Bravo Company Quotes

Your job is to be the hardest motherfucker in your platoon," he said while pointing at me across the desk. "Do that, and everything else will fall into place." He added that I was assigned to Bravo Company, call sign Hitman, and wished me luck.

Then it came across the radio: Bravo Company had found one other survivor from our 2nd Platoon. He had been badly wounded in the legs and had propped himself up against a tree. He had been burned by napalm, waiting in the night, and some North Vietnamese had put a pistol to his eye and pulled the trigger. Shot him in the eye, blinded him, but he was still alive! I saw him being brought in on a stretcher, smoking a cigarette, all fucked up.

Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion had good, solid, professional noncoms, and its troops had served together for a long time. It was a good rifle company and I was happy to get it. Captain Diduryk was twenty-seven years old, a native-born Ukrainian who had come to the United States with his family in 1950. He was an ROTC graduate of St. Peter’s College in Jersey City, New Jersey, and was commissioned in July of 1960. He had completed paratrooper and Ranger training and had served tours in Germany and at Fort Benning. Diduryk was married and the father of two children. He was with his mortar platoon at Plei Me camp when he got the word by radio of his company’s new mission.

A SNIPER FIRED into Bravo Company’s ranks. Crack! A marine fell. Then again. Crack! He was dead. The marines pulled his body as they ran for cover. They chose an abandoned Iraqi National Guard building that fronted Highway 10, the main road into Falluja. Twenty guys ran up to the roof. They set up their machine guns and waited. The sniper fired again. He was in the building across the street, fifty yards away, on the second floor. The flash of a shadow. The marines opened up with everything they had. Aimed, fired, raked and sprayed. Ten seconds. Three thousand shots. Bullet casings in smoking piles. The quickened pulses of young men. Smoke oozing from barrels. “I don’t see him,” one of them said. Minutes went by. Cigarettes glowed. Crack! A bullet zinged across the rooftop. A shadow passed by a window. Western side of the building this time, someone said, third floor. The marines opened fire again. They held their guns steady on the ledge of the rooftop as they let them fly: M-4 s, M-16 s, SAWs, 240 s, M-203 grenade launchers. A blazing symphony. The building across the street shook and smoked. A fire began on the second floor. The sniper fired. Crack, crack. A muzzle flashed. “Goddamn you!” someone shouted as the marines fired again. “We got one guy moving back and forth,” Lieutenant Eckert, one of the platoon leaders, said calmly. “We may have found him,” another marine said, but everyone kept firing where they were firing. Eckert stood back from the wall on the roof to get a wider view. “The idea is, he just sits up there and eats a sandwich, and we go crazy trying to find him,” he said. The

That leaves Bravo Company, the expendables who know what they’re doing.

Having run out of ammunition, Hoshiar had discarded his rifle and picked up a Sten. However, while kneeling down to change the magazine, he was struck a blinding blow from a grenade that lacerated his upper arms and chest. Thrown backwards, he was pinned down by four Chinese soldiers who realized he was the platoon commander from the binoculars and compass on him. Even then he fought ferociously, refusing to give up. Finally, bleeding profusely and panting from his exertions, he was subdued and taken prisoner. By then, approximately four hours after the first shells had lit up the dawn sky on the Thagla, No. 6 Platoon along with the rest of Bravo Company had ceased to exist.

One is Onloan, the fashion subscription service co-founded by Natalie Hasseck and Tamsin Chislett. ‘On average, customers lose that exciting “new” feeling after a month,’ explains Hasseck. ‘On subscription you can experience that new feeling month on month – without the guilt.’ One of the company’s core beliefs is that ‘the dopamine hit comes from the thrill of discovering and

1.​Textile production produces an estimated 1.2 billion tonnes of CO2e per year, which is more than international flights and maritime shipping combined.47 2.​The average person buys 60 per cent more items of clothing than they did just fifteen years ago, and keeps them for about half as long.48 3.​By 2030, global clothing consumption is projected to rise by 63 per cent, from 62 million tonnes to 102 million tonnes. That’s equivalent to more than 500 billion extra T-shirts.49 4.​By 2050, the equivalent of almost three earths could be required to provide the natural resources it would take to sustain our current lifestyles.50 5.​A polyester shirt has more than double the carbon footprint of a cotton shirt.51 And yet the cotton needed to make a single T-shirt can take 2,700 litres of water to grow – that’s enough drinking water to last a person three years.52 6.​At its current rate, the fashion industry is projected to use 35 per cent more land to grow fibres by 2030. That’s an extra 115 million hectares of land that could otherwise be used to grow food, or left to protect biodiversity.53 7.​Approximately 80 per cent of workers in the global garment industry are women aged 18–35.54 But only 12.5 per cent of clothing companies have a female CEO.55 8.​Among seventy-one leading retailers in the UK, 77 per cent believe there is a likelihood of modern slavery (forced labour) occurring at some stage in their supply chains.56 9.​More than 90 per cent of workers in the global garment industry have no possibility of negotiating their wages and conditions.57 10.​Increasing the price of a garment in the shop by 1 per cent could be enough to pay the workers who made it a living wage.58

You see, what you'd do is you'd set up an ambush. Now, Bravo Company's probably three miles away from you. And you make contact [with the enemy] and run towards Bravo Company. So what happened is what we got into a fucking ambush and we couldn't get out of the ambush. And the motherfuckers wouldn't move...So from then on we didn't fucking [inaudible.] Y'know, you wouldn't fucking them nothing. "Fuck Bravo Company. I hope all of them motherfuckers die." The social map of this soldier's world has shrunk and now excludes Company B, which it formerly included. In fact, it has shrunk to only the five men of his reconnaissance team: It was constant now. I was watching the other five guys like they were my children. ... It wasn't seventy-two guys [in the company] I was worried about. It was five guys.

The list seemed endless; each soldier’s name evoked a memory, an image of youthful vigor, a sense of incalculable loss. “I knew them all.”515

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