“Do it, motherfucker!” Green continued to yell. “Come on, motherfucker, do it!” Squad leaders and others leapt to separate the two. As soldiers pulled Green away and led him off, he shouted behind him, “You are driving me crazy! You are driving us all fucking crazy!” Green pushed his rescuers away and stormed off, hurling expletives as he went. Before leaving the room, he swung a kick at a pallet of one-liter water bottles, but he missed completely, the momentum of his leg throwing him up and over, and he landed on his back with a thud. “Goddammit!” he shouted as he pulled himself up and continued to curse as he sulked off. Some soldiers rushed off to console Green, while others talked to Gallagher, trying to convince him that Green was a unique case who needed special handling.
Gallagher had tried to be tolerant considering everything 1st Platoon had seen, but this was way over the line. He went to First Sergeant Laskoski to get Green removed from the platoon. “I required him to take all of his belongings and all of his gear and get it out of our platoon area, because I didn’t want him associating with any of my soldiers,” said Gallagher. After hearing about the altercation, Laskoski gave Green an administrative job up at the TOC where he didn’t have much contact with the rest of 1st Platoon.
As part of a broader battalion strategy, Bravo started running more frequent missions to the west, toward a small town called Rushdi Mullah. Lieutenant Norton and Captain Goodwin planned a platoonwide mission into the nearby town of Al-Toraq, which is about three miles northwest of Yusufiyah. Norton and Goodwin would go with the main effort and Gallagher would stay behind with the support and relief element. They would push out from TCP5 and head down Mullah Fayyad Highway. The main element was to move into town while the support element would pull off and wait until the mission was over.
Reviewing the map, Goodwin told Gallagher, “You are good up to this point on Mullah Fayyad Highway. But at this intersection, turn right and stay off the road. We will call you. Head east and we will link up with you there.” He lost count, he said, of how many times he told Gallagher: “Do not drive on Mullah Fayyad Highway past this point. If you go past this point, you’re going to die.”
They headed out after nightfall and a firefight took place. Some insurgents shot at them. They returned fire. Nobody hit anybody, but the platoon searched several houses and detained three men. As they were leaving, Norton called Gallagher to meet at the linkup point. Through his night-vision goggles, however, Goodwin could see vehicles way past the no-go line and headed in the wrong direction. A soldier in Gallagher’s convoy said, “He took us down this road, up to these fields, and everywhere in the world. We’re driving Humvees through fields in the middle of the night like a bunch of morons. It was a mess.”
“Rob,” Goodwin called over the radio, “where you at?”
“I don’t know,” Gallagher responded. “I’m lost.” Goodwin couldn’t tell which road, if any, Gallagher was on either, but he could see the convoy crawling back and forth. Goodwin was getting worried, and angry. They were overdue for the pickup, and now the men were just sitting there, a juicy, stationary target. A mosque’s speaker system crackled to life.
Goodwin’s translator listened and said, “That is not a call to prayer. It is telling people that we are here. They know we are here.” Goodwin radioed some Apache helicopters that he had on call.
“Hey, can you see my Humvees?” he asked.
“Roger,” came the reply.
“Can you direct them to our linkup point?” Goodwin gave the Apaches the grid coordinates, and over the next couple of minutes, the helicopters guided Gallagher back to Goodwin.
As they were waiting, Goodwin said to Norton, “Were we not perfectly clear?” Both Goodwin and Norton had seen enough. They knew that Edwards had been displeased with Gallagher from the start, but after a potentially life-endangering operational screwup like that, Goodwin decided he was not taking any chances.
Goodwin told Laskoski, “Hey, go talk to Sergeant Major. I need another platoon sergeant.” Laskoski responded that that would not be a problem, since Edwards had wanted Gallagher gone within the first three days.
