text: “I think it came from 2 o’clock.” he has to shout over the sound of AK-47 fire. “Not a hundred percent but... yeah I’ve got muzzle flash third deck. Farthest right window.” the Iraqi soldiers continue to fire in apparently random directions. The Marine Sergeant’s keen eyes have done a trick that most times is impossible.They found the enemy. In this combination of the two worst case scenarios, an insurgency in a city, it is a rarity. Often times the only motivation behind an attack is money. A foreign born Islamic extremist supplies a local boy with a rifle and promises him five American dollars to go shoot at Americans. The boy dutifully goes out and finds some Americans, empties the magazine as fast as he can and runs away to return the rifle and collect his 5 bucks. Sometimes a similar scenario plays out because of threats to the boy's family. Not many residents of Fallujah want to fight anymore; especially in this goddamn heat. The last few months, most of the guys being captured are Somali, Egyptian, Libyan, Saudi etc. Regardless of who, what, when, where or why it happens, the Iraqi Army soldier’s response is the same. Ninety percent of them will just start shooting. Randomly. Sporadically. Dangerously. The Captain and his team call it “The Iraqi Death Blossom.” To be fair, it does make you feel better to do something, anything, when the shooting starts. While moving with a foot patrol, the Captain’s unit has taken fire. The Captain and the Sergeant do not fire, they just take cover and try to identify the direction of fire in this concrete canyon. The interpreter does not fire because he really wants to be a Marine. Even though he is from Basra, Iraq; he models his behavior and speech after the U.S. Marines he lives and works with. His name is Crash and he carries a folding stock Kalashnikov rifle with a laser pointer pen taped to the side. “Ok, good shit! Crash get on the IA (Iraqi Army) freq (frequency) and tell the mulazim (Arabic for lieutenant) to set security and get me a clearance team...tell him over there in the alley to the left.” Crash follows the Captain as he translates the Captain’s order. The Sergeant brings up the rear. Together they make their way to the corner of the building the Captain indicated, using as much cover as they can find. Two Iraqi soldiers and a sergeant meet them there a few minutes later. “Crash, get these three to follow us and help clear the building. Sergeant M you stay with the Iraqi Sergeant no matter what and try to keep them moving. Alright, Crash, are they good? Yes? Ok good, let’s go.” the Captain stands and moves toward the door of the three story building. As usual in this type of situation, the words “kill zone” repeat over and over in his mind. This happens everytime he clears a building. In training exercises the words were used over and over. “Stay out of the kill zone! Get inside.” the one-eyed Gunnery Sergeant would bark. The exterior of the building is a kill zone. The doorway is a kill zone. Hallways are kill zones. Stairs are kill zones. Everywhere is a fucking kill zone in these buildings. His body ramps up. Senses on high alert. Totally focused on the task at hand. His nervousness falls away. Pausing at the doorway he tries the latch. The door opens silently. His left hand comes up with three fingers extended. A hand comes down on his shoulder indicating the man behind him is set. Breathe. Fingers drop in sequence three, two, one. The rifle’s light comes on with a squeeze of the front grip. Front kick the door. Go! Button hook to the left. Weapon sweeps, “Left side, clear.” The building looks to be abandoned “Right side, clear” comes the reply. “Overhead, clear. I have a small room and stairs far corner. Stack on me.” The Captain notices that it is only Crash who has followed him in. There is no time to waste in these situations because speed of movement and unpredictability are slim advantages that must be exploited. He moves to the base of the stairs and raises his left hand again. A hand comes down on his shoulder. Fingers start dropping three, two....”Grenade!” he shouts and dives back into the first room. Crash lands next to him just as the Whump! of the explosion reaches their ears. As metal shards are still clattering, the Captain is up and running toward the stairs. Someone is there at the top of the flight of stairs. They are either on their way down to check on the result of their grenade or they are somewhat stunned and blinded. The explosive force has kicked up enough dust to obscure the entire stairwell. This is his best chance. Up the stairs he goes. Weapon in his shoulder and barrel pivoting rapidly up the stairs and back up the next flight. As he turns the corner a shape appears in the dust cloud. He knows he should see a weapon before he shoots. He sees something that looks like a rifle held sloppily. A shot and then two more ring out. It isn’t until he feels his own thumb on the safety lever that he realizes he has fired. No time to stop now. The shape is gone and he steps smoothly and steadily up the stairs. Second floor has two closed doors and a hallway. Dust still hasn’t settled yet. The Captain pauses with his rifle pointed down the hallway. There is a body sprawled with a rifle at the head of the stairs. There is no response when he grabs the AK-47 and slings it around his body. “Set,” he calls. Quickly pivoting between the hallway and the rising stairs he waits. A hand lands on his shoulder and Crash says “Set.” Together the two of them ascend to the next level. Crash knows this business after a year with the Marines and they work their way from the top to the bottom. In a top room they find a small pile of brass. This looks like the room the shots came from. On the second floor they find the gunman but nothing else. On the first floor they find the Marine Sergeant. He peeks out the front window and grumbles. “So, they didn’t come in?” The Captain asks. “Fuck no,sir. I have no idea why.” the Sergeant almost spits the words out. Crash gets on his radio that is tuned to the Iraqi Army station and begins to ask questions in a loud authoritative voice. After a minute he launches into an explanation about the wrong IA sergeant coming to the building and the soldiers wanting to wait for their own sergeant. The Captain stops listening. His mind is back in Camp Lejeune thinking about the house to house fighting training they received. He remembers being told that one should never assault a building with less than three, four man fire teams. Well, he thinks, I guess one Marine and a terp is good enough this time. Well, as long as the terp is like Crash. On the next trip to Camp Fallujah, the Captain goes to the PX and buys some Lance Corporal chevrons. In a small ceremony, reciting the promotion warrant from memory, he promotes Crash the terp to honorary Lance Corporal, USMC. He earned it and upholds the proud tradition many times after that. (Footnote: Crash came to the United States in 2009, sponsored by one of the Marines he served with. He became a Marine at the age of 26 and was stationed in Camp Lejeune at last report. He was a Lance Corporal for a second time.