“No One’s Gonna Make It Out of Here” Watch My Platoon Recall Fallujah, the Iraq War’s Bloodiest Battle

In November 2004, I was a 19-year-old lance corporal assigned to 1st Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment. We were at al-Asad, an air base in Iraq, when we were told to pack only what we could carry. 

We strapped our packs to the sides of seven-ton trucks and rode into the darkness in a convoy of military vehicles that stretched to the horizon. When we got to Camp Fallujah, we all knew something big was about to happen. Thousands of Marines from across multiple battalions were crammed onto the base. 

On Nov. 10, hours before dawn, it was our battalion’s turn to attack the insurgent stronghold of Fallujah. Everyone back home expected us to be killers and diplomats at the same time. We succeeded on the former and failed tragically on the latter. We didn’t just destroy the enemy, we thrived at it. And many of us grew to enjoy it. Yet we obliterated parts of ourselves along the way. 

After two decades of trying to forget what we saw and did in Fallujah, I decided it was time to confront it. I reached out to Marines I hadn’t spoken to since the battle, and The War Horse brought our squad back together for a five-day reunion around Washington, D.C—with them by my side, just like they were 20 years ago.

Coming Thursday: “Before Fallujah, I thought I understood war.” Thomas Brennan on his platoon’s fight to survive—and heal from—the bloodiest battle of the Iraq War

During our time together, The War Horse filmed Shadows of Fallujah, this 25-minute documentary that weaves together my platoon’s firsthand accounts with archival BBC footage of our battalion amid the battle, to tell the story of Operation Phantom Fury and our decades-long struggle to heal. The video—co-produced by TJ Cooney—is part of a month-long, multimedia series of stories, videos, and events to commemorate the 20th anniversary of the battle. 

I am so grateful that the making of this project reunited us. We cried. We laughed. And we shared our enduring pain and guilt for failing to bring Lance Cpl. Bradley Faircloth home. The most healing part of our time together was that Faircloth’s mother, Kathleen, traveled from Alabama to join us and lead us into the new Fallujah exhibit at the National Museum of the Marine Corps. 

Together, we listened to her read the letter Bradley wrote for his family in case he didn’t come home. 

And not only were we able to look Kathleen in the eye, but she told us something that will never leave me. 

We are all her sons.

The War Horse