Well, think away.

If you haven't read anything by George MacDonald Fraser (1925-2008), you should. Fiction, memoir, disguised memoir -- it's all great.

April 8, 2003, was a brutal day for the men of F 2/23, during the invasion of Baghdad. From Stepping Off,

“Infidels…we will kill you slowly…Allah smiles each time you scream.”

If that isn’t what the muezzin said, the men accepted my translation. He’s blabbed over the loudspeaker since dusk, likely, “Shoot those Marines on the bakery roof.” Rightfully, the minaret should be rubble. We were pounded with RPGs and rifle fire from this mosque. One thermobaric[1] SMAW round would have put the muezzin’s body in a debris pile, and his soul—well, with those of the Fedayeen[2], cabbies, women, children, ambulance drivers, birdwatchers, and everyone else we killed. I’ve never been so proud of my men, and I’d defend each shot.

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[1] Warhead mixing fuel with atmospheric oxygen, enabling greater energy density.

[2] Fedayeen Saddam were irregular paramilitary troops loyal to their namesake.

Sounds pretty callous, no? At such moments, I retreat into Fraser, particularly this story of trying to hold a bridge against a North African mob in the aftermath of WWII.

When you hear about what seem to be unreasonably harsh responses by Marines, consider this guy:

If you insist on thinking of him as a baby killer . . . well, think away.

Post-battle thoughts from Stepping Off:

We rebel, though, when brass question our judgment in horrifying chaos we didn’t create. In such times, Gunny Wambold’s “they’re my children” mindset makes him our best advocate. During yesterday’s firefight, BGen Kelly visited Mortars (between RPG shots and charges of suicide vehicles). Noting the accumulating corpses, he called them “trigger happy.” Wambold went apeshit and nearly got—well, whatever generals do to gunnies (happy ending: they were all almost mowed down by automatic weapons fire; the general decided they weren’t trigger happy, boarded his helicopter, and left).

Morale plummeted today when the XO asked Hummel, “How many babies did you kill?” I didn’t hear this, but Wambold did. Even the ultimate MCMAP stud couldn’t tear the XO’s head from his thick, conical neck, but he sure got in the captain’s face. The XO screamed back, “Stand down, Gunnery Sergeant.”

Orbital mechanics aside, Hummel is my best lance corporal: cheerful, competent, and never injured. Officers denied him food and sleep for three weeks, then sent him on a crazy mission. He received no support from tanks, attack helicopters, or jets. Israelis bring those, plus bulldozers, to urban battlefields. The XO’s incompetence delayed our badly needed airstrike (happy ending: the FAC arrived, followed by a 1,000-pound bomb). Then the XO directed mortar fire on us. Hummel has five management levels in the platoon. He merely pulled the trigger upon direct orders. Ski chose what to shoot. How could Hummel know that guys shooting automatic weapons from taxis had their families along?

I expressed more remorse than most over Gharraf, but I’m sorry: anyone who was elsewhere on April 8 should shut up about civilian deaths. The Law of War requires combatants to wear uniforms and carry weapons openly. True, it also requires a “proportional” response. Great debate topics in Geneva, or for generals controlling both pistols and air wings. Imagine you’re Hummel. You have no Taser, baton, or OC spray. MCMAP doesn’t help when a vehicle charges at 50 mph. You have two choices: you can machinegun the occupants, or you can die. It’s binary. I regret nothing. We have the same 22 men we started with—we did something right.