, in a black and gold-lam suit with a bow tie that makes him look like a miniature Las Vegas lounge singer. It was probably the most expensive thing he owned, and his family had likely dressed him up in it as a means of transporting it out of Baghdad. He smiles at the Marines, almost self-consciously proud to be greeting them in his finest suit. They laugh and give him candya"unlucky Charms, of course.

When the men begin to escort the first group, with the Marines on foot and in Humvees creeping behind, the little cavalcade has an almost carefree air. Thereas an extremely beautiful woman among the refugees, who wears a bright green scarf. In her later twenties, sheas a biologist from Baghdad who speaks fluent English. Her name is Ma.n.a.l, and her beauty isnat something thatas entirely objective. In the squalor of her current circ.u.mstances, she radiates calm and high spirits that seem almost mischievous. She accosts one of the Marine escorts with a beguiling smile and asks, aWhy did you Americans come here?a aWe want to help you, maaam,a the Marine answers.

aI love my city very much,a Ma.n.a.l says, referring to Baghdad. aYou are bombing it, and it will be worse.a aWhy do you think we came here?a the Marine asks.

aOur country is very rich, and our president is very stupid,a Ma.n.a.l says. aMaybe you came for the liberation. I am not so sure.a The exchange is cut short when the Marine notices one of the babies being carried by another woman has blood streaming out of its mouth. A little horror has returned to the war.

aCan you ask her whatas wrong?a the Marine says to Ma.n.a.l.

She turns to the woman, whoas shus.h.i.+ng the bleeding baby even though it isnat crying. She and the babyas mother exchange a few words. Then Ma.n.a.l reports. aHer baby is sick.a She scolds the Marine. aAll the mothers have been walking for a long time with no water or food.a Colbert comes over to help. He instructs the mother with the bleeding baby to sit by the road, and summons a corpsman over. The bleeding, the corpsman believes, is a result of dehydration. Several other mothers come over with their sick babies. Itas already in the low nineties. Colbert dabs the infants with water, trying to cool them down. Soon, more mothers are handing him their babies, perhaps thinking heas a doctor. One baby has chicken pox. Colbert takes the infant, kneels down and rocks him. aIs there anything we can do?a he asks the corpsman.

aNothing, man,a he answers. aThey just need lots of water.a Colbert now wears an expression that Iave come to see more frequently. He looks helpless. When confronted with these small human tragedies up close, some Marines shut down. Their faces go blank. Despite his Iceman reputation, Colbert doesnat hide his feelings very well. In combat he looks almost ecstatic; now he appears overwhelmed, though still trying to deal with this situation. He hands the baby back to the mother, along with a water bottle. aPut water on the little one,a he says, speaking English into the motheras uncomprehending face. She nods gratefully, perhaps thinking heas done more than he actually has to help. Despite the water the Marines hand out, Doc Bryan estimates that a quarter of the infants may die in the next twenty-four hours.

In the s.p.a.ce of an hour, two to three hundred refugees show up at the northern roadblock. Marines, who initially vowed to keep their distance, now load rotund old ladies in black robes into the backs of their Humvees and drive them the three kilometers through their lines. Others carry sacks of rice and bedrolls on their heads and shoulders. One of the men on Esperaas team, twenty-three-year-old Lance Corporal Nathan Christopher, walks down the road, crying, while carrying a baby. He later tells me what got to him was seeing the mother, weakened from days of walking, almost drop the infant. Despite bawling his eyes out, Christopher tells me helping the refugees has afforded him his best moment in Iraq. aAfter driving here from Kuwait, shooting every house, person, dog in our path, we finally get to do something decent.a Lt. Col. Ferrando makes an appearance by the northern roadblock. Greater numbers of refugees are flowing in. aWeare going to have a f.u.c.king humanitarian disaster on our hands if we stay here,a he says. aWe donat have enough food and water for ourselves.a An hour later, First Recon clears out of its position. Ferrando has finally received orders. First Recon Battalion is instructed to hightail it to Baghdad for the final a.s.sault. To get there, the Marines will backtrack down Route 7, then cut west on a circuitous path that covers nearly 300 kilometers.

