Editorial

    Iraq

    The War That Turned Against Itself

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    The early hours of March 20, 2003 began with a succession of explosions over Baghdad. At 5:34 local time, cruise missiles launched from warships in the Gulf and strategic bombers struck buildings identified as command centers of the Iraqi regime. Operation Iraqi Freedom entered its visible phase, marking the beginning of the Iraq War 2003. In the weeks that followed, American mechanized columns advanced from Kuwait northward at a speed that surprised many observers. Units of the 3rd Infantry Division and the I Marine Expeditionary Force crossed the desert, secured airfields, bridges, and logistical routes, and on April 9 reached the capital. Images of Saddam Hussein's statue being toppled in Firdos Square were broadcast live around the world.

    On May 1, from the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln, President George W. Bush declared the end of major combat operations. Yet in the months that followed, the structure of the Iraqi state disintegrated rapidly, and a phase of violence began that bore no resemblance to a conventional war, evolving into a prolonged insurgency and occupation.

    US Marine Sergeant Joseph Benners during a house search in Fallujah during the Iraq War 2003

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marine Sergeant Joseph Benners stares into space during a search of a house in Fallujah, three years into the Iraq War 2003. Fallujah continues to be a symbol for the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city of the country, full of destruction, dust, and dead. Since the major US troop operations in 2005, the daily lives of civilians and marines inside the city have become a fight to stay alive — one of the clearest expressions of the urban warfare reality that came to define the conflict.

    The Coalition Provisional Authority, established to administer the country after the fall of the regime, made decisions that profoundly altered the internal balance of power. The order to dissolve the Iraqi Army and the de-Baathification policy left hundreds of thousands of armed men and former state officials without employment or income. Across Sunni-majority areas, particularly in the western province of Al Anbar, the combination of resentment, institutional vacuum, and widespread availability of weapons enabled the formation of insurgent networks. Through the summer and autumn of 2003, attacks on American patrols began to multiply. Small-arms ambushes, sniper fire, and improvised explosive devices on roadsides established a pattern that would repeat itself for years.

    US Marines from Bravo Company crossing rubble inside a damaged building during a Fallujah patrol — an image of the urban warfare reality of the Iraq War 2003

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company push across rubble and broken walls while patrolling a damaged building in Fallujah. The city remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country — a landscape of destruction, dust and death where the urban warfare reality of the Iraq War 2003 is condensed in every street and every collapsed wall. Since the major US troop operations of 2005, the daily lives of civilians and marines inside Fallujah have become a continuous fight to stay alive.

    Al Anbar, a vast province connecting Baghdad to the borders of Syria and Jordan, became one of the primary focal points of the insurgency. Desert routes allowed the transit of foreign fighters and the movement of weapons. The cities of Falluja and Ramadi progressively concentrated the violence. American Marines, deployed as an expeditionary force in the west of the country, assumed operational responsibility for the province. From that point forward, successive units would rotate through Al Anbar, confronting an urban warfare reality that evolved year after year.

    US Marines from Bravo Company advancing through a darkened corridor on patrol in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company move through the shadowed interior of a damaged building during a patrol in Fallujah. The city remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country — a landscape of destruction, dust, and death. Since the major US troop operations of 2005, the daily lives of civilians and marines inside Fallujah have become a continuous fight to stay alive.

    US QRF soldiers ascending a darkened staircase with flashlights during a joint raid with Iraqi police in Baghdad — a daily scene of insurgency and occupation

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - DECEMBER 2006: A US Quick Reaction Force unit climbs a darkened staircase under flashlight beams during a daytime operation in Baghdad, supporting an Iraqi police unit on a joint raid. Across the capital, these combined operations have become part of the daily reality of insurgency and occupation — narrow corridors, blacked-out buildings and the constant tension of moving through unfamiliar interiors where every doorway could conceal an insurgent or a hidden device.

    Reflection in a mirror of Iraqi women showing fear as US Marines prepare to search their home in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: The image of Iraqi women, captured in the reflection of a mirror inside their home, reveals visible fear as US marines prepare to search the house in Fallujah. The city remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country — a landscape of destruction, dust, and death. Since the major US troop operations of 2005, the daily lives of civilians and marines inside Fallujah have become a continuous fight to stay alive.

    Falluja was one of the first theaters in which the insurgency gained international visibility. In April 2003, weeks after the fall of Baghdad, isolated clashes had already taken place between American forces and armed residents. On March 31, 2004, an episode occurred that marked a turning point. Four American security contractors were ambushed in the center of the city. After being killed, their bodies were mutilated and two of them hung from a bridge over the Euphrates River. The images circulated through television networks and international news agencies within hours.

