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![]() Click for words events Nonfiction Review Desert Storm
Now that the first wave of reporter memoirs has reached bookstores, a
second perhaps more powerful wave of accounts from actual soldiers in
Iraq has crested on the horizon. The best of the lot by far is John
Crawford's "The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell." Although he doesn't
have the political indignation of Philip Caputo, nor the melancholy of
Tim O'Brien, Crawford is a wonderfully descriptive writer--and reading
this book feels like climbing into a Humvee to go patrol his sector with
him in 130 degree heat.
The portrait of infantry life painted here is gritty and
unflattering. Soldiers have no love lost for the hajji, as they call
Iraqi men, nor can they take the risk of befriending the orphans or
children who run about through the sewer-laden streets. Boredom is
relieved by talk, drunkenness, and painkillers. On patrols they are
pelted with rocks. Dehydrated and soaking through their decades old flak
jackets, manipulated by higher ups into missions whose sole purpose is
the advancement of careers other than their own, Crawford's fellow
grunts are nihilists who don't need Nietzsche. Returning to America is a
relief, but you sense something essential has been taken from them out
there.
The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell: An Accidental Soldier's Account
of the War in Iraq
By John Crawford
Riverhead, $23.95, 219 pages
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