THE BATTALION SPENDS two days on the road. Huge, cheering crowds turn out in towns Marines smashed through just days ago. Kids run around in muddy lots beside the road, playing soccer, screaming aBus.h.!.+ Bus.h.!.+ Bus.h.!.+a or aAmerica! America!a Itas the Marinesa moment to be hailed as conquerors, or liberators or heroes. No oneas really sure what they are. Adoring as the crowds are, Marines know that at any moment seriously bad things can happen. As we drive past the insanely chanting mobs, Colbert waves at them, repeating in a mechanical voice, aYouare free now. Good luck. Time for us to go home.a During the two-day journey the men continue to wrestle with the issue of deadly roadblocks. Marines in Alpha Company have also inst.i.tuted what they hope will be a less lethal approach to warding off traffic by firing smoke grenades. In one of their early attempts to employ the new technique, a team in Alpha successfully stops a civilian pa.s.senger by launching a smoke grenade. Before they can call the effort a success, however, the Marines watch in horror as a second smoke grenade fired by the team skips off the pavement and, against all odds, slams into the face of an Arab walking by the road carrying a white flag. He goes down hard, dropping from their view. The men are ordered forward without having a chance to examine the guy or render aid. Later, men in the unit are told by their superiors that the man they hit in the face with the smoke grenade was okay and was even observed eating a meal when they left him. After hearing this good news, one of the Marines says, aThat probably just means someone threw an MRE next to the guyas body as we drove past.a FIRST RECON REACHES the outskirts of Baghdad early in the morning of April 6. Hastily erected oil pipelines zigzag along the highway. They were built by Saddam to flood adjacent trenches with oil so they could be set ablaze. As a result, smoke hangs everywhere. Saddam intended these flaming oil trenches as some sort of half-a.s.sed defense, but their only effect is to add to the general state of pollution and despair. The dust storm caused by thousands of vehicles rolling past has coated all of the wrecked buildings with a thick layer of tan powder. Even the dogs running through the ruins are the color of dust.

Dead cows, bloated to twice their normal size, lie in ditches. Human corpses are scattered about as well. Itas the now familiar horrorscape of a country at war. Just before reaching the final Marine camp outside Baghdad, Esperaas vehicle swerves to avoid running over a human head lying in the road. When the vehicle turns, he looks up to see a dog eating a human corpse. aCan it get any sicker than this?a he asks.

Person, however, has an entirely different reaction. Set back from the highway, gleaming like some sort of religious shrine, there is a modern-looking gla.s.s structure with bright plastic signs in front. Itas an Iraqi version of a 7-Eleven. Though looted and smashed, it gives Person hope. ad.a.m.n!a he says. aIt looks almost half-civilized here.a BY THE EARLY HOURS of April 6, some 20,000 Marines have begun gathering on the outskirts of the city for their a.s.sault. The Army has already begun breaking off pieces of Baghdad to the south and west. Two days earlier, elements of the Armyas 101st Airborne Division seized Baghdad Airport, fifteen kilometers south of the city. The Marines, now moving to within about ten kilometers of the eastern edge of Baghdad, are gearing up for their a.s.sault to begin within the next forty-eight hours.

First Recon settles into a field of tall gra.s.s next to some blown-up industrial buildings. Marines stretch out in the greenery, resting after their two days of nonstop movement. American artillery booms continuously, a distant, throbbing rhythm. Towers of smoke rise over Baghdad in the distance. Following this last stretch of the journey, where everyone had seen the wild dogs chewing on the entrails of dead humans and livestock alike, Marines now discuss their rechristening of Iraq. They call it aDog Land.a Reyes explains, aFor the wild dogs, war is a feast.a Itas a feast for some commanders as well. Later in the day, after the teams have set up their positions on the perimeter and dug their holes, Ferrando circulates among the men. He drops in on Colbertas team and offers rare praise. aTheyare speaking pretty highly of First Recon at division headquarters,a Ferrando says. aThe general thinks weare slaying dragons.a aIam pleased to hear it, sir,a Colbert says.

