16 Marines hit a roadside bomb, and 15 of the 16 Marines were immediately killed in the blast. The one living occupant was burned over most of his body, and wasn’t expected to live. The crater left in the earth by the bomb was large enough to fit a four-bedroom home inside of it.
On the second day of Operation Quick Strike, it was determined the US Marines were outnumbered, and command likened the city to Fallujah, only worse. House to house searches, close quarters combat, and gun battles in an area the size of a living room were a common occurrence. In short, savage extremists had taken over the city, and were going to any length to kill the US Marines or the civilian population who opposed them.
Every Marine being sent into the city wanted revenge for the deaths of their brethren. The 115-degree daytime temperatures, severe wind, and blowing sand only added to the tension. Our convoy arrived at 0800, and the sun pressed down on us like a heavy weight.
As we approached the city, smoke bellowed from the tops of half of the homes and buildings. Bombs exploded every few seconds, and the earth beneath our Humvee shook repeatedly as we slowly rolled into the city.
“We’re going to fucking die in this one, Staff Sergeant Jacob,” Parsons complained as we hit the outskirts of town.
I shifted my eyes toward him for a split second. He looked no different than anyone else in my platoon. He was scared, and his eyes clearly showed it. Given the amount of insurgents in the city, and the temperament of the group who had executed the Marines, we were likely to be in for one hell of a fight and everyone realized it.
Price tilted his helmet up slightly and shook his head. “Jacob is immortal. Only motherfucker that can kill Jacob, is Jacob.”
“Enough about dying. Nobody’s fucking dying. We’re going to stomp in this motherfucker, capture insurgents, and send their asses to Al Asad Airbase for interrogation,” I said. “And then we’re going to finish that fucking football game.”
“Oorah!” Price grunted.
I didn’t think I was immortal, but I was beginning to believe I was something . After five solid years of fighting, I had sustained many injuries, but no one had killed me. The eerie vision of the C-130 filled with caskets still haunted my dreams, and I suspected it always would. Be it luck or the gracious hand of God that kept me from it, however, my body had yet to be shipped home in a casket.
And I was grateful.
“First and second squad take the far side, and third squad will go house to house, just like we discussed. If you think they’re insurgents, they’re insurgents, is that understood?” I asked as we assembled alongside the edge of the street.
“Oorah!” the squad leaders barked.
“We need to capture as many of these motherfuckers as we can. If you’re threatened, don’t think, just kill. Understood?” I asked.
Another Oorah rang out from the squad leaders and the Marines in the accompanying squads. The sound of small weapons fire in the background filled the air. With my eyes filled with sand, and my uniform soaked from sweat, I gave the signal to begin the house to house search.
Fifteen minutes into the search and we had captured four insurgents and found two weapons caches, one large enough to supply a battalion of men. Both weapons caches were in the homes of civilians, making it immediately apparent not only that we were in the right place, but that the city had been overrun by insurgents who were taking over the homes of civilians in their attempt to blend in.
As the Marines of third squad searched another home, an argument broke out between the occupants of the small house and the squad leader. In an effort to keep things as peaceful as possible, and to prevent tempers from flaring even higher than they already were, I stepped into the home to evaluate the situation.
“This motherfucker ain’t sayin’ shit, Staff Sergeant. Got twenty fucking AK’s hid behind that shitty
On the second day of Operation Quick Strike, it was determined the US Marines were outnumbered, and command likened the city to Fallujah, only worse. House to house searches, close quarters combat, and gun battles in an area the size of a living room were a common occurrence. In short, savage extremists had taken over the city, and were going to any length to kill the US Marines or the civilian population who opposed them.
Every Marine being sent into the city wanted revenge for the deaths of their brethren. The 115-degree daytime temperatures, severe wind, and blowing sand only added to the tension. Our convoy arrived at 0800, and the sun pressed down on us like a heavy weight.
As we approached the city, smoke bellowed from the tops of half of the homes and buildings. Bombs exploded every few seconds, and the earth beneath our Humvee shook repeatedly as we slowly rolled into the city.
“We’re going to fucking die in this one, Staff Sergeant Jacob,” Parsons complained as we hit the outskirts of town.
I shifted my eyes toward him for a split second. He looked no different than anyone else in my platoon. He was scared, and his eyes clearly showed it. Given the amount of insurgents in the city, and the temperament of the group who had executed the Marines, we were likely to be in for one hell of a fight and everyone realized it.
Price tilted his helmet up slightly and shook his head. “Jacob is immortal. Only motherfucker that can kill Jacob, is Jacob.”
“Enough about dying. Nobody’s fucking dying. We’re going to stomp in this motherfucker, capture insurgents, and send their asses to Al Asad Airbase for interrogation,” I said. “And then we’re going to finish that fucking football game.”
“Oorah!” Price grunted.
I didn’t think I was immortal, but I was beginning to believe I was something . After five solid years of fighting, I had sustained many injuries, but no one had killed me. The eerie vision of the C-130 filled with caskets still haunted my dreams, and I suspected it always would. Be it luck or the gracious hand of God that kept me from it, however, my body had yet to be shipped home in a casket.
And I was grateful.
“First and second squad take the far side, and third squad will go house to house, just like we discussed. If you think they’re insurgents, they’re insurgents, is that understood?” I asked as we assembled alongside the edge of the street.
“Oorah!” the squad leaders barked.
“We need to capture as many of these motherfuckers as we can. If you’re threatened, don’t think, just kill. Understood?” I asked.
Another Oorah rang out from the squad leaders and the Marines in the accompanying squads. The sound of small weapons fire in the background filled the air. With my eyes filled with sand, and my uniform soaked from sweat, I gave the signal to begin the house to house search.
Fifteen minutes into the search and we had captured four insurgents and found two weapons caches, one large enough to supply a battalion of men. Both weapons caches were in the homes of civilians, making it immediately apparent not only that we were in the right place, but that the city had been overrun by insurgents who were taking over the homes of civilians in their attempt to blend in.
As the Marines of third squad searched another home, an argument broke out between the occupants of the small house and the squad leader. In an effort to keep things as peaceful as possible, and to prevent tempers from flaring even higher than they already were, I stepped into the home to evaluate the situation.
“This motherfucker ain’t sayin’ shit, Staff Sergeant. Got twenty fucking AK’s hid behind that shitty
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