Friday, April 30, 2004

Exploring the Abandoned, Bloody An-Najaf Morgue and Listening to Washington's Take on Iraq

30 April, 2004 2300 An-Najaf Camp Golf

Life is precious, it is. There is something frightening about the reality of war here – so many lives are affected, changed, destroyed, wrecked because of this war in Iraq. It’s good to want to liberate these people, no one can argue against the virtues of democracy when properly and justly exercised, but Bush made a terrible mistake believing Iraq would simply be content following liberation. It seems our government is a hazardous mix of naïve idealists, militants, liars, elitists, and shady industrialists. These people believed they could steer fate, move mountains of human emotions, and manipulate reality with their positive analysis of the situation in Iraq, a candy coated rotting corpse. Today, Marines pulled out of Fallujah, after losing over 80 young men, and perhaps women. Hundreds of Iraqis are reported killed, but death counts are always understated by at least 30%. Now America, the most powerful nation in the world, is running away from an enemy of terrorists, an enemy of sick, violent people infected with radical Islam. I ask, why did we begin a battle we couldn’t win? Why are 80+ Marines dead and countless civilians dead? It’s because our leadership is out of touch with reality – a problem reaching from Fallujah all the way to the Oval Office. What they want to world to be, and what the world is are two very different places, and unfortunately, the gap is widening.
Washington says we don’t need more troops, Washington says Iraqis want freedom, and Washington says the world is a safer place now since the fall of Saddam Hussein Al-Tikriti. I’ve been here for more than a year watching the U.S. create more problems due to low motivation, insensitivity, stupidity, lack of direction and frustration. We had a plan in place to attack Iraq a long time before the war started, the Iraqis had no time to plan for it. They awoke one morning to a wounded Iraq, a broken Iraq, a lawless Iraq. Americans saw this as an adventure, an opportunity to give the gift of Democracy, and maybe even make some people rich or richer. We oversimplified the situation in Iraq. Now, a year later, my headquarters is in the middle of An-Najaf and Kufa, and getting mortared quite frequently, like clockwork, and there is nothing we can do about it – we’re not allowed to shoot back into the source of the attack. It’s a combat exclusion zone. I don’t understand why our government places us at a constant disadvantage – where even the most positive outcomes offer little to hope for. You feel like Bush used us like a shovel and dug himself foolishly into a hole – only to leave the shovel in the hole while he struggles to get out. American leadership is in crisis, therefore, so are we.

When we were camped out on FOB Baker in Najaf, aka “The Alamo”, there was a hospital located on the fortified grounds. The hospital stood several stories and could be compared to a relatively modern hospital in the States. So, it was eerie to walk through the hospital and see abandoned beds and medications laying all around. You could see transposed on the images of broken glass and machines the ghosts of people and patients going about their business. They were just ghosts in my mind though. I did wonder, with this being a big hospital with many beds, where all the patients were. Where were people getting treatment now? Where were the doctors and the nurses? Simply vanished in the vacuum of war I suppose.
The exterior of the building was pock-marked from machine gun bullets. The rumor was the El Salvs and the Spanish took fire from the hospital and returned fire. Who really knows? Peering out of the upper stories of the hospital windows were El Salv soldiers peering out across the fields that surrounded our camps. There was often a sniper team set up on top of the building armed with a .50 caliber sniper rifle. They could put a bullet bigger than a grown man’s thumb in someone a mile or more away. As you approached the hospital from the outside, you noticed the grounds were kept like an American hospital. When you entered the doors of the hospital, you came to a reception desk manned by soldiers sometimes. There was an awful stench that filled the building though. The basement had for one reason or another flooded with sewage from the building. It wreaked terribly, and just the smell was enough to temp vomiting. Some wondered if the dark sludge at the bottom of the basement stairwell contained any bodies. No one doubted that it contained infectious filth. You could just feel the ghosts of the dead and infected creeping into your lungs and polluting spaces deep in your chest.
I have never been granted full access to a hospital, but the anarchy of Iraq made that possible, as in other all access situations I was in. I could tour floor after floor of the hospital as I wished. Some soldiers found wards for female patients, stealing signs from the obstetricians’ floor. I remember some of the artillery soldiers staying with us wandering back with a pair of lifelike latex tits. Must have been for some breast exam class or something. Other soldiers found similar female amusements. Foley and I went over the hospital once looking for an air conditioner. It turned out to be a treasure hunt that took a detour into the macabre and the strange.
We entered a small building with an incinerator and walk-in refrigerator standing outside of the building. We didn’t think much of it. Rumors had it that there was a morgue at the hospital with bodies remaining inside. We entered into a normal office space and saw nothing out of the ordinary at first. The floor of the office was littered with papers. We found an air conditioner in the window and began to rip out the insulation surrounding the window unit. There was no telling if the unit would work or not, and it looked to be a good 20 years old. As Foley and I looked around the room, we noticed two desks. We opened the draws of the desks and found pictures of the very building we were in. In front of the building were a few happy-looking Iraqis that we presumed were the staff of the small building. Where were these people now? It looked as if they left so suddenly, things still left on their desks in place. Foley and I then came across something strange. We found a few Petri dishes sealed with a single band of tape. We picked up the dishes and noticed the tape was labeled in Arabic and that the dishes contained small pieces of metal. A closer look revealed a bullet in each Petri dish. We thought it was strange, but it was only after we found several X-rays that we realized what we were holding. We found some X-Rays and held them up to the light. We could discern an image of a chest cavity and a bright white dot inside the lung area. That was an image of a bullet. We looked at other X-rays and found more images of bullets stuck in anonymous grey phantoms. Some bullets were rifle caliber while others were simple 9mm bullets. We assumed these bullets had killed people, and now we were holding them. What a history they had. Some of the bullets were deformed from impact. We rattled the bullets around inside the Petri dishes and found some more pictures.
We walked around to the backside of the building and found another doorway. Flies were buzzing all around and served as a warning for what lay ahead. What were we getting into? Should we go in at all? Of course, Foley and I went deeper into the building despite my best judgment. I covered my mouth with my salty, dusty sleeve and noticed blood smeared on the tile floor. The air was disgusting. We entered an office room and noticed Iraqi military ID books (maroon colored). We stepped across razor scalpels and more Petri dishes. There were even some syringes on the floor. It looked like a scene out of a horror movie, and the flies continued buzzing all around. We found some mortician’s tools, like a bone saw and other stainless steel oddities that I had never seen before. Foley thought it was amazing while I thought it was disgusting. I was concerned about the environment containing airborne pathogens. We followed some bloody footprints to another room. I will never forget that room. It was a pea green room, tiled from roof to floor. In the middle of the room was a sink in the form of a table. That too was covered in dried blood, lots of it. It looked like the sink was actually an examination table to place bodies on. There were other sinks and stainless steel shelves and gurneys sitting haphazardly around. You could feel death tapping you on the shoulder, and I really had to wonder if there weren’t dead bodies somewhere in that building. Plastic sheeting absolutely covered in dried and coagulated blood lay around the room. I couldn’t understand why blood would be everywhere like that. We found a stainless steel bucket and looked inside. It contained a lump of dark red tissue covered in flies and plastic. Surgical tools lay all around and jars of liquid. Foley discovered another room and called me over. I met him in the dark room and noticed small refrigerator doors. This was where the bodies were stored. The doors were shut, but Foley insisted that we see what was inside. He opened the first door. It was like some fucked up version of The Price is Right. I turned away. Foley opened the first door to find nothing there. We opened the next door and found nothing, just some metal trays they put bodies on. We opened all the doors and found nothing. That’s when we got the creeps and left the building. I felt like I needed to wash that place off of my skin. We carried our air conditioner back to the headquarters as the El Salvs looked on.

Thursday, April 29, 2004

CNN Gets a So-called Adrenaline Rush Under Fire, Blow-up Dolls Say Goodbye to Shia Theological Capital, and Life Living in the CPA Mortar Magnet

Read more about the uncensored book and see the unique Website with over an hour of free video, museum, and original documents from Iraq. Order the underground book - only a box of copies remain available. See www.american-interrupted.com.

29 April, 2004 2200 An-Najaf CPA Camp Golf

It’s a stormy night tonight at the CPA compound we occupied a few days ago. We are actually situated between Kufa, the location of Sadr’s stronghold, and the old city of An-Najaf, site of the Imam Ali shrine – holiest site in Shia Iraq. We call our small camp “The Alamo” – not in total jest, but owing to the sober reality we are positioned to a disadvantage in the center of a potentially explosive situation.
The news of our being moved to this compound from the desert was met with melancholy resignation – because we all knew it made little sense to move into Najaf and risk an escalation in conflict that could potentially turn the Shia population against us, a population that is largely poor and numbering in the millions.
I contemplated my life and you, and thought about how terrible it would be for you if I were to get killed. I thought about the long-term operations, how our battalion will be broken up at various camps around the city, and how our supply lines – especially the guys driving support trucks, will be easy pickings for our local terrorists. I thought it was wiser to evacuate CPA, conduct combat operations, and then reoccupy the CPA once the situation is stabilized. I realized someone higher has other ideas when we rolled onto the highway and headed south from the desert to An-Najaf.
The road march went well. I expected enemy contact, but there was none. I kept a watchful eye for suspicious people, but saw nothing of interest. We eventually rolled up to the Honduran and El Salvadorian base conjoined with Camp Golf. South American soldiers were out and about, lifting weights, picking up trash on the immaculate base, and listening to music on loudspeakers. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” played as we passed though the perfect military village.
We arrived at the CPA compound and noticed all the Spanish army vehicles. We arrived just in time to see them off, as they were ordered to leave by the following day. They wasted no time, as the shaggy, bearded Spaniards busied themselves dismantling their command post and packing away furniture that was purchased with U.S. government money. They seemed cheerful to be leaving, but showed shy faces and downcast eyes whenever passing one of us. The particular unit we were replacing had only been in An-Najaf for a few weeks – we’ve been in Iraq for a year.
I examined our future home and found evidence of mortar attacks, which we were told occurred every night. Some of our Spanish-speaking soldiers translated for our command group and traded with Spanish soldiers. SGM Walker and I were standing near the Spanish enlisted quarters when a boisterous group of bearded soldiers dragged out an African-looking blowup doll and immediately began molesting it for our entertainment. SGM Walker jumped back in shock and hurried towards the exit. I followed him, not expecting to have seen such a display. The soldiers laughed as they brought the doll outside and put her lovingly in a lawn chair. All her faithful admirers gathered around for a group picture. We looked on, “Freakin’ Europeans!”
As the Spanish moved out, we moved what we could in. As night fell, we awaited the explosion of mortar rounds, but all that could be heard were loud booms in the distance. I was on the phone when the first explosions occurred, talking to you. Everyone thought it was a distant mortar attack. I went up on the roof and heard an AC-130 Gunship flying overhead. It was firing at targets in Kufa, Mahadi Army targets. This night, it was a comforting sound. They were getting hit, instead of us getting hit. For the first night in weeks, no mortars hit our compound. * Three explosions just went off – maybe rocket attack 2304 * The Spanish were getting hit every night and they knew the general points of origin, but did nothing. During the AC-130 attack, lasting over 3 hours, I went into the Spanish command post and talked to their terrified-looking captain. I explained to him that an AC-130 was attacking Mahadi army positions. He maintained his fearful expression. The Americans definitely looked like the new sheriff in town and takes out the bad guys. “The Spanish are pussies,” Ali Laundry said as he and I stood on the patio the next day and watched the Spaniards take one last group picture. “Look at them, they did nothing for Iraq, only let Sadr take control of An-Najaf.”
That day, we set up our operations center and moved into our new rooms. ‘Rags to riches, over and over again,’ I said as I laughed and moved my things into mine and Foley’s room. We discovered a nest being well cared for by a pair of finches. I love watching them and their 3 little ones. Right now they are all sleeping.
That night, it seemed no mortars were going to hit, but around 0400, loud explosions woke me from my sleep. I sat up in my cot and noticed our second story room was filled with dust – the shock of the explosions disturbing sandbags and pushing dust through the fabric of the bags stacked in our room along the window. I sneezed and laid back down, even as more explosions went off. The machinegun nest on the top of our roof just over our room began to shoot into the darkness, as did the El Salvadorians in the adjacent hospital. Rifle and machinegun fire went off, and I closed my eyes to go back to sleep. Now, the whole experience seems like a dream. I remember the thunderous explosions just outside, and thinking, ‘Well, nothing I can do about it.’
That day SGM Walker and I went to Camp Baker (about 1 mile away or less and connected to our camp by a small road) to drop off some laundry at Brown and Root. Loud explosions went off, and as we sat in the truck, we saw clouds rising from the ground by our camp. It was a mortar attack. Rounds continued to fall throughout the day.
Last night, no rounds fell, but today mortars landed in our camp several times. I was at the hospital looking for an air conditioner for SGM Walker when several loud explosions went off only 100 meters away from me. It was another mortar attack. The El Salvs opened up with sniper and machinegun fire from a hospital windows into the distance. I looked up to the upper windows and waved to a sniper to let him know I was below and friendly. He waved back and continued firing. I walked over to a group of Hondurans who patted me on the back and said something in Spanish I could not understand. Then they all smiled and showed me bits of shrapnel they found that had just fallen on the asphalt parking lot. ‘Muy Bien,’ I said with a grin. I need to go into more detail about these stories, but right now, I only have one more story to tell until tomorrow, when I’ll detail the past day’s events.
I picked up a CNN camera crew, consisting of a well-know female correspondent, one cameraman, and one producer. I took them over to Camp Baker after they went on patrol with our mortars, who were attacked and sustained one WIA. The female producer sat behind me. “That was such an adrenaline rush, oh my God,” she said. “I haven’t had a rush like that in a long time, I mean, that was amazing!”
‘You are freaking nuts,’ I thought to myself while driving. ‘You’re crazy, you’ve got to be blind to the danger your in!’
The correspondent lady, Jane Sharif of CNN, looked ahead nervously, sitting in the front passenger side. ‘I remember you from Thanksgiving in Baghdad!’ I said over the growling engine.
“Oh yeah!” she laughed, “Camp Muleskinner on Thanksgiving! You were there?!”
‘We’ve been all over!’ I yelled. CNN was at our Thanksgiving dinner and the same crew filmed us and made video clips of soldiers saying hello to loved ones.
I pulled up to let the crew out, and a group of Spanish army armored vehicles stood parked nearby. The soldiers hooted and whistled as the producer lady got out of the truck. ‘Man, they really have no shame,’ I thought. The cameraman got out and began filming the Spanish, by this time holding up flags and cheering.
A Honduran sergeant walked up…I’ll stop there. I need to go to sleep. Hopefully it will be a quiet night, despite the explosions a little while ago. I love you Nora, love you with all my heart. I just want to get home to you!!!

