Based on Captain Matt Gallagher's controversial and popular blog, which the U.S. Army shut down in June 2008, Kaboom is a sardonic, unnerving, one-of-a-kind Iraq war memoir. "At turns hilarious, maddening and terrifying," providing "raw and insightful snapshots of conflict" (Washington Post), Kaboom resonates with stoical detachment from and timeless insight into a war that we are still trying to understand.

today? God only knew. Those were bitches of the now. They were trivial, fleeting, and banal. And no one cared. Fuck the transient. What really mattered was how this moment survived into something beyond time and beyond me and beyond them and beyond this. Hence the clouds. Hence the puff. Hence the horizon. Hence the holy. The sound of a loudspeaker’s hollow echo rolled over the shadows of Hussaniyah from the mosque. I recognized the early-morning prayers of the Salah. Back in Saba al-Bor, Suge

concerned with public relations as we did, so an IED attack on this day failed the basic logic test. And now we knew why. The Badr Corps had planted the IEDs targeting JAM members. As I scanned his report, Sergeant Secret Agent Man enlightened us with more details. “Basically, sir, the Badr Corps wanted to make a big splash in Hussaniyah to let the populace know they’ve arrived. Killing JAM leaders in front of everyone on a Shia holiday would definitely do that.” “But aren’t they a Shia

fault: I gave him that discretion. I’ll fix it immediately.” The colonel nodded and walked away. I gave Suge authority to wear his mask when he chose to because it was his life, in his country, and he knew better than any of us when and where he felt safe. But I knew he understood the inanity of army rules and orders, so when I told him, rather innocently and ignorantly to “lose the mask,” his response shocked me. “Please, Lieutenant, do not ask that of me!” Suge roared, emotion erupting out of

said to Skerk, taking a seat to his left. “We had to push it up,” he replied, still counting out fifteen twenty-dollar bills per man. “Fridays are their holy day.” “Oh, yeah,” I said, a bit embarrassed to have forgotten such a basic bit of cultural information. “These cocksuckers,” he continued, taking a quick break from his count to spit a big wad of dip into an empty bottle, “I staggered the groups timewise to avoid this clusterfuck. And what do they do? They all show up at nine in the

military/pseudomilitary organizations reflected that approach to leadership and mission planning. Officers ruled with iron fists and tended to hold tightly onto any and all information; meanwhile, the NCO corps of these organizations lacked the independence, pride, and initiative of their American counterparts. Further, joint patrols were easy for Higher to order but far more difficult to execute. Beyond the language barrier, there existed cultural, social, and training blockades. Too often,