Generation Kill - Evan Wright [92]
“I’ll take care of this,” Colbert says. He scrounges in the Humvee for an English-to-Arabic cheat sheet, then walks up to the man and the old lady.
“Al salam al’icum,” he says haltingly, reading the customary Arabic salutation from his cheat sheet.
His greeting provokes a torrent of words and frantic gestures from the couple. Colbert queries them in Arabic, then repeats in English, “I have pain?” “I am hungry?”
They shake their heads no. Then he asks, “Bad people?”
They nod, point across the field and speak more urgently. Colbert tries to radio for the translator, but he can’t be found. The grandmother keeps repeating something. He can’t figure out what it is. He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. Colbert hands her several humrat packs. “I’m sorry,” he says in Arabic and English. “You have to go.”
They walk off. He watches them, exasperated. “We can’t have civilians hanging out here. There’s nothing I can do about this.”
DOC BRYAN RETURNS from the RCT-1’s medical unit with good news. “We got the kid stabilized and medevaced out on a bird.” Even so, Doc Bryan takes little satisfaction from the effort. “The whole drive down I was staring in the kid’s eyes,” Doc Bryan says. “He was staring at me like, ‘You just shot me, motherfucker, and now you think you’re great because you’re trying to save my life?’ ”
Later that day, Encino Man walks the perimeter, talking informally with his men in an attempt to ease the tensions. Meeting with Doc Bryan and the other Marines in Team Three, he apologizes for the incident a few days earlier when he tried to fire a 203 grenade into a house where the men had observed civilians.
His candor earns high marks from the Marines. Then he asks them to speak up about anything that’s bothering them. The funny thing is, the Marines have been laughing off hardships caused by the lack of food, the filth, the flies, the dysentery, even the uncertainty of not knowing what their next mission is. The one thing that no one laughs about is the loss of First Recon’s “colors”—a Marine Corps flag affixed with battle streamers. The colors are reputed to have been carried by Marines into combat since at least the Vietnam War. A few nights ago, they were lost on the supply truck blown up outside of Ar Rifa. One of the Marines tells Encino Man, “The colors should never leave the commander’s side. Losing them is a reflection on his leadership and on all of us.”
The only other serious complaints the Marines air are the usual ones about the battalion commander’s continued obsession with the Grooming Standard. Ferrando recently sent the Coward of Khafji around to lecture the men about committing petty violations—from allowing their hair to grow a quarter inch too long to lying in the sun by their vehicles with their helmets off.
One of the Marines complains to Encino Man, “They’re treating men who’ve shown discipline in combat like a bunch of six-year-olds.”
Encino Man listens, staring cryptically from blue eyes beneath the shelf of his Cro-Magnon brow. Then he turns to Doc Bryan, who’s been lying quietly on the ground the whole time. “Doc, is there anything you want to talk about?”
“I’m fine, sir,” Doc Bryan answers.
“If there’s anything on your mind, now’s the time to bring it up,” Encino Man says.
“If you insist, sir,” Doc Bryan says.
“It’s okay, whatever it is,” Encino Man encourages him.
“Frankly, sir, I think you’re incompetent to lead this company.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” Encino Man says.
“Sir, it’s just not good enough.”
CAPTAIN AMERICA’S PLATOON is also experiencing a deepening rift,