were to wait and see whether anyone
came to collect the IED.
After we pulled back, my vehicle
was positioned in a depression with
just the turret peeking out at ground
level. We shut everything down and
settled in for a long night. After about
three hours, through my night vision
goggles I saw a pickup truck exiting
the village. This wasn’t all that unusual
in itself, but the vehicle was traveling
across the field, not on the road, with
no lights on. Naturally, this twitched
my mental antennae. The vehicle was
a little over a mile away and heading
in our direction. Over the intercom,
I let the vehicle commander know
that we had company incoming. He
passed the word to the platoon ser-
geant, who passed it to the platoon
leader, who was on the ground near
the IED. At about 1,500 meters, the or-
der was given to me: “If they get within
300 meters, engage at your discretion.”
It was that simple. No warning shots,
no flares, no second chances.
Waiting for the vehicle to approach
the 300-meter mark was the longest
15 minutes of my life. “At your discre-
tion” wasn’t something I heard very
often as a 21-year-old specialist. I
was being given the power of life and
death over the occupants of that truck,
and they didn’t even know it.
My brain raced. Are these insur-
gents? What if they are doing farm-
work in the middle of the night? (Not
that uncommon in a desert country.)
What if they are driving off-road to
avoid the insurgents and IEDs they
fear may be on the road? What if it’s
some guy taking a family member to
the hospital? What if they are insur-
gents and the truck explodes when I
shoot it? Hopefully 300 meters is far
enough away ...
But what played through my mind,
over and over, was a lesson my father
had taught me ten years before: When
you pull the trigger, the consequences
are yours—forever.
When I was a boy in Sandwich, Mas-
sachusetts, I became interested in fire-
arms and hunting and asked my father
to take me shooting. After some hag-
gling with Mom, he agreed. I remem-
ber sitting down at the dining room
table prior to heading to the range. He
had removed some rifles from the safe
in the basement and instructed me onI HEARD SOME
OF MY BUDDIES
MUTTERING,
“UGH, WE
ARE GETTING HIT
TONIGHT.”rd.com 101