Slideshows
Sep 28 at 9:09am by David
I have relocated all of the past slideshows to the section marked as such. That tab is located at the top of the page. They include tours of:
Mahmudiyah
Arab Jabour (includes PB Hawkes and PB Murray)
South Baghdad
Al-Doura/East Rashid
Al Haswa/COP Corregidor
Kabul, Afghanistan
I will be posting a new presentation every ten days or so, through spring 2008.
An Experience in Baghdad
Sep 26 at 4:04am by David
I was up bright and early Tuesday for my last combat patrol of this trip. My time would be spent with a squad from 3rd Squadron, 2nd Stryker Cavalry Regiment. Up until a year ago, this unit was based out of Ft. Lewis, Wa., but more recently they’ve been assigned to Germany. It’s the same unit that is now immortalized by the very popular mili-blogger, Michael Yon, who details their work in Mosul during their last deployment.
I needed to be at the command post by 0230 for the briefing of that day’s operation which included three platoons set to clear several blocks of houses in the Doura neighborhood in East Rasheed. This area is on the southeastern edge of Baghdad and had not seen a coalition or Iraqi security presence for several months before members of “The Wolf Pack” got the assignment in late August.
I’d never been in a Stryker and they are quite impressive. The vehicle is a top-notched advancement in infantry mobility and seemingly perfect for the setting they are now operating in. In all, the day would start out with more than a dozen Strykers descending on the area as they continued a north/south clearance pattern that is an extension of the daily, non-stop work of previous days.
I asked to go with “Gold Platoon”, which included the route clearing and EOD team, figuring that would be the best place to get good images. I was told I’d be better off with “Blue Platoon”, which to be honest, put me as far back from “the front” as possible in this particular situation. It was a bit disappointing.
As we moved through Baghdad I watched the screens in front of me that provided daytime views of the nighttime scenery. One view from the gunner’s screen, another from the driver’s point of view. In between the two, I was able to watch on a Google earth-type map, as all the units in this patrol appeared in real time at their particular locations.
After a 45-minute ride and another 45-minutes of positioning, the rear hatch dropped and we hoped out to join the rest of the squad that we would be working with on this 8-hour patrol (which was originally scheduled for 22-hours, according to one soldier.).
As we all crouched next to a wall in the blue, pre-dawn light and using the Stryker for cover, we waited for the order to clear the first house. The lead Sergeant banged on the locked gate several times with no response before the soldiers broke through the gate and entered the yard. “Breach open!”, someone would yell each time we went through this process.
As we entered the yard, the soldiers quickly cut all the visible wires, not knowing if they were linked to booby traps. Still no sign of anyone, so the door was kicked down and we rushed into the house where we were met by a groggy, half dressed man who seemed a bit bewildered by what was happening. The soldiers made their way quickly through the home, clearing each room until the house was secure. Then a thorough search was completed as the man and his wife were questioned about the position of IEDs and the whereabouts of the terrorists.
This is what we did for the next six hours. House after house, door after door. So much happened that it’s hard to remember the sequence of events. Some of the houses had been abandoned for some time. Others seem to have been abandoned within the past few weeks. One house we went in looked as if the occupants literally dropped what they were doing and left with just the clothes on their backs. You could tell because there was half-eaten meals left behind or a strainer with tea leaves in it sitting next to a cold kettle still on the stove.
This neighborhood was about 85% Sunni and 15% Christian/Shia. It’s hard to tell what the makeup is now. Sectarian strife and Al Qaida in Iraq has all but turned this world upside down.
As we left one house we heard the impact of a bullet nearby, quickly followed by the report of a rifle. A soldier returned fire as we ducked back into the walled yard. After that, smoke was used often to cross open streets, that every once in a while, would echo with the exchange of gunfire; usually a few heavy shots of the AK-47, followed by a quick, but violent response by American rifles.
At one point during the day I could see some guy up the street, in a different squad, waving his arms in our direction. It wasn’t a soldier and I actually thought it was an interpreter. Turned out it was Roggio trying to get my attention. Our two squads briefly met, we shook hands and went opposite directions. I didn’t realize Baghdad was so small.
By the end of the day, I was tired, hot and a little confused. While the soldiers I was with were good guys and did their jobs well, they were in a state of frustration because of the inability to properly do their jobs. Our squad didn’t have a translator, which in my opinion, was a serious issue. Many times they would enter a home and have no way to communicate, no way to follow the orders of the day that they were given.
In the morning brief, the Captain told the men to go into the homes and tell them they were good Muslims and they (the soldiers) were there to help protect them. They were to ask these residents for help in identifying potential IED sites and the whereabouts of the terrorists. They were also tasked with finding any illegal weapons. None of this, except the latter, was possible because the men I was with had no way of communicating with the populace. This often resulted in frustration among the soldiers and fear among the people they were encountering. It happened so often that I wondered what good was being accomplished in comparison to the damage to hearts and minds they were causing as doors came off their hinges, windows were broke, bedrooms were disheveled and homes invaded. I could see in the faces of those people, a sense of hopelessness as the soldiers made themselves at home, walked across their sleeping mats and smoked cigarettes at will in their homes.
I wondered to myself if these soldiers had empathy for these people as equal human beings or had this war, lack of cultural understanding and lack of ability to communicate reduced that perception. This was a different side of the war I had not seen here before and it wore on me.
