“Ahmed made a show of looking in the bags of money and counting the bricks. He and our translator, Yousef, kept talking. I couldn’t follow it too well, but it looked like Ahmed was concerned he’d been stiffed. The three thugs with him kept fingering their AKs and we all just stood on opposite sides of the room, facing each other while Ahmed and Yousef kept talking.

“I still don’t know what the deal was—if Ahmed was being targeted, if one of the thugs in the room was with the jihadists, if someone told the insurgents a group of American soldiers was in Sha’ab, if someone just wanted to play with a new toy. Whatever the reason, I heard this loud, screeching hiss just before the window exploded. Someone from a nearby roof had fired an RPG at the apartment. But they hit the wall instead of the window—otherwise we’d all have been dead. It still knocked us on our asses. One second we’re facing off against Ahmed and his thugs like half-assed gunslingers, and the next thing I know I’m on the floor, covered in glass, my ears ringing. I sat up, still holding my M4, and saw your dad getting to his feet. There was blood on his cheek, a cut from the glass, but otherwise he looked okay. Then he got this scared, angry look on his face and started shouting and raised his rifle. I couldn’t hear him, but I understood enough to drop to the floor.

“One of the thugs with Ahmed, I don’t know if he’d planned this all along or if the RPG made him lose his shit, but when he sat up he grabbed his AK and aimed it at me. Your dad shot him, a clean burst right in the chest. Then everyone started shooting. I saw Ahmed yank a pistol out of his belt, and then Yousef grabbed his arm and they both fell to the floor. Ahmed got up empty-handed and tried to make a run for the door, and I shot him in the legs and he dropped, screaming. I shot him again and he stopped screaming.

“It only lasted about ten seconds, but when it was over, Ahmed and his three guys were dead, and two of ours were down. One, a guy from my squad named Cortez, had been shot in the face. He was gone. The other was a Guardsman named Perkins, had a round in his shoulder. Screamed like a pig at a butcher’s. I put a bandage on his shoulder and told Yousef to keep pressure on it. Your dad, he was just sitting on the floor, staring at the man he’d shot. Shock.