    Days later, Operation Vigilant Resolve began. Units of the I Marine Expeditionary Force surrounded Falluja and launched incursions into neighborhoods where insurgent cells were suspected to be operating. The urban environment presented complex challenges: narrow streets, concrete homes with interconnected interior courtyards, adjacent rooftops that allowed movement without direct exposure. Under pressure from the Iraqi interim government and amid the political fallout of the assault, the offensive was suspended before the city could be brought fully under military control.

    US Army soldiers waiting in an adjoining room during a meeting between their commanders and Iraqi police authorities in Baghdad

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - DECEMBER 2006: US Army soldiers wait in an adjoining room while their commanders meet with Iraqi police authorities in Baghdad. These coordination meetings between American officers and local security leaders have become a routine part of operations in the capital, as the strategy gradually shifts toward training and empowering Iraqi forces. For the soldiers standing by, the wait is one of the quieter moments in a deployment otherwise defined by patrols, raids, and the constant alertness of urban warfare.

    Between the spring and autumn of 2004, Falluja was identified by American commanders as a stronghold of groups linked to Al Qaeda in Iraq. In November 2004, after months of fighting and operational preparation, a second and larger offensive began: Operation Phantom Fury, later known as the Fallujah battle Iraq. Thousands of Marines, alongside U.S. Army units and Iraqi forces, encircled the city. Before the main assault, corridors were established to allow civilians to evacuate.

    The insurgents had prepared layered defenses. Tunnels dug beneath homes, barricades, machine gun nests, and numerous IEDs hidden inside buildings and along streets were discovered. Assault teams breached doors with explosive charges, cleared rooms, and secured rooftops. Snipers operated from minarets and elevated structures. When the operation concluded, Falluja was declared under American control. The urban infrastructure was severely damaged and thousands of residents remained displaced for months.

    A US Marine from Bravo Company stands beside an Iraqi civilian in front of a bullet-riddled wall during a patrol in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: A US marine from Bravo Company pauses beside an Iraqi civilian in front of a bullet-riddled wall during a patrol in Fallujah. Brief encounters like this one — half conversation, half assessment — define much of the daily contact between American forces and the city's residents, in a place where every street still carries the marks of the previous year's battles and where mutual suspicion shapes nearly every interaction.

    While Falluja dominated the headlines, Ramadi was experiencing a different but equally violent dynamic. The capital of Al Anbar province, Ramadi became between 2004 and 2006 one of the most dangerous environments for American forces. Unlike Falluja, where combat was concentrated in discrete offensives, in Ramadi violence took the form of a daily war of attrition. Marines established forward outposts inside troubled neighborhoods to maintain a permanent presence, defining the Ramadi insurgency Iraq.

    Interior of the destroyed Shoker base in Fallujah during the Fallujah battle Iraq, with US Marines resting below a damaged staircase

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - AUGUST 2006: Inside the US marines base known as Shoker, one of the most frequently attacked positions in the Fallujah battle Iraq, soldiers rest beneath the broken concrete of a damaged staircase. Living conditions here are close to inhumane, a stark contrast to the large rear bases where the majority of marines deployed to Iraq are stationed. Only around 15% of the troops sent to the country end up in active combat areas — among them Bravo Company, whose daily life inside this battered building reflects the reality of a city that remains the most insurgent-hit in Iraq, where survival itself has become the central task of every patrol and every night spent on watch.

    US Marines from Bravo Company gathered around a laptop watching CNN news about Iraq inside their barracks in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company gather around a laptop inside their barracks at the Shoker base in Fallujah, watching CNN coverage of the war in Iraq during a brief pause in operations. The contrast is sharp — a few meters from the streets where they patrol every day, they follow the same conflict as the rest of the world, filtered through a distant television screen. Fallujah remains the most insurgent-hit city in the country, and for the men of Bravo Company these short windows of news, rest, and silence are the only reminder that life beyond the city continues at a different pace.

    The systematic use of improvised explosive devices became the primary threat. IEDs were placed on roads, hidden inside abandoned vehicles, or buried beneath the asphalt. Some were triggered by remote control; others by pressure or concealed wires. The detonation of a device as a vehicle passed could destroy a light armored vehicle and cause multiple casualties. Throughout 2005 and 2006, IEDs accounted for the largest proportion of American casualties in Iraq.