In one home we were let in by an old woman with tattoos on her face. With her were three young women. Together they sat patiently in the kitchen while their home was searched and the two young men of the house were tested for evidence of explosives residue. A young soldier, who was guarding the door from the kitchen to the outside, lit up a cigarette as the women trembled and the occasional sound of something breaking echoed through the house. “Hey man, it’s Ramadan… you shouldn’t be smoking in front of them”, I said. “Yeah… I’ll smoke outside”, he said. I sat there on their kitchen floor, occasionally looking at the women, but for the most part, I looked at the floor as emotions raced through my mind. The old woman was trembling and tears were swelling in her eyes. I could only imagine what was going through her mind. The fear she has had, even prior to us showing up that day. I wondered what this family,and the hundreds of thousands of families like hers, has endured during this war. Then I thought of my grandmother and I felt sad that this is how it is in their lives. Innocent people caught between a ruthless element of terrorists and those that believe they are helping fight that terror.
I am not passing judgment on these soldiers because this is just one small slice of their daily fight for survival on these mean streets that have claimed their youth and their friends. There’s no way for me, or you, to judge a group of soldiers based on an eight hour day with them. To be fair, the soldiers only kicked down doors that weren’t answered in a quick fashion. They also always asked for the keys. In fact, the majority of kicked in doors were in abandoned houses that were locked up tight in the owner’s absence. However, the experience did make me wonder how you can convince a population to help if you cannot communicate with them, if you cannot cultivate a relationship with them, leaving the soldiers only an option of kicking in a door, clearing a home and then moving on.
This was clear to me when we encountered a family where a woman spoke descent, but broken English. As she sat on the floor holding a clearly malnourished child, the soldiers told her it’s about time for the Iraqi people to stand up for themselves and they should help the soldiers find the terrorists. She agreed with the assessment but added that it’s difficult to stand up to terrorists when there’s no permanent security to help protect them. Her husband was chased from his work and they have no food. They claimed they don’t even leave the house for fear of being killed. She claimed the house they were in was abandoned by her neighbors… they’re too afraid to stay in their own home. She begged over and over that the Americans needed to stay in the neighborhood instead of just coming through it during the day, then leaving at night. Something the Americans are just learning in outer-lying areas of Baghdad I have visited recently, but something that is not in any near term plans for this part of town.
I will have one final dispatch in the next few days, wrapping up this latest chronicle. If you have enjoyed and learned from my experience here in Iraq, I urge you to contribute to Public Multimedia Inc., a non-profit, independent media company founded by Bill Roggio. Your donation is tax deductible. Learn more about our efforts here: http://www.longwarjournal.organd here: http://publicmultimedia.org/donate.html
The Home Stretch
Sep 24 at 9:09am by David
It’s just about time to wrap this trip up. I’ve only been gone three weeks and it seems like an eternity. I can only imagine what the guys and gals here feel like after 15 months. To the families out there: Stay supportive, your people really need you. Now is not the time to fight or cheat or whatever, especially if you’re in love.
Sunday, Roggio and I left PB Murray by convoy… thank God. Not that I didn’t enjoy my stay, but I don’t think I could’ve handled another night of the fleas. I am covered in welts and can’t stop itching. Been incredible, in that sense, actually. Oh… and thanks a ton to the jackass who took a crap outside of my metal box/sleeping quarters. I do appreciate it. In fact, I’d bet SFC Santiago thinks I did it. Being a journo among Joes can be tough sometimes, but that’s another story.
Back at Camp Falcon, Bill and I wanted to get out ASAP to accept an invite for our last embed in Baghdad itself. I’d seen enough of the country and wanted to at least experience city life here. After being shot down by one Stryker Brigade earlier, we were extended an invite to join up with a different Stryker Cavalry unit (whose designation slips me right this second). We only have three days left in country, so if we didn’t get off of Falcon quickly, we’d be out of luck.
Fortunately we found a “clip” (convoy) heading to Camp Striker the following morning, so we were in luck. That gave us the day to catch up on internet, food, sleep or whatever. I even got to watch my first few snaps of the 2007 NFL season. Best part was that it included my favorite AFC team, the Nap-town Colts.
Monday morning the convoy rolled in and we were on our way to Baghdad by early afternoon. Once at Camp Striker, we hooked up with our new unit, who are already very gracious and seemingly truly happy to see us. Too bad we only have one full day to be with them because their Area of Operation (AO) is the SE side of Baghdad and one of the last fully untamed areas of the city. A neighborhood called Al Rasheed, more specifically, a place called Mechanics (sp?).
The Longest Kilometer
Sep 22 at 9:09am by David
I spent much of Friday afternoon sleeping in the shipping container that has become my new home. Fortunately there’s AC in it, but it has no light and is still woefully hot during the day. Later in the evening we’d be getting ready for a night operation that was at first planned as an air assault, but became a planned infiltration, for reasons only known beyond my pay grade.
The final brief about the mission went down around 1615 and involved all the officers and NCO’s around a sandbox site map that laid out all the particulars. I can’t really go into the details of the mission for reasons I’ll soon divulge, but the plan was to pick up some “HVT’s” (High Value Targets) that you need to believe me when I say, are some bad dudes.
We headed out to PB Hawkes around 1800 where we would stage our stuff, rest, eat and wait for H-Hour, which would come around 0400. Most of the guys laid their gear out on the ground, bundled up and went to sleep. Me, being all so prepared, had no long sleeves which would soon become a huge nemisis for a number of reasons.
The first problem I had, which began earlier in the day, was a full on assault by the local bug population. “You guys shouldn’t have anymore bug issues tonight…”, I said to one soldier. “They’re all full of of me.” And I wasn’t joking. I’ve been to a lot of places and have done a lot of outdoors stuff, but never in my life have I been so ravaged by bugs. The crazy thing is, I don’t see any bugs. Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen one mosquito and one of these little sand flea things they have here. However, the huge welts all over my body prove that I have been feasted on regularly, and the itch is just unbearable.
