TRUE STORIES by Cavalry

True story, the memoirs in the life of Cav... We was tasked out, sweeping houses, pretty typical scene. But when i first started in Iraq, (sweeping homes) I would always knock first at the target door... But this is war.. Still, it just didn’t feel right. But now it was too surreal to include this normalcy, this politeness, into the patrols. Like, can I get u a cup of joe before I tear ur home apart? No, I decided after the first few weeks to handle it a lot like ripping off a band aid. I’d go through, protect my Men, n organize the targets.

So here we were goin through the homes. Slamming through the doors, screaming in English for weapons n insurgents. Then screaming for all the men to get down on the ground. While one of my buddies stands over the men/boys, the rest of us push our way through the women, clothes, books, tables. Searching... Orders r that a gun is enough to take the men in, they were suspects after all... But sometimes, fuck, sometimes, I just gotta round them up. Cuz orders r orders.. I've got to decide where the boys end, and the men begin... 13? 14? 15 years old...?

We ran through the home n found nothing, but my orders were to bring them in. I knelt by the only man in the house, grabbed his arms and cuffed them. Then I took the hood and tied it over his head. There’s so much screaming but, there’s always screaming and I really didn't hear it anymore... The other patrols have swept several other houses n there’s a bunch of hooded men sittin outside. I’m pulling mine toward them n drop him on the ground. N then I hear it. This little boy, maybe 4 years old, is screaming in Arabic, crying. He’s at my feet. His mom is running over, beggin me in broken English not to take the kid’s dad...

Shit, the kid’s face was in such excruciating pain, that I had wished someone would shoot me... I looked over n seen the dad trying to call over to his boy, his voice soothing, probably saying he’ll be okay. Maybe saying he’ll be home soon, which he won’t. I take the kid, pushing his shoulder forward to his dad. I cut the dad’s cuffs. The boy melts to the ground, his arms immediately around his dad’s neck. His father embraces him.. The boys screams finally stop. I walk down a few homes n start loading men into the trucks. All destined for some prison for questioning.. I start driving away before one of my buddies took that boy from his dad... I couldn't do it... Im a coward maybe, too empathetic, probably... But I'll never forget the look in that boys face... This is one of many stories I have to tell.. Hard as it is... There r still harder ones.

~by Cav~