>>12226671Ina
"I failed you this morning by allowing that 'declared hostile' call to stand. My failure put you in an impossible position." |loud! Tragic as it was, shooting the two boys had been entirely within the rules of engagement as they had been given to us. There would be no command investigation into what had happened. Investigations exist in a narrow sense to assign blame, but they also serve to propagate lessons learned. I tried to draw out those lessons for the platoon.
"First, we made a mistake this morning," I said. Technical details aside, we were U.S. Marines, and Marines are professional warriors fighting for the greatest democracy in the world. we'don't shoot kids. When we'do, we acknowledge the tragedy and learn from it. Unfortunately, I didn't think it was the last time we'd have to make those kinds of decisions.
"Second, I need you to compartmentalize today." I told the guys to tuck the experience away in their brains, way back there with their wives and their girlfriends and their dogs. It wouldn't help them survive tomorrow. I needed every one of them to learn from it and put it away.
"Third, no second-guessing and armchair-quarterbacking." We made fast decisions all the time. Sometimes we were right, and sometimes we were wrong. We couldn't hesitate tomorrow because of a mistake today. That could get us killed. Come what may, we were a team, and we'd stay a team.
When the Marines went back to their places on the line, they walked in groups of two or three. They would stand watch together, eat together, and joke together. But I was alone. I sat in the cab of the Humvee and watched them go. In Afghanistan, I had had Jim and Patrick, my fellow lieutenants. Recon was different, more independent, and combat forged bonds within platoons, not across them. Gunny Wynn and I had passed the stage of purely professional teamwork and become friends. I confided in him my doubts about the war, the company, and members of the platoon. But never about myself. The events of the day overcame me all at once, and I struggled to breathe without crying.
As darkness fell over Qalat Sukkar, I sat alone in the dim green light of the radios. I felt sick for the shepherd boys, for the girl in the blue dress, and for all the innocent people who surely lived in Nasiriyah, Ar Rifa, and the other towns this war would consume. I hurt for my Marines, goodhearted American guys who'd bear these burdens for the rest of their lives. And I mourned for myself. Not in self-pity, but for the kid who'd come to Iraq. They was gone. I did all this in the dark, away from the platoon, because combat command is the loneliest job in the world.