When we arrived at our camp, Sergeant Newsome ordered some articles be thrown out or burned. Some of those articles included bags of children’s clothing and cases of medicine donated by Poland. I told Newsome that we could place it elsewhere until it could be distributed, but he insisted that it be burned and thrown out. I felt like I betrayed the people who donated that material, and the only reason it was being destroyed was because a foolhardy man was placed in its charge. To many, these things did not matter, but for me, I felt distressed in situations like that.


Read more about the uncensored book and see the unique Website with over an hour of free video, museum, and original documents from Iraq. Order the underground book - only a box of copies remain available. See www.american-interrupted.com.

Thursday, April 22, 2004

Dirty Desert Conversations, Dry Eyes at Yet Another Memorial Service, General Sancheeze Gets It Wrong (An Insider's Perspective)

Learn more on the official American, Interrupted website.

22 April, 2004 An-Najaf Desert 1600

All is quiet here in the desert. Soldiers are laying around in the heat and doing very little, as there is little to do and the guys need the rest. It’s hot, and it’s getting hotter. Things start cooling off in the evening as breezes begin to roll across the sands. Over the past few nights, LT Orr, Foley, and I have been building a small fire to cook tea on. I bought an Iraqi teapot that has been working pretty well. I took a coffee can and made a cooking pot as well. Last night, I made some turkey Spam and pineapple and spiced apple cider mix and cooked it all together. It was pretty tasty, and Foley and LT Orr enjoyed it too. Sitting around the fire has been a meditation of sorts since we got here. The other drivers hooked up a TV and DVD player, but it’s a pretty unsatisfying form of entertainment when all they watch are movies for teenagers full of tits and ass. I can’t enjoy something so mindless. The conversation here is pretty mindless too. I feel sorry for people sometimes. Major Ramirez and the others were talking about infidelity in the Army and about sexuality in the crudest ways. “Villarreal,” Major Ramirez said to Villarreal, “no matter what you may think, your mom has sucked a dick.”
“NO SIR,” Villarreal said in shock, “I can’t imagine that!”
“So has your grandmother!” Ramirez went further.
“Not my grandmother!” Barton said. “My grandmother is Sicilian and Catholic, all she does is cook!” he exclaimed. These conversations are always depressing for me, as you see people resigned, or rather embracing, animal-like lifestyles and not finding any deeper meaning in life other than meaningless sex.
Ween told of losing his virginity at age 11, of his best friend cheating and sleeping with Ween’s wife, and of his marital strife and tales of infidelity. “Age 11? Shit, as soon as my daughter turns 14, she’s going on the pill,” one of the guys said. “She can suck dick as much as she wants, but that doesn’t show like pregnancy does.”
“Hell,” Major Ramirez said, “I would be proud to know my daughter is a good lay. You see some little boy hanging around the house waiting for her. As long as she didn’t get pregnant, I wouldn’t care. But after age 14, it would only be hugs with her and me, because you don’t know where that mouth has been!” Everyone laughed and agreed. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
‘What is wrong with these people?!!’ I said to myself. I really couldn’t believe it. It’s sick, and these people are sick, it’s evil. The whole organization is corrupt, unprofessional, immoral, and base. Not everyone, but almost everyone. I don’t get too upset about it, because it makes me more thankful for the life you and I have together, and it makes me want to accomplish more and work as a professional with thoughtful people. I know that may be idealistic, but something better than the Army would be wonderful. Give to the dogs what belongs to dogs, and I do not want to give the Army any more of my time or yours.
2000 – I just returned from the memorial service for SGT Patrick, SGT Glenn, and a soldier from Apache Troop. It was a sad experience, but this time I did not cry. My eyes stayed dry and sandy. Many couldn’t hold back, and I understand that.
CPT Berlin gave a memorial speech for Patrick highlighting Patrick’s courage, in that he volunteered to go into Sadr City as a tank loader when his duty was as a mechanic. He quoted a Roman proverb saying something to the effect that it is just and good and proper to die for one’s country. I remember Patrick as the guy I competed with for the best grade in American government class. Today when I saluted his remains (along the two others’), I touched his dog tags and said, ‘You were the best.’ I said this because in the past I was jealous he beat my grade. That seems stupid now.
Alpha Company took SGT Glenn’s death extremely hard. If the purpose of a memorial service is to help heal wounds, this wound is too large to heal anytime soon. CPT Powers lost his gunner and failed to hide emotion as he spoke of Glenn. Through the simple speech, its simplicity owing to disbelief still lingering and understandable difficulty finding words for such an unexpected death, CPT P made it clear Glenn was of strong character, gifted, and caring. In other words, a soldier of rare quality that should not have died. It was just a loss for everyone, not just A company, but for the future. A soldier speaking about SGT Glenn totally broke down at the podium, and it was painful to see him struggle to speak about his lost comrade. He didn’t speak about the war on terrorism, about our mission, or about patriotism. He spoke only of a senseless death of a good person. At one point in his speech, I worried his words would dwell on the “why” and become too politically incorrect for the distinguished guests, like COL Leroux. COL Leroux grimaced slightly as the soldier spoke. After some minutes, the soldier walked away from the podium and took a seat, then immediately sunk his face into his trembling hands.
The final soldier to be spoken of was PFC Chip Ferguson, of Apache Troop. He was killed in action alongside Glenn and a transportation lieutenant. The Apache commander said some words about Ferguson, and then a soldier went on to speak about him. His words were frank, simple, but healing – at one point saying a somber “Hooah,” to which the guys standing in the crowd from Apache responded “HOOAH.” That really showed the spirit of Apache – they lost a brother, but they weren’t going to let that get to them. They would honor him. The soldier speaking about Ferguson told the following story:
“Once we were on a tough road march, and after we finished, Ferguson came up. ‘Sarge, it took all I had to keep up with you,’ said Ferguson. What I didn’t tell him was that it took all I had to keep him behind me,” the soldier said. That was the best thing I’ve ever heard said at a memorial.
LTC Jagger, our commander, read an e-mail sent to him by the transportation commander involved in the ambush at Diwaniyah. “If it weren’t for the bravery of 3-32 AR, I am certain we would have died. I little doubt at least half of Diwaniyah was shooting at us,” LTC Jagger read, and continued talking about what happened, including how the tanks reacted by breaking tie-down chains and driving right off trailers to attack the town.
In other news, I was fortunate enough to stand only feet away from General “Poncheeze” during a brief given by BG Bishop of 1st Infantry Division, COL Leroux, and a 1ID brigade commander. I stood facing CJTF-7 Poncho, but covered my rank purposely to avoid being asked to leave. He glanced over at me a few times, but didn’t seem bothered that I was there.
All around, intense-looking officers stood around using their best posture. BG Bishop said little during the brief, but the Hispanic colonel spoke volumes. Poncheeze would lean back in his metal folding chair with the front legs off the ground and his hands casually hanging by his sides, occasionally coming up to stroke his chin in deep thought, or before delivering his wisdom to an eager group of idealistic and naïve young officers. Many of his sentences began with, “Now I may be wrong here,” and other inspiring intros like, “I really don’t know, but,” and similar phrases. He stroked his chin and leaned back while the black colonel spoke to him with exaggerated enthusiasm and facial expressions, carefully adjusting the pitch of his voice. It reminded me of a clown talking to a child. BG Bishop stared ahead and looked agitated with the colonel’s manner. Colonel Leroux looked ahead looking absorbed in his thoughts. Poncho listened seeming to have little interest in the colonel’s rambling. All the young officers looked as if they were pondering everything spoken, even though nothing new or remotely intelligent had been said.
The general looked up at the plasma screen TV on the wall that displayed a slideshow that some orderly undoubtedly spent hours working on with extra flashy stars and arrows. “Next! Next! Next! What kind of intel do we have on Sadr?” Poncho asked. A captain stepped forward.
“Sir, we’ve identified most buildings associated with Sadr,” he said before the general interrupted.
“What about TV and radio?” asked Poncho.
“They control a radio station and TV station,” replied the captain.
“Can you jam the signal?” asked Poncho.
“Yes,” the captain said before going into technical details about what system would be needed to do so, which wasn’t in the area.
“What about phone conversations?”
“Sir, most of it has been positive. A lot of it is about the move out of Baghdad, the extension, but overall, the soldiers are being positive,” the captain said confidently. I knotted my eyebrows in confusion.
‘What the hell is he talking about?’ I thought.
“No,” the general said shutting his eyes, “not our soldiers. Sadr. What is Sadr saying? Have you been able to monitor phone traffic?”
“No, Sir,” the captain responded. I couldn’t believe these people are in control of Iraq. The only extraordinary thing about them is the amount of power they wield, and nothing more.
“Now, I may be wrong here,” Poncho said with his hand on his chin, “but I don’t think this is an open rebellion. I don’t think we are having trouble with the Shia. We need to get out and identify and speak to leaders in Najaf. We’ve got to make them realize this is their problem and their future. Sadr is an enemy of the Iraqi people,” he said to everyone. “We’ve got to stay in contact with hostile forces and defeat them, but not become decisively engaged. We must be brutal. If they shoot from a mosque, then it becomes a military target…JDAM
[1] it, I don’t care.” Everyone nodded. There was some civilian woman in a long dress with frizzy hair sitting behind Poncho taking notes and nodding in agreement with everything he said.
“I’m not sure, but Najaf is the holiest city to the Shia. What we don’t want here is to open up a two front war. Our main effort is Fallujah,” Poncho explained.
Najaf is in fact the most important site in Iraq for Shia. Only Mecca and Medina are more important. You wonder if the military cares about that or not. When they talk about Najaf, it’s only as a military objective. The reality is that it’s a holy place, and could create problems for us over time. All this over one guy and a group of his thugs. We’ve got to develop a different way to handle individual rouges. Full scale military operations get civilians killed and Arab media uses that against the U.S. You don’t send soldiers to win hearts and minds – that’s not their purpose. I love you Nora. I’m dreaming of you!

“We’re supposed to be going home, not dying,” a soldier told me as we talked about the ambush in Diwaniya. When I was listening to the stories about the ambush, I felt lucky that I was in the first convoy through the town. They must not have been expecting us. By the time the other convoys moved through, they had set up their ambush positions and roadblocks. Driving around the sandy parking lot we called FOB Duke, I noticed a HETT with the words, “HETTS DON’T DIE, THEY MULTIPLY!” written on its nose with chalk.

[1] Joint Defense Attack Weapon, modified iron bomb with smart guidance system.

Learn more on the official American, Interrupted website.

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

Arrival Outside of Najaf, Ambush in Diwaniyah, Iraqi Roadkill ?

