The characters in this story are fictional, but their battles are real. Among the thousands of Iraqis and Americans who lived through the war in Anbar Province, there are a few to whom I owe an inexpressible debt: Gunnery Sergeants Anderson and Priester, who were mercifully patient with their young lieutenant; Sergeants Bouttavong, McBride, Dixon, and Alviderez, whose gifted leadership humbled me daily; Jack Dietrich, Autumn Swinford, Joslyn Hemler, Rachel Forrest, Steve Ekdahl, John Sorenson, Brad Aughinbaugh, Eric Beckmann, and Ed Donahoo, who have honored me with their friendship; Jaguar, whose real name I never knew, but whose courage defies description; Colonel James Caley, who taught me the imperative of disciplined thinking; and all those Iraqis who risked everything for a chance at a free society, and a life at peace. A generation of Marines will grow old wishing we’d done better for you.
Space permitting, I’d acknowledge dozens more by name. But you know who you are. You’re never far from my thoughts.
By dumb luck, I stumbled into a community of writers when I settled in New Orleans. I never would’ve finished this book without the help and encouragement of early readers such as Nicholas Mainieri, Rush Carskadden, Brock Stoneham, David Hoover, John Van Lue, David Parker, and Cullen Piske.
Rob McQuilkin, thank you for taking a chance on me. Kathy Belden, you protected me, and gave me what I needed to finish this story. I’ll always be grateful.
Truly special thanks go to Joseph and Amanda Boyden, who are quietly raising the next generation of New Orleans authors. Amanda, sharing my manuscript was only the most visible of your countless acts of generosity. Joseph, your modesty, fortitude, wit and spirit enrich the lives of all those around you. I treasure our friendship.
I have a remarkable family, with siblings who are my best friends, and parents who indulged our every daft scheme. Mom and Dad, your children built their lives on the unconscious assumption that all things are possible. My older brother, Brian, and my little sister, Julie, growing up wedged between the two of you made me who I am.
Above all, credit goes to my wife, Erin, who is ultimately responsible for whatever good can be found in these pages, and in me. My life orbits twin mysteries: What compelled you to take in the foul, wreck of a man you found, and how, in all the days that remain to me, I could ever repay you. I love you so much.