Youngblood

by Matt Gallagher

  “Smart thinking,” I said, pointing to the sticks. “You might’ve saved him.”

  He looked back and smiled, his eyes dilating in the neon light.

  “No,” he said. “But I’m not going to lose another one like this. You know what the best way out of something is, Lieutenant?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Through. The best way out is always through.”

  I shivered in the desert, alone.

  14

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  SWORN STATEMENT

  File number: 4z08

  * * *

  Place: CAMP INDEPENDENCE, IRAQ

  Date: April 30, 2006

  * * *

  I, First Lieutenant Tyler L. Grant, make the following free and voluntary sworn statement to Major Edward P. Price, whom I know to be the Investigating Officer for the Command Investigation into the circumstances of the death of Saladin Jalal al-Badri on April 12, 2006. I make this statement of my own free will and without any threats made to me or promises extended.

  I am currently assigned as the platoon leader to 2nd Platoon, Charlie Company, 2-48 Infantry Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division. I have been the platoon leader since September 7, 2005.

  Our unit deployed to Iraq on July 1, 2005.

  On the morning of April 12, my platoon was given the “kill or capture” mission of Saladin Jalal al-Badri, aka the “9 of Clubs” of our unit’s target deck. Saladin was an alleged member of al-Qaeda in Iraq in the town of Ashuriyah. This mission was part of Operation Fumble Recovery, the search for my platoon’s missing squad leader, Staff Sergeant Elijah Rios.

  On April 12, at approximately 0100, our command post in Ashuriyah received a tip on Saladin’s bed-down location. Captain Tisdale, the commander, assigned the mission to my platoon. We didn’t have time for a full rehearsal, so as the soldiers prepped the Humvees, my squad leaders and I planned to have second squad raid the house while first and third squads formed an outside perimeter in case of runners.

  I don’t remember exactly when the platoon arrived at the target house, but I believe it to be around 0135. I ordered the platoon to have all weapons on “Red” status, aka locked and loaded, since battalion intel considered Saladin “armed and dangerous.”

  First and third squads formed the perimeter and second squad stacked against the house. No lights were on and there was only one door, in the front. I gave the order to raid the house.

  There were two shots, and then a pause, followed by two more shots. I found out later that Corporal Daniel Chambers, a fireteam leader in second squad, fired both sets of “controlled pairs.”

  I don’t know what the standard practice is for placement of fireteam leaders in room-clearing stacks. I don’t micromanage, and leave decisions like that to my noncoms.

  By the time I entered the house, all the rooms had been cleared. One military-age male lay in the center room, two shots in his chest and two in his forehead. The platoon medic declared him dead, and using the photo we had from our target deck, I identified him as Saladin, aka the “9 of Clubs.” A loaded AK-47 rifle lay next to his body. I was informed that he raised it as my men entered the house, prompting Corporal Chambers to fire.

  I don’t remember which side of the body the AK-47 was on. I updated the outpost and oversaw intel collection. I had the soldiers take photos of the body and rifle, for evidence.

  No other persons were found on the premises, and papers and computer equipment were collected for analysis.

  I am not aware of the use of “drop weapons” and would have stopped their use immediately had such a thing been occurring in my platoon. Nor have I seen any convincing evidence of their use in my platoon, during the Saladin mission or before. I cannot explain why the AK-47 was first photographed without a clip and then photographed with a clip inserted into it, though it seems likely one of the men felt it important to clear the weapon for safety. I regularly brief my platoon on the rules of engagement and believe every soldier in my platoon understands and abides by them.

  I never saw any of my soldiers with an AK-47 in their possession before or during this mission. The AK-47 recovered during the raid was turned over to battalion, along with the other evidence.

  I never heard of any drop weapon allegation until the CID interview.

  I have an open door policy. I don’t think my soldiers are afraid to tell me what’s going on in the platoon at their level. I don’t think they would hesitate to come to me if things were going wrong. I visit their rooms at least once a day, sometimes twice. We have a good relationship.

  NOTHING FOLLOWS

  * * *

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  INITIALS OF PERSON MAKING STATEMENT: TG

  15

  * * *

  SWORN STATEMENT

  File number: 7t45

  * * *

  Place: CAMP INDEPENDENCE, IRAQ

  Date: April 30, 2006

  * * *

  I, Corporal Daniel R. Chambers, make the following free and voluntary sworn statement to Major Edward P. Price, whom I know to be the Investigating Officer for the Command Investigation into the circumstances of the death of Saladin Jalal al-Badri on April 12, 2006. I make this statement of my own free will and without any threats made to me or promises extended.

  I am currently assigned as alpha fireteam leader in 2nd Squad, 2nd Platoon, Charlie Company, 2-48 Infantry Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division.

  My platoon conducted a raid on a house of a known al-Qaeda operative the morning of April 12. I served as point man for the room-clearing team tasked with entering the target house. I always serve as point on raids. I lead from the front.