    By 2006, the situation in Ramadi had reached severe levels of violence. Bases were regularly attacked with mortars and rockets. Nighttime raids had become part of the operational routine. Identifying insurgents in an environment where fighters blended with the civilian population was complex and led to frequent engagements. That same year, American casualty figures in Iraq recorded one of their highest peaks since the start of the war.

    A US Marine from Bravo Company sleeps on a cot next to his rifle and gear inside the Shoker base in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: A US marine from Bravo Company sleeps on a cot inside the Shoker base in Fallujah, his rifle and gear within arm's reach. After hours of patrols and the constant alertness demanded by one of the most insurgent-hit cities in Iraq, rest comes wherever it can be found — fully dressed, weapon at his side, ready to be on his feet again at the first sound from outside. These brief moments of sleep are among the few pauses in a daily routine defined by exhaustion, heat, and the permanent expectation of the next attack.

    US Marines from Bravo Company taking turns cutting each other's hair during free time at the Shoker base in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company take turns cutting each other's hair during a brief stretch of free time at the Shoker base in Fallujah. Small rituals like this one — improvised barbershops, shared chores, quiet conversations between rotations — are part of the fragile normality the unit builds for itself between patrols. Outside, the city remains the most insurgent-hit in Iraq; inside, every haircut is a way of holding on to routine in a place where almost nothing else feels routine.

    A shirtless US Marine shovels sand to fill sandbags during the Ramadi insurgency Iraq

    Ramadi, Al Anbar, Iraq

    RAMADI, IRAQ - AUGUST 2006: A shirtless US marine shovels sand under the midday heat to fill sandbags used to reinforce the defensive positions of a base in Ramadi, at the height of the Ramadi insurgency Iraq. In the capital of Al Anbar, where mortar and rocket attacks against US outposts have become a daily occurrence, fortifying walls, bunkers and guard posts is a constant task carried out by the troops themselves between patrols. The work is exhausting and rarely visible in the public image of the war, but it is one of the most basic forms of survival in a city where every position must be reinforced again and again.

    In parallel, the war was generating an increasingly intense debate within the United States. The initial justifications based on the existence of weapons of mass destruction were called into question when subsequent inspections found no such arsenals. Senate and House committees examined the intelligence reports that had preceded the invasion. Public opinion polls reflected a steady decline in support for the war.

    In April 2004, the publication of photographs documenting prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib prison sparked international outrage. In November 2005, in the town of Haditha, a Marine operation following an IED explosion resulted in civilian deaths, triggering lengthy military investigations. Each episode added political pressure. In 2006, the Democratic Party won majorities in both chambers of Congress in elections defined by public discontent with the war.

    US Marines train at an improvised gym set up inside their base in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines train at an improvised gym built inside their base in Fallujah. Many of them work out daily to stay in shape and to release some of the tension that builds up between patrols. In a city that remains the most insurgent-hit in Iraq, physical conditioning is not only a personal discipline but an operational necessity — every patrol, every entry into a building, every reaction to an ambush demands a body capable of carrying weight, running under fire, and enduring long hours in full gear under extreme heat.

    Meanwhile, a significant shift was beginning to take shape in Al Anbar. Sunni tribal leaders, confronted with the influence and coercive methods of Al Qaeda in Iraq, began making contact with American forces. This process, known as the Anbar Awakening, led to the formation of local militias that collaborated on neighborhood and route security. In January 2007, the Bush administration announced the "surge": thousands of additional troops were deployed, combining greater military presence with tribal cooperation and Iraqi force training.

    A lone US Marine from Bravo Company watches the news under a large American flag in the base cafeteria, set inside Fallujah's former train station

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: A US marine from Bravo Company watches the news alone under a large American flag in the base cafeteria, set inside Fallujah's former train station. The empty hall, the distant television and the worn furniture sketch a domestic scene that feels strangely out of place in the middle of a war zone. Fallujah remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country, and for the men of Bravo Company these silent meals are one of the few moments in the day when the war momentarily fades into the background.

