AS WE CHARGED into the house, women were staggering out of their rooms. Some squad mates grabbed them and held them at gunpoint, and the rest of us raced through the house. We found seven women in the house, but not a single male. The guys in my squad couldn’t find a thing—no weapons, nothing—and it seemed that the more incapable they were of locating contraband the more destructive they became. They smashed dressers, ripped mattresses, threw shelves to the floor—until someone had the bright idea that weapons were likely hidden under the floor. Out came the pickaxes. When it was obvious there was nothing in the house, we went outside.