  Upon entering the target house and through my night vision, I saw a shape in the main room. The shape looked like a man and it raised a rifle toward me. I did not have time to yell to put the weapon down. I fired two sets of controlled pairs on the shape’s center mass. The shape was the al-Qaeda operative.

  I am aware of the practice of “drop weapons,” though only as an example of something not to do. I have never witnessed their use, nor have I ever participated in such a practice.

  I do not recall whether the AK-47 raised at me had a magazine in it. It was a judgment call made in the matter of seconds, and it followed the rules of engagement.

  I do not recall if the AK-47 was wedged in the operative’s left or right shoulder. I do not recall what side of the body the AK-47 was recovered from.

  Before the raid, I was not aware of any connection between the targets Saladin al-Badri and Karim the Prince. I have learned since that they were cousins. From what I understand, Karim the Prince is suspected of kidnapping my squad leader, Staff Sergeant Rios, while the al-Qaeda operative this is about was uninvolved.

  NOTHING FOLLOWS

  * * *

  * * *

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  * * *

  INITIALS OF PERSON MAKING STATEMENT DC

  16

  * * *

  SWORN STATEMENT

  File number: 5z30

  * * *

  Place: CAMP INDEPENDENCE, IRAQ

  Date: May 2, 2006

  * * *

  I, Captain Kenneth D. Tisdale, make the following free and voluntary sworn statement to Major Edward P. Price, whom I know to be the Investigating Officer for the Command Investigation into the circumstances of the deaths of Saladin Jalal al-Badri on April 12, 2006, and Karim al-Badri on May 1, 2006. I make this statement of my own free will and without any threats made to me or promises extended.

  I am currently assigned as the commander of Charlie Company, 2-48 Infantry Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division. I have been the commander since May 15, 2005.

  Our unit deployed to Iraq on July 1, 2005.

  On the morning of April 12, my company’s second platoon was tasked with a “kill or capture” mission of Saladin al-Badri, aka the “9 of Clubs.” They accomplished this and I have nominated the shooter, Corporal
Daniel Chambers, for an Army Commendation Medal with Valor.

  On the morning of May 1, my company’s second platoon was tasked with a “kill or capture” mission of Karim al-Badri, aka the “Jack of Hearts,” aka “Karim, Prince of al-Qaeda.” They accomplished this and I have nominated the shooter, Lieutenant Ty Grant, for a Bronze Star Medal with Valor.

  I chose second platoon for these missions because they are my best platoon at kinetic operations.

  I do not know the name of the source that informed us about the bed-down location of Saladin al-Badri. I try not to micromanage my intel team.

  The source who led us to the bed-down location of Karim al-Badri, known as “Haitham,” works for Karim the Prince’s father as a Sahwa militia shift leader.

  Both Saladin al-Badri and Karim al-Badri were shot in accordance with “kill or capture” guidance from higher. Both men were armed and intended to fire upon friendlies. My soldiers followed all current rules of engagement.

  The similarity between the outcomes of the two missions does not raise any concerns for me. Both men were known operatives of al-Qaeda. It’s unsurprising that they would use similar tactics in dealing with US forces. Al-Qaeda routinely tries to take advantage of our rules of engagement, which they know almost as well as we do.

  I am aware of, and took part in, the debate over whether the man shot on May 1 was indeed Karim the Prince. After investigation, we determined conclusively that it was him. Though no identification was found on the body, and brain matter obscured his face, a hooked nose and wire rim glasses matched the target’s description. Further, the body measured 5 feet 6 inches tall and approximately 145 pounds in weight, also a match.

  Two other men were detained on site and captured without incident. They are presumed to be Karim’s bodyguards, also affiliated with al-Qaeda, and were turned over to interrogators at Camp Bucca.

  I’m not aware of the use of drop weapons, and have never had reason to suspect that such a practice was used by my company. The allegation was made three times, once for Saladin al-Badri, once for Karim al-Badri and once before, in January—each time anonymously. I took these allegations seriously, despite the lack of evidence. After careful review, I concluded that the utter lack of evidence suggested the allegations must have come from a disgruntled junior soldier. They have no bearing in reality.

  I also want the record to show my company’s successes since Staff Sergeant Rios went missing. Charlie Company has been the main element for all of Operation Fumble Recovery, a division mandate. We’ve detained 34 Sunni locals and 9 Shi’a locals during the operation and killed four enemy insurgents.

  The fifth man who died was an elderly local. He died of a heart attack, not through the actions of my soldiers, who tried to resuscitate him. As per battalion policy, the family was offered condolence funds, which they accepted.

  Though Staff Sergeant Rios’ body has yet to be found, he is now classified as killed in action due to a tissue sample found on his recovered plate carrier. We will continue our search for his full remains so they may be sent home to his family. Though our relationship with Karim the Prince’s father, Sheik Ahmed, and the Sunni Coalition of Ashuriyah have been negatively affected by these events, I consider the matter closed.

