Excerpt from Youngblood by Matt Gallagher, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Still carrying that around," I said. "You're going to hurt yourself."

The young Iraqi frowned, then argued. "He is a businessman and must protect his business," Snoop translated. "He asks why you care? There are boys younger than him who work for the Sahwa militias. They carry AK-47s."

"Good point," I said.

"Want any Boom Booms, LT? He offers a special deal, because Hotspur is his favorite platoon."

"I'm sure he tells that to all the girls. How much?"

"Two for five dollars."

As I rummaged through my pockets for money, a sound like wood planks slapping together broke the peace. Then again. My heart jumped up and my feet jumped back, unprepared for fired rounds. Chambers stood in the center of the road, back straight, rifle wedged tight into his shoulder. The bronzed dirt in the air had parted around him, giving off a strange, glassy sheen. A wisp of smoke curled out the end of his barrel and the goat with big pink balls lay collapsed on the far side of the street, near a pair of soldiers in a wadi. I exchanged a confused look with Snoop. Then the Barbie Kid unleashed the most primal sound I'd ever heard, a scream both high and low, as abrupt as it was lasting. He ran to the goat's body, and we followed, slowly.

"Goddamn it. What did I just say about keeping the enemy out of our perimeter?" Chambers yelled, lowering his rifle. "If that thing had been a suicide bomber, you'd be explaining to Saint Peter why the fuck you're so stupid."

The Barbie Kid fell to the ground next to the dead animal, cradling its body and petting it. He wept uncontrollably. The goat was lean to the point of emaciation, and its coat was splotched and stringy, like shredded paper. Its balls were even bigger and pinker up close. It'd been shot through the brain at the bridge of its nose, giving the look of a third eye. Fat, gray insects were hopping off its coat into the Barbie Kid's hair, so I kept my distance.

"Sergeant Chambers," I said. "We're not supposed to shoot animals. Higher's pretty strict about that."

"They're a menace," he said. "But okay."

I looked around the platoon. Most peered in at the scene, a strained quiet gripping them. There were no jokes, no sounds of spat tobacco, no jingling of gear. Dominguez shook his head and turned back out, instructing the joes nearby to do the same.

I pointed to the goat. "Pretty close to some of the men."

Chambers pounded his chest twice and hooted. "A perfect kill. Never a danger."

Snoop was on the ground with the Barbie Kid, placing a hand on his back. "LT Jack? This was his pet, his only habibi. He say his parents didn't let it in their house, but he fed it and played with it for many months. He's very sad."

"I can see that." I chewed on my lip. "For fuck's sake." I reached into my pockets and pulled out all the bills and change I could find: seventeen dollars and fifty cents, and eight hundred dinars.

"Tell him to take this," I told Snoop. "Condolence funds. And Sergeant? Throw some money in there."

Chambers sneered, but did as ordered, tossing a twenty-dollar bill to the ground.

The Barbie Kid wouldn't take the money, nor would he abandon the dead goat. Putting the bills and change into his cooler, we left him hugging and petting and snotting over the carcass.

The electricity recon took ten hours. I met with a half dozen Iraqi families over chai and flatbread, discussing the neighborhoods and the Sahwa militias and the problems with electricity and clean water. They had many questions, and I had few answers. Chambers ran security for the rest of the mission, staying out in the bronze fog the entire time. Throughout the day, both the Barbie Kid's scream and Chambers' hoot twisted in my mind like screws. Not even Doc Cork's headache pills could make them go away.

Excerpted from Youngblood by Matt Gallagher. Copyright © 2016 by Matt Gallagher. Excerpted by permission of Atria Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.