Ferrando turns to leave, then hesitates. He has something to confide in Colbert, one of his top team leaders.

aFerrando thinks tanks are going to lead the way into Baghdad,a he says, reverting to a habit he has of speaking of himself in the third person. aBut we want to get in the game, too. Thatas the million-dollar question. How do we get into Baghdad?a Ferrando walks off, working on this puzzle.

After he leaves, Espera offers his own a.s.sessment of the battalionas performance thus far in the war. aDo you realize the s.h.i.+t weave done here, the people weave killed? Back home in the civilian world, if we did this, we would go to prison.a

TWENTY-EIGHT.

THE MEN SLEEP WELL outside of Baghdad. It is late in the morning of April 7, and Colbert is sitting in the sun behind his Humvee, staring at the gra.s.s, which in the center of the encampment is more than a meter tall. Like everyone else, Colbert is required to wear his helmet and flak vest at all times, unless he is underneath the cammie nets by his Humvee. There are times like todaya"when the sky is clear, the sun is s.h.i.+ning and enemy mortars are only falling about once every couple hoursa"that the requirement to always wear a helmet and flak vest seems a crime. Some Marines routinely flout the rule, but not Colbert. Suddenly, he stands up, throwing his helmet down, ripping off his flak vest and stripping down to his T-s.h.i.+rt. aYou know what?a he announces. aIam going to run through that field waving my arms like Iam an airplane.a Colbert runs through the gra.s.s, making jet sounds, banks into a loose turn and flies back to his Humvee. He quickly dons his gear. aBetter now,a he says, strapping his helmet on again.

The men donat have any orders today. Lt. Col. Ferrando is still working on his plan to get the battalion in on the final a.s.sault on Baghdad. Colbert, however, a.s.sembles his team for a special briefing beside his Humvee.

aThereas something Iave been keeping from you,a Colbert says. aI wasnat sure we were going to live to share this moment.a He produces a dusty plastic bag, reaches in and pulls out several cans of Chef Boyardee ravioli, one for each man on the team. aTo celebrate,a he says.

aWhat the f.u.c.k is that?a Person says, spotting something else in the bag.

aEasy there, partner,a Colbert says, sliding out a virgin copy of Juggs magazine, still in its shrink-wrap.

af.u.c.k!a Person says. aHow the f.u.c.k did you hide that from me?a Person tries to grab it.

Colbert yanks it away. aNot yet,a Colbert says. aI need some time with this alone. Just calm down. Youall get your sloppy seconds.a They cook the Chef Boyardee on a C-4 fire, in the cans, cutting them open with Ka-Bar knives. The team is more closely knit than itas ever been. Even Trombley has found acceptance. In the wake of the incident in which he accidentally machine-gunned the shepherds, the men have honored him with a nickname: aWhopper.a I donat get it when they first reveal it to me. aWe call him the Whopper,a one of them explains, abecause theyare sold at Burger King.a When I look up, still not understanding, the nearby Marines shake their heads at my ignorance. aLike, Whoppers, Burger King, BKa"Baby Killer,a one of them says, spelling it out. aTrombleyas our little Whopper BK.a They call him this to his face, and Trombley laughs appreciatively. He admits, aWhen I shot those kids I felt the same way as when I shoot a deer. I felt lucky, like I got the Easter egg.a Then adds, aI wanted to look at the kid I shot. It felt weird.a Lilley nudges him affectionately. aThatas because youare the Whopper, our little BK Baby Killer.a Person, sitting s.h.i.+rtless partway underneath the cammie netting, slurps the ravioli juice from the jagged can and starts babbling about his NAMBLA-conspiracy theories behind the war.

Ha.s.ser, who has maintained his distant silence for days since shooting the man in the blue car, breaks into laughter. aLook at you, Ray,a he says, pointing at Person. aYouare a f.u.c.king mess, man.a Personas face is smeared with ravioli sauce, fluorescent orange in the sunlight. More of itas splattered down his pale white chest, with drippings on his toes. aWhat?a Person asks, perplexed.

aYouare a f.u.c.king messed-up hick who canat even eat ravioli.a Ha.s.ser doubles over, facedown in the gra.s.s, laughing.

