Generation Kill - Evan Wright [131]
ON THIS NIGHT, April 2, five kilometers south of Al Kut, First Recon is alone on the western side of the canal. Given the fact that Al Kut is home to thousands of Republican Guard forces and is now being bombed from above by American aircraft while being attacked on the ground by RCT-1 (as well as other Marine units from the west), commanders in First Recon are concerned that enemy forces, fleeing the city, might overrun its encampment on this night of chaos. The battalion pushes foot patrols out beyond the perimeter in order to set up observation posts and watch for approaching Iraqis. Kocher, who spent the previous night reconnoitering the ruins of Al Muwaffaqiyah, now leads a patrol out.
The moon hasn’t risen yet. Creeping through a field in near-absolute darkness, Kocher and two of his men spot an Arab through their NVGs about twenty meters away. The Arab, wearing a robe, is sitting cross-legged in a low spot between some broad, undulating berms.
Kocher’s first impulse is to shoot him. He’s upset about Pappy being hit the night before and wouldn’t mind exacting some revenge. But as he later explains, Kocher doesn’t shoot for fear of giving away his position. Iraqi soldiers are still launching illume flares less than a kilometer away, presumably looking for Americans.
With two of his men covering him, Kocher approaches the lone Arab, confident the guy can’t see him in the darkness. Speaking rudimentary Arabic, learned from his Marine cheat sheets, Kocher tells him to put his hands up and stand.
The Arab complies. As he rises, an AK slides out from under his robes and clatters to the ground. Kocher draws nearer. Then he hears footsteps, someone shouting “Ahhh!”
Captain America runs past, making a bayonet charge for the Arab. He slams him in the chest, and the two of them tumble over with a meaty thud.
“I fucked that guy up!” Captain America shouts, rising triumphantly.
Kocher is pissed. It’s not just that his commanding officer is running around in the darkness, screaming and bayoneting a prisoner who had been completely under control. Now Kocher figures he’s going to have to get out his medical kit and render aid to the Arab if he’s not dead.
He rolls the Arab, zip-cuffing his hands behind his back, then spins him around to examine his chest for wounds. He’s unharmed. The Arab wears a chest rig beneath his robe, loaded with ammo. Captain America’s bayonet smashed apart a rifle magazine in the Arab’s vest but failed to penetrate his chest.
“Nice going, Captain,” Kocher says. “You missed him.”
“That guy was resisting,” Captain America says. “I just wanted to jab him.”
Kocher strips off the Arab’s ammo vest and pulls him to his feet. Captain America curses and tries kicking the Arab in the groin. Instead, he hits Kocher in the stomach.
“Fuck! Did I hit you?”
“Yeah,” Kocher says. He doesn’t say anything else. Kocher finds that speaking with his commander just adds to the aggravation. Following this night’s latest escapade, some of Kocher’s men begin fantasizing about capping their captain, talking about it openly among themselves. Kocher doesn’t. He tries to maintain a balanced view of his commander. “He’s got personal problems,” he says. “I’ve got no problem with being aggressive, but he’s bloodthirsty toward the wrong people, unarmed people.”
THE BOMBARDMENT OF AL KUT continues into the morning of April 3. RCT-1’s advance into the city is well under way on the other side of the canal. We hear Amtracs clanking past, machine guns, explosions. Some are less than a kilometer away, but from where we’re sitting the nearby action has a remote feel, similar to being in a cheap multiplex where you hear sounds of a war movie seeping out from the next theater. First Recon is sitting out this assault.
Within a couple of hours, the Marines in RCT-1 blast their way to the main bridge over the