20 April, 2004 (I think) 20 km North of Najaf 2140

A sandstorm is blowing hard across the desert here, and another storm is forming. Assad used to call the war a “storm” when he spoke of the Marines coming through Babylon last year. The storm I say is forming is the imminent attack on An-Najaf that is now in the planning stages. It is becoming chillingly clear 3-32 is going to be part of the main effort into one of the holiest cities in Shia Islam. It’s surreal to me, to be caught up in such a situation, but it’s real, and I trust in God. I remember receiving a blessing still so important to me at the Vatican. “May God make you and instrument of peace,” I was told, and found comfort in that blessing. It’s so incredible to find myself in this position, in the middle of a guerilla war that has exploded right when I should be going home, and watching men plot an attack in which so much is at stake. I am deeply worried, but I have faith I will make it back home, and never forget these events.
Our march from Al-Kut to An-Najaf was long, taking us across barren desert, through Babylon, across the Euphrates, and to a former Republican Guard base in the middle of a sandy desert 20 km north of Najaf. I can see Najaf on the horizon, and the space between is a desperate peace I feel all too soon with shatter.
Our road march lasted 6 hours, and we had no enemy contact, except for the lead scout vehicle that took a sniper’s bullet through the passenger’s-side windshield – we had only traveled 10 kilometers into the trip or so. I scanned all the palm groves along the way and fully expected to take enemy fire. Many parts of the route took us through urban areas, crowded markets, and traffic jams. People looked at us with arms crossed and blank stares.
After we crossed the Euphrates, we headed south towards Najaf. The southbound road was closed due to marching pilgrims going to Ali shrine. They walked carrying flags, young and old, men and women. Southbound traffic had to go cross over the median and travel south on the northbound road using one of its two lanes. So, we traveled south and encountered no problems, no ambush, no IEDs.
All of a sudden, I noticed Foley’s truck swerve in front of me and I pulled off to the side of the road to avoid hitting the object in the center of the road that he swerved to avoid. ‘Oh God,’ I said.
“What?” SGM Walker asked. Before I could answer, we were both getting out of the truck because we saw what it was. I grabbed my medical kit.
“Medic!” someone screamed. A man lay lifeless in the middle of a pool of blood. I ran up to the figure and felt a swell of sorrow in my heart and my eyes strained hard to hold back tears.
‘He’s dead,’ I thought. A medic ran up immediately and I turned around to secure my truck. Ali Laundry was riding in my truck, so he went over to help treat the man. He began to slap the bloody head of the man. The body began to show signs of life. I stood back and watched the man’s chest struggle to breathe. Pilgrims began to stand around and watch the drama. Traffic was rerouted so a big scene would be avoided.
SSG Siegel walked up smiling, finding some sick humor in finding a badly injured Iraqi lying on the asphalt in his own blood with a gashed skull. “Is he dead?” he asked happily.
‘He’s not dead yet,’ I responded carefully.
“Guess he shouldn’t have been walking in the street,” he joked. I was about to tell Siegel to get away from me and go back to his truck. I didn’t have to, he went on to busy himself raising his shotgun waist level at oncoming traffic and seemed quite content intimidating the oncoming, nervous drivers and passing pilgrims. Lots of the soldiers found it funny. I respect human life, and I saw a bashed pilgrim grimacing with a head ripped open. The scouts brought a stretcher over and set the man on it. He immediately vomited blood. An Army ambulance pulled up and began to treat him. He was like a terribly wounded animal. Ali stopped a van passing by and asked the occupants to take the man to the hospital in Najaf. They agreed. Two boys stood by with teary eyes. The man was their uncle. Ali gave them $1.
It turned out, our lead scout truck struck the man with their side view mirror at 40 miles per hour. He had his back to our convoy and didn’t see us coming. Johnson was driving and said the man stepped out in front of him. I couldn’t believe we hit a pilgrim. Having made a pilgrimage to Rome a year ago, I felt a faint bit of solidarity with the people walking so far in sandals. ‘I’ve got to get out of the Army,’ I told Ali as I poured water on his bloody hands so he could wash them.
“Don’t worry Thompson,” he said, “I know you don’t like this. It’s fucked up, but you and me can’t change it.” We continued to our camp.
We got to our camp and found nothing but desert and three toilets for about 2,000 soldiers. We set up camp and soon it became clear we weren’t there to hang out – we were there to prepare an attack on An-Najaf.
The convoy that came in later that night brought our tanks on HETT trucks. It came under heavy ambush in Diwaniyah. I couldn’t believe it. Two of our guys got killed. Both were hit with gunfire in the town center and bled to death. One HETT truck was totally destroyed. Everyone returned heavy machinegun fire. Some of the tanks started their engines and broke free of their HETT trailers and drove onto the road, breaking the tie-down chains, and then engaged the town. “All I know is a lot of civilians died,” Villarreal said to me. “A few main gun rounds were fired and everything was shot up. When we left, the town was burning, and ambulances were everywhere.” That is one of many stories. The convoy was hit heavy, but they laid waste to the area. Somehow, we’ve allowed the Sadr Mahadi Army to turn our soldiers into barbarians. It’s a difficult situation, because the Mahadi Army is using civilians as shields. CPT Powers lost his gunner.
Today, I stood behind COL Leroux, Brigadier General Morelli and the 1ID commanding general as they got their brief on the An-Najaf operation in our burnt-out TOC building. Some British press from Reuters stood by. I realized we were going to attack An-Najaf. I couldn’t believe it. Many would die, all because of Sadr. I’ll get more into this later.
I went out to our command center and found out some Apache scouts got hit on an unauthorized patrol near Sadr’s Kufa mosque. They abandoned a Hummer at the site they were attacked after pulling two wounded soldiers from the blown up truck. I watched the medivac chopper fly in. The field ambulances pulled up and then sped back to the medical clinic next to our command post.
I watched as medics pulled out one stretcher with a limp, bloody soldier laying on it. He didn’t look too good. His lower body was covered in deep maroon blood. The second ambulance pulled up and the medics pulled out a bloody, black soldier with pressure bandages on his torn legs. He cried loudly in pain. I couldn’t believe my eyes – but I knew this was only the beginning.
Nora, I need you, and all I want is to come home safely and into your arms. I’ve been thinking so much about life, and our life. I love you, and I love our life together. I pray to come home to you soon. I need you. I’m sitting in my truck now, and a sandstorm is raging outside in the blackness on the other side of the windshield glass. I’m going to walk to the phone to call you now. I love you always!

Seeing the wounded soldiers was a poignant reminder of how dangerous that hornet’s nest was. The patrol was not authorized to approach the Kufa Bridge in the first place. Attempts were made to locate the truck and blow it up with an Apache helicopter or F-16 fighter jet. The truck was lost though, only to be seen on television later. Items were later recovered from the truck during a shootout with a house that had a crude bunker system inside.
When we arrived in the Najaf desert (FOB Duke), there were only a few hard buildings on the site of the former Republican Guard ammo depot. It was nothing but desert. More and more vehicles began arriving at the dusty FOB as the day progressed. There were only two plastic portapotties for the few hundred men on the site. As time passed, more toilets came, and more piss tubes were planted. We erected a sleep tent later, but I preferred to sleep in my truck. God we were dirty.
I was more stressed as time went on. It had much to do with hearing some soldiers boast about their kills. I thought it was insane. I wrote in my journal, ‘The Army makes use of and channels what would otherwise be criminal behavior using people who would otherwise be no more than criminals.’ Of course, the exception is never the rule.

Friday, April 16, 2004

The Wait to Move to Najaf, Letters from the Grave, and Ali Explains Why Iraqis Don't Like Jews (But It's Lost on Us)

16 April, 2004 0400 Al-Kut

‘Tell him this is for him and his family,’ I told Ali Internet to tell the shopkeeper while I handed the man some money. Some of the squatters at the TV station opened a little store to sell things to the soldiers. Since we showed up, several of them have been working for us to make some money. We also employed a local plumber to install water pipes, real toilettes, and two showers. One thing is for sure, we leave most places better than we found them when we live in them.
I just got up to pull radio watch from 0400-0500 in the TOC. I’m in a radio studio full of big mosquitoes – hairy mosquitoes, and smart mosquitoes. I just got one. Usually they fly away too fast. Like I said, we are in the Al-Kut radio station part of the TV station complex. Showing a bit of humor (as always), our S-2 intelligence analysts have a sign in the Plexiglas studio window that separates the broadcast room from the office room that reads, “The Morning Show with Steven and Rick,” and “LKUT, Rockin’ Al-Kut!” It’s pretty funny.
I’m tired right now and all I want is to talk to you. I miss your voice. I love your voice Nora, I love you. I wonder how you are doing in France. Tonight I couldn’t sleep at all. I listened on the shortwave and heard that Al-Sadr is being reported as missing. I jumped out of bed and told the LTC and everyone else. “Well,” he said, “I guess we’re going to Najaf to find him.”
Tonight I jumped on the CIA’s website to access the Foreign Broadcast Information Service, or FBIS. It always has a lot of breaking news articles from around the world with lots of good information. I got the idea that I would print out a lot of articles and start leaving them around our TOC on laptop keyboards so maybe some of our great officers would read about what’s going on on the road to An-Najaf and in Iraq in general, instead of playing video games. My plan worked, and soon, everyone was sitting around reading the printed articles – even Knight 6. There’s a lot of bad stuff going on in Iraq.
Tonight I prayed and thought about death again. SSG Stockton lay in bed and wrote a letter, even though we’ve got no mail service. I wondered if he was writing one of those “If I die…” letters. ‘I’m not writing any letters from beyond the grave,’ I thought. ‘I’ve got to have more faith.’
We’re going to An-Najaf soon, and into the heart of the Shia theological capital. We won’t actually go into the city, but we’ll join up with other units surrounding the city already. That idiot Poncho (AKA “Poncheeze”) keeps saying, “Our mission is to capture or kill Al-Sadr.” That’s pretty damn smart right now when Iraq is teetering on mass chaos. A raid or assault on Al-Sadr in An-Najaf would spark a fire difficult to handle. I can’t believe Poncho is running Iraq with Bremer. As our 1AD commander, I remember him well in Germany for his uninspiring and disappointing speeches that I perceived as lacking real intellect. Year or two later, the man is running military operations here.

We were living in strange days at this point. We had no clue what our future held, how long we would be in Iraq, when this was all going to end. It really felt like we were starting all over again in Iraq as we occupied buildings and lived out of our trucks. I remember going on a night mounted patrol through Al-Kut with the staff. We drove around town, conducting a “presence patrol.” That means we drive around town, look at people, and drive away. For the people, that meant they stopped what they were doing for a few seconds until we passed. In Al-Kut, the faces weren’t smiling at us. As we went down one neighborhood street, our tall vehicle antennas were breaking the decorative light bulbs that were strung across the streets. I watched as line after line of lights fell to the ground or went black. Here we were, driving through the streets to gain respect, and we’re pulling their lights down. We weren’t doing it on purpose, we were just being clumsy – and it sure didn’t make us look any better. LTC Jagger noticed this after we drove down a few blocks, and we all pulled over to tie our antennas down lower. I’ll never forget the way those people looked at us.
Word came down that we were moving to Najaf. We needed some more transportation assets for the TOC, and ideally one extra civilian truck for Ali Laundy and Internet Ali so they could better do their deal making with the locals. There was a ministry compound just outside of Al-Kut, so several of the staff went to the compound to confiscate some trucks for us to use for our move to Najaf. I remember pulling into the compound and seeing a large fleet of brand-new midsize pickup trucks and several brand-new lorries. There had to be over 100 trucks, fresh from the factory. Several ministry officials spoke with the staff and shook their heads. Their body language simply communicated agitation with the Americans. The apparent boss kept shaking his head at the American requests. While we were waiting for staff to complete their mission, Ali Laundry and I poured over a large map of Iraq. He explained why the Iraqis hate the Jews. He told some story about a Jewish king in Iraq who had the head of an Iraqi warrior plated in gold. I can’t remember the stories anymore, and they were hard to follow at the time, but it was fascinating the history (either real or invented) that some Iraqis employed to explain their distrust of Jews. The hostility went back thousands of years. While Ali explained this, Foley, a Jew, listened intently.
Towards the end of Ali’s story about Jews in Iraq, Sergeant Major Walker walked back over to our truck. “Let’s go,” he said to us. We folded the sergeant major’s trophy map and jumped in our trucks. We wouldn’t get any extra vehicles. The compound supervisor refused to hand over the keys for the vehicles. I assumed that we would just take the trucks, but in the end, the Army respected the authority of the ministerial office. We went back to the TV station and packed our trucks for the road march to Najaf.

Thursday, April 15, 2004

Turning Into A Soldier; Jesus is Coming (so rumor has it in the headquarters)

15 April, 2004 1800 Al-Kut TV Station

We’ve gotten word that we’ll be moving again – this time to An-Najaf, one of the holiest cities in Islam. We’ve got another long road march ahead of us through hostile territory. An-Najaf is the suspected hideout of Mutadr Al-Sadr and second focus of U.S. forces next to Fallujah. I can only get spotty news reports from my shortwave from China and France, some BBC, and one bible radio station out of the U.S. with a preacher frantically preaching against immorality and the U.S. and the inevitable coming of Jesus. “God, I hope Jesus doesn’t come while we’re here,” Murphy said as we listened to the preacher. We were listening because the station just finished playing Bush’s State of the Union address.
‘Yeah, if Jesus comes back, I hope he waits until after we get back to Germany,’ I said.
“If we ever get home,” replied Murphy.
Today, nothing much happened. The best part was being able to call you! You were on the bus to France, or already in France, I think. I didn’t want to tell you that we were moving again, but I had to just in case you didn’t hear from me for a while. It was so good to hear your voice, even though it was only for 5 minutes. I hope you are OK and staying strong. All I want is to come home to you Nora, I’ve never wanted something so bad in my life, and I never thought the stakes could be so high just to get home. It feels like we’ve been playing Russian Roulette for the past year. You think you’re used to it, and then you got to collect yourself for another road march, and another length of time you do not know the length of.
Rumors circulating now say Bush wants 1AD out of Iraq and back home by June 30. I haven’t been able to confirm that. I’m not getting my hopes up at all though. Today I went with the LTC to Camp Delta. Sitting there in the sun, you look at our trucks and look at our faces and realize we’ve turned into soldiers. Not the spit shined, wet behind the ears, U.S. Army dog and pony show soldiers, but just soldiers – the kind we imagined our elders were long ago, but in more definable wars – Vietnam, WWII. ‘So this is what it’s like,’ I thought.

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

Moving Again, Digging Through Coalition Provisional Authority Junk, Kill 300 and Call the Wife

