To All:

I was growing concerned that the increasing tempo of operations leading to the December 15th elections would prevent me from writing home prior to this watershed event. Luckily and unluckily, events have provided a few days for me to reflect on my experiences and pen a few thoughts. For those who did not already know, I was wounded on December 8th. My platoon was protecting a logistics element inside Fallujah when we were caught in an ambush. A rocket struck my vehicle to no effect, the armor saving the two Marines inside from harm. Both walked away from the attack with just their "bells rung" and even the truck will return to duty in a few days. When the rocket hit I was outside the vehicle setting security with another Marine. We immediately came under small arms fire from a machine gun some blocks away. We were able to fight our way out of the ambush but in the process I was shot in the right thigh. I am in good physical condition, back with my platoon, just a little sore. The wound was clean, punching through my quadricep muscle without hitting femur or femoral artery. Unfortunately, I will be on crutches for at least a week before I can fully return to duty.

Recent weeks have been very successful for the Battalion. Shortly after Thanksgiving we conducted a large operation resulting in a number of enemy caches uncovered and insurgents captured. The Marines are becoming increasingly proficient in our area of operations and with the incumbent tactical success, morale is very high, even considering the Holidays. As the recent pronouncements suggest, the enemy has identified our area as a strategic focus in the coming weeks. The October 15th elections, with the exception of Sgt. Adams's death, featured almost complete calm for the city of Fallujah.

We defended a high voter turnout for both Sunni and Shia. While the vote was an overwhelming "no" to the Iraqi Constitutional referendum, largely due to Muj intimidation, so long as the populace chose to express their dissent through the democratic process and not with violence, than the election was a resounding success. I do not think that the Muj will allow December 15th to pass similarly undisturbed. Regardless, there are many signs of success here. One of the most notable is the Iraqi Army. I have operated with them and argue that the issues of administration and discipline they face are not fatal but merely endemic as in other Third World militaries I have trained beside. Not that our own military history has always enjoyed the same spirit of volunteerism, high morale, low desertion, rigid discipline and extraordinary combat efficacy as now. The Iraqi Army battalions here are very brave, almost to recklessness. They are always eager to tangle with insurgents and bring an enthusiasm for combat rivaling that of my Marines. The most valuable capability they bring though is their understanding of the cultural context of the people. Where we might search a home for hours or interact with a village for several days before we comprehend the inner workings of the village, an Iraqi Army patrol, as Iraqis, already know where to look for hidden weapons, they can quickly sift out the wheat from the chaff of information, the "head man" from the "loud mouth" and the "poor illiterate farmer" from the "local man of esteem." To best illustrate how considerable this is, allow me to explain some difficulties I routinely encounter.

Day here begins before the sun rises and after it falls. We patrol in and out of the firm base to and from our assigned sector for the day, sometimes driving with no ambient light using only night vision goggles. It's exhilarating when through my left eye I can see the green of the goggles, the sides of the roads rushing by, the infra-red headlights illuminating everything clearly for several hundred meters while through my right eye I can only see black with the roller-coaster consciousness of blindly hurtling into darkness. The adrenaline rush rivals coffee to start the day. We normally patrol to sectors of the city or surrounding countryside where recent contact has occurred or where enemy presence is suspected. Experience makes it possible to template where the enemy likes to hide equipment and munitions. Experience has also made more apparent what is normal and abnormal, a difficult feat two months ago when literally everything seemed out of the ordinary. While mistakes still occur, my Marines can now look down a stretch of road and quickly point out the one or two things that are not quite right. The one challenge that experience has not yet made us equal to is working with the Iraqi population. I cannot speak Arabic beyond a few sentences but I have learned enough of the vocabulary and gestures that I can understand what I am being told. Many of our conversations are predictable. My favorite is the "I know nothing." It goes something like this (Arabic purists please forgive, I have written these phonetically):

Me: "Salaam" (Arabic Greeting) Him: "Salaam" Me: "Shlonak" How are you). Him: "Zien" (Good) or "Mu Zien" (Bad - when they say bad they always point with their hand at our vehicles and Marines setting security around with a tone of annoyance). Me: "Wane Eish?" (Where do you live?) If he points at the ground or the area around I ask with an inquiring tone "Biet" (House), usually they point to their house.

At this point my Arabic is almost exhausted so my interpreter, by far one of the bravest man I ever met, begins a pre-planned spiel on why we are here, and exchanges pleasantries, asking about local crime and any needs of the population. We ask about crime because one "black ski mask gang", native or foreign, is like another, bouncing between "Mujahadeen" (Holy Warriors) and "Mujarem" (Criminals) as the mood suits them. The wants of the population are always one of two things, either electricity or water. Water is usually the more prevalent of the needs.

I listen politely to the requests for water, power and security and promise to do what I can to get these to him. Usually the man I am talking to thanks me (Shukran), and I say "You're Welcome" (Afwan). Pleasantries complete I ask him whether he has seen any strangers. The answer is always "No." At this point, any English speaking ability the man has immediately disappears, from "Oxford to Al Anbar" faster than 0 to 60. I then ask, "Have you heard any loud noise, seen
anyone with guns or anyone acting strangely?" The answer is always
"No" repeated multiple times, two hands waving in front of his face and head shook side to side. Usually he invokes Allah's name a few times to testify to his honesty.

