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.
“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.
posted by American, Interrupted at 10:20 AM
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