these motherfuckers. I say we load up the weapons and kill these cocksuckers; that little girl included,” PFC Mann said.
I clenched my jaw, inhaled through my nose, and turned to face him. “And it’s a good god damned thing you’re not in fucking charge, PFC Mann. I’ve been fighting in his god forsaken war longer than you’ve been in the Corps, and I’m the NCO of this platoon. One more suggestion like that out of you, and I’ll bring charges against your sorry ass, is that understood?”
He lowered his chin and shifted his eyes to the floor. “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”
“God fucking damn. We’re here to protect people like this, not kill them,” I said as I turned toward the sound of someone entering the home.
The platoon interpreter came into the small room, making it far more crowded than I was comfortable with.
“Everyone out except the Terp and me,” I said as I waved my left hand toward the front room.
“Ask the little girl who’s weapons they are,” I said as I handed the girl my peppermint.
She accepted the candy, unwrapped it, and poked it in her mouth. As her eyes changed from worry to what I expected was the surprise of the candy’s sweetness, the interpreter began to question her.
He questioned her in Arabic, and she immediately responded, tossing her dirty black hair from side-to-side as she spoke.
“She says men brought them here over a month ago. They’ve been forcing the residents to provide them shelter, food, and weapons storage,” he said.
I turned toward the girl, smiled, and nodded my head.
“Ask her why her father isn’t speaking,” I said.
Another line of questioning in Arabic by the interpreter, and the girl, clearly frustrated, began to cry. After a moment, she turned to her father, who shook his head from side to side.
I pursed my lips and studied the father. As he shifted his eyes to meet my gaze, I spoke to the interpreter.
“Tell her, hell, tell them all. Tell them if they don’t tell me why he isn’t responding, I’ll assume he’s al-Qaeda and take him to Al Asad and lock his ass up. Between you and me, I know he’s not, but he’s keeping something a secret and I want to know what it is,” I said, my eyes still locked on his.
He alternated glances between them all as he spoke. Calmly, as he explained everything in Arabic, the girl began to scream her response.
“Holy shit,” the interpreter said as he raised his hand and covered his mouth.
“What?” I asked as I shifted my eyes from the elderly man to the interpreter.
As he shook his head from side to side and lowered his hand the girl and the woman began to cry.
“What?” I asked again.
“The men who came here were Saddam Hussein supporters. She said they demanded they be allowed to keep weapons here. Her father opposed them.” He paused and shook his head.
As he turned toward the elderly man and nodded his head, he continued. “The father told the men when they came that Saddam Hussein was a coward and a murderer. He went on to tell them the US Marines were going to capture and kill Saddam, and that they should surrender.”
He tilted his head toward the father. “They held him down and cut out his tongue for opposing Saddam.”
I released my weapon and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Motherfucker. Do they know where these cocksuckers are hiding? Ask the little girl.”
“I think she does,” he responded.
“Well god damn it, ask her,” I said as I shifted my eyes to the girl.
A lengthy exchange followed, and the interpreter sighed heavily.
“She does. She said she’s been following them nightly. She wanted to get revenge for what they did to her father, but she said she’s too small,” he said.
“Tell her I’m big enough. And how many of them?” I asked. “How many of these motherfuckers can she lead us to?”
After a quick series of questions, he sighed heavily. “Twenty. And get this. She said they’re the ones who cut the Marines throat in the
I clenched my jaw, inhaled through my nose, and turned to face him. “And it’s a good god damned thing you’re not in fucking charge, PFC Mann. I’ve been fighting in his god forsaken war longer than you’ve been in the Corps, and I’m the NCO of this platoon. One more suggestion like that out of you, and I’ll bring charges against your sorry ass, is that understood?”
He lowered his chin and shifted his eyes to the floor. “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”
“God fucking damn. We’re here to protect people like this, not kill them,” I said as I turned toward the sound of someone entering the home.
The platoon interpreter came into the small room, making it far more crowded than I was comfortable with.
“Everyone out except the Terp and me,” I said as I waved my left hand toward the front room.
“Ask the little girl who’s weapons they are,” I said as I handed the girl my peppermint.
She accepted the candy, unwrapped it, and poked it in her mouth. As her eyes changed from worry to what I expected was the surprise of the candy’s sweetness, the interpreter began to question her.
He questioned her in Arabic, and she immediately responded, tossing her dirty black hair from side-to-side as she spoke.
“She says men brought them here over a month ago. They’ve been forcing the residents to provide them shelter, food, and weapons storage,” he said.
I turned toward the girl, smiled, and nodded my head.
“Ask her why her father isn’t speaking,” I said.
Another line of questioning in Arabic by the interpreter, and the girl, clearly frustrated, began to cry. After a moment, she turned to her father, who shook his head from side to side.
I pursed my lips and studied the father. As he shifted his eyes to meet my gaze, I spoke to the interpreter.
“Tell her, hell, tell them all. Tell them if they don’t tell me why he isn’t responding, I’ll assume he’s al-Qaeda and take him to Al Asad and lock his ass up. Between you and me, I know he’s not, but he’s keeping something a secret and I want to know what it is,” I said, my eyes still locked on his.
He alternated glances between them all as he spoke. Calmly, as he explained everything in Arabic, the girl began to scream her response.
“Holy shit,” the interpreter said as he raised his hand and covered his mouth.
“What?” I asked as I shifted my eyes from the elderly man to the interpreter.
As he shook his head from side to side and lowered his hand the girl and the woman began to cry.
“What?” I asked again.
“The men who came here were Saddam Hussein supporters. She said they demanded they be allowed to keep weapons here. Her father opposed them.” He paused and shook his head.
As he turned toward the elderly man and nodded his head, he continued. “The father told the men when they came that Saddam Hussein was a coward and a murderer. He went on to tell them the US Marines were going to capture and kill Saddam, and that they should surrender.”
He tilted his head toward the father. “They held him down and cut out his tongue for opposing Saddam.”
I released my weapon and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Motherfucker. Do they know where these cocksuckers are hiding? Ask the little girl.”
“I think she does,” he responded.
“Well god damn it, ask her,” I said as I shifted my eyes to the girl.
A lengthy exchange followed, and the interpreter sighed heavily.
“She does. She said she’s been following them nightly. She wanted to get revenge for what they did to her father, but she said she’s too small,” he said.
“Tell her I’m big enough. And how many of them?” I asked. “How many of these motherfuckers can she lead us to?”
After a quick series of questions, he sighed heavily. “Twenty. And get this. She said they’re the ones who cut the Marines throat in the
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