14 April, 2004 1830 Al-Kut TV Station

After many tired days and a move to Al-Kut, 3-32 has gotten word we may have to move again to another location north on the Tigris. The situation in Iraq has become critical. Our supply trains have been slowed by bridges being blown and steady attacks on KBR convoys and coalition convoys in general. I miss you Nora, I hurt inside for waiting to hear your voice and talk to you and tell you I love you. I love you so deeply Nora, I only live for coming home to you. I miss you Nora, so much.
The Friday before Easter or so, rumors were spreading that orders were being drawn up to send us to Fallujah. Our camp was under random mortar fire for the past 5 days. One mortarman even drove up on the other side of the river behind our perimeter and started firing at will on our base. He fired two rounds that overshot us, and no one really paid attention to the blasts. The mortarman then adjusted his fire from the first two rounds and fired about 5 more rounds 8 minutes later that landed along our fence line. Some guys on the roof of the HHC barracks calling on their satellite phones watched the rounds impact and couldn’t return fire because the mortarman was firing from a residential area. They watched as the man packed up his mortar equipment in the back of his car and drove off.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY ARE FIRING AT WILL ON US!” Captain Nash yelled in the TOC, furious we couldn’t do anything to counterattack. I’ll go into details about the events of the week of the battle of Sadr City.
The LTC called us in for a meeting to tell us we weren’t going home. I couldn’t believe it. I was shocked. Right when we thought we were going home, we were told we weren’t going home and we were going to conduct combat operations. Sadr’s army had pretty much taken southern Iraq and full scale combat was raging in Al-Fallujah. We were told we had to go south to Al-Kut and take control of the city.
Foley and CPT Smalls left on Friday to go back to Germany as part of the advance party. Foley was bragging that he was leaving early even thought I told him that was less than an honorable thing to do given the situation.
[1] He and CPT S left and I worried for their safety. After we got word that we were to be extended, we were told advance party would not fly to Germany and would return from BIAP the next day. We would leave for Al-Kut on Easter. I had been fasting for Lent and eating no meat. I considered getting one good meal in before Easter at the DFAC, but decided not to break my fast. If Jesus could face a painful fate and go through so much suffering, I could go without meat or candy or soda for another few days.
I was worried about going to Al-Kut. I was concerned about Iraq falling apart, and I felt ashamed to be a part of it. Remember, I do think we were doing a good thing here at first, but it became clear how we were doing it was flawed severely. And our decisions since Sadr City have been mind boggling. I must detail this later though. There is so much to detail, but things are busy right now, and I am limited on time.
Our road march to Al-Kut lasted 3 hours, but it seemed like 15 minutes to me. All I could think of was you. I miss you terribly. I was expecting an ambush or IED attack, thought Easter would be a particular day to die. I had faith I would live though.
1-7 IN had fought into Al-Kut and AC-130s pounded the CPA complex that was held by Sadr’s army. When we arrived in Al-Kut, things were relatively calm, some people waved, most just looked blankly at us. I didn’t wave too much, I was watching the alleyways and rooftops. Al-Kut looked beautiful though, with lush, green marshes and a placid-looking Tigris.
We were going to an airbase south of the city occupied by the Ukrainians. Those same Ukrainians were the ones that fled the CPA compound and left it open to Sadr’s militia to overrun. It was a symbolic victory for Sadr. “Through these arches pass Iraq’s finest,” read a sign at the ICDC building our battalion occupied. ‘Bullshit,’ I thought. Iraq’s finest were nowhere to be seen. I started unloading my truck and then prepared for our recon of the CPA complex across the Tigris.
I put Coldplay’s A Rush of Blood to the Head CD in and we drove into Al-Kut. It was eerie. I felt like I was in South Carolina because of the way the marshes and rivers looked, but there were indications violence had taken place a short time before our arrival.
We pulled into the CPA compound, a hotel, and noticed it was partially destroyed. It was pounded by an AC-130 gunship. Many CPA employees’ things were still lying around the grounds, suitcases, clothes, beer cans, among other things. Ali (laundry) scavenged around picking up the items. ‘Put that shit down, it isn’t yours,’ I told him. He was getting on my nerves. He’s a brownnosing, double-crossing Iraqi you can’t trust.
“But maybe you ask Sergeant Major and he’ll let me,” Ali said like a twitching coward, a snake.
‘Put it down, it doesn’t belong to you,’ I told him again. He sighed and put it down and pouted. I couldn’t believe it, it was a year after I deployed, and I felt like someone flipped the hourglass over on me. It seemed like the first day I got to Baghdad, walking through abandoned buildings again, walking through rubble, ash, burning plastic and wood. ‘I can’t believe this,’ I thought, ‘we’re starting all over again.’
We went to the Ukrainian barracks next to the CPA, and it was abandoned too. We went inside and found the place ransacked. Uniforms lay all around, food still sat on dinner tables, family photos and maps of Ukraine hung on walls next to bunk beds. It was a mess, and you could tell it was abandoned frantically. SGM Walker and I walked around a corner and found a sergeant major and a first sergeant stealing uniforms and other items from the barracks. They were obviously caught off guard and started fumbling with their words.
“What’s that?” SGM Walker asked.
“Um, we’re stealing shit,” the other sergeant major said pretty frankly, but nervously. They were embarrassed. We continued to look around the building, not taking anything. Ali stayed back with the truck after figuring out he wasn’t going to be allowed to loot anything.
I need to go to sleep now, but briefly, here is our present situation. We don’t know what is going on day to day. We are living in an occupied TV station. The situation outside is unclear and rumors are circulating that we are moving again. I can only pick up bits of news from Vatican Radio and Chinese Radio Service on my $10 shortwave radio. A general feeling of being forgotten is shared by a lot of soldiers, feelings of disbelief. We don’t know when we are going home, and we’ve done a year – almost. We trusted our service would be used in a way that wouldn’t require us to stay for undetermined amounts of time. It’s a big sacrifice for this country – Iraq. Hopefully we’ll find out when we will go home soon. I love you Nora, when I think of coming home to you, I can’t believe how much like heaven it seems. How we live, where we live, our love, our faith. I’ve really come to realize here, and more over the past few months, that you bring me closer to heaven than I could ever imagine, and I won’t forget that when I get home to show you how thankful I am for all you are sacrificing and doing for me. I love you with all my heart. I will not let you down – not after all of this. I love you Nora, always.

Specialist Dudley, a former S-3 soldier, ran to me after seeing me in the battalion building. He had been transferred to a tank company before we deployed to Iraq and I seldom saw him. I was thankful for that. He was dumb, spoke with a slurred country accent, and lied compulsively about almost everything. He once claimed to have a commercial pilot’s license. I was hard on him when he was in my shop, so he was eager to show me he was succeeding in his tank company. “Guess what Thompson!” he yelled, out of breath.
‘What is it?’ I answered, wondering what it could be.
“I got me one in Sadr City! I hit ‘em right between the eyes with my 240 (M240) and saw his head explode!” he proclaimed excitedly, waiting for a response.
‘I’m glad to see you finally found something you’re good at, Dudley,’ I told him. He looked at me with a confused look on his face. I walked off, and felt like everyone was going insane. It wasn’t the first confession I would hear. Sergeant Albert was another S-3 flunky who would go on to do great things. He explained to me, in a tone of confession, that he would “play” with the enemy gunmen with his tank. The tanks have thermal sights which allow the gunner to see warm objects (like Sadr thugs) in the night. Apparently, Sadr’s men didn’t respect this technical detail. They would creep around the dark streets with weapons, thinking the tanks couldn’t see them. Albert would sit patiently behind his gunner’s sight and wait for the opportune time to pick one off.
“They would sneak around with weapons and hide behind donkey carts in the road,” he explained. “The whole time, they thought we couldn’t see them! So, we let them take up their positions in the road. I would fire a burst of coax to the right, and then to the left of them. They would hide behind the carts and play dead. So, I would wait and wait. Sooner or later, one would move from behind the carts. That’s when I nailed them with coax. It was fucking crazy. Then some men would run from the alleys and drag the bodies away – one after another.”
‘You didn’t shoot the guys dragging the bodies away?’ I asked.
“Na, they weren’t a threat. We would only take guys out when they had big weapons,” he replied. There were all kinds of stories about the militia men running past the tanks, only feet away, to stay out of the tank’s firing range. One redneck Staff Sergeant openly bragged about killing over 300 people alone. In line at the morale phone, he bragged that he shot everyone he could see through his scope. He then went on to call his wife.


[1] This was an emotional time in the deployment. I felt like Foley was abandoning me when he should stay the course. I would miss him. When he and Smalls went to the airport, they had to return to base a short time later, coming under RPG fire while sitting in the back of a 5-ton truck riding along the infamous stretch of freeway that links the airport to Baghdad city. They had to run a gauntlet in one of the worst times we had seen in Baghdad. Flags symbolizing Shia pride flew from every housetop.

Thursday, April 08, 2004

From Bad to Worse: 1st Armored Division Extended, Friends Fear for My Life and We Pack Up for Al-Kut and the Unknown

Read more and see free video at http://www.american-interrupted.com.

* Early morning 08 April, 2004 0200

“Thompson, you must be very, very careful,” Haider told me very seriously tonight. “You are my brother, and I am worried about you.”
‘I know Haider, thank you,’ I answered, fully aware that Iraq is on the brink of total chaos. ‘Pray to Allah for me,’ I told him. He grabbed my hand and became gravely serious,
“I will Thompson, I will.”
Personally, I am morally opposed to the tactics we are using, because the victims of our attacks are going to be ordinary Iraqis – and every time the rebels coerce us into violence, we answer them in violence. It’s a cycle of violence that is only going to breed more destruction and upset the psychological balance here and spread desperation. We are doing exactly what Sadr wants – what Al-Qaeda wants – what Iran wants. It’s a big joke for everyone here.
Zone 23 is a pretty stable zone, but we sent tanks and scouts into the place to draw fire from gunmen. “If you have too much fun out there, I may have to pull you and go out there myself next time,” Knight 6 said. What he was saying was if any action unfolds, he wants to get a chance to get some confirmed kills. SSG Newsome and Foley asked to go out with our two headquarters tanks so they could get a chance to kill some gunmen and get bragging rights. Normally, these guys are office idiots, and not even good at that. It almost seemed we wanted to stir up trouble in a zone we haven’t had serious trouble with! Had gunfire erupted, innocent people could have been killed and property destroyed. For what? A few gunmen? It seemed we wanted to throw gas on a fire. I don’t understand this! Accelerate the chaos! Earlier, I asked why we don’t withdraw from Sadr City and cordon it off and seal it off and let them (Sadr Army) gather to no avail. It’ difficult to have a boxing match when only one player shows up. And if the Sadr Army wants to fight, they’ll have to do so along the edges of the city – and be engaged. Seal off, cool off, negotiate. Whoever wants to fight will be engaged after that. We need more air coverage. All of our air coverage and much of our radar coverage (used to alert us to incoming mortar rounds) and half of our tanks are in Kuwait. Sent there to make our redeployment easier to manage. Wishful thinking. In Fallujah, we are waging all out war. Even though American rules of engagement are generally held to, the media covers only the bombing of a mosque, and not the fact that gunmen mount attacks from the mosques. It’s a very serious situation. Many innocent lives are being wrecked, and not due to being hit by bullets, but because the perception is that chaos is upon us and Americans are to blame.
We, 3-32 AR, are now at war, and we may be moving to Al-Kut in southern Iraq next to Iran. The Ukrainian army retreated from the city, and we may have to retake it. Rumsfeld says we may have to stay longer. It’s a total nightmare – especially only days before getting to go home. I’ve got to sleep now, but Nora, I love you so strongly. I can’t wait to get home and live in peace. I want to get a nice place for us after this, and I’m going to work hard to do it. I love you, and I pray to God for peace and wisdom to come down on Bush – before this turns helpless.

I don’t know if they played a part or not, but Zone 23 became less hospitable after a series of unfortunate events. One event was the already mentioned shooting of an Iraqi youth. That didn’t help our image there at all. One day I was looking at our map board, and noticed that much of the hostile activity (cursing, rock-throwing, etc.) occurred on the north east corner of the sector. It just so happened that right across the highway from that area was our explosive ordinance disposal (EOD) disposal site. Everyday, several times a day, EOD would detonate captured explosives on the Al-Rasheed airfield. This would rock the immediate area and send people running into the TOC with the question, “Was that a controlled blast!?” We usually had forewarning about the blasts, but what about the Iraqis? Their neighborhoods were only half a mile away from the blast site. These were big explosions, and they certainly caused damage to the surrounding areas (the shock was routinely able to bust out windows and bring ceiling panels down). There had to be some negative effect on the local population. The population closest to the blast site was that of Zone 23.

A few days before Easter, Lieutenant Colonel Jagger called us all together in the auditorium of the barracks to tell us that we weren’t going home as planned. I think at that point, many of us stopped thinking about going home all together. We would get there when we got there. I felt like I was cursed. I was supposed to go home in February so I could transfer out of the Army. That was canceled due to the “stop loss” and then cancelled again because of the uprising. Later I would find myself still in the Army well past my end-of-contract date. No one really complained though. It was understood that we had a serious problem on our hands, and no one was going home until that problem was reduced. In the meantime, Sadr’s misfits were running about sabotaging bridges and seizing key community facilities. In the south, our “coalition of the willing” seemed a bit unwilling to defend their assigned territories. The Spanish withdrew from many of the urban areas they were tasked with protecting, seeking shelter in their own compounds. In Najaf, the Spanish were slow to assist several El Salvadorian soldiers who were pinned down in a warehouse facility. One El Salv corporal hid in the shadows as Sadr’s thugs overran the facility and hovered over the dead body of one of the corporal’s comrades. The corporal then pulled his knife out and engaged the terrorists in hand to hand combat. He successfully neutralized the threat just as reinforcements arrived. We developed a real respect for the El Salvs.
Not much could be said about the Ukrainians. They were in charge of the eastern city of Al-Kut, which they abandoned when fighting there became dangerous. It seemed our coalition partners weren’t willing to walk the walk. The Americans were forgiving though, reminding us that the Ukrainians were only their as peacekeepers and not peacemakers. After conferring with Kiev, the Ukrainian army pulled out of Al-Kut – claiming direct combat was not authorized. Iraq needed to be brought under control, especially southern Iraq. With coalition partners opting out of combat, it would be the Americans and the British (primarily) who would have to pacify the situation. Tanks were being brought back to Iraq from Kuwait. Helicopters were being unwrapped from their shipping covers in Kuwait. Their pilots were on the way back to Iraq after arriving home in the States for only a short while. Meanwhile, 3-32 Armor was packing up and getting ready to go to Al-Kut. Word was out that we needed Iraqi translators, anyone, to go with us to Al-Kut. Many Iraqis refused, saying it was too dangerous. The battalion offered to increase pay by several fold for any Iraqi who went with us. Only three volunteered, Ali Laundry, Ali Internet, and Sergeant Haider (Assad’s cousin).
We left on Easter Sunday. I remember thinking that would be a terrible day to die. With the situation in Iraq coming to a boil, the likelihood of encountering death seemed to have skyrocketed. The land seemed deadly. We lined up our trucks to convoy out. I ran quickly to say my last goodbyes to my Iraqi friends. They were all very scared for me, especially Haider and Assad. Assad had made me two steel plates to strap to my body. One plate covered my calf muscle, and the other one covered my thigh. He gave the plates to me and said, “I never though I would be worried this much about you, but I am very afraid they are going to try to kill you Thompson. Take this, I made it. I used this in Iran-Iraq war.” My eyes filled with tears as I left him and his brother Mazin. I felt horrible for leaving them there, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t protect them. I ran upstairs to the internet cafe and saw Haider there. He warned me about the real danger on the way to Al-Kut. He told me, “If they kill Sadr, Iraq will explode.” We said our goodbyes all too quickly, and then I sprinted out to the trucks before we had to convoy out.
I was angry at Sadr. He started this fight. I would be damned if I was going to let one of his hoodlums kill me. Ali Laundry would be riding in my truck to Al-Kut. We were looking at a three hour road march ahead of us. As we started pulling out towards the Rustimiya gate, I drove and pieced my M-16 rifle back together at the same time. I wanted to get some last minute cleaning in to prevent it from jamming. As we left the gate and headed west, I said a quick prayer.
The drive to Al-Kut went by quickly. We expected contact, but encountered none. I did notice a white Chevy Caprice conducting surveillance on our convoy. I first noticed it in Baghdad as we left the gate. Then, the same vehicle would pass us, find a spot, and park. I told Walker about it, but there was really nothing we could do about it. We were in a convoy, and the convoy can’t stop. I remember pulling into the outskirts of Al-Kut. You could tell who was friend and who was foe. The foes would cast hateful smirks at you. I distinctly remember several children running out to our trucks yelling “Fuck you!” and making a throat-cutting gesture with their little fingers. That couldn’t be good. Others waved and cheered, more than I expected them to. It was confusing at times. All you heard about was the Sadr terrorists taking over Al-Kut and the ensuing popular uprising there. Then, you get there and all the people are cheering.
We pulled into an airbase on the outskirts of Al-Kut. Ukrainian guards in shades greeted us. We didn’t wave back. The road march seemed to last only a few minutes somehow. The city was calm as we arrived. The CPA facility in Al-Kut had been occupied by Sadr’s militia in the days before our arrival. They considered this a victory. It was short-lived though, as a U.S. AC-130 gunship hammered the leased hotel complex. 1-7 Infantry had taken the city back in the days before our arrival, and that explained the relative calm there. We were now tasked with stabilizing the area and awaiting further orders.
Easter night, I was able to break my Lenten fast at the KBR chow hall. The pickings were slim though, and items were being rationed out. Usually the contracted chow halls were chucked full of all-you-can-eat items, but now that our supply routes we impassable, items were not available. KBR truckers refused to drive due to the real dangers developing on the Iraqi highways. Reports were coming in from Rustimiya that the Diyala Bridge (a short distance from our old camp in Baghdad) had been blown. F-16 fighter jets were in the area striking insurgent positions. Some of our units remained at Rustimiya awaiting transportation to Al-Kut on large tractor trailers, called HETTs. Due to bridges being blown all over Iraq, HETTs were forced to drive longer, more dangerous detour routes. It seemed the country was falling apart.
Our battalion was originally stationed on Camp Delta, an only Iraq airbase to the west of the city. About a day after settling in at Camp Delta, it was decided that the TOC would have to move into the city. A TV station would be our new home. It was a relatively small compound. There was just enough room to place a tank at the gate of the TV station, and soldiers set up machine gun nests on the roof. It was a tight fit. It seemed crazy to put the TOC in such a vulnerable spot. We made it like home though, and soon Iraqis were earning American dollars by installing plumbing and selling Pepsi.