Even before Goodwin demanded a new sergeant, Edwards had been telling Brigade Sergeant Major Stall that things were still not clicking with 1st Platoon. Edwards wondered who else was available. Stall had an idea. How about Fenlason? Jeff Fenlason was a thirty-seven-year-old sergeant first class from Springfield, Massachusetts, who had just moved from the brigade MiTT office to its Civilian Affairs shop up at Striker. How about him? He’d just had a little problem with his previous boss, which is what facilitated his most recent move, but overall he had a reputation as a good logistician, an organized administrator, and a meticulous planner. He was Ranger qualified and he had been a drill instructor, so he knew a thing or two about discipline. And he’d done a good job in 2004 and 2005 as first sergeant setting up Echo Company, First Strike’s support company, so he was already a known entity to the rest of the battalion. Kunk, in fact, had known Fenlason since 1993 and considered him very much what Kunk liked to call “an engaged leader.”
Blaisdell and Gebhardt thought 2nd and 3rd Platoons had a couple of strong staff sergeants who could step up, but after Miller, Edwards felt 1st Platoon needed a sergeant first class. Blaisdell even volunteered to take the platoon, which might have happened, Edwards told him, if he wasn’t running 3rd Platoon without a lieutenant.
Several times throughout the winter, First Sergeant Laskoski had also offered to take over 1st Platoon. In several regards, he seemed like an ideal candidate. He had been with this deployment from the beginning, so he had extensive combat experience, and he had seen firsthand all of the losses that 1st Platoon had suffered. But as an outsider, he also maintained a certain psychological distance that Gallagher and Miller didn’t have. He felt the losses that they had suffered, but he did not dwell on them. The men may not have loved Laskoski, but they respected him. “I tried my damnedest to take that damn platoon,” he recalled. “I don’t think any of the platoon sergeants that they had made them understand what the hell they were doing there, and how important it was. They just needed the right frigging dude in there.” The higher ranks discussed the merits of Laskoski versus Fenlason, but they decided to keep Laskoski where he was and put Fenlason, who had never been a platoon sergeant before, down with 1st Platoon.
Second Squad leader Chris Payne had gotten to know Fenlason when they were stationed at Fort Campbell together during OIF1 and found him to be a canny careerist, always aware of résumé gaps and how best to fill them. Payne had just arrived on base in August 2003, and even though it was late in the 101st Airborne Division’s first rotation of the war, he was eager to get to Iraq.
“Whoa, slow down,” Fenlason said. “What’s your situation?” Payne, then a sergeant, told him that he had just gotten married and he had a child at home, but he had talked to his wife and she supported his desire to deploy. Fenlason wanted to know if Payne had been to Primary Leadership Development Course (PLDC), a school he needed to attend to get promoted again. Payne hadn’t. Fenlason told him, “You need to go to PLDC now so that you have the chance to get promoted if the opportunity comes about.” And that, said Payne, taught him a lot about Fenlason’s perspective. “He’s very much, ‘I’m going to make sure that I have my ducks in a row, so that if the opportunity for me to advance comes along, I will be ready for it.’”
Fenlason’s briefing from Stall was short but direct. Stall told him his charter was to fix a platoon that had been hit by several leaders’ deaths and was now suffering from low morale and bad discipline.
“Go down there and just do the basics,” Stall told Fenlason. “Don’t pull anything special, don’t try any heroics, just get the platoon back on its feet.”
“What’s the issue with the platoon sergeant down there now?” Fenlason asked.
“Sergeant Gallagher is all about Sergeant Gallagher, and not necessarily taking care of the platoon,” Stall replied. “Go do what you do.” Fenlason, who nev
er betrayed any doubts about his own abilities, leadership style, or decisions, knew he was up to the job. “I knew what I needed to do and I knew how to do it,” he said. “It wasn’t difficult. I knew exactly where we needed to go and exactly how we were going to get there.”
If the battalion’s decision to plug Gallagher back into 1st Platoon had raised eyebrows, the brigade’s decision to tap Fenlason was downright shocking. The Army tries to cultivate a culture of universal proficiency, but the fact remains that not every officer or NCO is good at every task. Among the most persistent skills split is that between “line guys” and “staff guys.” Fenlason was the consummate staff guy. He had spent most of his career in support positions and did not have any combat experience. Before this deployment, his only foreign posting during his fifteen-year career had been a one-year tour to South Korea in the late 1990s. He’d spent all of OIF1 at Fort Campbell as 2nd Brigade’s rear detachment NCO in charge and the four months of this deployment up at Striker.