LATER THAT DAY, the Marines in Bravo are reunited with an old friend, Gunnery Sergeant Jason Swarr. A thirty-two-year-old Recon Marine who works as the battalionas parachute rigger, Swarr nearly missed the war. He only arrived outside Baghdad a couple of days ago. Now, he comes over to Colbertas position with a tale of his strange odyssey through Iraq and his remarkable first experience of combat.

Swarr is one of the more eccentric characters in the battalion. Tall and square-jawed, he looks like your average Marine, but in his off-hours Swarr is an artist who writes and directs ultra-low-budget videos. aIam like the Ed Wood of my generation,a he says. aMy goal in life is, people will go in the video store and find my movies in the Cult Film section by Toxic Avenger.a Swarr is also a warrior. He served in Somalia, and when this war came along, he vowed he wasnat going to miss it. But the battalion had other plans. When the invasion began, Swarr and two other Marines from First Recon were ordered to remain behind at the Al Jabar airfield in Kuwait to serve as liaisons to the Marine Corps Air Wing. Within a few days, he and his two comrades figured out their a.s.signment was a bulls.h.i.+t job. aThey didnat give a f.u.c.k about us at Jabar,a Gunny Swarr says. aThere was nothing to do.a They pulled some strings, got permission to leave and hitchhiked up to Camp Mathilda with some Pakistani laborers. The battalion had already left for the invasion, but Swarr and his cohorts found out there was a company of reservist Recon Marines still in the camp, who were getting ready to enter Iraq and link up with the battalion in a few days. Swarr and the others figured theyad get a ride with the reservists.

The reservist unit is called Delta Company, and it has three platoons with a total of about ninety Marines and commanders. Itas made up of guys who work regular jobs in civilian life, some as software engineers or teachers, but the majority in law enforcementa"from LAPD cops to DEA agents to air marshals. In Swarras opinion, aDelta was the most unorganized thing Iave ever seen in my life.a The reservistsa problems werenat necessarily caused through any fault of their own. Due to its low standing in the pecking order as a reserve unit, Delta Company was short on trucks, guns, food, flak vests, radios. Nevertheless, the reservists crossed into Iraq nearly a week after the war started. aIt was madness from day one,a Swarr says. They had no idea where the battalion was and no ability to reach it on comms. Their navigation gear was so poor they nearly b.u.mbled into Nasiriyah at the height of the fighting there. Many of the reservists in Delta had never fired the heavy weapons on their Humvees prior to entering Iraq.

Wandering around highways in southern Iraq, unable to find out where the battalion was, the reservists began running low on food. They were a.s.signed convoy escort duty by the division and, according to Swarr, they turned this into a gold mine. At the time, lightly armed supply convoys were rolling through the area, their drivers terrified of being ambushed. So, Swarr says, aWe put a sign out: aNeed Convoy Security? Stop Here.a As soon as theyad stop, wead bulls.h.i.+t the drivers, tell aem, aHey, two hours ago a convoy pa.s.sing through here got ambushed.a Then wead ask aem, aWhat do you got for us? Any MREs, flak vests, water? Hand it over, and weall escort you.a a According to Swarr, Delta Company made out pretty well for a while. Then, in his opinion, the company started going out of control. aSome of the cops in Delta started doing this cowboy stuff. They put cattle horns on their Humvees. Theyad roll into these hamlets, doing shows of forcea"kicking down doors, doing sweepsa"just for the f.u.c.k of it. There was this little clique of them. Their ringleader was this beat cop, whoas like a corporal back home and a commander out here. Heas like five feet tall, talks like Joe Friday and everyone calls him aNapoleon.a We started to get the idea these guys didnat want to find the battalion. They knew theyad get their b.a.l.l.s stepped on. They were having too much fun being cowboys.

