Iraqi orphans

Because one child's picture made it to the front page, people are interested. All the others, well, too bad. Newsweek follows up on the little girl at the checkpoint.

[...]

For whatever peace of mind it may offer anyone, a Seattle businessman and evangelical Christian named Malcolm Mead has set up a Web site in the name of relief for the Hassan family. If the money reaches the right hands, Rakan might someday walk again.

[...]

Night was falling on Jan. 18, and Apache's men had almost finished their day in Tall Afar, a rundown city of 200,000 near the Syrian border. Insurgents practically own the town after dark. Even in the daytime, U.S. soldiers routinely travel in convoys of at least three Strykers. That evening, Apache's armored vehicles had pulled over near the town's main traffic circle while the men patrolled on foot. As they stood by the road, a set of headlights swung into the boulevard and accelerated in their direction. "We have a car coming!" shouted one of the men. Away from their Strykers and on foot, they were perfect targets for a suicide bomber. They gestured frantically at the driver to stop. He didn't. Someone else yelled, "Stop that car!"

[...]

Hussein Hassan was hurrying to get home. His wife, Kamila, sat beside him in the family Opel; their five youngest children, 2 to 14, were squeezed in the back seat with a 6-year-old cousin. They had been at his brother's house, but now curfew was 15 minutes away, and Tall Afar's streets are no place for a family after dark. Hussein turned off Tall Afar's main traffic circle onto Mansour Boulevard. Rakan was first to spot the soldiers in the deepening dusk. They were waving their arms and raising their assault rifles. The boy jumped up in the back seat. Before he could open his mouth to warn his father, a storm of gunfire struck the car, killing both parents and covering the children with their blood.

[...]

The soldiers headed back to base. Partway there, they pulled over for a huddle. "This is bad," said the unit's commander, Capt. Thomas Seibold. "But I will protect you. There's going to be an investigation. The only thing we can do is to be honest. We did nothing wrong." He asked who had fired. Six men spoke up. He asked who had shot first, and he got no response. A couple of men said they fired the second shot. They climbed back into their Strykers and drove on.

Back on base, the men filled out sworn statements. Apache's officers and NCOs hurried to reassure them. "Put yourself there," says Maj. Dylan Moxness. "You're an 18-year-old kid from Tennessee. You don't even understand why these people don't speak English anyway, you're shouting 'Stop!' and the car's still coming at you—you've got to fire."
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Excuse me? You're a fucking moron, did you say? You don't understand why they don't speak English?

"The mentality of the cavalry is, 'Put it in a box and go back to battle'," says Capt. John Montalto, 34, a psychologist from Manhattan's Upper East Side. "The repercussions happen later." The Reserves called Montalto up last June to treat combat stress-cases in Tall Afar. He says the 2-14's commanding officer, Lt. Col. Mark Davis, has spoken to him just once, with a warning: "Don't ruin my combat power." None of Apache's members went to him after the shooting.

The men can only shake their heads over the incident. "The car seemed to be speeding up," says one. "Ask them why they were coming on so fast. They should have stopped." The unit's chaplain, Capt. Ed Willis, says there's no reason to feel guilty: "If you kill someone on the battlefield, whether it's another soldier or collateral damage, that doesn't fit under 'Thou shalt not kill'."

At last, an explanation. I wonder where that's written in the Bible. I don't recall seeing it.