“He helped stand up Echo Company as their first sergeant,” commented HHC commander Shawn Umbrell. “But he didn’t have a platoon for very specific reasons. Some guys are not platoon sergeants for a reason. And now we’re sticking him in there, in combat? It didn’t make any sense.” Charlie’s First Sergeant Largent, as usual, was blunter. “The reason we take NCOs and put them in jobs away from soldiers is generally because they can’t lead soldiers,” he said. “You can type fast, you can do your computer stuff, you can follow orders, and that’s great. But following orders and being an effective leader of men in combat are so far apart it’s not even funny. Fenlason should never, ever, have been put in charge of soldiers in combat.”
Some members of 1st Platoon said the ongoing shuffle of platoon sergeants was just proof that the chain of command was not taking 1st Platoon’s problems seriously. “I’m just a sergeant,” remarked John Diem, “but I would say this: If we had really gotten what the Army calls ‘inspired leadership,’ if someone had honestly taken the time to seriously fix 1st Platoon, they wouldn’t have just sent a sergeant first class with a gun to his head to do it without any support. They wouldn’t have just sent a lone lieutenant to make the impossible happen. They have a lot of tools and a lot of flexibility up there that they did not use. Because the ‘basics’ shit wasn’t working. And when soldiers start to feel isolated, throwing a new platoon sergeant down there is just going to isolate them more. And if every time you go down to see your soldiers, you tell them that they’re fucked up, then guess what? They don’t want to see you anymore. And they will do just enough to not get your attention. But they aren’t going to trust in you as a commander, and as a leader you have no influence. And when the formal chain of command breaks down, the informal command steps up, and then you are entering dangerous territory, because nobody has any idea where the informal leaders will take the group.”
Gallagher knew that his superiors didn’t think he was getting off to a strong start. He knew that something needed to be done, and he was entertaining several different ideas about how to fix the situation. On February 1, 2006, a little over a month since Gallagher had returned to 1st Platoon, First Sergeant Laskoski called him into his office. Gallagher was expecting a frank discussion about how to knock things back on course. But when he entered, Sergeant Major Edwards and Staff Sergeant Miller were both there already as well. Obviously, something was afoot. Edwards and Laskoski got straight to the point: Miller and Gallagher were being moved to new jobs, effective immediately.
In his final analysis, Gallagher felt he, and the platoon, were being punished because he wouldn’t stop telling his superiors things they didn’t want to hear.
“Essentially,” he concluded, “it was easier to move me than to satisfy me.”
Traffic Control Point 1. Bravo Company seized this house on the corner of Routes Sportster and Peggy in November 2005 and turned it into a patrol base. (Courtesy of Christopher Thielenhaus)
A Bravo Company soldier on the way from Yusufiyah to Rushdi Mullah, walking across a pipe spanning a dry, overgrown canal bed. (Courtesy of Phil Blaisdell)
Specialist James Barker embraces Sergeant Kenith Casica at the JSB Patrol Base, October 2005. The grill was the only kitchen the platoon had. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
Lieutenant Benjamin Britt, leader of Bravo Company’s 1st Platoon. Behind Britt is Staff Sergeant Travis Nelson. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
An Iraqi boy placing an IED—several small artillery shells in a yellow plastic bag—into a cardboard box. The boy was unaware that a U.S. soldier was in the vehicle behind him photographing the act. (Courtesy of Phil Blaisdell)
Wreckage of a 2nd Platoon Humvee that hit an IED on December 19, 2005, driven by Specialist Noah Galloway. (Courtesy of Christopher Thielenhaus)
Captain John Goodwin, Bravo Company Commander, outside at FOB Yusufiyah. (Courtesy of Christopher Thielenhaus)
Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Kunk, commander of the 1-502nd Infantry Regiment during its 2005-2006 deployment to Iraq, arriving for the trial of Steven Green in Paducah, Kentucky, in April 2009. (AP)
