Read Online House to House: A Tale of Modern War by David Bellavia - Free Book Online
Authors: David Bellavia
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fighting until his limbs are severed or he bleeds out.
At the end of the briefing, Captain Sims brings in visitors: reporters who are going with us into Fallujah. The battalion has already determined who goes with what unit. Lieutenant Colonel Newell and the battalion staff have cornered the network TV types, leaving us with the apparently less desirable print and cable journalists. A New York Times reporter is slotted to go in with First Platoon, Alpha. Third Platoon receives Michael Ware and his Russian photographer.
We have to decide which squad gets to babysit these two. I don’t want them. Fitts doesn’t either. We already have a pair of outsiders to take care of. Two Air Force forward air controllers, Senior Airman Michael Smyre and Staff Sergeant Greg Overbay, have joined us for the operation. They know nothing about infantry combat, and I suspect they’ll be a liability once the shooting starts.
Earlier in the week, one of the Air Force guys had asked me to give him some room-clearing lessons. It was far too late in the game for that, so I told him, “Don’t worry about that. Worry about calling in the bombs. I swear nothing will happen to you. The only thing that will bleed will be your hemorrhoids from sitting too long on a Bradley’s bench.”
Fitts elects to take Ware and Yuri. I get the Air Force types. My squad’s got the better deal, but Fitts seems to think he’s come out ahead. I guess we’ll see who is right soon enough.
As the briefing winds down, Iwan speaks up. Grinning, he says, “If the worst happens, I have some videos of some mules in Tijuana on my laptop. If someone could just erase those….”
I offer up a hollow smile, the best I can manage. Iwan has said this before and we’ve all cracked up. This time, things don’t seem funny any more.
Fitts and I depart to brief the platoon. They’ve heard fragments of what we are to do, rumors of who we will face, but now is the time to give them the full story.
As we walk back to the platoon, Fitts is in a foul mood. “I’m bringing in Lawson to run weapons squad,” he says for no particular reason.
“He’s a fucking stud. Great move,” I said.
“Cantrell is going to be pissed.”
“Yeah, but Lawson is a good dude. And we need those machine guns in the fucking fight for once.”
“Those boys need to know what is going on.”
“About Iwan’s laptop?”
We laugh. Then Fitts turns serious.
“This could be fucking horrible.”
I nod. We finish the walk in silence.
When we reach the company area, I discover my Alpha Team leader, Sergeant Charles Knapp, has been very busy. He and the rest of my squad are surrounded by magazines and loose 5.56mm bullets. Knapp has decided to clean by hand every round of ammunition we will take to Fallujah with us. They’ve got four hundred magazines, which means they’ll be cleaning twelve thousand bullets tonight. The effort will be worth it. Cleaning each one will minimize the chance of a critical jam in the middle of battle.
The sight sends a swell of pride through me. This is a shitty, boring job, but they’re on it.
I call my squad away from their scrubbing and ask them to gather around. I start reading from my notes. The likelihood of casualties as we enter the city. The foreign fighters. The sheer number of enemy fighters. The IEDs. The drugs. The weapons. I feel the tension rising. Though nobody says it, they understand that there is no way we will all return home from this. Surreptitiously, as I continue with the briefing, I study each of my men.
Piotr Sucholas looks stricken. His mother is a Polish immigrant and she has written Captain Sims to ask him not to let Piotr do anything dangerous. To protect his mother, Sucholas has created a whole fantasy deployment for her. He’s written long letters to her about life as a rear-echelon type, living the life of Riley inside the base compound. The truth is, he’s blossoming into a first-rate team leader who never flinches from a
At the end of the briefing, Captain Sims brings in visitors: reporters who are going with us into Fallujah. The battalion has already determined who goes with what unit. Lieutenant Colonel Newell and the battalion staff have cornered the network TV types, leaving us with the apparently less desirable print and cable journalists. A New York Times reporter is slotted to go in with First Platoon, Alpha. Third Platoon receives Michael Ware and his Russian photographer.
We have to decide which squad gets to babysit these two. I don’t want them. Fitts doesn’t either. We already have a pair of outsiders to take care of. Two Air Force forward air controllers, Senior Airman Michael Smyre and Staff Sergeant Greg Overbay, have joined us for the operation. They know nothing about infantry combat, and I suspect they’ll be a liability once the shooting starts.
Earlier in the week, one of the Air Force guys had asked me to give him some room-clearing lessons. It was far too late in the game for that, so I told him, “Don’t worry about that. Worry about calling in the bombs. I swear nothing will happen to you. The only thing that will bleed will be your hemorrhoids from sitting too long on a Bradley’s bench.”
Fitts elects to take Ware and Yuri. I get the Air Force types. My squad’s got the better deal, but Fitts seems to think he’s come out ahead. I guess we’ll see who is right soon enough.
As the briefing winds down, Iwan speaks up. Grinning, he says, “If the worst happens, I have some videos of some mules in Tijuana on my laptop. If someone could just erase those….”
I offer up a hollow smile, the best I can manage. Iwan has said this before and we’ve all cracked up. This time, things don’t seem funny any more.
Fitts and I depart to brief the platoon. They’ve heard fragments of what we are to do, rumors of who we will face, but now is the time to give them the full story.
As we walk back to the platoon, Fitts is in a foul mood. “I’m bringing in Lawson to run weapons squad,” he says for no particular reason.
“He’s a fucking stud. Great move,” I said.
“Cantrell is going to be pissed.”
“Yeah, but Lawson is a good dude. And we need those machine guns in the fucking fight for once.”
“Those boys need to know what is going on.”
“About Iwan’s laptop?”
We laugh. Then Fitts turns serious.
“This could be fucking horrible.”
I nod. We finish the walk in silence.
When we reach the company area, I discover my Alpha Team leader, Sergeant Charles Knapp, has been very busy. He and the rest of my squad are surrounded by magazines and loose 5.56mm bullets. Knapp has decided to clean by hand every round of ammunition we will take to Fallujah with us. They’ve got four hundred magazines, which means they’ll be cleaning twelve thousand bullets tonight. The effort will be worth it. Cleaning each one will minimize the chance of a critical jam in the middle of battle.
The sight sends a swell of pride through me. This is a shitty, boring job, but they’re on it.
I call my squad away from their scrubbing and ask them to gather around. I start reading from my notes. The likelihood of casualties as we enter the city. The foreign fighters. The sheer number of enemy fighters. The IEDs. The drugs. The weapons. I feel the tension rising. Though nobody says it, they understand that there is no way we will all return home from this. Surreptitiously, as I continue with the briefing, I study each of my men.
Piotr Sucholas looks stricken. His mother is a Polish immigrant and she has written Captain Sims to ask him not to let Piotr do anything dangerous. To protect his mother, Sucholas has created a whole fantasy deployment for her. He’s written long letters to her about life as a rear-echelon type, living the life of Riley inside the base compound. The truth is, he’s blossoming into a first-rate team leader who never flinches from a
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