Trying to get away from the little bastards I hunkered down in the HMMWV for some shelter away from them and the heat (the AC in the Hummer was nice), but then you start running into the problem of being comfortable: One leg here, your butt cheek there, etc… HMMWV’s are not built for sleeping comfort… just for the record.
As the night wore on, things got worse. The AC started to get too cold, so I abandoned the vehicle only to find that the air temperature outside had plummeted. I was miserable. So I gathered up my stuff and put it down in the gravel in front of the HMMWV and laid down. I pulled my arms into my shirt and gathered warmth from the running engine. Who would imagine that the carbon monoxide and other engine fumes would’ve been the most welcome part of my night?
I must’ve got some sleep because the nine hours of downtime went by in good fashion, even in my misery. The next thing I knew, we were gearing up and heading out. I had some reservations about this mission. The guys we were after were, as I said, real bad guys. We were taking no chances and punched out with a full platoon plus (50 of us altogether). We would have air support at our discretion, which is always good, but as mentioned before, this place is full of IEDs, so the going was slow…. very slow.
We made our way through farmland, orchards, and very muddy canals… not a Sunday walk by any strech of imagination. Stopping every few meters as the guys in the front cautiously moved along. The entire way was punctuated by barking dogs that became so annoying, I wanted to scream. I was told earlier that they used to carry suppressors on their weapons for just such occasions, but that an order came down authorizing just Special Ops Command the privledge of carrying the silencers. Made no sense to me since these dogs definitely posed a threat to our mission. Then again, if the men with me had suppressors, they’d probably have shot 20 dogs on this night. Barking followed us everywhere.
Unfortunately for us, and fortunately for the HVTs, time was not on our side. The cover of darkness was moving much faster than we were and before we knew it, about a kilometer and two hours into the mission, the boss gave the order to abort. The HVT’s were to valuable to spook and they decided to let them be until another day.
Back at PB Murray, I was drained, tired and muddy as hell from this 2km roundtrip jaunt through the Iraqi countryside. Some of the guys took full-fledged dips in the canals (not on purpose of course), so I was in better shape than some of the others. Regardless, I needed to cleanup and get some sleep. As I walked away from the parking area heading to my metal box, I heard someone call my name from behind. I turned around, and there was Roggio, who I hadn’t seen in over a week.
Arab Jabour
Sep 21 at 3:03am by David
The battlespace for 1/30 Infantry is a place called, “Arab Jabour”. It’s about 15km long, 5km wide, about 99% Sunni Arab and lines the Tigris River southeast of Baghdad. The enemy for the US forces operating here is exclusively domestic Al Qaida in definition. In reality, the enemy is actually no more than a group of criminals that have grown up here and have so much blood on their hands that it would be impossible for them to renounce AQ at this point. The way I’ve put it together, the enemy is more like a group of spoiled thugs, used to having their way via the point of a gun, with no where to turn but to Al Qaida once Saddam’s regieme fell.
It’s also an area that has never had any real government. A place where Baathists would come to retire. Four of the five men, who in recent years have stepped up to help govern, have been murdered and the fifth has taken off, deciding to take his chances elsewhere. US Civil Affairs is now trying hard to form a local government, but the process is slow.
For the most part, 1/30 doesn’t receive face-to-face contact from the enemy, dealing almost exclusively with the morale draining realities of IED attacks. The countryside is littered with these pre-laid death traps as well as hundreds of weapons caches, many that have been found and destroyed with many more that haven’t
All of this has made Al Jabour ripe for the Concerned Citizens movement that has recently been sweeping across the country. A populace fed up with the sheer ruthlessness that these terrorists sow upon them. In this area alone, nearly 600 men have signed up to help protect themselves. Led by a former Iraqi logistics officer, General Mustafa, the Concerned Citizens are making a huge contribution that is saving not only Iraqi lives, but American lives as well.
These Concerned Citizens are doing more than just manning checkpoints that keep the roads clear of terrorists, they are in actual full contact fights with the criminal element that has made life for the common person here very deadly. Just two nights ago, PB Murray supported a Concerned Citizens group in contact with Al Qaida with accurate mortar fire that was directed by one of the Concerned Citizens using a cell phone. Cell phones have actually become the number one weapon against the terrorists as networks of informants and “bird dogs” keep the Americans fully informed of what’s going on in this sector.
All of the killers here are well-known by the people, who grew up around them, making this area of operations different than any of the others I’ve encountered. General Mustafa’s men have even been given their own chunk of battlespace to control, which has freed up the undermanned Americans to pursue AQ in other directions.
It still comes at a price for these Iraqis. On Thursday, two were killed and three wounded from a pressure plate IED as AQ steps up their attacks on the population in an attempt to intimidate the people back into submission. Regardless, the attacks seem only to embolden the Iraqis into further cooperation with the Americans as the two forces work side-by-side for the future of this region.
The Americans have suffered as well. In the four months of active operations, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 3rd ID, which includes 1/30, has taken 12 KIA and 57 WIA, not to mention the incredible stress wrought on these troops who face an enemy they rarely see. Using the sneakiest of techniques to attack the soldiers, Al Qaida is forcing the Americans to always be in tune to the fact that every step they take outside the wire, could be their last.
A Thousand Ways to Die
Sep 20 at 3:03pm by David
Being in Iraq, like war in general, is dangerous business. Fact is there’s a whole lot of ways, other than getting shot or blown up, that can get you killed out here.