Staff Sergeant Phil Miller, 1st Platoon’s platoon sergeant from the beginning of deployment in October 2005 until early February 2006. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
Sergeant First Class Rob Gallagher was brought on board in late December 2005 to put the ailing 1st Platoon back on course. He lasted barely thirty days. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
Sergeant First Class Phil Blaisdell (left), platoon sergeant for Bravo Company’s 3rd Platoon, and Staff Sergeant Christopher Arnold, a 3rd Platoon squad leader. Both Blaisdell and Arnold fought in the February 1 firefight at Rushdi Mullah, a skirmish that brought new attention to Bravo’s western territory. (Courtesy of Phil Blaisdell)
Staff Sergeant Eric Lauzier, leader of 3rd Squad, 1st Platoon, Bravo Company. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
Sergeant Anthony Yribe at Fort Campbell before deployment. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
Sergeant John Diem, Alpha Team leader of 2nd Squad, 1st Platoon, Bravo Company. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
Private Justin Watt on patrol with 3rd Squad. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
First Lieutenant Tim Norton (left) and Sergeant First Class Jeffrey Fenlason, 1st Platoon’s platoon leader and platoon sergeant. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
Private First Class Christopher Barnes (left) and Private First Class Steven Green. (Courtesy of Eric Lauzier)
Identification cards issued by the Iraqi government show Fakhriah Taha Mahsin al-Janabi (left), Qassim Hamzah Rashid al-Janabi (right), and their elder daughter, Abeer, who were all murdered by U.S. soldiers on March 12, 2006. No ID card of the fourth family member killed, six-year-old Hadeel, is known to exist. (Reuters)
A photo taken by U.S. Army investigators of the living room of the Janabi house, where Abeer was raped and murdered. Although the house was deserted by July 2006, the scorch marks where Abeer was burned remained. (Courtesy of Steven Green defense team)
Abeer Qassim al-Janabi, in an undated photo, who was raped and murdered by U.S. soldiers on March 12, 2006, when she was fourteen years old. (AP)
Specialist Paul Cortez’s mugshot. (Courtesy of Steven Green defense team)
Specialist James Barker’s mugshot. (Courtesy of Steven Green defense team)
Private First Class Jesse Spielman’s mugshot. (Courtesy of Steven Green defense team)
Former Private First Class Steven Green’s mugshot at the Mecklenburg County jail in Charlotte, North Carolina, July 3, 2006. (AP)
FEBRUARY 2006
16
February 1
WORD ABOUT GOODWIN’S office habits was getting around the battalion. He rarely left the TOC. Almost daily, he would fall asleep in his chair.
When one of the other captains visited, they would say, “Hey, man, you need to get to your hooch. You need to get out of here at least a little bit.”
“But I can’t leave the radio,” he’d say. “What if someone calls?”
“John, your rack
is right there,” they’d reply. “They will come and get you if they need you. That’s the way it works.” Usually passing out just before dawn, sometimes he wouldn’t wake up until 10:00 a.m. He looked unhealthy. He said he didn’t have time to eat. His eyes were vacant, hollowed out. His own men, ranks as low as private, were worried about him.
Kunk saw that Goodwin had the famous battle-fatigued “thousand-yard stare.” Kunk had already tried to remove Goodwin from command several times, but Ebel wouldn’t sign off on it. Keep working with him, Ebel told Kunk. Work with what you have.
“I think you need a break, John,” Kunk told Goodwin. “I am sending you up to Freedom Rest for a few days.” During Vietnam, soldiers on R&R got to go to Saigon, or even Hong Kong. These days, however, they went to a former Iraqi Army officers’ club in the Green Zone called Freedom Rest. The complex could accommodate 135 soldiers on four-day passes in the closest thing Baghdad had to four-star-hotel standards. There was still no alcohol, but the food was good, the cotton sheets were clean, the climate control always worked, and a giant, immaculately chlorinated pool featured an array of Olympic-standard diving boards.
Black Hearts: One Platoon's Descent into Madness in Iraq's Triangle of Death Page 22
