One Time At War Camp
So, I can’t remember if I’ve told this story before or not, about what I call the coolest “almost” kill of this Iraqi douche. So I’m going to tell it again (maybe) because it’s a fun story to tell and it makes me laugh a little bit every single time I tell it.
Be me, circa 2007 in Ar Ramadi, Iraq. I’m on one of those training and transition teams for the Iraqi Army. We had this…like Unity Parade or some hippy shit to show all the AQIZ and JTJ fukwits that the tribal elders were all on our side or some shit. Big parade, big chance for them Al-Qaeda douches to ruin the day with one well-placed mortar round. So we beefed up the posts on the little Snake Pit outpost by adding a Marine and one extra Iraqi soldier to each post or something like that, not sure everyone got two extra dudes, but my post did.
My post was on the southern side of the base but on the northern shore of the Habinayah Canal. Lots of tall reeds and weeds on the opposite shoreline where some asshole could drop a few mortars without being readily seen till after the damage was done.
Some douche, I don’t remember his name, but we’ll call him Douche, with a capital D, cause man, was this dude a douche. Anywho, he starts rambling on about how he’d like to kill Americans and how he hates us all, how Saddam was a totes cool guy like our Mr. Rogers or Bob Ross, and I’m sitting there like;
“The fuck is this Douche going on about?”
So I know this part is a little masturbatory in that I look all Clint Eastwood or John Wick and whatnot, but, I hold him at gunpoint and tell one of the other Iraqis to go and get the Iraqi Sergeant of the Guard and the translator that was on duty. Meanwhile, Douche is doing his best not to breathe wrong since I told him if he did I’d play pin the bullet on the forehead with him.
The Iraqi SOG and our interpreter walk up to the post and I tell Douche to go down and wait for me. I then told the other two dudes that if one thing is wrong when I come back up to the post, that I’d just wholesale start doin’ a murder. I leave the post and talk to “Pete”, now here’s the thing you gotta know about “Pete”. “Pete” was “local”. In the sense that he wasn’t from the United States. “Pete” also hated Iraqi soldiers with a burning passion. I dunno why, but he did.
Anyways, I tell Pete what ol’ Douche had been doing, Pete then translated for the Iraqi sergeant, then the two of them beat the ever-living monkey-shit out of Douche as they ran him off. Just whippin’ that ass.
I satisfied that the problem child had been dealt with, climbed the stairs expecting to hate what I saw. But…when I saw the two young Iraqi soldiers, both of them had their PPE on, were focused on the opposite bank, and were behind the gun, just like they should have been. Dope.
Fuck, what a weird place.