My first night at PB Murray didn’t afford me a lot of sleep. First off, I spent until midnight getting out my last post, which can take hours. The reason is because while internet access is available, it is very limited. The cafes on base (in this case it’s in a metal shipping container) are packed with guys and gals needing to contact family and friends or just escape from the daily grind. There’s also rules that sometimes do not allow for the uploading of pictures not to mention the 30 minute time limit. Then there’s the connection. It can take up to 20 minutes at times just to get the site up, logged in and editing. This produces a problem of its own when it comes down to proof-reading and the like (hence the sometimes horrid grammar and spelling), but it’s a goal I’ve set: To write a post everyday if possible.
Once asleep, I was awaken a number of times by the various sounds of war: Machine gun bursts, distant explosions, Kiowa attack choppers firing rockets overhead and the occasional Joe that needs to use the computer located next to my head. Needing a 0530 wake up call for a morning operation, all of this contributed to me being sound asleep at 0600 when someone came in to let me know I was running late.
I flew out of the rack and into my clothes just as my Drill Instructor taught me (and that’s the reason they do what they do). I grabbed my gear and my flak and made my way to the motor pool where I would hook up with a couple of squads heading to patrol.
As I made my way through the deep moondust, I could hear the Bradleys moving out and thought, “I’ve missed the patrol”. Seconds later a Bradley pulls up, “Are you the photographer going out?” someone yelled. “Yea, that’s me”. “OK, get in the back”, he said. The rear hatch of the Bradley came down and I climbed in.
These Bradleys carry six soldiers in the back and it’s knee to knee. I’d never been in one, so it was quite the experience as it clanged and rumbled down the road, jarring and lurching the whole way. It was dark in the back with just slivers of morning light starting to poke through as the sun came up. That, mixed with the fine dust swirling through the open cracks, made for an interesting experience as we made our way up the road a couple of clicks to PB Hawkes.
During the trip, I was running a checklist through my mind as to what I may have forgotten. The mission was supposed to last just two hours, so I just brought one bottle of water, which wasn’t enough (I didn’t have time to employ my 3 litre CamelBak). I also realized that in my haste, I had forgotten my second battery. That proved disastrous, because within five minutes of turning my camera on, the battery in it was already blinking it’s warning. I wasn’t off to a good start. From the getgo I was milking my battery for all its worth.
The mission today was to approach nine homes just outside of Hawkes that were about a half mile out. We’d approach on foot with Lighthorse (Kiowa and Apache choppers) providing overhead cover. In all, 19 soldiers led by a young Lieutenant would execute the mission (plus me and a “terp” named George Michael).
We pushed through the small village adjacent to the new Patrol Base, inadvertently waking up folks as we went. Everywhere it seemed that people sleep outside under the stars. Many lumps beneath the blankets contained kids. One had four siblings underneath, sleeping away.
Before long we made it to a canal that was lined in concrete, which also doubled as tank roads during the Saddam era. The Lieutenant wanted to cut across the canal to avoid the bridge that most people took in an effort to bypass any potential IEDs. That plan didn’t work as the canal sides were slick with algae, making it impossible to get up the other side. The initial three soldiers backtracked up the way they came and we headed for the bridge. As we walked along the top of the canal in a single file, the Kiowa choppers broke off from us and headed south a little way and began rocketing something a few miles away. “WOOSSHHH… KahBOOM!”. I have to admit, it’s an impressive site. There were also sporadic explosions audible from various other directions. This is definitely a war.
As we approached the bridge we could hear a bell ringing out, like you do in a spaghetti western. It certainly sounded like an alarm to me… echoing across the fields every few minutes, before suddenly stopping. The Lt. sensed trouble and sent his two-man Explosive Ordinance Team forward (EOD) to clear the bridge. As the bridge was cleared, two guys moved across and took up positions to the left, two more to the right. I was the fifth across and no sooner did I get to the far side did the EOD guy checking the area past the bridge yelled, “IED!! Run!” Those of us that made it across ran the opposite direction about 30 yards and hunkered down along the dirt berm leading up to the canal. In all, about ten of us made it across by that time. I decided to sit out a little in the middle of the path to see what was going on when all of a sudden we were rocked by an explosion. The blast snapped an overhead powerline that came crashing to the ground just four feet from where I sat (look on the right side of the picture). Through the cloud of dust I could see the wire crackling in the brush where it broke. I realized immediately that I came very close to dying. Equally bothersome was the fact that had the left wire broke instead of the right, it would’ve fallen on most of the soldiers to my left. I inadvertently was in the middle of the two wires. We were all very lucky on this day.
The presence of the IED put our caution into overdrive as we pressed on with our objectives. Instead of taking paths, we cut through fields, walking carefully where the guy in front had previously stepped and staying properly spaced in the event we got hit again.
The whole objective was to record information and take pictures of the people that lived there. The first house we encountered some children and women, one of whom was dressed like a ninja and was very insubordinate. She actually told us she thought the IED was funny and was barely cooperative. That almost got her arrested. Her husband had been arrested six months before and she raised serious suspicion. The soldiers found six different cell phone boxes in the house, which also raised serious suspicion. In the end, though, they took her cell phone and let her be.
The rest of the houses, had mostly women and children with a few males. No one was detained. While all the houses got a cursory search, I felt the US soldiers were respectful as possible considering the circumstances. They certainly did not conduct searches like I’d seen the Iraqi Army do last week. In my experience, the Iraqis tend to be much more aggressive, where the Americans left the homes in the same shape as they were found.
I spent my time milking my battery and taking pictures of the kids, still convinced that these goodwill gestures go a long way in these situations. I think most of the soldiers thought I was naive… maybe not.
