Generation Kill - Evan Wright [137]
The reservist unit is called Delta Company, and it has three platoons with a total of about ninety Marines and commanders. It’s made up of guys who work regular jobs in civilian life, some as software engineers or teachers, but the majority in law enforcement—from LAPD cops to DEA agents to air marshals. In Swarr’s opinion, “Delta was the most unorganized thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
The reservists’ problems weren’t necessarily caused through any fault of their own. Due to its low standing in the pecking order as a reserve unit, Delta Company was short on trucks, guns, food, flak vests, radios. Nevertheless, the reservists crossed into Iraq nearly a week after the war started. “It was madness from day one,” Swarr says. They had no idea where the battalion was and no ability to reach it on comms. Their navigation gear was so poor they nearly bumbled into Nasiriyah at the height of the fighting there. Many of the reservists in Delta had never fired the heavy weapons on their Humvees prior to entering Iraq.
Wandering around highways in southern Iraq, unable to find out where the battalion was, the reservists began running low on food. They were assigned convoy escort duty by the division and, according to Swarr, they turned this into a gold mine. At the time, lightly armed supply convoys were rolling through the area, their drivers terrified of being ambushed. So, Swarr says, “We put a sign out: ‘Need Convoy Security? Stop Here.’ As soon as they’d stop, we’d bullshit the drivers, tell ’em, ‘Hey, two hours ago a convoy passing through here got ambushed.’ Then we’d ask ’em, ‘What do you got for us? Any MREs, flak vests, water? Hand it over, and we’ll escort you.’ ”
According to Swarr, Delta Company made out pretty well for a while. Then, in his opinion, the company started going out of control. “Some of the cops in Delta started doing this cowboy stuff. They put cattle horns on their Humvees. They’d roll into these hamlets, doing shows of force—kicking down doors, doing sweeps—just for the fuck of it. There was this little clique of them. Their ringleader was this beat cop, who’s like a corporal back home and a commander out here. He’s like five feet tall, talks like Joe Friday and everyone calls him ‘Napoleon.’ We started to get the idea these guys didn’t want to find the battalion. They knew they’d get their balls stepped on. They were having too much fun being cowboys.
“Some of the other reservists were coming up to us, saying, ‘You’ve got to help us find the battalion. These guys are going to get us killed.’ But there was nothing we could do.”
Finally, it all came to a head a couple of days ago. “We’re guarding an airfield for chow and water,” Swarr says. “These kids come up selling soda and cigarettes. The ringleaders in Delta decide it would be funny to trade them some porn magazines, which these Iraqi kids had never seen. About an hour later, this elder comes out of a hamlet 400 meters away, yelling and shaking his fist. The kids all scatter. One of them tells us the old man is pissed. He didn’t like kids having porn magazines. The kid says he’s going to get an RPG. Sure enough, the old man comes out of this hut with an RPG, just kind of waving it around.”
Swarr takes a deep breath. “Delta fucking freaks! They lob like twenty-six Mark-19 rounds at the guy. He’s two hundred meters away, and they all miss him. Instead, they light up this friendly village behind him that’s been passing us information.
“I’m just watching this. I didn’t have nothing to shoot at, and I see this old dude dressed like a Marine running past with a flak vest and camera, huffing and puffing. ‘What are they lighting up?’ he asks. ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Just some pissed-off Iraqi with an RPG.