    Major Megan McLung photographs the young son of a Sunni tribal leader during the Ramadi insurgency Iraq, hours before her death in an IED ambush

    Ramadi, Al Anbar, Iraq

    RAMADI, IRAQ - DECEMBER 2006: Major Megan McLung, 43, from Coupeville, Washington, takes a photograph of the young son of one of the most influential tribal families in Ramadi, recently turned ally of the US Army. The new American strategy in Al Anbar against the Ramadi insurgency Iraq is built on these fragile alliances with local Sunni tribal groups, formed to confront Al Qaeda in Iraq from within the communities the insurgency had previously controlled. One hour after this picture was taken, Major McLung was killed in an ambush triggered by an Improvised Explosive Device (IED) inside the territory of the very tribal ally she had just visited — a stark reminder of the human cost of conflict and how thin the line between cooperation and violence remained during the months of the Anbar Awakening.

    An Iraqi police checkpoint at dawn on the road leading into Ramadi from Baghdad, manned by former Sunni militia members

    Ramadi, Al Anbar, Iraq

    RAMADI, IRAQ - DECEMBER 2006: An Iraqi police checkpoint stands at dawn on the road leading into Ramadi from Baghdad, the silhouettes of the officers cut against the early light. The men staffing this position are former members of a local Sunni militia, now integrated into the Iraqi police as part of the new strategy of cooperation between American forces and the tribes of Al Anbar against Al Qaeda in Iraq. Checkpoints like this one mark the slow, fragile transformation of the province during the months of the Anbar Awakening, when control of the roads began to shift from insurgent ambush to the watchful presence of local men in uniform.

    In Ramadi and Falluja, violence began to decline progressively between 2007 and 2008. Police stations and government offices reopened. The strategy of maintaining a constant presence in neighborhoods previously dominated by insurgents consolidated. Patrols continued, but the number of attacks fell compared to previous years.

    The introduction of MRAP vehicles, designed with a V-shaped hull to deflect the blast from explosions, was one of the most visible responses to the threat. Before their widespread deployment, many Marines patrolled in Humvees whose protection proved insufficient against high-power charges. Supply routes between bases, particularly the road connecting Ramadi to Baghdad, became recurring targets.

    A US Marine from Bravo Company searches the interior of a car from the driver's seat during a patrol in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: A US marine from Bravo Company leans into the driver's seat to search the interior of a vehicle during a patrol in Fallujah. Stop-and-search operations like this one are part of the daily routine in a city where any car can hide a weapon, an explosive device, or simply a frightened family trying to cross from one neighborhood to another. Fallujah remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country, and for the men of Bravo Company every checkpoint, every door opened and every glove compartment inspected is one more small act in the long, exhausting effort to stay alive.

    The November 2006 midterm elections gave the Democratic Party majorities in both chambers of Congress. From that point on, every Iraq-related budget involved more contentious negotiations. Appearances by the Secretary of Defense and senior military commanders were broadcast live. Casualty figures were cited in every session. Organizations of military families and veterans' associations intensified their presence in the public debate.

    Members of Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon, 1st Cavalry Division ride inside an armored vehicle on their way to a joint house-search operation with Iraqi police in Karrada, Baghdad — part of the wider campaign that included the Fallujah battle Iraq

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - DECEMBER 2006: Members of Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon of the 1st Cavalry Division, based out of Fort Hood, Texas, sit in the dim interior of an armored vehicle as they head out to search houses alongside an Iraqi police unit in the Karrada neighborhood of Baghdad. These joint operations have become a central element of the new strategy in the capital, complementing the heavier urban offensives of the Fallujah battle Iraq with the local knowledge of Iraqi security forces. The minutes spent inside the vehicle — silent, half-lit, weighed down by gear — are often the last quiet moments before the doors open onto a street where anything can happen.

    In Ramadi, strategy evolved toward the permanent occupation of neighborhoods through small forward positions known as Combat Outposts. Rather than operating exclusively from large peripheral bases, Marines established themselves inside areas considered hostile. It was in this context that cooperation with Sunni tribes began to solidify. Faced with Al Qaeda in Iraq's coercion, tribal leaders decided to work with American forces. The creation of the Sahwa militias shifted the internal balance of power across the province.

    During the most intense years, particularly between 2004 and 2007, the daily lives of Marines in Al Anbar were defined by an operational routine combining foot patrols, motorized convoys, nighttime raids, and the permanent defense of forward outposts. The enemy operated in small cells, exploited the urban terrain, and relied systematically on improvised explosives. IED construction evolved from rudimentary charges to sophisticated devices with radio-frequency detonators or pressure plates buried beneath the asphalt.