aSome of the other reservists were coming up to us, saying, aYouave got to help us find the battalion. These guys are going to get us killed.a But there was nothing we could do.a Finally, it all came to a head a couple of days ago. aWeare guarding an airfield for chow and water,a Swarr says. aThese kids come up selling soda and cigarettes. The ringleaders in Delta decide it would be funny to trade them some p.o.r.n magazines, which these Iraqi kids had never seen. About an hour later, this elder comes out of a hamlet 400 meters away, yelling and shaking his fist. The kids all scatter. One of them tells us the old man is p.i.s.sed. He didnat like kids having p.o.r.n magazines. The kid says heas going to get an RPG. Sure enough, the old man comes out of this hut with an RPG, just kind of waving it around.a Swarr takes a deep breath. aDelta f.u.c.king freaks! They lob like twenty-six Mark-19 rounds at the guy. Heas two hundred meters away, and they all miss him. Instead, they light up this friendly village behind him thatas been pa.s.sing us information.

aIam just watching this. I didnat have nothing to shoot at, and I see this old dude dressed like a Marine running past with a flak vest and camera, huffing and puffing. aWhat are they lighting up?a he asks. aNothing,a I say. aJust some p.i.s.sed-off Iraqi with an RPG.a Then I look at the guy Iam talking to, and itas Ollie North.a (North served as a correspondent for Fox News in Iraq.) aIam like, aOllie, how you doing?a a Swarrs continues.

a af.u.c.king great.a He takes a dip and says, aThis waras going to be over in seventy-two hours. Saddamas dead.a aIam like, aGood to go, Ollie.a aHe huffs off, and this colonel comes out whoas in charge of the airfield, and heas mad. Heas like, aYou guys just lit up a friendly village.a aI donat think Delta killed any of the villagers, but they blew up a few of their huts. We gave aem a few cases of humrats and got out of there.a When Colbert hears the story, he just shakes his head. aThis is so colossally r.e.t.a.r.ded I canat even say anything about it.a Iam not convinced that Gunny Swarr is the most reliable source. I set out to find other people who were there. One of the men from First Recon who was with him is a captain in the battalion, with a reputation for being levelheaded and forthright. He tells me Gunny Swarras tale is aon the money.a Later, I talk to Ferrando, who admits, aThere was a comm problem for about a week with Delta.a I go over to Deltaas position in the camp and talk to more than a half dozen of the reservists, including the Mark-19 gunner, Lance Corporal Bryan Andrews, twenty-two, who fired on the village. They corroborate essential details of Swarras story. Andrews adds, aI guess it worked out okay. I scared off the old man. He ran away.a KOCHER SPENDS his free day outside Baghdad, sitting in the shade of his vehicleas cammie nets, writing a journal intended for his wife, whoas also in the Marines. He doesnat indulge in the open vilification of his commander, Captain America, the way some of the men do, but he tells me when I stop by that he is disturbed by Captain Americaas behavior, especially his attempted bayoneting of the Iraqi prisoner the other night. aI could be a lot more personal about my feelings toward the Iraqis,a Kocher says. aMy wife is here. Her civil affairs unit is in Nasiriyah. I think about her every day and the things that could happen to her. But I donat lose control over it.a Against his powerful forearms, the pen Kocher holds looks puny. The log he writes in is an account of the war he calls his aBitter Journal.a aIf something happens to me, I want my wife to know the truth,a he says. aIf they say we fought valiantly here, I want her to know we fought r.e.t.a.r.ded. They havenat used us righta"sending us into these towns, onto the airfield, with no observation.a Captain America approaches. One of the men by Kocheras vehicle shouts a warning: aHere comes Dumba.s.s.a Captain Americaas within easy earshot of their comment, but he sticks his head under the cammie netting and greets the men with a forced, though somewhat wobbly, smile. aEveryone enjoying the day off?a he asks.

The Marines freeze him out with blank stares.

aWeare fine, sir,a Kocher says.

The truth is, I feel sort of bad for Captain America. The way his men treat him reminds me of seeing a kid hazed and picked on on the playground. I sit down with him in the gra.s.s a few meters from Kocheras vehicle. One on one, he seems likable but possesses an unfocused intensity thatas both charismatic and draining. When he stares at you, he doesnat blink; his pupils almost vibrate.

