Welcome to Blackwater: Mercenaries, Money and Mayhem in Iraq
By Morgan Lerette

About the Author

In the spirit of Veteran’s Day and just in time for the holidays, I highly recommend this book written by a dude I went to high school with and drank numerous gallons of beer with in college. He’s one of the top three funniest humans I’ve ever met. He’s a good dude with a generous heart (best example: I believe he bought me my first lap dance when I was about 18). He’s an American. He spent 18 months as a private security contractor in Iraq in 2004-2005 under Blackwater and wrote a book about his time there. It’s good.

My formal review:
This is a contemporary account of a kid from small-town USA who deploys overseas as a private security contractor for American diplomats in Iraq and is an honest foray into the psyche of the young American male during wartime. In search of fortune and glory and with Uncle Sam’s blessing he’s handed a rifle and a pile of money and left essentially unsupervised to protect said diplomats in a country ravaged by Saddam Hussein and war and is full of terrorists. He survives, is molded and matured by his experience, passively (and actively) absorbs some culture, goes to college on a GI Bill and eventually writes a book about it. It’s entertaining, funny, extremely crude, sobering and it’s history-from the mouth of the mercenary who lived it. It’s Americana. Every American owes it to himself* to listen to and learn from first-hand accounts of armed conflict, from soldiers themselves, of what it’s like to step onto a battlefield. And frankly, as fortunate citizens living in a country where we have no real fear of catching shrapnel in the face while driving to work every day (which is a tangible benefit of their physical and emotional sacrifices), we owe it to the soldiers too.

*It’s not just for men. My wife actually read it first while I was on a deer hunt and she loved it. There are poop jokes. There are dick jokes. It’s geared for guys but if your chick is cool she may appreciate it.

So check it out. Support our vets. It’d make a great Christmas gift. Proceeds benefit veteran nonprofit organization.

Buy the book on Amazon

Excerpts can be read here

And here in Soldiers of Fortune magazine

Here’s an excerpt I selected (with permission), see links above to others, if you like this one or any of the excerpts provided then the book is worth your time:

Originally Posted by Morgan Lerette
Every car in Baghdad is a hunk of shit due to U.S. led sanctions not allowing companies to do business with Iraq. Mess with the bull, get the horns. Cars are pieced together like Frankenstein’s Monster. We look at each car and focus on the backend. If the shocks are weighed down, it could be a VBIED [vehicle-borne improvised explosive device]. Realistically it’s thirty-year-old springs but it gives us a reason to shoot at it. That’s nice.

I’ve heard only certain people were allowed to drive under the Saddam regime, so most drivers are relearning how to maneuver a car. I have no way to verify the veracity of this but it seems legitimate. When the regime fell, locals dusted off old cars and jumped behind the wheel.

Three-lane roads are five-cars wide. The Code of Hammurabi, one of the world’s earliest set of written laws, was created 50 miles south of Baghdad, and these [bleep] can’t figure out traffic rules. It’s like watching a slow NASCAR race until we come through slaughtering vehicles. Iraqi police are posted to direct traffic but don’t enforce the law. We do, with fury and joy in our hearts.

Jacob put up mosquito netting behind his head because he’s tired of my spent round casings launching over the seat and landing on his neck. He has a couple burns that look like hickeys. I doubt he wants to explain this to his girlfriend when he goes on leave.

I’m getting good at shooting at moving vehicles as we drive. I try to place rounds on tires and fenders. Nothing beats the sound of a tire deflating after it takes a round. I avoid shooting high as most people aren’t a threat, just horrible drivers.

We’re driving around a traffic circle and I see a white Kia sedan. It’s clean, no dirt, no dents. It’s the nicest car I’ve seen here. Jacob’s blasting the airhorn but the Kia refuses to merge. We smash into it and the trunk crumples. The Kia’s forced to the left on a walkway as we pass on the right. I get a view of the carpet lining the trunk.

I’m sad about this. I feel real remorse. I see shock on the faces of the driver and passenger. I lean my head out to say “Sorry,” but it comes out, “Next time get out of our way, motherfucker.” I point my rifle at them for good measure. I could swear I was about to apologize. Oh well. Fuck them. I’m an asshole and hate every fiber of this shithole country. I used to be such a nice young man. Grandma’s not proud, but I don’t fucking care