    Blurred figures of US Marines from Bravo Company running through an abandoned building in Fallujah after taking sniper fire — the urban warfare reality of the Fallujah battle Iraq

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company move at speed through an abandoned building in Fallujah after coming under sniper fire during a patrol. The motion blur captures the urgency of the seconds in which the unit pushes for cover, securing the structure room by room before the shooter can reposition. In a city that remains the most insurgent-hit in Iraq, the urban warfare reality of the Fallujah battle Iraq turns an open street into a kill zone in a matter of seconds, and entering a building is often the only available response — even when the building itself, half-collapsed and full of shadows, may shelter the very threat the marines are trying to escape.

    US Marines from Bravo Company push through dense vegetation along a riverbank in Fallujah while searching for an insurgent weapons cache

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company push through dense vegetation along a riverbank on the outskirts of Fallujah, searching for a hidden cache where the Iraqi resistance is suspected of storing weapons. Operations like this one — slow, exhausting, conducted in heat and silence — are a key part of the effort to dismantle the logistical network that sustains the insurgency in the city. Fallujah remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country, and every cache uncovered means a few less rifles, a few less explosives, in the streets that the same unit will have to patrol again the following day.

    An Iraqi man is searched against a wall by US Marines from Bravo Company after being detained on suspicion of assisting insurgents in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company hold and search an Iraqi man pressed against a wall in Fallujah, after detaining him on suspicion of assisting insurgents in the area. Detentions like this one, carried out in the middle of the street and in full view of the neighborhood, are part of the daily routine in a city where the line between civilian and combatant is constantly redrawn — and where every arrest, justified or not, leaves a mark on the relationship between the unit and the community it patrols. Fallujah remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country, and these moments, brief and tense, condense much of the moral weight of the war on a single body, a single wall, a single pair of hands raised above the head.

    On the ground, the surge reshaped the distribution of forces. In Ramadi, attacks began to decline steadily through 2007. Falluja experienced a reduction in the frequency of direct engagements. The combination of sustained military pressure and tribal cooperation weakened Al Qaeda in Iraq throughout the province.

    US Marines from Bravo Company advancing along a deserted street during a patrol in Fallujah — a portrait of a war turning on itself

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company advance along a deserted street during a patrol through the center of Fallujah. The empty avenues, the closed shutters and the absence of any civilian presence are part of the daily landscape of a city where the sound of an engine or a distant shot is enough to clear an entire block in seconds — the silence of a war turning on itself, three years after the invasion. Fallujah remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country, and for the men of Bravo Company every patrol through these silent streets is an exercise in reading the void — searching, in the absence of people, for the signs of the ambush that may already be waiting around the next corner.

    In the military sphere, rotations continued. Many Marines who had participated in the Second Battle of Falluja returned to Iraq on subsequent deployments. The accumulated operational tempo generated a significant psychological burden. The Department of Defense began expanding mental health programs, and the Department of Veterans Affairs recorded a sustained increase in claims related to post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injuries resulting from blast exposure.

    In 2008, the United States and Iraq signed the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA), which established a timeline for a progressive withdrawal. Bases began to be transferred to Iraqi authorities. Direct combat operations were scaled back as the emphasis shifted to training Iraqi security forces.

    US Quick Reaction Force soldiers resting in the sun on top of a Bradley fighting vehicle while waiting to be activated in Baghdad

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - DECEMBER 2006: Soldiers from a US Quick Reaction Force unit rest in the sun on top of a Bradley fighting vehicle at their base in Baghdad, waiting to be activated for the next mission. Life inside a QRF unit is built around these long stretches of waiting — hours of stillness on the armor of a vehicle that can roll out at any moment to support troops under fire, respond to an IED attack or back up an Iraqi police operation in the city. The sun, the silence and the weight of the gear left within reach all belong to the same routine: a calm that is never fully calm, suspended between one alert and the next in a capital where the call to move can come at any time of the day or night.

    For nearly a decade, the war in Iraq unfolded simultaneously on two fronts. In the field, Marines faced ambushes, improvised explosives, and urban combat in cities like Falluja and Ramadi. In the United States, the conflict was the subject of legislative investigations, budget debates, and electoral campaigns. Every operation, every investigated incident, every congressional hearing formed part of a national debate that accompanied the conflict from its first weeks to its final withdrawal.

    A US Marine from Bravo Company drinks from his CamelBak hydration pack during a brief pause in a patrol in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: A US marine from Bravo Company drinks from his CamelBak hydration pack during a short break in the middle of an operation in Fallujah. Under summer temperatures that often climb well above 45ºC, hydration becomes as critical as ammunition: every patrol, every house search, every long stretch in full gear depends on the few sips a marine can take through the tube of his pack without lowering his weapon or losing sight of the street. Fallujah remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country, and these brief pauses — a swallow of warm water, a moment of stillness, the eyes still scanning the rooftops — are part of the small, invisible rituals that keep the men of Bravo Company on their feet through another day of war.