I ask him about complaints voiced by his men that heas been a little too zealous in his shooting from the vehicle and in his treatment the other night of the EPW (itas technically a war crime to strike, threaten or bayonet a man once heas been captured). Captain America denies any wrongdoing. He a.s.serts to me that in each instance where heas employed violence, itas always been in response to a threat, which perhaps his Marines didnat perceive. aEach man sees things differently in combat,a he says.

Then Captain America veers into Nietzschean speculation on the deadly nature of battle. aSome of us are not going to make it out of here. Each of us has to test the limits of his will to survive in this reality.a He leans forward and speaks in grave tones. aRight now, at any time, we could die. It almost makes you lose your sanity.a His pupils quiver with increased intensity. aThe fear of dying will make you lose your sanity. But to remain calm and stay in a place where you think you will die, that is the definition of insane, too. You must become insane to survive in combat.a LATE IN THE DAY, Marines are told to expect warning orders for their mission in the a.s.sault on Baghdad. Ferrando has figured out a way to get into the game. But other news circulating among the Marines has taken priority.

Horsehead is dead. The beloved former first sergeant in First Recon, a powerfully built 230-pound African American named Edward Smith, was felled by an enemy mortar or artillery blast while riding atop an armored vehicle outside Baghdad on April 4. He died in a military hospital the next day. Horsehead, thirty-eight, had transferred out of First Recon to an infantry unit before the war started. News of his death hits the battalion hard.

Marines in Bravo Company gather under the cammie nets, trading Horsehead stories. Reyes repeats a phrase Horsehead always used back home at Camp Pendleton in San Diego. Before loaning anyone his truck, which had an extensive sound-equalizer system, Horsehead would always say, aYou can drive my truck. But donat f.u.c.k with my volumes.a For some reason, repeating the phrase makes Reyes laugh almost to the verge of tears.

Just before sundown, the Marines hold a memorial for Horsehead in their camp. About fifteen of them gather in the gra.s.s, next to an M-4 rifle planted upright in the dirt with a helmet on it. Itas drizzling in a gray, humid twilight. One of them reads a brief eulogy.

Then they put their hands together, and their voices scream in unison as they chant the First Recon cheer in Horseheadas memory: aKill!a

TWENTY-NINE.

BY EARLY MORNING on April 8, Army and Marine armored units have maneuvered into Baghdadas suburbs to the west, south and east. Under a ceaseless American artillery and aerial bombardment, they are getting ready for the final a.s.sault into the city center, set to begin after dark. Maj. Gen. Mattis is deeply concerned about the lack of American forces to the north of Baghdad. With his Marines oriented toward the center of the city, their northern flanks are exposed. His fear is that Iraqi Republican Guard units may be ma.s.sing for a counterattack in a town called Baqubah, fifty kilometers north of Baghdad, getting ready to roll down and hit the Marinesa northern flanks.

The problem is, Mattis doesnat know what the Iraqis are doing north of Baghdad. For the past thirty-six hours, a low cover of dust and rain clouds has hampered American surveillance efforts. The farthest Marine checkpoint north of Baghdad sits about ten kilometers outside the city on the road to Baqubah. Marines have dubbed the checkpoint the amagic line.a Every time theyave sent units to probe above the magic line in the past few days, the Marines have been hit by heavy fire. Recently, a platoon of about forty-five Iraqis attacked the Marine checkpoint and were repulsed after a short gun battle. After that, Iraqis tried to drive a car bomb into the checkpoint. It seems the Iraqis are up to something above the magic line, though itas uncertain exactly what it might be.

The weakness in the Marinesa northern flanks gives Lt. Col. Ferrando his opening to get First Recon back into the game. After consulting with Mattis, Ferrando has volunteered to take First Recon north of the magic line, a.s.sault through the enemy ambushes and push on to Baqubah.

