Duty to Investigate

PROLOGUE 1330, 9 November 2004 Phase Line Blue Fallujah, Iraq On the second day of the Second Battle of Fallujah, Captain Chris Douglas, the Executive Officer of Kilo Company, rode in the passenger seat of the up-armored Humvee as he monitored the radio net, writing in his notebook and relaying orders to the platoon commanders. A news reporter occupied the rear passenger seat, and the first sergeant sat to the rear of the driver. The Humvee drove close behind the Marines of Kilo Company, who, in turn, followed behind the Army armored battalion. The overcast sky drizzled rain, turning the powdery Iraqi dust into a slippery slime that coated the streets and increased the difficulty of moving through the bombed-out houses. From time to time, the Humvee passed uncollected Iraqi bodies stacked at the side of the road while Navy corpsmen loaded the wounded into ambulances. The deafening noise of artillery, tank guns, and smaller ordnance thundered from all parts of the city. Captain Douglas concentrated on the accomplishment of the Company’s mission. He cared about nothing as much as his Marines and told himself that if he did his job perfectly, he could save lives. He cursed his luck and the fact that he had to babysit some Chicago newspaper reporter in the middle of the largest battle fought by the Marine Corps in 40 years. As a professional, he never complained about an order, but in his mind the idea of an embedded reporter appeared more brainless than issuing the malfunctioning Johnson Automatic Rifle to Marines on Guadalcanal. Civilians had no place in combat, and consequently, it didn’t matter if the reporter, Anne Merrill, seemed intelligent and brave, wanting to report the accomplishments of his Company. But he wanted her to stay out of his way. On the day of the battle, he asked the reporter not to get out of the Humvee. She didn’t argue, but every time he got out, she nevertheless got out too and started taking photographs. When he yelled at her, she returned to the Humvee, but at the next stop, she jumped out again, moving with the grunts and snapping photographs. Next, he ordered her to stay within 20 feet of the Humvee, but that didn’t work either. If he left the area of the Humvee, she followed. He then ordered the first sergeant to make certain she did not exit the Humvee. At the time, he thought if the first sergeant could control all of the young men and women in the Company, then he should be able to manage a civilian reporter. Douglas cursed out loud when he saw Anne Merrill just smile at the first sergeant and proceed to go anywhere she wanted. He chewed out the first sergeant three times before conceding defeat. “I give up, First Sergeant. If something happens to her, it will be on the back of the assholes that sent her out here. Just let her take care of herself.” After that, Douglas let Anne Merrill go everywhere that he went, and that included every part of the battlefield. Kilo Company turned south on Nazal Street, and the lead elements reported being in sight of Al Hareery School. Douglas passed this information to the Battalion Intelligence Officer, who quickly replied that he had analyzed the situation reports and warned that insurgents occupied most of the mosques and schools in Fallujah as strongholds. The Intelligence Officer recommended that Douglas designate the Al Hareery School as a Company objective and that the Battalion Operations Officer prepare a coordinated attack on the school. Douglas concurred and ordered Kilo Company to pause two blocks from the Al Hareery School in order to plan the attack. He watched as the reporter stepped out of the Humvee and bolted towards the school. 1400, 9 November 2004 Al Hareery School Fallujah, Iraq Anne Merrill worked her way to Kilo Company and fell in with the lead platoon. She stood behind a block fence next to a foul-smelling pile of garbage and snapped photographs of the school using one hand to shield the lens from the increasing rain that soaked through her jeans in an irritating pattern that looked like she had peed in her pants. The school complex seemed like a small prison, with three flat-roofed stucco buildings surrounded by another fence—a large classroom building with windows and two doors, a small two-story building, and a shed in the back. The two-story building appeared extensively damaged with one wall completely missing. The turret-mounted .50 caliber machine guns on the Humvees blasting away at the buildings made Anne’s camera shake, and the rounds sent dust and plaster everywhere. Bursts of return fire poured out of the school windows, and Anne heard the zip and pop of the insurgents’ bullets flying over her head. She