(no subject)
*
The first night in Baghdad, Nate lets himself breathe. All of his men are alive. They’re not exactly safe, but after the relative protection of open-top humvees, concrete walls feel like immortality.
They’ve arrived.
The fighting, the bullshit missions, the relentless push, they’re easier to accept as a means with the promise of an end before them. There’s a lot to do, but it’s the good kind of necessity. Maybe it’s beyond him to offer the kind of big picture infrastructure rebuilding and political stability that the Iraqis need, but around him, the crowd is in the process of survival.
He knows about that.
He knows that human wants start from the ground up, that their help does too: fresh water, patrols to stop the looting, maybe see if the engineers can rig up some kind of pump for the sewage.
When their convoy pulls away, the children’s cheers resonate after them, sounding like gratitude.
After the long road to Baghdad, Nate’s not asking for redemption, just a way to sleep at night.
*
The thing is, when he joined the Marines, Nate knew he was going to be a part of something larger than himself, that he was surrendering the ownership of his autonomy to trust in the hierarchy above him. That even if that trust is imperfect, even if it gets lost in all the ways they’re failing, it will always be there to fall back on.
He knows this, but he also knows that they’re doing this wrong.
On their second night in Baghdad, his commander tells him he can’t send out patrols to stop the infighting that’s taken over. It’s the first time they’re told to shy away from danger.
Instead, they’re rebilleting to another part of Baghdad. They haven’t done anything in the neighborhood they’re in now except, apparently, lie to its citizens that their needs will be addressed.
Nate understands that the principles he struggles with, his closeness to his men, his inability to trust in the command of his CO, his acknowledgement of the cruelties that he’s seen, are the symptoms of his own personality crashing against the realities of war. It’s not that the Marines Corps is wrong; it’s personal, he knows.
But this, this indifference to actualizing the justification of their aggression when they’re right here, when they finally have time, is beyond his comprehension.
*
In their new neighborhood, Nate makes another list. Water, security, jobs, statues of George Bush. It doesn’t matter, they’re moving again tonight.
He writes it all down anyway.
On their seventh night here, he’s ordered to be more aggressive.
They’re camped in an amusement park on the north side of Baghdad. Earlier, Brad had cheered that they were finally getting a night recon. For a moment, Nate had let Brad’s excitement flood him with a bit of borrowed warmth.
It doesn’t last.
From their vantage point, Nate can see the activity of city life flowing still beneath a canopy of weapons fire.
Into the mic, he says, “I’m going to keep my men in a defensive position until dawn. How copy?”
The radio buzzes with static. Schwetje says, “Hitman Two, I say again-”
Nate turns the radio off.
He’s probably burning the last irreparable bridge between himself and the portrait of the perfect officer, but that’s beyond his control. Though the ROEs and the SOP and Godfather can tell him how to sleep, how to breathe, how to shoot, each decision is still personal. It’s his orders that’ll get passed down tonight. In the wiggle room of immediacy, he makes do.
In the silence, Brad’s eyes turn compassionate. He says, “I trust your judgment, sir.” In Nate’s head, Brad’s words truncate to “I trust you.”
It scares him, this trust. Sometimes, he wishes he had it himself. He knows that hesitation is not necessarily bad, that belief in your own infallible decisions is what gets men killed, but it would be nice to be absolutely certain for a change.
He’s tired, so very tired.
After an hour, Reporter heads back to catch some sleep. Brad stays the night though, optics on the neighborhoods below. He offers field observations in a low, soft tone without a hint of his usual cynicism.
Nate’s aware that this is Brad being considerate, reassuring. It’s beyond Brad’s job, Nate knows, to give Nate something he shouldn’t need. But in the coldness of Iraq’s desert night, it’s all Nate has. He lets himself bask in the comfort of Brad’s empathy, lets it carry him through till dawn.
Later, he’ll worry about the burden he’s let Brad carry, about better concealing his own uncertainty from the men he’s supposed to lead. For now, he’s grateful.
*
In their fifth neighborhood, Brad starts in on ordinance removal.
Nate finds him in a hole, half a foot away from an unexploded bomb.
It’s not that Nate doesn’t understand the impulse. In another lifetime, it could have been him down there.
Maybe this will make Brad feel better. Maybe this’ll end up getting Brad killed.
There are a lot of bombs in Baghdad. He can’t take the chance.
When he orders Brad out, Brad’s eyes follow him like an accusation.
*
It’s just, it doesn’t get any easier.
Nate’s learned a long time ago that Brad’s Iceman façade is as stable as old plaster: the right pressure and it crumbles into the dust of failed hopes. He knows that to protect the Marine, he has to protect the man as well, but the Marine comes first.
In Kuwait, Nate says, “Only if you don’t let emotions take over, Brad.”
At Qalat Sukhar airfield, he watches Brad fall apart.
Outside Al Muwaffaqiyah, he orders Brad into an ambush. They survive.
In Muwaffaqiyah, Nate sees Brad’s smoke grenade and hesitates.
In Baghdad, he says, “We’re going to put this country back together.”
In Baghdad, he says, “The situational awareness of a platoon commander doesn’t extend very far.”
In Baghdad, he says, “I’m not having you blow yourself up, Brad, to protect property values in greater Baghdad.”
It’s just that even when he’s trying to do the right thing, he’s just failing them in another way.
It’s just, no matter how hard he tries, the simple incongruity never changes: he likes them; they're dispensable.