    In December 2011, the last American troops left Iraq. The conflict had lasted nearly nine years. More than 4,400 American service members had been killed and tens of thousands had been wounded. Iraqi casualties, both civilian and combatant, were considerably higher, though estimates varied widely by source. The total financial cost ran into hundreds of billions of dollars.

    The withdrawal did not end the regional instability. In 2014, the Islamic State launched an offensive that allowed it to seize large swaths of western Iraq, including Falluja and Ramadi. Iraqi forces, backed by air support from an international coalition, launched new campaigns to recover both cities in 2015 and 2016.

    US Marines from Bravo Company resting in cover inside a building they have occupied during an operation on the outskirts of Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - JULY 2006: US marines from Bravo Company rest in cover inside a building they have occupied on the outskirts of Fallujah, in the middle of an operation aimed at locating insurgent cells operating in the area. Taking over an empty house — or one whose inhabitants have been temporarily moved aside — and turning it into a forward position is a routine tactic in this kind of mission: the walls offer protection, the windows become observation points, and the rooms allow the unit to rotate watch and rest without leaving the area. Fallujah remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in the country, and these brief pauses inside borrowed buildings, half shelter and half outpost, are some of the few moments in which the men of Bravo Company can drop their weight against a wall before pushing back out into the street.

    Graffiti reading 'FUCK IRAQ' scrawled on a destroyed wall inside the US Marines' Shoker base in Fallujah

    Fallujah, Al Anbar, Iraq

    FALLUJAH, IRAQ - AUGUST 2006: A piece of graffiti reading 'FUCK IRAQ' is scrawled across a destroyed wall inside the US marines base known as Shoker, in Fallujah — one of the most frequently attacked positions in the city. The message, written by hand on the broken concrete, reflects the state of mind of many of the marines from Bravo Company stationed here. Living conditions at Shoker are close to inhumane, a stark contrast to the large rear bases where the vast majority of marines deployed to Iraq spend their tour. Only around 15% of the troops sent to the country end up in active combat areas, and Bravo Company is one of those units. Fallujah remains a symbol of the Iraqi resistance and the most insurgent-hit city in Iraq — a landscape of destruction, dust and death — where, since the major US troop operations of 2005, the daily life of both civilians and marines has been reduced to a constant fight to stay alive.

    For nearly a decade, Falluja and Ramadi represented two faces of the same operational reality. In Falluja, the conflict reached moments of concentrated intensity through large-scale offensives with prolonged urban combat. In Ramadi, violence manifested as a continuous war of attrition, defined by IEDs, ambushes, and indirect fire. In both cases, Marines operated in a complex urban environment where distinguishing combatant from civilian was extraordinarily difficult.

    A Medevac Black Hawk helicopter lands at the rear of the 28th Combat Support Hospital, known as 'China Dragon', in Baghdad

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - NOVEMBER 2006: A Medevac Black Hawk helicopter touches down at the rear landing pad of the 28th Combat Support Hospital — known to the troops as 'China Dragon' — at the main US military hospital in Baghdad. Wounded soldiers, evacuated from operations across the capital and the surrounding provinces, arrive here within minutes of being hit, often still in the gear they were wearing when the IED detonated or the firefight began. The Medevac flight is the first link in a chain of survival that runs from the dust of the street to the operating tables a few meters from the helipad, and on most days the rotor blades barely stop turning between one landing and the next.

    The war also left a visible transformation in the operational structure of the Marine Corps itself. The experiences accumulated in Falluja and Ramadi influenced doctrinal manuals revised in the years that followed. The Counterinsurgency Manual published in 2006, developed under the supervision of General David Petraeus and Lieutenant General James Mattis, incorporated many of the lessons learned in Iraq. The emphasis on protecting the civilian population, on human intelligence gathered through local leaders, and on the need for a permanent presence in troubled neighborhoods reflected the realities of Al Anbar.

    In logistical and technological terms, the experience in Ramadi accelerated investment in vehicle protection and explosive detection systems. Engineer teams developed frequency jammers to block remote detonators, while intelligence units analyzed patterns in bomb placement. Collecting data on targeted routes, habitual timing, and insurgent techniques became an essential part of daily work.

