Charro **Reader discretion is advised**

**My intent in posting this is not for sensationalism, but rather to show that war is not a sterile event, and that a consequence of war, even one waged on the principle of just cause, is that some people die horribly.  Never forget that.

          This picture was taken in a slum of Baghdad known as Saddam City, which was oppressed by the Saddam regime due to the large proportion of Shi'ite Muslims that inhabited Saddam City; after the invasion Shi'ite cleric Muqtada al-Sadr came to power in the region and this area was re-named "Sadr City" instead.  India Company had set up defensive positions along this stretch of road, there were other infantry units operating in the area as well, though I don't remember which ones in particular.  The burned out van in the foreground was there when we arrived, I don't know if it was hit by a missile or rocket, shot by a tank, or set alight by a machine gun.  Inside the van, laying across the driver and passenger seats was a horribly charred body, whose age and sex were unknown due to damage from the fire.
          I was escorting our company executive officer, Lt. D'Amico, to link up with a lieutenant from an adjoining unit when on the way over we stopped by the van to see the body.  As we approached the passengers side of the van a great swarm of black flies rose from the body and buzzed around us; this Iraqi had met a violent demise: the entire top of the body's head was shorn off from just above where the upper jaw would have been, the arms were gone at the shoulders, and the body's legs were snapped off mid-thigh; brown splintered bone jutted from what was left of the thighs, which resembled two large overcooked and burnt pot roasts.  There was a small dog that was using the underside of the van as a den and we assumed that the dog had found the body to be a ready source of food; some Marines were friendly to the dog if it approached but I was disgusted by the thought of the dog eating parts of a human, so if it approached my fighting hole I would throw large clumps of dirt at it to scare it away, though I suppose I could have shot it just as easily. 
        We quickly nicknamed the body "Charro" and after we returned small groups of Marines took turns walking over to gawk at Charro and to take pictures.  I didn't have to take any pictures of Charro, I've never forgotten what he looked like.

Humvee Driver

During the invasion phase of the Iraq war Marine infantry units traveled in AAV's through southern and central Iraq; after Baghdad was secured those infantry battalions were each assigned cities in which to patrol and occupy, 3/5 was assigned Diwaniyah, a city of over 400,000 residents and some 80 miles south of Baghdad.  During our occupation of Diwaniyah I was "promoted" to the position of team leader of first fireteam, second squad, third platoon; I was a private first class at the time and was responsible for three other Marines, I was also chosen to be one of the designated Humvee drivers within our platoon.

        The majority of our patrols in Diwaniyah were squad-sized patrols conducted on foot through different neighborhoods, both during the day (really hot!) and at night (really quiet!) with two Humvees for our three fireteams; in addition to being 1st fireteam leader I also drove one of the Humvees on our patrols with my fireteam riding along with me.  Our squad would drive to a particular area and dismount, then patrol on foot in a tactical formation while I and the other Humvee would creep along slowly at the middle and rear of the formation. 

        Driving the Humvee had some benefits, the most obvious being that I got to ride instead of walk which was especially nice on a hot daytime patrol; another perk was the "freedom of expression while driving" that we exercised as liberators of Iraq: imagine twelve young Marines riding high on the adrenaline of invading a foreign country, all either in their teens or early twenties, with two beastly Humvees to play with.  We were certainly not "driving Miss Daisy" as we drove throughout the city; there was one instance where we actually topped out the speedometer at 55 mph on a highway leading out of the city, which is a big deal for an old humvee.  I witnessed one driver slam on the brakes and execute a "J-turn" on a side street, much to the disapproval of one Iraqi woman in her black burqua, who quickly walked away from the street, turning back to stare in searing indignation.  Two sergeants, who shall remain anonymous, got drunk on bootleg liquor purchased from an Iraqi peddler and attempted to "off-road" their Humvee and only succeeded in wrapping a long, very unyielding piece of rebar around the rear axle. 

        Aside from the "freedom of expression" that we exercised from time to time, we used the Humvees very effectively in Diwaniyah.  Humvees were to Iraq what helicopters were to Vietnam: tough, durable, and seemingly everywhere. 

View from the driver's seat

This small child really stuck out to me, taken on patrol through a slum of Diwaniyah

 On patrol through a business district, note the woman in a burqua at the far right of this photo.

Driving on the outskirts of Diwaniyah

 One of the many precocious Iraqi children that followed our Humvees while we were on patrol, they often asked for chocolate or cigarettes