If the worst-case fears of Mattis are true, the Marines in First Recon will be confronting several thousand Iraqis in tanks. Baqubah is home to a Republican Division with a strength, on paper at least, of 20,000 soldiers equipped with 600 armored vehicles. Mattis knows that if the Iraqis come down in tanks, First Recon will be unable to stop them, but as he later tells me, aI knew that at least the Marines could slow them down for a few hours.a Even in the best-case scenarioa"if the Iraqi tanks arenat activea"First Recon will be das.h.i.+ng through forty kilometers of known ambush positions. They will be the only Americans operating in the region, and by the time they reach Baqubah, they will have gone beyond the range of Marine artillery.

When Fick briefs his men on the mission early in the afternoon of the eighth, he tells them, aOnce again, we will be at the absolute tippity-tip of the spear, going into the unknown. As soon as we step off, be prepared to engage and destroy targets of opportunity.a First Recon a.s.sembles a mixed force for the mission. Some 120 Marines in its best-equipped platoons will be joined by the ninety reservist Marines in Delta Company. In addition, First Recon will be accompanied by an LAR unit of some 100 Marines in twenty-four vehicles. This unitas call sign is aWar Pig.a Even though itas clear to the Marines that on this mission they might be serving more or less as human speed b.u.mpsa"to slow down a much larger Iraqi advancea"the men are quietly excited. After a couple of days of rest, most are sick of being in the camp. Itas a hot, muggy afternoon, nearly 100 degrees in the shade. Flies breeding in Marine latrine trenches inside the camp, as well as on the dead livestock and human corpses outside the perimeter, infest the air. Several Marines in the platoon are suffering from the fever and dysentery that has plagued the unit since leaving Nasiriyah. But spirits are high as they load their vehicles. aIam scared as f.u.c.k,a Lilley tells me. aBut I started getting anxious here in this camp. Itas weird. I feel better knowing weare going to go shoot things again and f.u.c.k s.h.i.+t up again.a af.u.c.k, yeah!a Person says. aIt beats sitting around doing nothing while everybody else gets to have fun attacking Baghdad.a One thing the Marine Corps can bank on is the low tolerance for boredom among American youth. They need constant stimulation, more than late-night bull sessions, ravioli fiestas and Colbertas now shredded, dog-eared copy of Juggs can provide. They need more war.

COLBERTaS HUMVEE is ordered into the lead of First Reconas convoy of about fifty vehicles as we leave the camp near five p.m. on April 8. Colbert stares out his window at the fading light, then mumbles something I canat quite make out. I ask him to repeat it. aIt was nothing,a he says. aI was just thinking about Horsehead. He was one h.e.l.l of a man. Takes shrapnel to the head and winks out.a We enter the eastern outskirts of Baghdad, an industrial district of factories and warehouses. The streets are filled with newly liberated Iraqis in the throes of celebration. Though the city center will not fall for another twenty-four hours, freedom fills the air, along with the stench of rotting corpses, uncollected garbage and overflowing sewers. Trash piles and pools of fetid water line the edges of the road. Old women in black kneel in the puddles, gathering in jugs water that their families will boil and drink later.

Smoke pours from bombed, burning buildings on both sides of the road. Ashes fall like snowflakes. Iraqis stream through the haze, hauling random looted goodsa"ceiling fans, pieces of machinery, fluorescent lights, mismatched filing-cabinet drawers. As we pa.s.s by, the looters wave and give us the thumbs-upa"thanking the Marines for making all this possible. Some stand in cl.u.s.ters, chanting the words everyone in Iraq now uses to hail the American liberators, aBus.h.!.+ Bus.h.!.+ Bus.h.!.+a The bedlam continues for about ten kilometers. Explosions from the American a.s.sault now under way in the city center boom steadily. Kids crawl around twisted, blown-up Iraqi tanks by the road, playing on them or gathering sc.r.a.p.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of American military vehicles stream past us going south. First Reconas convoy is about the only unit headed north.