Wednesday, April 07, 2004

Iraqi Translator Friends Shot, Haider Remains Faithful

7 April, 2004 1240

Hostilities continue around Iraq. I spent a lot of the morning reading reports from activity across Baghdad and Fallujah. Marines are getting hit hard, and it seems the rebels were well trained and prepared for the U.S. offensive. Unrest has been serious, with the medial unaware of most of the activity. U.S. forces and allies have been very fair in giving rebels opportunities to leave and go home, but rebels insist on fighting, so coalition forces have responded very violently – with main gun rounds and heavy machinegun fire. Some streets turned into meat grinders. Based on large numbers of deaths and open combat, it seems the rebels want to be martyred. It’s sick.
Going back to Palm Sunday night, after I left the radios when heavy combat lessened. I went over to see Ali and Haider, but found Abbas and Ali (the Ali with the Catholic girlfriend).
[1] I also saw Tariq. I thought he had quit his job as a translator in order to concentrate on studying. Personally, I believe he’s frightened to be killed for working with us. There’s a reason to be frightened, 18 translators were killed that were employed by Titan (a contractor that monitors, recruits, and pays translators). Someone inside of the organization must be leaking names and information to terrorists. One of those killed was an A Co. translator. Since the beginning of the year, assassinations and assassination attempts have increased on our own translator teams.

One night, I went up to talk to Haider in the internet cafe. I noticed two of my Iraqi friends sitting there, looking ill. I asked what was wrong with them, and they said they had been shot. I couldn’t believe it! Not these guys! Sure enough, Ali showed me several rose-colored, fleshy wounds that were bullet wounds. He was shot while riding with an American patrol. I remember earlier in the deployment, there was a young man who translated for the Americans. He used to walk around with a bandanna on his head with an American flag patch on it. He loved Americans, and he believed he was making a difference. One night, some men came to his house and asked for him. When he came to the door, the men killed him on the spot. These were the men that were giving their lives for us, for a few bucks a day. They weren’t clad in armor, they didn’t sleep within the walls of a secure facility at night. They were truly courageous, and they believed in what they were doing, otherwise they would not risk their lives. I felt these men needed to be protected, they needed to be sheltered from these butchers who wander in the Baghdad nights like satanic angels of death. There was nothing we could do for them. When Sadr City imploded, we were told to purge the base of all Iraqis – regiment was afraid they would turn on us.
Haider showed me a flyer from the Iraqi Mujahideen threatening to kill anyone working for the Americans. Sadr thugs also distributed the same flyers to the squatters (our primary labor source) that lived along our perimeter. Most of them ignored the threat, and showed back up to work when they were allowed to return again. Haider took the threat in stride. He said that his future is already written, and he trusts Allah. Not only that, but he added that he is Kurdish, and that the Kurdish people look out after one and other.


[1] It was not unheard of for Iraqis of different faiths to date or marry eachother.

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

Full Combat Begins, Blood Flows, and New Replacement Unit is Severely Damaged, CPA Life in Focus