The patrol lasted a few hours longer than expected and I had to bum some water from one of the guys. By the end, I was drenched in sweat and sore, understanding that I really am not as young as I think I am anymore.
Before climbing into the Bradleys for an uncomfortable and hot ride back to PB Murray, a young boy approached claiming he had found a large cache of weapons the day before. He’d heard the army pays for such turnovers and was hoping to score $600, a huge sum of money for someone living here. However, without him showing the soldiers where the cache was, no money could be paid out. That was cemented when the boy’s father saw him talking to the soldiers who had become frantic. He said spies were everywhere and if the boy showed the soldiers its location in daylight, he was sure his son would be killed. The father instead asked that the boy give up the cache at night. Irritated, the soldiers agreed. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t, but the scene is the reality here in Iraq, where fear rules and life is cheap to so many.
Reclaiming Ground
Sep 19 at 3:03pm by David
Tuesday afternoon I picked up a real short flight to FOB Falcon to begin my third, and last, embeddment. This time I would be hooking up with 1st Battalion, 30th Infantry Regiment, Third Infantry Division (Mechanized). These guys are currently operating southeast of Baghdad in an area that hasn’t had a sustained coalition presence for the past 18 months and is said to be filled with Al Qaida in Iraq. Since I didn’t get to Falcon until the afternoon, I was in no hurry to get out that same day, so I took advantage of the time to get some laundry done and catch up on some rest.
Embedding poses a ton of different challenges that are rarely seen or talked about, including how to get clean clothing. These FOBs have laundry services, problem is, they have a 72 hour turnaround, which in my case, is impossible to do. I usually just wash my clotes in the shower, but as you can imagine, that can get old and rarely does it get your clothes clean. So I have to give a “shoutout” to the nice lady from KBR who listened to my plight and got my stuff done in four hours!! Must’ve been a record!!
I got a good night’s sleep and was up early Wednesday to get on a logistics convoy heading out to 1/30, which is the area directly southeast of Baghdad. To get there, our convoy of HMMWV’s and large trucks (I do not know their designation) had to make our way through a portion of southern Baghdad that has cost this unit some casualties. As always, any sort of ground transportation is a scary venture. In fact it can be so scary, that ABC News is no longer allowed to do them. IED’s are frightening not only because they are killers, but because they always make you fear for your life, whether you get hit by one or not, and here I am in a large convoy heading through an area that is just coming under US control.
Fortunately, the trip was eventless and we made it to our first stop of the day, a brand new base called Patrol Base Hawkes. Engineers have been working hard to stand the base up for the past five days and it’s going up rather quickly. The area originally had a base, 18 months ago, that didn’t last but three weeks once the upper brass realized the supply lines were not sustainable. With the surge in effect, things have changed a bit and 1/30 was making plans to stay.
This is important as the Iraqi Volunteers, now called “Concerned Citizens”, started taking off in the area as it has over a number of areas in Iraq. People are just getting tired of the thugery handed out by Al Qaida and are looking toward the US for help. You cannot get people to cooperate on a regular basis if you don’t have a sustained presence to instill confidence. So 1/30 stood up Patrol Base Murray a few months back and are now working on PB Hawkes.
There really isn’t much to PB Hawkes just yet, but that’s quickly changing and will be operational by October. This is helping to convince locals to take their futures in their own hands and help the coalition. Win, win situation. Actually, the Americans have already handed an 8 sq/km area over to the Concerned Citizens who have literally been taking the fight to Al Qaida. Not only that, but the intell provided by these people is proving invaluable.
I spent most of the day at PB Hawkes taking pictures and hanging out with the troops before backtracking to PB Murray, where I’ll be staying for the rest of my time. At both Patrol Bases, the dust is just incredible. They call it “moondust”, but you mightas well call it seven inches of baby powder; as fine as I’ve seen it since Oruzgan Province, Afghanistan.
The soldiers here say PB Murray used to the Usay or Quday’s summer retreat. Whether that’s true or not, I can’t confirm, but whoever used to own it was certainly rich. It’s a large mansion located right on the banks of the Tigris River. You can tell there were once lush vegetation gardens here as well as elaborate rock gardens that included waterfalls, a dock and a swimming pool. The remnants are still here, but the feel is long gone. Now it’s home to Bradley Fighting Vehicles and infantry that are itching to take on Al Qaida.
Families Return
Sep 18 at 1:01am by David
Mahmudiyah is a mixed pot of Sunni and Shia Muslims, with the the Sunni sect dominating the countryside and the Shia sect primarily within the city of Mahmudiyah itself. As the sectarian stew bubbles, those lines are constantly fluid with one side chasing the other out, in a fight to purify that particular sects’ area.
Monday, I got another chance at a patrol with the same platoon I did the air assault with the night before. Actually, I learned they were going on patrol and asked to go, gaining permission just moments before they punched out. Of course, that made me almost late once again, and I made it to the outgoing convoy of four HMMWV’s just in time. In fact, as my ass hit the right rear seat of truck #4, we immediately rolled out of the gate.
Mahmudiyah is in terrible shape. As you go into town, a majority of the shops are closed down. There’s trash everywhere and other stark reminders of how difficult life must be for these people. Farther in, businesses are open, heavy equipment is digging up the main square (which contained a monument of sorts that sported a large painting of Muqtada al-Sadr) and people are going about there business. The one image I want to retain is that of a playground up on a hill, its slide slightly twisted, unused for what looked like eternity… like out of a spooky movie. Even though I did see a trash truck with men loading it, the streets were just filthy. I’ve never been here before, so it’s impossible to compare it to its previous state, but it certainly reminded me of the poorer areas of some third world countries I’ve seen in the past.