    Medical staff and stretcher bearers rush a wounded soldier from the helipad into the trauma unit of the 28th Combat Support Hospital in Baghdad

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - NOVEMBER 2006: Medical staff and stretcher bearers rush a wounded soldier from the helipad into the trauma unit of the 28th Combat Support Hospital — 'China Dragon' — in Baghdad, only seconds after the Medevac helicopter has landed. The motion blur captures the urgency of these transfers: every meter between the rotor wash and the doors of the emergency room counts, and the team has to move fast through narrow corridors lined with equipment, IV stands and other casualties already being assessed. For the soldier on the stretcher, this short run is the moment when the war stops being a street, a vehicle or a patrol and becomes a ceiling, a set of voices and a pair of hands working against the clock.

    On a human level, the strain accumulated over multiple rotations left a deep mark on thousands of service members. The pace of repeated deployments, with relatively short intervals spent back home, became a subject of debate within the Department of Defense itself. Military families were a visible part of the public debate, particularly as casualty numbers rose in 2005 and 2006.

    The American political system absorbed the war as a structural matter. Congressional hearings examined not only pre-invasion decisions but also the management of reconstruction contracts, the oversight of private security firms, and the coordination between civilian and military agencies. Debates over budgetary transparency intensified as the cumulative cost surpassed initial estimates.

    Military doctors and nurses operate on a wounded soldier in the trauma room of the 28th Combat Support Hospital in Baghdad

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - NOVEMBER 2006: Military doctors and nurses work on a wounded soldier inside the trauma room of the 28th Combat Support Hospital — 'China Dragon' — in Baghdad, minutes after his arrival by Medevac helicopter. Around the table, the team moves with the choreography of a unit that has performed this sequence countless times: cutting away the uniform, controlling the bleeding, securing the airway, calling out vital signs above the noise of the monitors. 'China Dragon' has become one of the busiest combat hospitals of the war, and in rooms like this one the outcome of an IED, an ambush or a mortar round is decided in a matter of minutes by the hands of strangers who will, in most cases, never see the soldier again once he is stabilized and flown out of Iraq.

    Seigtz, a soldier from the 28th Combat Support Hospital, sits alone inside the military ambulance used to transport the dead — an image of the human cost of conflict in the Iraq War 2003

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - NOVEMBER 2006: Nobody really knows how many people have died in the Iraq War 2003. Seigtz, a soldier from the 28th Combat Support Hospital (CSH) in Baghdad, is the man in charge of driving the bodies from the hospital to Checkpoint 1 of the International Zone, where they begin their journey home or into the anonymous count of the Iraqi dead. This picture was taken at the end of his first trip. 'It was the hardest experience of my life,' he said afterwards, sitting alone in the back of the ambulance. 'The smell of death was terrible.' In a war whose human cost of conflict is still impossible to measure, his job is one of its most invisible tasks: a short drive, repeated again and again, between the operating rooms where the wounded are saved and the checkpoint where those who could not be saved leave the city in silence.

    Public opinion underwent perceptible changes. Polls conducted between 2003 and 2008 showed a shift from initial majority support toward a more pronounced division and, eventually, toward a majority favoring withdrawal. Images broadcast from Falluja and Ramadi — damaged convoys, smoke rising over urban neighborhoods, military funerals in small American towns — became embedded in the collective memory of a generation.

    In Iraq, the impact was even deeper. The destruction in Falluja following the 2004 offensives altered the urban fabric for years. In Ramadi, the sequence of combat, mortar attacks, and roadside explosions left weakened infrastructure and a damaged local economy. Although the reduction in violence following the Anbar Awakening allowed for some degree of normalization between 2008 and 2011, internal political tensions within the country persisted.

    A US flag covered in handwritten messages of support hangs on a wall of the 28th Combat Support Hospital, 'China Dragon', in Baghdad

    Baghdad, Iraq

    BAGHDAD, IRAQ - NOVEMBER 2006: A US flag covered in handwritten messages of support hangs on one of the interior walls of the 28th Combat Support Hospital — known to the troops as 'China Dragon' — at the main US military hospital in Baghdad. The notes, signed by families, schoolchildren, veterans and entire units back home, are addressed to the doctors, nurses, medics and stretcher bearers who work around the clock to save the lives of the wounded arriving by Medevac. In a building defined by trauma rooms, helicopter rotors and the constant pressure of mass casualties, the flag has become a small ritual object: a wall of voices from the other side of the world, reminding the staff of 'China Dragon' that the work they do here, often in silence and away from the cameras, is being followed, thanked and remembered.

