Generation Kill - Evan Wright [106]
The other problem is warning shots. In the dark, warning shots are simply a series of loud bangs and flashes. It’s not like this is the international code for “Stop your vehicle and turn around.” As it turns out, many Iraqis react to warning shots by speeding up. Maybe they just panic. Consequently, a lot of Iraqis die at roadblocks.
The initial killings at First Recon’s roadblock come just after dark. Several cars approach the bridge with their headlights on, coming from the direction of Al Hayy. Bravo’s .50-caliber gunners fire warning bursts. The cars turn around and leave. Then a tractor-trailer appears, its diesel engine growling. The Marines fire warning shots, but the truck keeps coming.
A few seconds after the truck fails to heed the second warning burst, its headlights dip onto Bravo’s position, blinding the Marines. The truck sounds like it must be doing thirty or forty.
“Light it the fuck up!” someone shouts.
Under the ROE, a vehicle that fails to stop at a roadblock is declared hostile, and everyone in it may justifiably be shot. Almost the entire platoon opens fire. But for some reason, these Marines who have previously put down enemy shooters with almost surgical precision are unable to take out even the truck’s headlights after several seconds of heavy fire. Red tracers and white muzzle flashes streak across the bridge. Mark-19 grenades burst all around the truck, but it keeps coming, horn blaring.
Just before reaching the concertina wire, the vehicle jackknifes and screeches. Someone has finally managed to hit the driver, whose head, they later discover, is blown clean off. Meanwhile, three men jump from the cab. Espera, who is wearing night-vision goggles, sees them and fires his M-4 from a crouching position, methodically pumping three-round bursts into the chest of each, as he was trained. Almost as an afterthought, the Marines shoot out the last headlight of the truck.
THERE’S NO TIME to examine the scene of the shooting. The entire battalion pulls back from the bridge, moving a couple of kilometers north to a more defensible position. The triumphant feelings that soared a half hour ago have vanished. It’s suddenly cold, a Humvee becomes stuck in the mud and in Bravo’s Second Platoon, Marines are again dealing with weapons that jammed catastrophically in the engagement with the truck. Next to Colbert’s vehicle, the .50-cal on Lovell’s Humvee had a round explode in the chamber, puffing out the gun’s chassis—a fifty-pound block of forged steel—like a balloon. In the darkness Lovell marvels, “Fellas, we just destroyed a ten-thousand-dollar piece of U.S. government property.” They are lucky the gun didn’t blow up.
In Colbert’s vehicle, the Mark-19 jammed again—as it has in two previous engagements. Hasser, who’s manning the weapon, screams, “Shit! Shit! Shit!” and pounds the roof of the Humvee, trying to unjam it. He lets out a half-crazed scream. “Raaah!”
Colbert shouts up to him, “Walt! You’re losing control of yourself. Shut the fuck up and take a deep breath.”
“This goddamn gun!” Hasser shouts. His voice cracks. “It’s a piece of shit!”
“Walt, you know I like you a lot,” Colbert says, trying to calm him. “But it’s not going to help if you lose control of your emotions. We just don’t have enough LSA to keep it lubed properly. There’s nothing we can do about it.” He adds, “I’m sorry I had to yell at you.”
Colbert’s platoon falls back from the bridge to defend the battalion’s eastern flank along the highway. Everyone digs holes in the darkness. The soil here is a waterlogged mixture of clay and rocks. It’s like chopping through partially hardened concrete. After we finish our Ranger graves, the platoon is ordered to move up the road 300 meters, where we dig a new set.
A string of headlights appears a kilometer or so to the west. It is a stream of vehicles escaping the city on a back road. It could be civilians fleeing. But using night-vision equipment, Marines observe what appear to be trucks with weapons on them.
“They