We roll into open mudflats and link up with the twenty-four LAVs of First LAR Battalionas Charlie Company, call sign War Pig. With their eight wheels and upside-down bathtub shape, LAVs are among the strangest-looking war machines in the American a.r.s.enal. Designed to swim on the surface of the ocean as well as cruise on land, they have small propellers protruding from their rears, punctuating the oddness of their appearance. Because of their advanced optics and the devastating firepower, derived from the Bushmaster rapid-fire cannon each has mounted on its turret, Iraqis have nicknamed LAVs athe Great Destroyers.a For the Marines in First Recon, this is the first time theyave started a mission with an armored escort. ad.a.m.n! Thatas f.u.c.king awesome,a Person says. aWeave got the Great Destroyers with us.a aNo, the escort is not aawesome,a a Colbert says. aThis just tells us how bad theyare expecting this to be.a As we pull out, following War Pig toward the magic line, Colbertas mood s.h.i.+fts from darkly brooding to grimly cheerful. aOnce more into the great good night,a he says in a mock stage voice, then quotes a line from Julius Caesar. aCry aHavoc,a and let slip the dogs of war.a Hunched over the wheel, his helmet weighted down with his NVGs, Person says, aMan, when I get home, Iam gonna eat the f.u.c.k out of my girlfriendas p.u.s.s.y.a aEnemy contact,a Colbert says, pa.s.sing on word from radio. aLAVs report enemy contact ahead.a JUST AFTER DARKNESS FALLS, War Pigas lead LAV reaches the magic line and the Marine checkpoint, where coils of concertina wire block the narrow, asphalt highway. War Pigas twenty-four LAVs are s.p.a.ced about fifty meters apart in a single-file line stretching for more than a kilometer. Colbertas Humvee is directly behind the rear LAV, with First Reconas vehicles stretched behind his in a line that extends for another two kilometers.

Minutes after the guards at the checkpoint pull the concertina wire aside to let the convoy through, a white pickup truck speeds toward the lead LAV in War Pig. Its crew observes the truck through thermal nightscopes as it comes to within a couple hundred meters of them, executes a screeching 180-degree turn and hauls a.s.s north. Iraqis in the back of the truck open up on the LAVs with AKs. Itas nothing but hara.s.sing fire. The Marines guess the truck is acting as a arabbit vehicle,a trying to entice them into a chase and, they expect, an ambush.

The LAVs hesitate to cross the magic line. According to War Pigas executive officer, twenty-seven-year-old First Lieutenant William Wennberg, thus far in the war when working with other units theyave occasionally had to go through red tape in order to get cleared hot to engage enemy forces. Theyave never worked with First Reconas Ferrando before, whom they refer to by his call sign, G.o.dfather, and are uncertain how he will respond to the appearance of the rabbit vehicle shooting at them on the road.

When War Pig contacts G.o.dfather and tells him about the hara.s.sing fire, he immediately clears them hot to pursue. aG.o.dfather was awesome,a Wennberg later says. aSome commanders get so caught up worrying about the politics of being too aggressivea"destroying too much property, hurting innocent civiliansa"that they put your own forces at risk. G.o.dfather told us to do what we needed to do, and it was good to go.a The LAVs lunge across the magic line in pursuit. Colbertas vehicle follows directly behind the rear LAV, as reports flow over the radio of the initial enemy contact. Everyone is quiet, waiting for the ambush. Itas so dark inside Colbertas Humvee I can barely see my hands. I canat see the LAV through the front winds.h.i.+eld ahead of us. I canat see whatas out my window to the right, other than dim outlines of farm huts along the road in the flat landscape. A strong wind is starting to whip against the side of the vehicle. Above it, all I hear is the rumbling of the Humveeas diesel.

Colbert calls out to Ha.s.ser, who stands in the turret wearing NVGs. aSee anything, Walt?a aNope,a he shouts down.

aLook alert!a Colbert shouts, his voice cracking slightly.

Sitting to my left, Trombley says, his voice barely audible, aI hope I get to use her tonight.a Heas referring to his SAW machine gun. Though I canat see him, I can picture him caressing the top of his SAW as he sometimes does during tender moments before a firefight.

We drive this way for about ten minutes.