    When the Islamic State advanced in 2014, many of the local dynamics reappeared in a different context. The recapture campaigns launched by Iraqi forces, with international air support, once again placed both cities at the center of intense military operations. The repetition of combat in already devastated settings underscored the persistence of unresolved factors from the earlier period. At a global strategic level, the Iraq War shaped international perceptions of American military intervention, becoming a reference point in subsequent debates about Syria, Libya, and Afghanistan.

    For the Marine Corps, Falluja and Ramadi became associated with a period of operational redefinition. Counterinsurgency tactics, intensive use of human intelligence, and coordination with local actors came to occupy a central place in the training of new generations of officers and non-commissioned officers. The political dimension of the conflict left a lasting mark on the American democratic system, continuing to be the subject of academic and journalistic analysis long after the withdrawal.

    Gilda Carbonaro sits beside the grave of her son, a US Marine killed by an IED in the Fallujah battle Iraq, at Arlington National Cemetery

    Arlington National Cemetery, Washington DC, United States

    WASHINGTON DC, UNITED STATES - NOVEMBER 2006: Gilda Carbonaro sits beside the grave of her son at Arlington National Cemetery. He was killed in the Fallujah battle Iraq, in an attack by an Improvised Explosive Device (IED). Like Gilda, many American families whose sons and daughters have been sent to fight in the Iraq War 2003 are openly against the war and against the conditions in which their children are fighting and living — long deployments, repeated tours, fragile equipment and cities where every street can hide the same kind of device that killed her son. For these families, Arlington is not only a place of mourning but also of quiet protest: a row of identical white headstones that, name by name, makes visible the human cost of conflict, and the soldiers they want to see come home.

    Rotations continued throughout the transition process. Units returned to the United States only to redeploy after relatively short rest periods. The number of service members returning with traumatic injuries, amputations, or psychological disorders generated new legislative initiatives to improve medical care.

    When the troops left the country in 2011, the experience of Falluja and Ramadi had already become part of the institutional memory of the Marine Corps and of the American political debate. The reappearance of fighting in those same cities years later was a reminder that the conflict had left deep marks on both Iraq and the United States.

    A field of small American flags planted in the grass as a memorial tribute to US soldiers killed in the Iraq War 2003 and Afghanistan, in Washington DC

    Washington DC, United States

    WASHINGTON DC, UNITED STATES - NOVEMBER 2006: A field of small American flags is planted in the grass as part of a public tribute to the US soldiers killed in the Iraq War 2003 and Afghanistan. Each flag stands for one name, one family, one home left empty by the wars that have defined the first decade of the century for the United States. Installations like this one — assembled by veterans' groups, families and anti-war organizations — have become a recurring sight in Washington, a way of translating the abstract numbers of casualty reports into something the eye can take in at a single glance: a quiet, repeating geometry of loss that puts the human cost of conflict in front of the institutions that decided to send those soldiers to fight.

    The experience of Falluja and Ramadi cannot be separated from the broader context in which it unfolded. It was a war fought simultaneously in the densely populated neighborhoods of western Iraq and in the political space of Washington. Every patrol leaving a Combat Outpost in Ramadi coexisted with a budget debate on Capitol Hill; every urban offensive in Falluja coincided with testimony before legislative committees. That simultaneity defined the character of the conflict for nearly a decade.

    When the last vehicles crossed the border into Kuwait in December 2011, the operational closure did not mark a historical one. The consequences continued to manifest in American policy, military doctrine, and the stability of Iraq. The cities of Falluja and Ramadi remained permanent reference points for a period in which war became a total phenomenon: military in the field, political in the capital, and social in the daily lives of millions of people on both sides of the ocean.

    A memorial wall displaying portraits and names of US soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan, in Washington DC

    Washington DC, United States

    WASHINGTON DC, UNITED STATES - NOVEMBER 2006: A memorial wall displays the portraits and names of US soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan, set up in a public space in Washington as part of a tribute to the fallen. Photographs of young men and women in uniform — most of them in their early twenties — are arranged side by side, each face accompanied by a name, a rank and a date. Walls like this one are built and maintained by veterans, military families and civic organizations who refuse to let the dead become statistics, and who use the streets of the capital to confront passers-by with the human face of two wars that, for many Americans, still feel distant. In front of the portraits, visitors stop, read, and sometimes recognize a son, a brother or a friend among the rows of faces looking back at them.