*
The first night in Baghdad, Nate lets himself breathe. All of his men are alive. They’re not exactly safe, but after the relative protection of open-top humvees, concrete walls feel like immortality.
They’ve arrived.
The fighting, the bullshit missions, the relentless push, they’re easier to accept as a means with the promise of an end before them. There’s a lot to do, but it’s the good kind of necessity. Maybe it’s beyond him to offer the kind of big picture infrastructure rebuilding and political stability that the Iraqis need, but around him, the crowd is in the process of survival.
He knows about that.
He knows that human wants start from the ground up, that their help does too: fresh water, patrols to stop the looting, maybe see if the engineers can rig up some kind of pump for the sewage.
When their convoy pulls away, the children’s cheers resonate after them, sounding like gratitude.
After the long road to Baghdad, Nate’s not asking for redemption, just a way to sleep at night.
*
The thing is, when he joined the Marines, Nate knew he was going to be a part of something larger than himself, that he was surrendering the ownership of his autonomy to trust in the hierarchy above him. That even if that trust is imperfect, even if it gets lost in all the ways they’re failing, it will always be there to fall back on.
He knows this, but he also knows that they’re doing this wrong.
On their second night in Baghdad, his commander tells him he can’t send out patrols to stop the infighting that’s taken over. It’s the first time they’re told to shy away from danger.
Instead, they’re rebilleting to another part of Baghdad. They haven’t done anything in the neighborhood they’re in now except, apparently, lie to its citizens that their needs will be addressed.
Nate understands that the principles he struggles with, his closeness to his men, his inability to trust in the command of his CO, his acknowledgement of the cruelties that he’s seen, are the symptoms of his own personality crashing against the realities of war. It’s not that the Marines Corps is wrong; it’s personal, he knows.
But this, this indifference to actualizing the justification of their aggression when they’re right here, when they finally have time, is beyond his comprehension.
*
In their new neighborhood, Nate makes another list. Water, security, jobs, statues of George Bush. It doesn’t matter, they’re moving again tonight.
He writes it all down anyway.
On their seventh night here, he’s ordered to be more aggressive.
They’re camped in an amusement park on the north side of Baghdad. Earlier, Brad had cheered that they were finally getting a night recon. For a moment, Nate had let Brad’s excitement flood him with a bit of borrowed warmth.
It doesn’t last.
From their vantage point, Nate can see the activity of city life flowing still beneath a canopy of weapons fire.
Into the mic, he says, “I’m going to keep my men in a defensive position until dawn. How copy?”
The radio buzzes with static. Schwetje says, “Hitman Two, I say again-”
Nate turns the radio off.
He’s probably burning the last irreparable bridge between himself and the portrait of the perfect officer, but that’s beyond his control. Though the ROEs and the SOP and Godfather can tell him how to sleep, how to breathe, how to shoot, each decision is still personal. It’s his orders that’ll get passed down tonight. In the wiggle room of immediacy, he makes do.
In the silence, Brad’s eyes turn compassionate. He says, “I trust your judgment, sir.” In Nate’s head, Brad’s words truncate to “I trust you.”
It scares him, this trust. Sometimes, he wishes he had it himself. He knows that hesitation is not necessarily bad, that belief in your own infallible decisions is what gets men killed, but it would be nice to be absolutely certain for a change.
He’s tired, so very tired.
After an hour, Reporter heads back to catch some sleep. Brad stays the night though, optics on the neighborhoods below. He offers field observations in a low, soft tone without a hint of his usual cynicism.
Nate’s aware that this is Brad being considerate, reassuring. It’s beyond Brad’s job, Nate knows, to give Nate something he shouldn’t need. But in the coldness of Iraq’s desert night, it’s all Nate has. He lets himself bask in the comfort of Brad’s empathy, lets it carry him through till dawn.
Later, he’ll worry about the burden he’s let Brad carry, about better concealing his own uncertainty from the men he’s supposed to lead. For now, he’s grateful.
*
In their fifth neighborhood, Brad starts in on ordinance removal.
Nate finds him in a hole, half a foot away from an unexploded bomb.
It’s not that Nate doesn’t understand the impulse. In another lifetime, it could have been him down there.
Maybe this will make Brad feel better. Maybe this’ll end up getting Brad killed.
There are a lot of bombs in Baghdad. He can’t take the chance.
When he orders Brad out, Brad’s eyes follow him like an accusation.
*
It’s just, it doesn’t get any easier.
Nate’s learned a long time ago that Brad’s Iceman façade is as stable as old plaster: the right pressure and it crumbles into the dust of failed hopes. He knows that to protect the Marine, he has to protect the man as well, but the Marine comes first.
In Kuwait, Nate says, “Only if you don’t let emotions take over, Brad.”
At Qalat Sukhar airfield, he watches Brad fall apart.
Outside Al Muwaffaqiyah, he orders Brad into an ambush. They survive.
In Muwaffaqiyah, Nate sees Brad’s smoke grenade and hesitates.
In Baghdad, he says, “We’re going to put this country back together.”
In Baghdad, he says, “The situational awareness of a platoon commander doesn’t extend very far.”
In Baghdad, he says, “I’m not having you blow yourself up, Brad, to protect property values in greater Baghdad.”
It’s just that even when he’s trying to do the right thing, he’s just failing them in another way.
It’s just, no matter how hard he tries, the simple incongruity never changes: he likes them; they're dispensable.
*