My favorite trump card to play is then to ask them what they were doing yesterday (the time of the attack) and then walk them to the crater of yesterday's attack, or in some cases, the still smoking crater from that day's attack. Of course, their response, now much more vociferous in its physical emotion is still "No, I know nothing", vocabulary I have learned well, coupled with an even more strident invocation of Allah. Eventually my interpreter uses the facts in front of us to verbally persuade them to admit what they saw. For an Iraqi Army unit, quicker to scent duplicity, these interactions are immeasurably briefer and often more successful.

I do not mean to say that no Iraqis help us ever. Quite the contrary. There are those rare brave souls whose hatred for the Muj or for the situation in general, willingly step forward and help us. These men, like my interpreter, are true heroes. Usually though, most Iraqis will not assist without a relationship developed over time, trust gained by longevity and the provision of basic necessities. They do not want to risk all without demonstrated staying power and proof positive you can impact the local situation. My life was saved by one such man about a month ago.

In some cases they request the impossible but often it is easy to make changes on their level. In one instance, I visited a water starved village. After an hour of the mayor recounting the figuratively and literally "dry" history of the village, he finally explained that their water source had been stolen by a neighboring town who had tapped into the piping to increase their irrigation supply. This was an easy fix, as people usually do not say "no" when ordered by a Marine patrol to turn off their pirated water flow. The second and third order effect of such fortunate interaction is immeasurable.

With all this said, the challenge of working in the cultural context is a pleasant intellectual hurdle to overcome, possessing an intimidating and stimulating duality. Far more difficult to overcome are the daily battles my platoon contends against complacency and fear. It is easy to become complacent here. Creature comforts increase, familiarity breeds relaxed vigilance, Marines start counting down the number of days until we go home and suddenly the mistakes I mentioned earlier occur. Similarly, fear creeps into the
subconscious. The difference between Marines new in country and combat veterans is that a veteran knows that unlike film depiction, you don't see the sniper, you hear a -crack- and a Marine falls. At the moment of detonation, you don't see the IED that explodes under or beside you. You never see the dramatic blaze orange ball of flame,
just the terrifying mid-sentence thunder of the blast, the instantaneous cloud of dark smoke and the overwhelming force of the overpressure from the charge pushing through the armor and shaking your entire body. The wounded do not cry out when they get hit. It all happens too suddenly to say a word. It's this knowledge, that everything can change in less than a heartbeat that gives combat Marines a bit of an edge, a confidence tinged with alert nerves. What carries my platoon through these struggles is the courageous leadership of my Non-Commissioned Officers, my Corporals and Sergeant, hardened perfectionists.

An example of the impact and heroism that these NCOs have is Sergeant Isaac Luna of Kansas. Sgt Luna is a vehicle commander in another platoon in the Company. In the last month we have had sniper attacks on stationary units. Several have been killed and injured by this threat. A few weeks ago while operating in the city, Sergeant Luna's crew came under fire from a sniper. Private First Class Kimungu of New Hampshire was wounded across from his vehicle, the round penetrating his helmet. Though the shot was followed with a burst of small-arms fire, without a moment hesitation and with complete disregard for his own safety, Sgt Luna rushed into the open street, administering a pressure bandage to PFC Luna. Though completely exposed, Sgt Luna did not abandon his position until relieved by the platoon corpsman, HM3 Cruze from the Bronx. Throughout, Sgt Luna remained in the street, securing the wounded Marine. This courage under fire is what NCOs bring to the fight.

Examples like Sgt Luna's are important to me because they defy the alleged norm of human conduct. A recent essay I read contrasted the artwork of Mary Cassatt, glorying in simple beauty, with the more aesthetically erratic work of Joan Miro. The author sought to disprove the theory of critic Theordo Adorno that the horrors of modern war, exemplified by the Second World War, had forever thwarted the ability of art to convey the wonder of everyday human existence. This argument, carried to its logical conclusion, would point that in the face of brutality, the triumph of the human spirit over evil is now rendered impossible; that no action or expression can ever again convey humanity's finest qualities. I bring this relatively obscure argument to light because I think it is emblematic of the mindset that no good could come of what we do here. I will not lie, there are days where the things I see, the things I do, infest my heart with doubt.

No one said war was a pleasant thing. Time and time again though, it is Marines like Sgt Luna who cleanse my soul. They have seen death at its ugliest, in the face of the wrecked body of a child. They have seen their brother in arms carried away in their final moments. They have faced fatigue, fear, boredom, complacency, a lack of personal space and home-sickness. Yet for all their adolescence of years, they continue to soldier on as "warriors for the working day" with the dark humor of combat infantry. I don't know whether they understand or care about the politics of this war. I have never asked them. All I do know is that I have seen them at their best and worst, as they have me. As much as they would rather be home, enjoying Holidays with their family (for most of us this is our third Holiday season away in three years), they seemdemigods when they can see the difference they make. Whether it is fighting the enemy, protecting the innocent, aiding the weak or defending one another, they are at their highest when most directly challenged. While I cannot paint, I wish I could because in those often unheralded moments, I see something approaching the sublime, despite what all the naysayers, cynics and critics might claim.

I know this was a very long e-mail, largely because I am stuck in my "dry dock" for a few more days. To everyone thank-you for the outpouring of thoughts, prayers, letters and packages I receive. Special thanks to the citizenry of Tinley Park, Illinois, whose generous outpouring of care packages have ensured yet again a Merry Christmas for the Marines here. I will try to use the next few days to write back to those who have sent letters and e-mails. Thanks again and God Bless.

Semper Fidelis,
Brian Donlon