6 April, 2004 1020

“Hey, we killed like 5 people!” Foley said as he came into our room laughing and waking me up from an afternoon nap following a long night of combat in Sadr City. Foley was up at the District Advisory Council building. Several tanks were put there to protect the building in Sadr City from Sadr Army insurgents. On Sunday night, Sadr City erupted into open urban war against American forces. One section from 1 CAV was pinned down in an ambush in the city without warning. They suffered heavy casualties, at least 7 dead. Our C Company went in to assist the section and came under extreme RPG fire and gunfire. One scout told me,
“Crusader tanks look like Swiss cheese.” Sergeant Patrick, a soldier I knew and competed with for the best grade in our American Government class, and a young, newly engaged soldier who just reenlisted, took a bullet through one of his eyes and into his skull, killing him instantly. He is actually a mechanic, but volunteered to roll out with the tanks into Sadr City as a loader. He was our only KIA in the Sadr City battle, and our first 3-32 AR KIA other than Santos who was attached to us from 2nd ACR from Fort Polk, Louisiana. We sustained other WIA, but nothing life threatening. We almost made it home without losing anyone. I don’t think anyone saw this coming, but I knew something bad was going to happen. Sadr has been quiet though until now. Bremer says an arrest warrant is out for his arrest now. Actually, this isn’t the first time Sadr has engaged U.S. troops. 1LT Solomon lost a soldier to an ambush back in September or so. CPA wouldn’t do anything about it. Now they are saying (months later) he’s (Sadr) going to be served. Hmmm.
“Lot’s of people are going to reenlist now,” Foley said. He’s grown more foolish since we got to Iraq and developed a sour arrogance because he drives for Major Ramirez. He doesn’t understand that Major Ramirez can’t do much for him or protect him from NCOs – because the major isn’t widely respected because of his reputation for unprofessional behavior, poor judgment, and laziness. Anyways, I heard what Foley said mindlessly and responded.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, knowing he already had an answer.
“People join the Army to kill shit, this is why people join the Army!” he said all hyped up. I thought about what he said, and thought,
‘Didn’t he join the Army because he screwed up his life with drugs and crime? He didn’t join the Army to kill, he joined to escape reality,’ I thought. I didn’t want to tell him that though. I had scolded him a few days before for sleeping instead of working on his truck during the day, and openly using the major as a defense against NCOs. Some see me as his handler, or say he takes after me, or I influenced him to be more assertive, but my work ethic didn’t rub off on him, only the ambitious part. ‘You’ve turned into a real piece of work Foley. You’ve managed to get worse since we got here,’ he looked at me thinking I was joking. ‘Not only have you managed to piss-off most of the NCOs you depend on to get promoted, you’ve developed a reputation as an unreliable, complaining little prick. You’ve developed a great deal of character, congrats,’ I said coldly, but it had to be said. He stopped smiling, realizing I was serious.
“Whatever,” he said and continued watching a DVD on a portable DVD player.
When he came in bragging about the shootings yesterday, I almost got up and punched him. ‘What happened?’ I asked.
“Stiller got a few. An RPG almost hit our truck. He saw where it came from and tried to fire with his M-16, but it kept jamming. I told him to use the M240, but you could tell he was hesitating to use it. More fire came, and he opened up on the M240 and fired over 150 rounds. Sergeant Gonzales was in front of the up-armored Hummer in one of the command tanks. He traversed the tank turret towards the man shooting the RPGs, but before he could shoot him, he saw the man take 5 bullets and collapse after Stiller shot him. Sergeant Hugo also killed some Sadr guys,” he said all excited.
‘This isn’t a fucking joke,’ I told him. ‘Do you know or even comprehend what is going on? Sadr succeeded in starting a small scale civil war. Basrah and several other Shia cities are in disorder. They stormed a Spanish barracks,’ I explained to him.
“Well, I guess the Spanish should have supported us then, see if they pull their troops out now,” he spouted off. “I say kill them all, we can take them all on,” he kept saying.
‘You’re an idiot,’ I told him. ‘Am I surrounded by idiots? Does no one realize what this means for the future of Iraq, for the Army, for the Middle East?! These people are so blind.’
“It doesn’t matter to me, I’ll be out of here soon.”
‘Well, for someone who wants to go Special Forces and kill people, you sure want out of here fast,’ I observed.
“Well, I’m tired,” he whimpered.
‘Everyone is fucking tired, about everyone works a lot harder than you do, tankers, scouts, mortars,’ I replied. I was disappointed with him lately.
So much has happened since Palm Sunday. Many of the concerns that I’ve had over the past year are starting to become real problems. Blind optimism has distorted the picture of what’s going on on the ground to the point of disregard for reality.
Sunday, we took the new sergeant major from 1st CAV on a patrol before going to Al-Rasheed Hotel. Driving through the neighborhoods, many children ran alongside our trucks and waved or begged for candy. Most everyone waved and smiled. We passed one of the Catholic churches and the people smiled and waved with palms in their hands. As we turned a corner near the 6 lane freeway, a man started gesturing to our vehicles. The first two vehicles drove by, but SGM Walker and I stopped to see what he wanted. “BOMB, BOMB,” he said and used his arm to depict an artillery round. He seemed eager to show us the bomb, and worried. We immediately set up security positions around the suspected bomb site.
Sure enough, it was a bomb, but we were unsure if it was left over from the war. It was sitting in the trash next to an exit and had 4 wires leading away from it and into the trash. It was an artillery shell, fused and intact. ‘See, Iraqis will let you know sometimes if bombs are around,’ I told the 1st CAV driver. ‘You need to pay attention to what they are trying to tell you, you saw how 2 vehicles just went by without stopping.’ A lot of soldiers complain about Iraqis placing bombs, but they don’t realize Iraqis can’t just contact U.S. forces right away and connectivity to the IPs is poor. Many times they feel threatened by the terrorists who set the bombs. Of course, there are cases when terrorists have warned everyone in an area to avoid a spot on the road, or even offered money to place bombs on their property around roads. We’ve even arrested farmers who have been reported by other Iraqis to be accepting money from Wahabee terrorists.
On this Sunday, the friendly Iraqi man helped up find a bomb. We called a security team out and they would secure the place until EOD arrived to remove the bomb safely. We got on the highway and decided to move on to the Al-Rasheed.
At the Al-Rasheed, we ate lunch alongside British and American civilian contractors. “What are all these civilians doing here?” the 1 CAV guy asked (SPC Bennett).
‘I don’t think they’re doing much other than making a lot of money,’ I replied. Some skinny British contractor looked over at me.
“Yeah, it doesn’t sound like they accomplished much,” he responded.
‘We should ask one what they’ve done for Iraq today,’ I said. The British guy darted glances nervously at us. I had talked to a Scottish ex-soldier now working as a humanitarian aid worker for USAID. Through a thick Scottish accent he said that progress in Iraq had been minimal, and warned us about the growing dangers in the urban areas.
We walked around the luxury hotel and I noticed some round-looking, fat American women with bleach blond hair in curls, bad makeup and denim shirts and blue jeans and tennis shoes. They wore USAID t-shirts underneath and talked to each other in thick southern accents. ‘I genuinely doubt they possess anything other than Texas-style logic,’ I thought to myself. Maybe I’m prejudiced, but I don’t believe many of these people possess the intellectual capacity to understand the complexities of Iraq. Not only that, but many of these rednecks deal with these Iraqis as if they are inferior or animals. I think this attitude has alienated many Iraqis and caused resentment in private. Perhaps some of this resentment is manifesting itself in the form of inaction on the part of the Iraqi authority figures to stop violent demonstrations.
Bennett and I were standing outside the Al-Rasheed hotel by our Hummer when a large explosion went off. Usually downtown you’ll hear random explosions during the midday. ‘Grab your vest,’ I said immediately. He started to put it on. ‘No, you don’t have to put it on, just keep it close,’ I explained. All you had to do is look at the side of the hotel to see the danger in the area is real. A dozen holes are punched into the concrete and glass sides of the building. When it was time to leave, Walker said we were going to go through downtown and through the tunnel I was attacked at in October. ‘Are you sure you want to go that way? There may be some demonstrations,’ I said to SGM Walker. I actually said this after speaking with our scout escort, SSG Sill.
“Why are we going through downtown when the highway is right here?” he asked me in a concerned manner.
“Don’t be scared,” SGM Walker responded with irritation, “We’re going through the city.”
‘That’s easy to say, you’ve never been in an attack,’ I thought. Everyone wants to play with fire until they actually get killed or burned. The scouts and I looked at each other and shook our heads. I looked over at Bennett as he got in the truck and told him, ‘We’re about to go into the city, and it’s like an anthill. If anyone threatens you, shoot them. Only if you feel your life is threatened. I had one guy yelling at me about Osama bin Laden at the same place. I just ignored him. If I confronted him, it would have caused a scene, so you have to pick your battles carefully,’ I said to him. ‘Most people are good here, but some are simply deranged.’
“Roger, corporal,” he responded. When we exited CPA, I noticed a poster of Al-Sadr right outside of the gate, and then at other locations along the road. His posters always depict an angry-looking Sadr, with an orange, stormy background. We crossed the Tigris River and moved into the traffic circle and tunnel entrance. Luckily traffic was low, but I held my M-16 rifle out of my window and leveled it across the street. I was driving with my left hand, and holding my M-16 in my right, the rifle sitting across my chest. I had to be careful not to let the M-16 magazine catch one of the three spokes on the steering wheel. I kept honking my horn and blocking traffic until the tunnel traffic cleared. Once traffic cleared, we gunned our engines and flew into the tunnel to avoid any attack. I think about when we were attacked there, and the several points along the overpass where bricks and debris flew from. Of course, one person threw a grenade, but several others were throwing rocks and bricks. You never forget the blast from the attack though – you just put it away. There’s a feeling you get during an attack, and it’s not entirely fear, but a feeling, a feeling that the devil is dancing about you. Every time I go near that tunnel, I am filled with hatred for that tunnel and the fact that we insist on going through that tunnel. It’s extremely agitating.
We passed through the tunnel, and continued blocking the main road all the way to the Ministry of Oil. You could tell traffic was backing up for miles behind us. I regret having to cause all that disorder. I noticed a fruit stand on the side of the road with another poster of Sadr. ‘I’ve noticed more posters of Sadr lately,’ I told SGM Walker. He nodded.
We returned to camp, and I went to call you and my dad. SSG Little then came and told me he’s got to take the phone. I thought he was just taking the phone for a business call – but he disconnected it. I went into the TOC and noticed it was full of our key leaders. SGM Walker was sitting in his chair with CSM Brown standing by his side, and their facial expressions alerted me that something was wrong. I quietly asked SGM Walker what was wrong. He shook his head. ‘Hostile situation?’ I whispered. He nodded, “Yes.”
I listened to the radio traffic and heard “2 KIA, 3 wounded,” and more casualty reports. ‘KIA, what the hell is going on?’ I wondered, totally shocked. LT Orr told me Crusader Company (C Co.) had 1 KIA: Sergeant Patrick. I immediately became quiet, and remembered Patrick as my opponent in class in Friedberg. I quickly went over his profile in my head. Young, short, quiet, competent, competitive in class, smart, just reenlisted, just engaged. Now…just dead. You can’t help but think, ‘Live by the sword, die by the sword.’ You can tell you’ve been in Baghdad a long time when you hear a conversation like this:
“You know small Patrick?” Major Stanton asked me.
‘Roger, Sir. How did he die?” I asked.
“He got shot in the eye and died instantly,” he told me.
‘Well, that’s good,’ I said. He nodded and agreed,
“At least he didn’t suffer.”
At about 1900, I had to get on the radios and conduct the information management to assist Major Stanton. You know things are serious when we have to get on the radios. As reports started coming into me, I immediately realized urban combat had broken out. I also knew the situation was serious because of the expression on Major Stanton’s face. I have never seen him as worried as he appeared to me to be. There was a reason to be worried, a large portion of Baghdad was slipping into chaos.
On our net, you heard excited yelling and machine gun fire. The situation was that a unit from 1 CAV came under ambush and took heavy casualties. Our C Co. went in to rescue the pinned down unit (people blocked them in using makeshift roadblocks from scrap metal and furniture). I couldn’t believe it. I believed civil unrest was going to be a new threat in Iraq based on our treatment of Iraqis and our handling of Iraq – but I figured it would be months from now. I used to joke about the movie “Zulu,” Where the Africans take on a British garrison and nearly overwhelm the camp – purely because there are so many of the Africans. Many months ago, I thought about the worse case in Iraq, and I always said public unrest and rebellion, or Camp Santos (our camp now called Camp Santos, not Muleskinner) would have angry Iraqis at our gates. That foresight almost became reality. In fact, I’ve learned over the past year or more to trust my foresight, because I notice time and time again many things unfold just as I said they would – even when everyone said it was unlikely.
During Sunday night, our tanks fired main gun rounds and were machine gunning gunmen in the streets. The fighters engaged the tanks and other U.S. vehicles with machinegun fire and a heavy volume of RPG fire. C Co. tanks repeatedly were hit with RPG and gunfire. People came out into the streets to throw bricks at tanks. That battle saw the death of Patrick and the wounding of others. Luckily, the tanks took repeated RPG strikes without a problem. Knight 6 and Major Ramirez went to the District Advisory Council building, which was seized back by force from the Sadr insurgents. That was when Stiller engaged the RPG man. Iraqi police stations also fell to insurgents, but our own forces attacked and reestablished control over the police stations.
I spoke mainly to our units securing Canal Road. That would be Apache Troop, mortars, and scouts. I never imagined that I would be RTO during combat operations (sustained offensive, defensive operations). I further never imagined that our scouts would be pinned down and “black” (20% or less) on ammunition. “Knight X-Ray, this is Shadow 6, we are black on ammo!” LT Sheppard yelled as machinegun fire went off in the background. “KNIGHT X-RAY, CONTACT!” he yelled frantically. I took a deep breath. “KNIGHT X-RAY…RPG!” he said extremely excited in almost hysteria.
‘Damn!’ I thought. I kept talking to him and talking to Apache’s commanding officer about getting ammunition to the scouts. They had gunfire coming from both sides of the road, including an RPG that just flew overhead. Rounds were flying around and overhead, bouncing off the nearby pedestrian bridge. My greatest concern was getting ammo to the scouts and collecting casualties. The hysteria and massive, massive amount of gunfire heard in the background led me to hold my breath every time I asked for a situation report. Thank God, despite the very real danger and excitement, no one was hurt. Sniper fire was also reported.
Eventually, Apache Co. deployed his entire troop along our portion of Canal Road. (** Just now at 2300, two mortars exploded as I write this – I think it’s at the camp entrance **) He was able to resupply the scouts with ammo and assist in returning fire. They were taking fire from the mosque across the road. Eventually, we were able to get AH-64 attack helicopters and Kiowa helos over the area. Choppers had to come in from Taji because 2 ACR sent all their helicopters back to Kuwait to go home. Our eyes in the sky were plucked out.
[1] Why? Complacency. Just two days ago, SSG Newsome was telling everyone they had to turn in all ammunition except 2 magazines (60 rounds). ‘Well, I’m not going to turn my rounds in, and if they ask, I’ll tell them I shot some rounds at the range,’ I told him.
“Well, you’ve got to turn the rounds in to HHC,” he replied.
‘I haven’t forgotten I’m in Iraq, and it’s dangerous to think 60 rounds are enough to protect me reroute to Kuwait. If they have a problem with it, they can talk to SGM Walker,’ I explained. Sure enough, SSG Newsome found himself under fire in Sadr City a few days later.
Apache and the scouts were engaged with the rebels in a firefight. We then pulled 2 tanks from Sadr City to assist the scouts and Apache. The situation sounded serious on the radio, gunfire erupting and men yelling. I was almost certain we were going to take casualties – but THANK GOD we didn’t.
* Foley just came in. He just talked to his dad on the phone and found out his dog died. I think he’s going to cry. “She’s like family to us, I’ve had her forever,” he said slouching in his chair looking depressed. It’s a bit strange that he’s so broken about an animal dying, and almost jubilant about the rebels that were killed and are still being killed – and the countless civilian casualties and collateral damage.
Strange. I don’t rejoice in any of these deaths, even if they are enemy. The only real time I’m satisfied at the news of a death is when bombers or attackers accidentally kill themselves, as happens every now and then. Right now, even as I write this, people are being gunned down only a few miles away. Mortar rounds just fell on our camp, and over 200 people are dead just in Baghdad. 8 or more U.S. soldiers are dead, and they came to secure Iraq, they were from 1 CAV, and only been here a few weeks – if that.
I don’t even think people in the States understand Iraq is a war zone right now, and it was an outright battlefield only 24 hours ago. Right now Marines are marching into Fallujah, violence has broken out in the south as Spanish, British, and Italian troops all engage and kill rebels, not to mention the Poles, Ukrainians, etc.
I just talked to Bowman about what happened while he was in Sadr City during the battle. “We moved in and came under RPG fire and small arms. We got hit, but it didn’t do anything to the tank. One of our guys shot a man with an RPG out of a balcony. SSG Mack was tank commander, and he was scared as soon as he heard shots fired. He had us close all the hatches and sit stationary for about 30 minutes taking fire.
As darkness fell, gunmen would sneak around corners or crouch down and run across the streets thinking we couldn’t see them, but they’re stupid. We could see them plain as day through our sights (thermals). We would shoot them, and some would come out and drag the body away. We couldn’t shoot all of them, there’s not enough ammo. Some people thought they were smart and could walk trying to hide an AK-47 or RPG by holding it upright. SSG Mack (a Jamaican) wouldn’t let us shoot any rebels unless they shot at us, so even if they were pointing at us, we had to wait until they fired. Some didn’t fire. One guy walked right in front of our tank with an RPK (machinegun) and just kept walking by. By the time we could do anything, he was already behind a wall.
We were at the casualty collection point at one point. It was bad. Hummers ripped to bits, tires blown flat, charred. Some Hummers were pulling up with bleeding bodies piled up in the back. The 2-5 (1 CAV) guys were in soft skin vehicles, totally vulnerable. Each time they went out to bring back their casualties, they would get wounded. At the casualty collection point, the dead were brought into a tent. All of their body armor and gear was set outside of the tent and covered in blood. We asked the medics to cover the stuff so soldiers couldn’t see it. Iraqis were even driving up to Camp War Eagle with wounded, stranded, and dead soldiers in their personal cars to get the soldiers help,” Bowman told me.
I couldn’t believe these reports, everyone in or near the city at the time had contact. Based on the information that I had, which is a great deal, casualties must have been over 200, at least. Reports over Baghdad reported KIA in various places. Some rebels tried to approach police stations again in the night, and Camp War Eagle, and they were engaged and killed. I sat and listened to one unit report at intervals of several minutes for over an hour, “2 enemy destroyed,” and a few minutes later, “5 enemy destroyed,” and so on. It was unreal, and a constant trickle of death. There are many reports, and I can’t write about them all, but our air assets engaged rebels on foot and using vehicles. One AH-64 observed an 18-wheeler carrying rebels armed with RPGs. It fired a Hellfire missile into the group of 45 men, killing 27. Kiowa helicopters swooped overhead shooting rockets and firing .50 cal at RPG teams and hostile vehicles. It was unreal. SSG Daily of the scouts took HEAT ammo up to War Eagle so the tanks would have main gun ammo.
[2] A lot of our ammo was turned in. He escorted a cargo truck up to War Eagle to supply B Co. tanks. He heard that the scouts and Apache needed ammo, so he picked some up at War Eagle, and then dropped it off to them on his race back to our camp. Scouts and Apache were then full-up on all ammo. I was impressed with SSG Daily, and I called him several times to make sure he was OK on the road to War Eagle (about 10 miles away). He was OK, but they continued to get shot at.
I am going to stop there until tomorrow. I love you Nora and I’m going to call you now. I wonder if you’ve seen this on the news. I think they are keeping the news people away so we don’t look too bad. I just love you and miss you! I just want to come home to you!

The previous week, I distinctly remember joking along with another soldier near one of the new 1st CAV intelligence officers. The officer was looking nervous, he had lost his glow, and now darted his eyes across the room and listened intently at anything being said. I had a major concern that something was about to go wrong in Baghdad. You could feel it. I got countless warnings from my Iraqi friends telling me to be extra careful, that something was about to give. The city radiated this tension, but hardly anyone noticed. My greatest concern, and something that I had dreamed, was massive civil unrest – angry Iraqis pouring over the compound walls. That was the worst case scenario for myself. I was somewhat happy to be leaving Baghdad, because I really thought we were going to make it out of there before something big exploded. It was inevitable, I thought. So, I joked to the other soldier – so the major could hear – about my concerns. I was trying to voice my fear, but in a humorous way, and in a way that would tease the already manic major. ‘I don’t know man, but it is only a matter of time before the Hajjis rebel. We are talking mass chaos, Hajjis coming over the walls, storming the compound. You know, like that movie “Zulu” when the Brits have to fight off waves of Zulu natives.’ We laughed, and the major looked at us with wide eyes. I was out of luck though: The rebellion started before we could get home.
As mentioned earlier, many of our assets had been sent early to the port in Kuwait. We did this to reduce redeployment stress on our units. The scout helicopters on our base, our eyes in the sky, were sent to Kuwait and wrapped up for shipment. Some of the pilots were already back in the States. A large amount of ammunition was also returned to ammunition supply points in preparation for our impending road march to Kuwait. Weeks before our planned departure, we began to stand down and ship combat power out of Baghdad. There would be no transitional overlap of air assets (helicopters) while we rotated out of Baghdad. At this stage in the conflict, I had become a pragmatist, and respectful of the real dangers Iraq posed. I thought it was wishful thinking to believe the terrorists and insurgents operated on OUR schedule – that they would quit fighting long enough for us to leave, and then start fighting again once 1st CAV was in place. I was angry that the helicopters were gone, I thought it was idiotic to transfer our ammunition weeks before our planned departure, and I watched as the attitude shifted to “we’re going home!”
Shortly after the Kiowa scout helicopters vacated Rustimiya, our base became the target of more frequent (albeit inaccurate) mortar attacks. When Sadr’s thugs decided to sink Baghdad into chaos, our ground units had little capability to see the enemy around the corner without having our choppers. We were able to use air assets based out of northern Baghdad (around Balad) from the 4th Brigade, 1st Armored Division – but only a few aircraft were available. Their effective fighting time was reduced since they had to fly quite a distance to the fight (burning fuel reserves). This placed an added stress on the ground units who were lacking the often otherwise available air intelligence provided by the Kiowas. The few Apache attack helicopters that were on station were effective nonetheless, firing on enemy formations and even destroying a tractor-trailer full of armed men who thought they were safely concealed.
Many tanks were now shooting main gun rounds, and the ammunition was running low. Some main tank rounds had to be transported under fire to our subordinate tank units on the outskirts of Sadr City – their ammo having been already turned in in anticipation of redeploying. They would need the ammo, as tanks were now authorized to fire main gun rounds at those using RPG weapons.
One day, Foley was scheduled to return home as part of the advance party. That meant he would be going home earlier than the other soldiers. His job would be to prepare the garrison for our return. He would be allowed on the advance party list in recognition of his volunteering to come to Kuwait earlier than the others in 2003. He and I were not getting along well, mostly because I didn’t like the attitude he had developed. He was still like a brother though. He and I had laughed all night long at times, gone to dinner together, shit together. We were like brothers. I was a little jealous that he would be leaving soon, my dear roommate. So when he announced that he would be leaving for BIAP, I was upset. I thought we needed him with us more than ever, because next to me, he was the best RTO we had in the battalion. When it came time for him to go, he left while giving me the middle finger. He did it affectionately, but there was probably some spite intended. I can understand that. We were always around each other, more than most married people are – so we were bound to clash sometimes. I was worried about him going to BIAP, and worried about Captain Smalls too.
Foley and Smalls made it to BIAP, but it wasn’t long before the Division cancelled their flights home and put them on a truck back to Rustimiya. This was the absolute worst time to travel in Baghdad. The shit was hitting the fan, and Foley and Smalls would have to dash from the airport (along the infamous and deadly Route Irish) to Rustimiya. It wasn’t long before RPG gunners opened fire on their 5-ton truck. Green banners were flying from almost every house as the locals displayed their Shia pride. Foley made it back to our base safe, and somehow, I knew I would see him again. I would never wish anything bad on anyone, but I was glad Foley and Smalls had to come back. We needed them there in the fight, and I needed my good friend, and Small’s common sense. Especially in these times.
I took some items I wanted to mail back to Germany to the Army post office on Rustimiya. Many soldiers stood in long lines to have their boxes inspected. The inspectors missed the few captured I.D. cards and passports I stuffed in the pockets of some pants I was sending back. I wondered if the mail would even be shipped out with the natives going wild on the other side of the compound walls. I’ll never forget, as I stood in line, looking up at the sky to see two B-52 bombers circling Baghdad. They stayed there for quite a while, drawing (probably intentionally) huge, conspicuous circles in the sky with their contrails. This was serious.

