Pat Dollard

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Previous “Deep Thoughts”

12:56 P.M.

Nothing is here by accident

In my earliest days in the Triangle of Death, we would patrol on dirt roads through what many believe to have been the Garden of Eden on the banks of the Euphrates. It was beautiful, and every second of it, we waited to die. The debris of death hurtling from the sky was also all around us, as amongst the still populated houses along these roads, there were also those annihilated by American bombs, and the occasional blown up tank. We waited to die because the same few roads we patrolled every day were heavily IED’d, freshly laid on a daily basis. And Marines did die. At least one during my time, that killed everyone in it. I had interviewed them all. The interview was about how many times they’d been blown up. It was 7. The 8th was the last, the last of everthig for them.

On these patrols, a section, four Humveews would stop at a time. The first time, I had no idea what was going on. I jumped out and followed a young Marine who was walking slowly along the side of the road, eyes cast down, looking, looking, looking. I asked what he was looking for. “IED’s”. “So, if you see one, or just walk straight up on one, will the triggerman blow you up, or do they try to save them for vehicles?” This was now particularly, we could step on or near an IED at any moment, and if we came upon a hole, the hole was likely caused by an IED explosion, and it was very likely to have been refilled with a new IED. “You never know, we’ve seen them do both. When they want to, they definitely blow them up on a Marine who finds one by walking up on it. It mostly happens in the craters.” Just a few meters ahead was a hole, and IED blast crater. “Shit.” I thought, this kid’s gotta walk up on that hole, and how can I not go with him? ” Each step of the way was like gettng closer and closer to the moment when you are goig to pull the trigger on your pistol in aa game of Russian Roulette. WE walked up slowly, nervous and steeled by professionalism at the same time and our boots stopped right at the edge of the crater. Me, the Marine, and the camera peered over the edge and down, empty.

Thise kids did this every day, day after day, for 7 months. This was before the Buffalo, and all the other sophisiticated IED clearing and jamming gear. This was the old days when the only way for the Marines to clear the roads of IEDs was for 19 year olds to walk up to blast holes, tense beyond all imagining, and wait a moment at your destination, to see if you lived or died.

I remember the first time, a few days later I got the word that a young Marine from Charlie company was killed doing just that, peering into that hole, after that slow deliberate march of terror up to the crater’s edge.

Welsh is supposed to be dead. He walked up on one, and it was a 500 lb. airplane bomb. By a fluke another vehicle in the patrol had already headed into the field to his left, and it caused the triggerman to run, before he ended Welsh’s life in the blink of an eye, right before all of our eyes.

My camera and I continued to walk up to these holes with the Marines, as the body count rose. It was scary. It was hard to do.

I remember coming home after this first trip. I remember being struck by the arrogance of most civilians I encountered. At such moments, I could only remember a bravery and service of a typethat was so extraordinary and so demanding of the very fiber of a man’s soul, that it was simply otherworldly, surreal, and so dark and horrible as to be almost unspeakable. It was odd, such a primitive and deadly way to clear a road. It will be impossible to forget any of it. And as I moved amongst the arrogant, preening, faux tough guy creatures that crawled the streets of Los Angeles, I thought of all those young Marines, and tried to imagine anything these snorting, look-at-me loud, center of the universe peacocks of civilians might have done that was so much more brave or important than those Marines who conducted themselves so much more humbly than these demi-men, that they should feel entitled to be so arrogant. I never found an answer.

8:12 A.M.

Jesus Christ, it’s Moday. I’m going back to bed. After I shoot the neighbor’s cat on my back porch. Dumbass can’t figure it out, it’s like the third new cat in less than 2 years. It’s a blessing, really, to have a suppressed .22 when you really need it.