Censorship in America?

Kill! Kill! Kill!, a book by Jimmy Massey, is the account of a former Marine who just finished serving in Iraq, "Telling the life of a Marine of today, revealing 'how he talks, how he thinks, how he fucks, and how he kills.'" I found a review on Truthout. I haven't read it yet, but I would like to. I think accounts of combat are fascinating, because they usually come down on one of two sides of the fence: either accounts of valor or accounts of criminality. This one's disturbing.

Let me say that I have a great deal of respect for those who serve in the armed services, and as someone who has never served in that capacity, I'm not the right one to cast dispersions on anyone who is put under that kind of stress. However, I do believe that anyone who carries a rifle in my name and the name of the People of the United States of America is accountable for the things that he or she does while wearing that uniform, and when someone acts in a manner most horrifying, I want to understand why. The reason why we call these actions "war crimes" is because they are criminal, clearly spelled out as such in the Uniformed Code of Military Justice and the Geneva Conventions. In all of the cases that I've seen (purely anectdotal) in which soldiers commit war crimes, it was because the soldiers suffered from a lack of clear and powerful leadership OR because they had clear and powerful leadership that was criminal in its intent (the latter is BY FAR the minority).

That having been said, here's an excerpt:

We had reached the military site Al-Rashid on an overcast, dark and sinister day. [...] When we stopped, I saw ten Iraqis, about 150 yards away. They were under forty years old, clean and dressed in the traditional white garment. They stayed on the side of the road waving signs and screaming anti-American slogans. [...] That's when I heard a shot pass just over our heads, from right to left. I ran into the middle of the street to see what was happening. I had barely rejoined Schutz when my guys unloaded their weapons on the demonstrators. It only took me three seconds to take aim. I aimed my sights on the center of a demonstrator's body. I breathed in deeply and, as I exhaled, I gently opened my right eye and fired. I watched the bullets hit the demonstrator right in the middle of his chest. My Marines barked: "Come on, little girls! You wanna fight?"

That's pretty horrifying.