[1] Our scout helicopters were6 April, 2004 1020

“Hey, we killed like 5 people!” Foley said as he came into our room laughing and waking me up from an afternoon nap following a long night of combat in Sadr City. Foley was up at the District Advisory Council building. Several tanks were put there to protect the building in Sadr City from Sadr Army insurgents. On Sunday night, Sadr City erupted into open urban war against American forces. One section from 1 CAV was pinned down in an ambush in the city without warning. They suffered heavy casualties, at least 7 dead. Our C Company went in to assist the section and came under extreme RPG fire and gunfire. One scout told me,
“Crusader tanks look like Swiss cheese.” Sergeant Patrick, a soldier I knew and competed with for the best grade in our American Government class, and a young, newly engaged soldier who just reenlisted, took a bullet through one of his eyes and into his skull, killing him instantly. He is actually a mechanic, but volunteered to roll out with the tanks into Sadr City as a loader. He was our only KIA in the Sadr City battle, and our first 3-32 AR KIA other than Santos who was attached to us from 2nd ACR from Fort Polk, Louisiana. We sustained other WIA, but nothing life threatening. We almost made it home without losing anyone. I don’t think anyone saw this coming, but I knew something bad was going to happen. Sadr has been quiet though until now. Bremer says an arrest warrant is out for his arrest now. Actually, this isn’t the first time Sadr has engaged U.S. troops. 1LT Solomon lost a soldier to an ambush back in September or so. CPA wouldn’t do anything about it. Now they are saying (months later) he’s (Sadr) going to be served. Hmmm.
“Lot’s of people are going to reenlist now,” Foley said. He’s grown more foolish since we got to Iraq and developed a sour arrogance because he drives for Major Ramirez. He doesn’t understand that Major Ramirez can’t do much for him or protect him from NCOs – because the major isn’t widely respected because of his reputation for unprofessional behavior, poor judgment, and laziness. Anyways, I heard what Foley said mindlessly and responded.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, knowing he already had an answer.
“People join the Army to kill shit, this is why people join the Army!” he said all hyped up. I thought about what he said, and thought,
‘Didn’t he join the Army because he screwed up his life with drugs and crime? He didn’t join the Army to kill, he joined to escape reality,’ I thought. I didn’t want to tell him that though. I had scolded him a few days before for sleeping instead of working on his truck during the day, and openly using the major as a defense against NCOs. Some see me as his handler, or say he takes after me, or I influenced him to be more assertive, but my work ethic didn’t rub off on him, only the ambitious part. ‘You’ve turned into a real piece of work Foley. You’ve managed to get worse since we got here,’ he looked at me thinking I was joking. ‘Not only have you managed to piss-off most of the NCOs you depend on to get promoted, you’ve developed a reputation as an unreliable, complaining little prick. You’ve developed a great deal of character, congrats,’ I said coldly, but it had to be said. He stopped smiling, realizing I was serious.
“Whatever,” he said and continued watching a DVD on a portable DVD player.
When he came in bragging about the shootings yesterday, I almost got up and punched him. ‘What happened?’ I asked.
“Stiller got a few. An RPG almost hit our truck. He saw where it came from and tried to fire with his M-16, but it kept jamming. I told him to use the M240, but you could tell he was hesitating to use it. More fire came, and he opened up on the M240 and fired over 150 rounds. Sergeant Gonzales was in front of the up-armored Hummer in one of the command tanks. He traversed the tank turret towards the man shooting the RPGs, but before he could shoot him, he saw the man take 5 bullets and collapse after Stiller shot him. Sergeant Hugo also killed some Sadr guys,” he said all excited.
‘This isn’t a fucking joke,’ I told him. ‘Do you know or even comprehend what is going on? Sadr succeeded in starting a small scale civil war. Basrah and several other Shia cities are in disorder. They stormed a Spanish barracks,’ I explained to him.
“Well, I guess the Spanish should have supported us then, see if they pull their troops out now,” he spouted off. “I say kill them all, we can take them all on,” he kept saying.
‘You’re an idiot,’ I told him. ‘Am I surrounded by idiots? Does no one realize what this means for the future of Iraq, for the Army, for the Middle East?! These people are so blind.’
“It doesn’t matter to me, I’ll be out of here soon.”
‘Well, for someone who wants to go Special Forces and kill people, you sure want out of here fast,’ I observed.
“Well, I’m tired,” he whimpered.
‘Everyone is fucking tired, about everyone works a lot harder than you do, tankers, scouts, mortars,’ I replied. I was disappointed with him lately.
So much has happened since Palm Sunday. Many of the concerns that I’ve had over the past year are starting to become real problems. Blind optimism has distorted the picture of what’s going on on the ground to the point of disregard for reality.
Sunday, we took the new sergeant major from 1st CAV on a patrol before going to Al-Rasheed Hotel. Driving through the neighborhoods, many children ran alongside our trucks and waved or begged for candy. Most everyone waved and smiled. We passed one of the Catholic churches and the people smiled and waved with palms in their hands. As we turned a corner near the 6 lane freeway, a man started gesturing to our vehicles. The first two vehicles drove by, but SGM Walker and I stopped to see what he wanted. “BOMB, BOMB,” he said and used his arm to depict an artillery round. He seemed eager to show us the bomb, and worried. We immediately set up security positions around the suspected bomb site.
Sure enough, it was a bomb, but we were unsure if it was left over from the war. It was sitting in the trash next to an exit and had 4 wires leading away from it and into the trash. It was an artillery shell, fused and intact. ‘See, Iraqis will let you know sometimes if bombs are around,’ I told the 1st CAV driver. ‘You need to pay attention to what they are trying to tell you, you saw how 2 vehicles just went by without stopping.’ A lot of soldiers complain about Iraqis placing bombs, but they don’t realize Iraqis can’t just contact U.S. forces right away and connectivity to the IPs is poor. Many times they feel threatened by the terrorists who set the bombs. Of course, there are cases when terrorists have warned everyone in an area to avoid a spot on the road, or even offered money to place bombs on their property around roads. We’ve even arrested farmers who have been reported by other Iraqis to be accepting money from Wahabee terrorists.
On this Sunday, the friendly Iraqi man helped up find a bomb. We called a security team out and they would secure the place until EOD arrived to remove the bomb safely. We got on the highway and decided to move on to the Al-Rasheed.
At the Al-Rasheed, we ate lunch alongside British and American civilian contractors. “What are all these civilians doing here?” the 1 CAV guy asked (SPC Bennett).
‘I don’t think they’re doing much other than making a lot of money,’ I replied. Some skinny British contractor looked over at me.
“Yeah, it doesn’t sound like they accomplished much,” he responded.
‘We should ask one what they’ve done for Iraq today,’ I said. The British guy darted glances nervously at us. I had talked to a Scottish ex-soldier now working as a humanitarian aid worker for USAID. Through a thick Scottish accent he said that progress in Iraq had been minimal, and warned us about the growing dangers in the urban areas.
We walked around the luxury hotel and I noticed some round-looking, fat American women with bleach blond hair in curls, bad makeup and denim shirts and blue jeans and tennis shoes. They wore USAID t-shirts underneath and talked to each other in thick southern accents. ‘I genuinely doubt they possess anything other than Texas-style logic,’ I thought to myself. Maybe I’m prejudiced, but I don’t believe many of these people possess the intellectual capacity to understand the complexities of Iraq. Not only that, but many of these rednecks deal with these Iraqis as if they are inferior or animals. I think this attitude has alienated many Iraqis and caused resentment in private. Perhaps some of this resentment is manifesting itself in the form of inaction on the part of the Iraqi authority figures to stop violent demonstrations.
Bennett and I were standing outside the Al-Rasheed hotel by our Hummer when a large explosion went off. Usually downtown you’ll hear random explosions during the midday. ‘Grab your vest,’ I said immediately. He started to put it on. ‘No, you don’t have to put it on, just keep it close,’ I explained. All you had to do is look at the side of the hotel to see the danger in the area is real. A dozen holes are punched into the concrete and glass sides of the building. When it was time to leave, Walker said we were going to go through downtown and through the tunnel I was attacked at in October. ‘Are you sure you want to go that way? There may be some demonstrations,’ I said to SGM Walker. I actually said this after speaking with our scout escort, SSG Sill.
“Why are we going through downtown when the highway is right here?” he asked me in a concerned manner.
“Don’t be scared,” SGM Walker responded with irritation, “We’re going through the city.”
‘That’s easy to say, you’ve never been in an attack,’ I thought. Everyone wants to play with fire until they actually get killed or burned. The scouts and I looked at each other and shook our heads. I looked over at Bennett as he got in the truck and told him, ‘We’re about to go into the city, and it’s like an anthill. If anyone threatens you, shoot them. Only if you feel your life is threatened. I had one guy yelling at me about Osama bin Laden at the same place. I just ignored him. If I confronted him, it would have caused a scene, so you have to pick your battles carefully,’ I said to him. ‘Most people are good here, but some are simply deranged.’
“Roger, corporal,” he responded. When we exited CPA, I noticed a poster of Al-Sadr right outside of the gate, and then at other locations along the road. His posters always depict an angry-looking Sadr, with an orange, stormy background. We crossed the Tigris River and moved into the traffic circle and tunnel entrance. Luckily traffic was low, but I held my M-16 rifle out of my window and leveled it across the street. I was driving with my left hand, and holding my M-16 in my right, the rifle sitting across my chest. I had to be careful not to let the M-16 magazine catch one of the three spokes on the steering wheel. I kept honking my horn and blocking traffic until the tunnel traffic cleared. Once traffic cleared, we gunned our engines and flew into the tunnel to avoid any attack. I think about when we were attacked there, and the several points along the overpass where bricks and debris flew from. Of course, one person threw a grenade, but several others were throwing rocks and bricks. You never forget the blast from the attack though – you just put it away. There’s a feeling you get during an attack, and it’s not entirely fear, but a feeling, a feeling that the devil is dancing about you. Every time I go near that tunnel, I am filled with hatred for that tunnel and the fact that we insist on going through that tunnel. It’s extremely agitating.
We passed through the tunnel, and continued blocking the main road all the way to the Ministry of Oil. You could tell traffic was backing up for miles behind us. I regret having to cause all that disorder. I noticed a fruit stand on the side of the road with another poster of Sadr. ‘I’ve noticed more posters of Sadr lately,’ I told SGM Walker. He nodded.
We returned to camp, and I went to call you and my dad. SSG Little then came and told me he’s got to take the phone. I thought he was just taking the phone for a business call – but he disconnected it. I went into the TOC and noticed it was full of our key leaders. SGM Walker was sitting in his chair with CSM Brown standing by his side, and their facial expressions alerted me that something was wrong. I quietly asked SGM Walker what was wrong. He shook his head. ‘Hostile situation?’ I whispered. He nodded, “Yes.”
I listened to the radio traffic and heard “2 KIA, 3 wounded,” and more casualty reports. ‘KIA, what the hell is going on?’ I wondered, totally shocked. LT Orr told me Crusader Company (C Co.) had 1 KIA: Sergeant Patrick. I immediately became quiet, and remembered Patrick as my opponent in class in Friedberg. I quickly went over his profile in my head. Young, short, quiet, competent, competitive in class, smart, just reenlisted, just engaged. Now…just dead. You can’t help but think, ‘Live by the sword, die by the sword.’ You can tell you’ve been in Baghdad a long time when you hear a conversation like this:
“You know small Patrick?” Major Stanton asked me.
‘Roger, Sir. How did he die?” I asked.
“He got shot in the eye and died instantly,” he told me.
‘Well, that’s good,’ I said. He nodded and agreed,
“At least he didn’t suffer.”
At about 1900, I had to get on the radios and conduct the information management to assist Major Stanton. You know things are serious when we have to get on the radios. As reports started coming into me, I immediately realized urban combat had broken out. I also knew the situation was serious because of the expression on Major Stanton’s face. I have never seen him as worried as he appeared to me to be. There was a reason to be worried, a large portion of Baghdad was slipping into chaos.
On our net, you heard excited yelling and machine gun fire. The situation was that a unit from 1 CAV came under ambush and took heavy casualties. Our C Co. went in to rescue the pinned down unit (people blocked them in using makeshift roadblocks from scrap metal and furniture). I couldn’t believe it. I believed civil unrest was going to be a new threat in Iraq based on our treatment of Iraqis and our handling of Iraq – but I figured it would be months from now. I used to joke about the movie “Zulu,” Where the Africans take on a British garrison and nearly overwhelm the camp – purely because there are so many of the Africans. Many months ago, I thought about the worse case in Iraq, and I always said public unrest and rebellion, or Camp Santos (our camp now called Camp Santos, not Muleskinner) would have angry Iraqis at our gates. That foresight almost became reality. In fact, I’ve learned over the past year or more to trust my foresight, because I notice time and time again many things unfold just as I said they would – even when everyone said it was unlikely.
During Sunday night, our tanks fired main gun rounds and were machine gunning gunmen in the streets. The fighters engaged the tanks and other U.S. vehicles with machinegun fire and a heavy volume of RPG fire. C Co. tanks repeatedly were hit with RPG and gunfire. People came out into the streets to throw bricks at tanks. That battle saw the death of Patrick and the wounding of others. Luckily, the tanks took repeated RPG strikes without a problem. Knight 6 and Major Ramirez went to the District Advisory Council building, which was seized back by force from the Sadr insurgents. That was when Stiller engaged the RPG man. Iraqi police stations also fell to insurgents, but our own forces attacked and reestablished control over the police stations.
I spoke mainly to our units securing Canal Road. That would be Apache Troop, mortars, and scouts. I never imagined that I would be RTO during combat operations (sustained offensive, defensive operations). I further never imagined that our scouts would be pinned down and “black” (20% or less) on ammunition. “Knight X-Ray, this is Shadow 6, we are black on ammo!” LT Sheppard yelled as machinegun fire went off in the background. “KNIGHT X-RAY, CONTACT!” he yelled frantically. I took a deep breath. “KNIGHT X-RAY…RPG!” he said extremely excited in almost hysteria.
‘Damn!’ I thought. I kept talking to him and talking to Apache’s commanding officer about getting ammunition to the scouts. They had gunfire coming from both sides of the road, including an RPG that just flew overhead. Rounds were flying around and overhead, bouncing off the nearby pedestrian bridge. My greatest concern was getting ammo to the scouts and collecting casualties. The hysteria and massive, massive amount of gunfire heard in the background led me to hold my breath every time I asked for a situation report. Thank God, despite the very real danger and excitement, no one was hurt. Sniper fire was also reported.
Eventually, Apache Co. deployed his entire troop along our portion of Canal Road. (** Just now at 2300, two mortars exploded as I write this – I think it’s at the camp entrance **) He was able to resupply the scouts with ammo and assist in returning fire. They were taking fire from the mosque across the road. Eventually, we were able to get AH-64 attack helicopters and Kiowa helos over the area. Choppers had to come in from Taji because 2 ACR sent all their helicopters back to Kuwait to go home. Our eyes in the sky were plucked out.
[1] Why? Complacency. Just two days ago, SSG Newsome was telling everyone they had to turn in all ammunition except 2 magazines (60 rounds). ‘Well, I’m not going to turn my rounds in, and if they ask, I’ll tell them I shot some rounds at the range,’ I told him.
“Well, you’ve got to turn the rounds in to HHC,” he replied.
‘I haven’t forgotten I’m in Iraq, and it’s dangerous to think 60 rounds are enough to protect me reroute to Kuwait. If they have a problem with it, they can talk to SGM Walker,’ I explained. Sure enough, SSG Newsome found himself under fire in Sadr City a few days later.
Apache and the scouts were engaged with the rebels in a firefight. We then pulled 2 tanks from Sadr City to assist the scouts and Apache. The situation sounded serious on the radio, gunfire erupting and men yelling. I was almost certain we were going to take casualties – but THANK GOD we didn’t.
* Foley just came in. He just talked to his dad on the phone and found out his dog died. I think he’s going to cry. “She’s like family to us, I’ve had her forever,” he said slouching in his chair looking depressed. It’s a bit strange that he’s so broken about an animal dying, and almost jubilant about the rebels that were killed and are still being killed – and the countless civilian casualties and collateral damage.
Strange. I don’t rejoice in any of these deaths, even if they are enemy. The only real time I’m satisfied at the news of a death is when bombers or attackers accidentally kill themselves, as happens every now and then. Right now, even as I write this, people are being gunned down only a few miles away. Mortar rounds just fell on our camp, and over 200 people are dead just in Baghdad. 8 or more U.S. soldiers are dead, and they came to secure Iraq, they were from 1 CAV, and only been here a few weeks – if that.
I don’t even think people in the States understand Iraq is a war zone right now, and it was an outright battlefield only 24 hours ago. Right now Marines are marching into Fallujah, violence has broken out in the south as Spanish, British, and Italian troops all engage and kill rebels, not to mention the Poles, Ukrainians, etc.
I just talked to Bowman about what happened while he was in Sadr City during the battle. “We moved in and came under RPG fire and small arms. We got hit, but it didn’t do anything to the tank. One of our guys shot a man with an RPG out of a balcony. SSG Mack was tank commander, and he was scared as soon as he heard shots fired. He had us close all the hatches and sit stationary for about 30 minutes taking fire.
As darkness fell, gunmen would sneak around corners or crouch down and run across the streets thinking we couldn’t see them, but they’re stupid. We could see them plain as day through our sights (thermals). We would shoot them, and some would come out and drag the body away. We couldn’t shoot all of them, there’s not enough ammo. Some people thought they were smart and could walk trying to hide an AK-47 or RPG by holding it upright. SSG Mack (a Jamaican) wouldn’t let us shoot any rebels unless they shot at us, so even if they were pointing at us, we had to wait until they fired. Some didn’t fire. One guy walked right in front of our tank with an RPK (machinegun) and just kept walking by. By the time we could do anything, he was already behind a wall.
We were at the casualty collection point at one point. It was bad. Hummers ripped to bits, tires blown flat, charred. Some Hummers were pulling up with bleeding bodies piled up in the back. The 2-5 (1 CAV) guys were in soft skin vehicles, totally vulnerable. Each time they went out to bring back their casualties, they would get wounded. At the casualty collection point, the dead were brought into a tent. All of their body armor and gear was set outside of the tent and covered in blood. We asked the medics to cover the stuff so soldiers couldn’t see it. Iraqis were even driving up to Camp War Eagle with wounded, stranded, and dead soldiers in their personal cars to get the soldiers help,” Bowman told me.
I couldn’t believe these reports, everyone in or near the city at the time had contact. Based on the information that I had, which is a great deal, casualties must have been over 200, at least. Reports over Baghdad reported KIA in various places. Some rebels tried to approach police stations again in the night, and Camp War Eagle, and they were engaged and killed. I sat and listened to one unit report at intervals of several minutes for over an hour, “2 enemy destroyed,” and a few minutes later, “5 enemy destroyed,” and so on. It was unreal, and a constant trickle of death. There are many reports, and I can’t write about them all, but our air assets engaged rebels on foot and using vehicles. One AH-64 observed an 18-wheeler carrying rebels armed with RPGs. It fired a Hellfire missile into the group of 45 men, killing 27. Kiowa helicopters swooped overhead shooting rockets and firing .50 cal at RPG teams and hostile vehicles. It was unreal. SSG Daily of the scouts took HEAT ammo up to War Eagle so the tanks would have main gun ammo.
[2] A lot of our ammo was turned in. He escorted a cargo truck up to War Eagle to supply B Co. tanks. He heard that the scouts and Apache needed ammo, so he picked some up at War Eagle, and then dropped it off to them on his race back to our camp. Scouts and Apache were then full-up on all ammo. I was impressed with SSG Daily, and I called him several times to make sure he was OK on the road to War Eagle (about 10 miles away). He was OK, but they continued to get shot at.
I am going to stop there until tomorrow. I love you Nora and I’m going to call you now. I wonder if you’ve seen this on the news. I think they are keeping the news people away so we don’t look too bad. I just love you and miss you! I just want to come home to you!

