Free From Baghdad To America by Lt. Col. USMC (ret.) Jay Kopelman

all that aggression into your fight.
    Let’s face it, to a bunch of Marines and soldiers just off the plane in Iraq from Oklahoma or Indiana or even California, one bearded guy looks just like the next, all wearing the exact same clothing—until one of them pulls an AK-47. This assault rifle, the preferred weapon of our enemy, was developed during World War II and is compact, easy to use, and incredibly reliable. It is at once a beautiful and an ugly thing to behold because it is designed for one thing only: killing. And it sure looks the part, with its wood or steel buttstock and hand guard, its black steel barrel and wood grips, and its ability to cycle round after round of automatic fire without jamming, even with the introduction of foreign matter to the weapon. This is the weapon that appears from beneath the folds of a garment and suddenly releases a hailstorm of bullets and RPGs. Now you’ve got to react and rely on your training and instincts with no time to think. You confront that fear with your own automatic weapon and your automatic response.
    In situations like these, Marines are trained to act/react and not to think. Thinking will get you killed. If you think too hard about what you should do with someone in your face, if you worry too much about what side he’s on, you die. It’s just like on the rifle range—the target pops up and you shoot without thinking, but you do so in Iraq because you know it’s a bad guy and if you don’t react fast enough or with enough deadly force, they’ll be holding a memorial service for you back at Camp Pendleton or Camp Lejeune, handing a folded flag and posthumous Purple Heart to Mom and Dad. Not only that, but the Corps invests a lot of time and money in our training and equipment, ensuring that we’re the finest fighting force in the world. How do you think it looks when we’re taken out by some jackass wearing a “man dress” because we took the time to think rather than rely on our instincts and training? Not good, my friends, not good.
    And don’t tell me, by the way, that I’m being racist. No one wants to befriend someone you might have to kill in the next minute, or who might open fire on you and your best friend.
    Initially, there’s the fear of the firefight itself as it begins, but also a sense of relief that at least you’re doing something. This fear is subsequently replaced by the fear of letting down your men, which lasts until the shooting is over and you’ve had a chance to allow the adrenaline to recede to that place it goes and the shaking starts, when you realize you’ve come within inches of dying (yet again). There’s the fear of the unknown, as in being on patrol and not knowing when the sniper’s bullet will find its mark or the IED will anonymously scatter your body fragments to the four points of the compass. These are real fears. This is not the branch brushing the window in a storm. This is not a harmless ant crawling across your hand during a picnic in the park with your best gal on a sunny afternoon.
    So how does the Marine or soldier overcome such fears? What makes the warrior, a person of the same flesh and blood and bones as the rest of the human race, continue on? How can he bring himself to walk that patrol, breach the door behind which the enemy lies in wait, or rise up and expose himself during a firefight? It is the sense of duty, obligation, and responsibility for his fellow Marine or soldier that allows—no, requires and compels—him to do so. When you’re confronted with fear in combat, you face that fear and fight back, much as you do when confronted with the enemy. You allow your fear in, but push it to the back of your subconscious, stomping on it as you would a cockroach or your enemy.
    When it’s all said and done—the bullets and RPGs have subsided, you’ve taken a head count, and you have a moment to reflect on those dead