  I also believe the matter of the drop weapons should be closed, as my understanding is that there’s zero evidence. Unless the battalion commander recommends otherwise, I will keep second platoon’s leadership in place. With only two months of our deployment left, it makes little sense to change things up in my most capable platoon. I won’t punish them for doing their jobs.

  NOTHING FOLLOWS

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  INITIALS OF PERSON MAKING STATEMENT KT

  BOOK II

  * * *

  17

  * * *

  The days of rage returned to Ashuriyah underneath a strawberry cream sky. Gunfire rolled across the town in a torrent, block by block, street by street, house by house. Shi’a gangs began calling themselves Jaish al-Mahdi again and fought among themselves for power, while Sunnis segmented into al-Qaeda, 1920 Revolution Brigade, and Jaish al-Rashideen and fought over control.

  A generation of angry young men who knew nothing but strife, they all wanted establishment blood on their hands, like their dead fathers and missing brothers. That meant Sahwa blood. And jundi blood. And American blood. In between, they killed one another’s families; we found the heads of three storekeepers in a ravine on one patrol alone. Their skin had been charred beyond recognition and their jaws hung open in everlong shock and their neck stems were roots to nowhere, smelling of smoke and maggots.

  The Salah prayers echoed every dawn and dusk, carried in the desert wind. Civil service missions became movements to contact, presence patrols became raids. We shot bad guys dressed in black who multiplied into more bad guys dressed in black. Everything smelled like shit and hot trash, from the huts we raided to the sewer wadis we stepped into to the indolent blue streams where we found rockets in the banks. The locals huddled in kitchens and bedrooms during midnight raids, mere outlines of people in night vision green.

  Late one morning, an artillery round hidden in the carcass of a camel exploded next to our vehicle. Our Stryker flipped onto its side and everyone lived, though Doc Cork and I got concussions and Dominguez spent hours getting camel guts off his face and vest. He didn’t like talking about it.

  Ortiz of second squad wasn’t as lucky. The night of the D-Day anniversary, he looked up at a crescent moon and stepped on a dismounted IED buried in the dirt, which sent hundreds of metal ball bearings screaming through his ballistic vest and his doll body twisting through the air. Missing both legs and one arm, he suffocated to death in the sand because the metal balls had punched holes through his lungs. We had to pull Doc Cork off the corpse. He didn’t cry, though some of us thought it would be good for him to.

  Losing another soldier did something to me, too. Two things mattered now and only two things: honor and survival. Sometimes in that order, sometimes not.

  “There’s a beast in the heart of every fighting man,” Chambers said to us under hooded eyes. “And it’s time to embrace it.”

  “Embrace what?” I asked.

  “Embrace it before it embraces you.”

  And like every fighting man before us, that’s what we did, as the red coal sun turned the world to flames.

  18

  * * *

  Ana Amreeki. Ayna taskun?”

  “Good, Lieutenant! And if the Iraqi you encounter is female?”

  “Ayna . . . ayna taskuneen?”

  “Jaeed!”

  “Thanks, Snoop. Shukran, I mean.”

  He grinned. “Iraqis will be impressed. Americans that speak Arabic are . . . seal-a-brated?”

  “Celebrated. Ce-le-brated.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I say.”

  We sat in the terps’ room by ourselves, he on a top bunk chewing on sunflower seeds, me on a plastic chair next to the television, an Arabic dictionary in my lap. The rotating fan in the corner blasted out hot breath. I checked my watch: we’d been at it for an hour.

  In addition to improving my Arabic, these sessions with Snoop allowed me to avoid the unfinished paperwork in my room. Somewhere between the sniper and the IED attacks, everyone in the platoon had earned the Combat Infantryman Badge, which meant we’d “actively engaged the enemy in ground combat,” which wasn’t supposed to matter, but it did. It mattered a lot. It meant we’d finally been to war. I just needed to finish typing out the reports to prove it. And I would, as soon as I stopped associating the award we’d wanted so desperately with the two dead soldiers it had cost.

  Snoop leaned over the top bunk. “Hey, LT? Can I ask a favor?”

  “Shoot.”

  “I need a letter from an American officer saying I am a good interpreter, and an honest person.” Snoop looked embarrassed, as if pushing himself to continue.
“After the war, I hope to move to America. Letters from officers help get the right papers for this.”

  So the terp had dreams. “I’d be happy to,” I said. “But I’m just a lieutenant. You should ask someone higher ranking, like the colonel.”

  Snoop smiled. “He already said yes. He said I should ask you, too, since we work together.”

  I remembered a news article I’d seen online about the arduous visa process for interpreters. “What happens if the papers don’t go through right away? Back to the Sudan?”

  “No.” His frown enveloped the room. “War is there, too. It followed us here.”

  I hadn’t known that about his homeland, and suddenly felt very small.

  There was a quick knock at the door. A couple of inches too long, it opened with the sound of a popping jaw. It was Dominguez. Or his head, at least, freshly cut and shaved. Fuck, I thought. I knew I’d forgotten to do something.