The previous week, I distinctly remember joking along with another soldier near one of the new 1st CAV intelligence officers. The officer was looking nervous, he had lost his glow, and now darted his eyes across the room and listened intently at anything being said. I had a major concern that something was about to go wrong in Baghdad. You could feel it. I got countless warnings from my Iraqi friends telling me to be extra careful, that something was about to give. The city radiated this tension, but hardly anyone noticed. My greatest concern, and something that I had dreamed, was massive civil unrest – angry Iraqis pouring over the compound walls. That was the worst case scenario for myself. I was somewhat happy to be leaving Baghdad, because I really thought we were going to make it out of there before something big exploded. It was inevitable, I thought. So, I joked to the other soldier – so the major could hear – about my concerns. I was trying to voice my fear, but in a humorous way, and in a way that would tease the already manic major. ‘I don’t know man, but it is only a matter of time before the Hajjis rebel. We are talking mass chaos, Hajjis coming over the walls, storming the compound. You know, like that movie “Zulu” when the Brits have to fight off waves of Zulu natives.’ We laughed, and the major looked at us with wide eyes. I was out of luck though: The rebellion started before we could get home.
As mentioned earlier, many of our assets had been sent early to the port in Kuwait. We did this to reduce redeployment stress on our units. The scout helicopters on our base, our eyes in the sky, were sent to Kuwait and wrapped up for shipment. Some of the pilots were already back in the States. A large amount of ammunition was also returned to ammunition supply points in preparation for our impending road march to Kuwait. Weeks before our planned departure, we began to stand down and ship combat power out of Baghdad. There would be no transitional overlap of air assets (helicopters) while we rotated out of Baghdad. At this stage in the conflict, I had become a pragmatist, and respectful of the real dangers Iraq posed. I thought it was wishful thinking to believe the terrorists and insurgents operated on OUR schedule – that they would quit fighting long enough for us to leave, and then start fighting again once 1st CAV was in place. I was angry that the helicopters were gone, I thought it was idiotic to transfer our ammunition weeks before our planned departure, and I watched as the attitude shifted to “we’re going home!”
Shortly after the Kiowa scout helicopters vacated Rustimiya, our base became the target of more frequent (albeit inaccurate) mortar attacks. When Sadr’s thugs decided to sink Baghdad into chaos, our ground units had little capability to see the enemy around the corner without having our choppers. We were able to use air assets based out of northern Baghdad (around Balad) from the 4th Brigade, 1st Armored Division – but only a few aircraft were available. Their effective fighting time was reduced since they had to fly quite a distance to the fight (burning fuel reserves). This placed an added stress on the ground units who were lacking the often otherwise available air intelligence provided by the Kiowas. The few Apache attack helicopters that were on station were effective nonetheless, firing on enemy formations and even destroying a tractor-trailer full of armed men who thought they were safely concealed.
Many tanks were now shooting main gun rounds, and the ammunition was running low. Some main tank rounds had to be transported under fire to our subordinate tank units on the outskirts of Sadr City – their ammo having been already turned in in anticipation of redeploying. They would need the ammo, as tanks were now authorized to fire main gun rounds at those using RPG weapons.
One day, Foley was scheduled to return home as part of the advance party. That meant he would be going home earlier than the other soldiers. His job would be to prepare the garrison for our return. He would be allowed on the advance party list in recognition of his volunteering to come to Kuwait earlier than the others in 2003. He and I were not getting along well, mostly because I didn’t like the attitude he had developed. He was still like a brother though. He and I had laughed all night long at times, gone to dinner together, shit together. We were like brothers. I was a little jealous that he would be leaving soon, my dear roommate. So when he announced that he would be leaving for BIAP, I was upset. I thought we needed him with us more than ever, because next to me, he was the best RTO we had in the battalion. When it came time for him to go, he left while giving me the middle finger. He did it affectionately, but there was probably some spite intended. I can understand that. We were always around each other, more than most married people are – so we were bound to clash sometimes. I was worried about him going to BIAP, and worried about Captain Smalls too.
Foley and Smalls made it to BIAP, but it wasn’t long before the Division cancelled their flights home and put them on a truck back to Rustimiya. This was the absolute worst time to travel in Baghdad. The shit was hitting the fan, and Foley and Smalls would have to dash from the airport (along the infamous and deadly Route Irish) to Rustimiya. It wasn’t long before RPG gunners opened fire on their 5-ton truck. Green banners were flying from almost every house as the locals displayed their Shia pride. Foley made it back to our base safe, and somehow, I knew I would see him again. I would never wish anything bad on anyone, but I was glad Foley and Smalls had to come back. We needed them there in the fight, and I needed my good friend, and Small’s common sense. Especially in these times.
I took some items I wanted to mail back to Germany to the Army post office on Rustimiya. Many soldiers stood in long lines to have their boxes inspected. The inspectors missed the few captured I.D. cards and passports I stuffed in the pockets of some pants I was sending back. I wondered if the mail would even be shipped out with the natives going wild on the other side of the compound walls. I’ll never forget, as I stood in line, looking up at the sky to see two B-52 bombers circling Baghdad. They stayed there for quite a while, drawing (probably intentionally) huge, conspicuous circles in the sky with their contrails. This was serious.

[1] Our scout helicopters were vital to our operations, but in the wishful thinking leading up to our redeployment to Kuwait, the helos were sent back to Kuwait before any air replacement overlapped with them. We lost our eyes in the sky, and no one was there to replace them. Some claimed the helos on duty in Taji were to replace our helos, but that was unrealistic and choppers form Taji couldn’t stay in the area as long due to fuel limitations.
[2] Much of our unit’s ammunition was being packed up and placed in storage positions so we could account for it before we left for Kuwait. This was done to streamline the exit to Kuwait. In training circumstances, this would be expected. In a hostile environment, it proved a sad miscalculation. Incidents such as these illustrate the true lack of understanding leaders had of the real situation on the ground. vital to our operations, but in the wishful thinking leading up to our redeployment to Kuwait, the helos were sent back to Kuwait before any air replacement overlapped with them. We lost our eyes in the sky, and no one was there to replace them. Some claimed the helos on duty in Taji were to replace our helos, but that was unrealistic and choppers form Taji couldn’t stay in the area as long due to fuel limitations.
[2] Much of our unit’s ammunition was being packed up and placed in storage positions so we could account for it before we left for Kuwait. This was done to streamline the exit to Kuwait. In training circumstances, this would be expected. In a hostile environment, it proved a sad miscalculation. Incidents such as these illustrate the true lack of understanding leaders had of the real situation on the ground.