As we moved along, the females generally ignore us, the males just stare at us, but occasionally a child or a teen would smile or give the thumbs up. A far cry from the types of greetings I was used to seeing in Afghanistan.
Today we were heading to a small Sunni enclave within the city itself. We had heard the Jaish al-Mahdi militia (devoted to al-Sadr) had previously ran the people off, who were now returning home. Lt. Cleveland’s assignment was to assess the situation and report back his findings.
As we piled out of the HMMWV’s, we’d unexpectedly picked up the “Light Horse” choppers as overhead watch (Kiowa attack choppers), which provided a sense of security beyond our means and those of the Iraqi Army that was already there. We were met at the front gate of the first home by a woman and some of her sons who were eager to show us what had happened. In a nutshell, the woman told Lt. Cleveland that they had been chased out and when they returned, everything was gone.
As we walked past a group of girls and young ladies near the front of the house, they tried to hide their smiles. “Salaam Alikeum”, I said. “Walikum Salaam”, they replied. I kept my camera down and my eyes averted because in this culture, the mixture of women and non-family men is not normally an appreciated situation. I kept walking.
Inside, as the woman said, it was stripped bare. Nothing left at all. I broke out my cameras and started recording both video and stills. At this point, the men realized I was a journalist and were more than eager to have me come to their homes to document the damage. Most of the homes were completely gutted and burned out, as were their vehicles. I signaled for a young boy to come toward me, then I took his picture and showed him the result. That earned me a burst of laughter from all the men and boys. It’s a trick that always works, even in the shadows of their burned out homes.
In all, six families had dared to return. Lt. Cleveland sat down with one of the men to get his version of events and asked that he call him if the JAM members returned. The man said he would, and we moved on. Outside, another man was talking with Lt. Cleveland, so I walked up to listen in on the conversation. It was clear that made the man very uncomfortable and he asked that they speak alone. I obliged instantly. I would later learn that the man had information on local insurgent activity and info on those that burned his home, but in the presence of me and/or the Iraqi Army, he didn’t want to talk about it. Here in Iraq, fear and distrust rule the day.
As our patrol pushed on, our next mission was to head to Route Tampa, a most dangerous and important highway that bisects that country. It is surrounded by fence and Iraqi Army posts, but still manages to produce a significant number of IEDs. Lt. Cleveland was tasked with finding out what the IA was going to do about it. This same stretch of highway made the news recently when a double suicide car bombing brought down a highway overpass, killing several Americans. This attack is the epitome of how the news can mismanage perception back home. While the attack did bring down the overpass, this bridge was not an active, working overpass, but a place where the soldiers had created a battle position. My perception of the event, when it happened, was that it was some major blow to the transportation infrastructure, and that was not the case.
All along route Tampa in this area, these overpasses are where IA soldiers live and defend the route. Somehow, in between them, the insurgents manage to plant IED after IED. I wondered how they could do this, considering the road is asphalt? Apparently they pour gasoline on the road to soften it up, pick the asphalt out and then bury the explosives before resurfacing the spot. I saw literally several dozen holes dotting the side of the highway from previuos explosions. I can only imagine how many people have died or been horrificaly injured here. The process of getting these IEDs buried is not an easy task and I could only wonder how in the hell no one would see this activity. In defense of the Iraqi Army, they do not have night vision, but it still seems like a lot of trouble is right under their noses.
At most of the battle positions we visited, there were no officers. “A lot of these guys are just taking up air”, complained one soldier. However again, in the IA’s defense, this section of Tampa was just assigned to the IA working out of Mahmudiyah. Their success as a unit is earning them a bigger battlespace which is stretching them to the limit. One thing for sure, though: These battle positions are 100% Iraqi Army, all the way down the road. They have armored vehicles, weapons and many have body armor. Again it isn’t perfect, but it appears that the IA is starting to stand on its own (with US guidance).
After returning to base, the rest of my day was spent writing the various things I need to get working on (including this post) and getting the pertinent information I need to write future articles. I also got in a nice nap where I was again assaulted with some very strange dreams.
Air Assault Near Mahmudiyah
Sep 17 at 4:04pm by David
My nap lasted for two hours and I woke up just as tired because for some reason, I’ve been having some really wierd dreams. The latest one had to do with some crazy scavenger hunt/riddle that needed to be solved, in x-amount of time and with a teamate. My teamate was the old lady that helps run the corner store near my house in Roanoke. Anyway… it wore me out.
I was told to be at HQ by 2130 for a briefing in regards to that night’s operation. So I carefully had everything planned out, like I do, to ensure I was there on time. Just as I was almost finished getting ready, there was a knock on my wall with some unknown voice looking for the “reporter guy”. “They’re looking for you at the LZ, sir…”, it said.
Ugghh.. that made me cringe. In this environment, I do not like to be a burden, at all, which is now what I was (at least in my mind). I threw on my armor, checked my gear and hustled through the darkness toward the landing zone to meet up with the guys I’d be covering during a night air assault.
The introductions went well and no one was bent out of shape, in fact, the helicopters were going to be late anyway, so we sat around, smoked a few cigarettes and waited for the birds to come in. While we did that, the 155’s were blasting away at something, which gave me a great chance to shoot a number of good night shots of the big guns in action.
For being just a hair shy of 40, I consider myself to be in pretty good shape. I don’t lift weights or anything, but I am quite active and I have a job that requires a lot of lifting… so by default (and the fact that I’m a bit hyper), I tend to be a youthful 40 (most folks guess in the 28 range). This will prove important for what I was about to do. Actually, I was going to put that theory to the test, considering this was my first air assault in three years, and there was no room for miscalculation.