stopped taking pictures, crouched low behind the wall, and put her hands over her ears. A squad of Marines hustled past and formed a stack line along the wall next to the front gate. She took a deep breath, leaped to her feet, and raced toward the squad. As she approached the line, she fell, crashed into the back of a corporal, and lay in the mud, sprawled on her back. Another Marine came from the rear, grabbed Anne by the shirt collar, and deposited her next to the wall. The troops forming the stack ignored her. Climbing back on her feet, Anne heard a sergeant yell something and saw the stack surge through the gate. Without thinking, she ran as fast as she could and followed the grunts to the side of the school near the front door. Her knees trembled violently, and she pressed her body firmly against the brown stucco wall. She clenched her camera and tried to concentrate on getting a great photograph. Before she could aim the camera, the squad rushed inside the school with their rifles at their shoulders, pointing them from side to side. Anne pressed on, but inside the school realized the squad had turned right while she had turned left. Cautiously, she made her way back toward the right and entered a schoolroom. She paused and raised her camera. A Marine across the room, holding his pistol with both hands, pointed the weapon at the opposite wall. Anne instinctively pointed the camera toward him and hit the shutter button. The Marine spun toward her, pointing the pistol at her head. Anne screamed, dropped the camera, and threw up her hands. “Don’t shoot!” she cried. The Marine raised the pistol toward the ceiling, said nothing, and turned back toward the opposite wall. Anne realized that she was standing in a pool of blood, and her eyes followed it to its source: the bodies of Iraqi women, children, and an old man. They were on the floor and facing the opposite wall, the backs of their heads blown open. Anne looked back at the Marine, who moved from one dead Iraqi to another while still holding his pistol with two hands. Two Marines rushed into the classroom from an adjoining room. They were followed by four other Marines from Kilo Company. Anne heard one gasp. “My God!” he exclaimed. “What the hell happened in here?” Anne saw that in addition to the Iraqi bodies by the wall, there were several dead Iraqis in the middle of the room. The Marines gawked at the carnarge. A second later, the platoon commander charged in, glanced at the bodies, and shouted an order to a sergeant. “Secure this area. We have to keep moving.” The platoon members rushed to collect weapons and check bodies. Anne started snapping photographs, including close-ups of the head wounds and victims’ faces. No one tried to stop her. Anne rushed over to the platoon commander. “Aren’t you going to conduct an investigation?” she asked. The platoon commander looked annoyed. “It’s probably a tribal dispute. It happens all the time here. My orders are to do whatever it takes to keep up with the armored battalion, and there’s no time for an investigation.” The Executive Officer, Captain Douglas, arrived moments later and immediately stared at Anne when he walked into the school. He turned with a disgusted look and addressed the platoon commander. “What the hell is she doing here?” The platoon commander shrugged his shoulders. “Where is the STA team leader?” Douglas demanded. A Marine ran over to Douglas. “Sir, Corporal Nelson is the STA team leader.” “What happened here, Corporal?” “Sir, I don’t know. I wasn’t here.” “What do you mean, ‘you weren’t here’?” Douglas shot back. “Your team was here, but you weren’t? What kind of bullshit is that, Corporal?” The Corporal stood in silence, a painful look on his face. “Who else is on the STA team?” Douglas asked angrily. “Sir, the other members are Lance Corporal Case, PFC Goldman, and PFC Hale.” “Get them over here.” The three Marines ran over to Douglas and shouted simultaneously, “Reporting as ordered, sir.” “What happened here?” Douglas asked. A massive explosion shook the school. The concussion knocked Douglas sideways and flattened a Marine standing in the doorway. Anne staggered to a wall and sat dazed and confused. She couldn’t hear and felt something flowing from her right ear. Marines took cover next to the walls. A second mortar round came quickly, followed by a third. Anne saw a Marine next to the north window go down. A corpsman ran over and started tending to his wounds. The next mortar round hit a Humvee parked outside, scattering it over the schoolyard and causing secondary explosions. Douglas shouted at the platoon commander. “I better call this in to Battalion. We’ll have to come back for the Iraqi bodies.” Part I