A Battlefield Tourist

A Thousand Ways to Die

Sep 20 at 3:03pm by David Tate

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.