The choppers came in after 2200, just two of them, ready to take on 22 passengers: 10 US soldiers, 10 Iraqi soldiers, myself and an Iraqi “terp” named, “Roger” (he wanted to be known as “James Bond”, but the Americans decided “Roger” would be better.
I was assigned the second “stick”, third position and would be leaving the chopper in the #3 position. The goal tonight: Capture up to 15 guys, some of whom were expected to be Al Qaeda in Iraq.
As the Blackhaws came down, I turned away and hunkered down as sand and what seemed like billions of rocks pelted me with the sting of a thousand bees attacking at once. We lined up in our pre-arranged order and made our way to the chopper; the three of us in front and a mix of eight others in the back. Before long we were airborne, making our way toward the target, hot air rushing past my face. Inside the chopper itself, it was just barely illuminated by the dull green coming from the cockpit. Outside I could barely make out the lines of fields below with the lights of Baghdad in the distance.
At first we did a “false insertion”, which is where we touch down, wait about 20 seconds, then lift off again toward the real objective. That came just moments later. We landed hard, rocking the bird and forcing me to grab for something sturdy. The door gunner reached over and threw the door open, immediately followed by both Lieutenants and myself hitting the ground running. I have no idea where the others were, I assume behind me. After a couple of steps, the Iraqi Lt. went down hard. Two steps later, I did too, as the ground we were running across was tilled farmland and hard as concrete (after I would learn several of the guys went down). I actually just lost footing on the left, driving my knee hard into the ground, but I quickly stood back up and continued following Lt. Cleveland toward the first house.
The next ten minutes was a blur as I tried to work my nightvision camera, running across uneven ground, all the while expecting to start hearing incoming fire. It didn’t come. What’s surreal is leaving the sphere of sound produced by the chopper as it lifts off, only to have an eeire silence punctuated by dogs barking take its place. All around me I could hear yelling and doors being kicked. I followed an Iraqi soldier into the first house and saw a bewildered woman there. I crouched next to a wall out of the way and just videotaped whatever I could. It happened so fast, I don’t even know if I recorded anything usable.
The soldiers moved room-to-room looking for the men of the house. The Iraqi Lieutenant already had plans to take all the men at the objective into custody, so that’s what they were looking for. As they cleared the home, I looked into what appeared to be the main bedroom as an Iraqi left. It had been somewhat jostled, but nothing near what I had expected would happen: Mattress moved, closets looked through, drawers emptied.
Outside one of the soldiers spotted men running away from the house with his nightvision prompting everyone to give chase. I have no choice but to keep up, and with 40lbs of armor plus 20 lbs of gear, it was strenuous. The thought of getting lost, in the dark in the “Triangle of Death”, was certainly motivation for getting it done.
As we ran across the fields, hundreds of scrubby weeds, similar to tumbleweeds with thorns, penetrated my pants, causing a stinging pain that all I could do was ignore. I just kept running. Suddenly, there was a gun shot and some yelling. Just up ahead I could see a blur of guys, some with hands up, having their clothes ripped off (this is in case the suspect is wearing a suicide vest). I tried to get into a better position to take video… SPLASH! I was now waist deep in water having fallen into a ditch. The mud deep enough that it nearly pulled my boot off. Keep in mind, I have a camera in my hand, another camera in my backpack and a camera in my pocket and it took every bit of strength to pull/crawl out of this slop. By the time I did, the Iraqis had three guys down to their shorts (and sandles) with hands above their head.
We made our way back to the original house where we briefly stayed as the search continued. Once one house was cleared, we moved to the next. Same procedure, just less intense as it was becoming apparent the men had all fled. With choppers overhead the soldiers cleared house after house, that were seperated by palm groves.
Finally we made it to the mosque which was locked with a large padlock. The soldiers didn’t enter it, satisfied with a cursory search using lights through the barred windows. We did take a second her to have a smoke, catch our breath and get some water.
Within an hour we were making our way across another field toward a pre-planned landing zone to wait for the choppers to pick us up. After 10 minutes, they touched down right on target. As they did, I ran for the first bird as someone was yelling above the roar, “Let’s go, let’s go!”. I do not hesitate in these situations and actually was the first to board. I threw the door open and climbed in the back followed by everyone else who were right behind me. With three extra bodies we were packed in tight. I had something hard and metalic (probably a rifle part) jabbed in my side. With an Iraqi detainee at my feet I could only rest my hand on his bare back as we took off toward the FOB.
It didn’t take long to realize I got the worst seat in the house. The guys call it “The Hurricane Seat”. Use your imagination. Thank God the ride was only five minutes, or so, as I spent all five of those minutes concentrating on holding on to my gear and making sure my helmet and goggles didn’t fly out the open window.
Once we touched down, it was over as fast as it began. No one said much of anything as we walked back toward our respective quarters. It was well past midnite and I was beat, so I took a quick shower, inhaled an MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) and feel asleep within seconds of lying down.
Back to the Triangle of Death
Sep 16 at 12:12pm by David
Early Saturday, I packed my gear after the short stay at Camp Striker and made my way to the area where the chopper would pick me up and and take me to my new destination: FOB Mahmudiyah (the Americans spell it, “Mahmudiah”, for some reason). For those unfamiliar with Iraq, Mahmudiyah is one of the point cities in Iraq’s “Triangle of Death”, located due south of Baghdad. Once there, I will have visited two of the three anchor points in this volatile area of mixed Sunni and Shia tribes within the past week. The trip in the Blackhawk would be my first since coming to Iraq and I was looking forward to it so I could get some good aerial shots of the area.
