“I couldn’t determine the source, couldn’t parse it from the other odors—the rain outside, the bouquet of wildflowers in the corner, the foul stink of angry men in sweat-starched uniforms and man-dresses. Still, after another breath, there was no mistaking it. There was rot somewhere. Twelve of us had gathered in Fat Mukhtar’s sliver of a meeting room. The attendance of the Big Man, Captain Vrettos, and an Iraqi Army major meant I didn’t have to speak; the presence of the mukhtar and a host of o...ther tribal leaders meant I still needed to listen. “The sheiks demand fasil for all the dead but Azhar,” Snoop said. His voice cracked with angst. “They will not budge from this. They say all the others in the mosque were innocents.” There’d been drama even before we’d arrived. At the outpost, the Big Man took one look at Snoop’s ski mask and plastic rifle and said our entire company lacked discipline. Captain Vrettos had tried to explain the complexities involved, to no avail.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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