The 3rd ID (who controls this part of the battlespace) runs a shuttle of sorts called, “The Marne Express”, that takes passengers, mostly troops, to the plethora of FOBs, Patrol Bases and COPs that dot the Iraqi countryside south of Baghdad. Flying overhead, once again, everything seems peaceful. You can see farmers plowing their fields, women hanging laundry and children running across the rooftops seemingly trying to keep up with the choppers flying overhead.
Occasionally, particularly along the Euphrates River, are the signs of war. Usually it’s in the form of a flattened home with a bomb crater directly in the middle. There is also the occasional burned field that could have been the result of anything. Most likely a result of trying to disallow insurgents cover along the many irrigation canals that come with the agriculture needs. None of the fields I saw were near an active settlement.
Seeing the Euphrates for the first time from above really shows off its size. The deep green waters twisting across the landscape giving life to the fields lying adjacent to it.
The trip itself only took about 20 minutes, which included quick stops at FOBs Falcon and Inchon to drop off other passengers. The pilots take off fast and seem to keep the birds at full throttle, usually flying in tandem with another. The lead chopper would go low as we climbed high before dropping sharply down, enough so that I needed to put my hands up as if I was on a rollercoster. Then before I know it, I’m on the ground again, making my way toward the unit’s s-1 office as I start a new embedment.
FOB Mahmudiyah has a lot of similarities to other FOBs, but also has distinct differences. The base is the current home for the headquarters of the 2/15 Field Artillery of the 10th Mountain Division and several other added units that make up its population. That includes Air Force EOD (with the new anti- mine MRAP vehicles) as well as a battery of 155mm guns. The army gave me a nice, comfortable room to myself with good AC and unrestricted access. Actually, for the most part, I’ve been treated better than good the entire time.
Knowing why I’m here (and I cannot say), I know I have time to get around the base picking up good historic footage and enjoying what they have. That includes an Iraqi restaurant and internet cafe plus the other things these bases have like weight rooms, computer access and so forth. Much of it (including my room) is based out of an old chicken factory.
I spent most of Saturday just hanging around getting to know people while listening to the big guns fire off every once in awhile. You cannot believe how loud the 155’s are. It shakes my door and I’m a good 200 yards away. Hard not to be attracted to them so I spent much of the night trying to get a shot of them in action. Of course due to Murphy’s Law I spent all that time hanging out in a tent with the cannon-cockers waiting… and waiting, watching the American Pie series, smoking the hookah, waiting even more. You get the picture. I did get the chance to shoot one fire mission, resulting in just one good shot of them in action. I finally gave up, at 0200, only to be awaken at 0300 by their thunderous roar.
Sunday morning the FOB was expecting the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders. In my mind I’m thinking it’s gonna be a scene out of “Apocalypse Now”…. not quite, but I did get some nice shots of the ladies getting off the choppers and hanging with the boys. That’ll fit nice in my archive. Unfortunately in my haste, I taped over the one good shot I spent 5 hours the night before trying to get. Not the first time that’s happened!
Later in the afternoon, I was invited down the street to the Iraqi Army base, which is definitely something I could use. So I armored up and headed out with a small convoy of HMMWV’s into Muhmudiyah. Being in the city is so much different that what I’d seen earlier in the week. The infrastructure is such that it’s as if the city is toiling in it’s own filth. Regardless, life was underway and during the entire trip, I heard just one gunshot or small explosion or something.
We rolled into the Iraqi base where the junior officers I was with needed to touch base with their Iraqi counterparts. A raid earlier in the day netted some intel that the Americans needed to add to their database. It included pictures and propaganda involving al-Sadr, whose militia is the main trouble in this area. The Iraqi officer even gave me a bit of it - a picture of the rebellious cleric that used to be an armband of one of his supporters. It’s now going into my small collection of things I keep to give to my kids one day from my various travels.
The base itself was in pretty good shape. A lot of construction was ongoing, even though it appeared as though it had been for some time. Inside, as we met with the officers, US soldiers had noticed a guy that appeared to be casing our trucks. One of the guys, who knew a little Arabic, heard the Iraqi (who was in plain clothes) talking into a cell phone about our presence. Next thing you know, this guy was in trouble. His expressions indicated he didn’t have a care in the world, but it turned out there was some sort of possible connection to the insurgency that would soon be exploited once we were gone.
I saw two other men in detention and I took their pictures. Geneva Convention and American rules prohibit me from taking pictures that identify suspects, so I have to take my images from interesting angles in order to keep in line with embedment and convention rules. I also got some nice images of an old weapons cache that had been dug up. The pile of ammo was clearly old, but undoubtedly the propellant in the rounds is salvageable explosives, making even this heap of seemingly useless ordinance dangerous in the wrong hands.
The highlight of the trip came when they (the Iraqis) led a suspect into the office where we were meeting and interrogated him. The Iraqi officer, just a Lieutenant, spoke decent English and commanded good respect. As he sat in a chair, he flex cuffed the guy and sat him on the ground in front of him, calmly talking to him, often times running his hands through the suspect’s hair in a seemingly soothing manner. I’ve seen this before in these cultures, something too macho for an American to do, not the case with Iraqis. They tend to be a bit more touchy than I would expect in my culture. Regardless, it turns out the guy’s family has had trouble with insurgent activities every year since 2004. After a good 20 minutes of talking and questioning, the solemn-looking man (maybe mid-20’s), was led away.
We made it home with no problems (although I wondered what was waiting for us) just after 1500. By then I was dragging pretty bad, so I decided I really needed a good nap.
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