My Men are My Heroes

by Nathaniel R. Helms

  “The Iraqis were leaving Fallujah. People were driving out, walking out with their families. I saw kids and old people pushing carts. It was really sad. Many of those people just wanted to live peacefully but they couldn’t,” Kasal says.

  “Once they cleared checkpoints they could leave. The Iraqi police were checking out IDs. They could tell when something was wrong. They knew accents, what people were wearing, their car—if it was wrong—they could do that. We couldn’t.

  “I don’t really know how many people actually left but it was thousands. Probably a lot of insurgents left with them. They were leaving in buses. They knew what was coming by then. The whole thing was in the press and the media were reporting all the bad things happening in al-Anbar province. Everyone was looking for Abu Musab al Zarqawi.

  “We were taking Fallujah back from the insurgents. They were Saddam’s thugs and murderers. It was a good thing.”

  CHAPTER 11

  THE TRAIN

  STATION

  One of the first objectives of the invasion was to capture a huge train station just north of the city and convert it into a base of operations for the duration of the attack.

  Leading the assault on the evening of November 8 was Lieutenant Zachary Iscol, a Cornell graduate commissioned through the Platoon Leader’s Course at Quantico during the summers of his junior and senior years. Iscol joined from Long Island, New York. He is now a captain deciding if he wants to stay in the Corps.

  AN UNTESTED PROPOSITION

  In November 2004 Iscol was a first lieutenant leading 25 Marines from 3/1’s ad hoc Combined Action Platoon (CAP) India, a platoon of former Weapons Co. mortarmen assigned to train and advise 50 untried Iraqi National Guard (ING) soldiers.

  The mortarmen had been pulled from Weapons Co. for CAP duties because the ROE for the security mission in al-Anbar province prohibited the Marines from using mortar fire except in unusual circumstances—such as for counterbattery fire and for shooting their way out of a jam should they get overrun. Given that it was unlikely they’d be firing mortars during the attack, they were deemed available to advise the Iraqi detachment. That was okay, Buhl says—Marines are trained to improvise, overcome, and adapt.

  CAPs, in which U.S. Marines train, advise, and fight side by side with soldiers of the country they’re occupying, aren’t new. The Marine Corps has been creating CAPs in many guises since Marines fought in the Banana Wars and subdued Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and Nicaragua in the early ‘20s. Marines in CAPs are always in a tenuous position. They have to rely on making themselves understood to their trainees, often across a wide cultural and linguistic gulf. They also must rely on the loyalty and readiness of those trainees in combat.

  In Vietnam Marine CAPs were split into teams of half a dozen men who lived alone and unsupported in isolated villages. They survived on goodwill, good luck, and superb instincts.

  The situation in Iraq was somewhat different. The Marines trained and advised the Iraqis who were dependent on the Marines for their welfare, training, and firepower. In turn the Iraqis fought for the new provisional government until the political situation stabilized. It was an untested proposition, Iscol says.

  KASAL IMPRESSES THE XO

  Eighteen months before Fallujah Iscol was a relatively boot second lieutenant and the brand-new executive officer (XO) of Weapons Co. Kasal was a first sergeant with 20 years of infantry experience. About all that Iscol knew about his first sergeant was that he was indeed a take-charge Marine who had come over from Kilo.

  Soon after Iscol arrived he encountered Kasal debriefing Marines after an exercise. Iscol, in the best tradition of second lieutenants, counseled his first sergeant about stepping outside his authority. In Iscol’s Marine Corps first sergeants don’t debrief line Marines. That was a platoon leader’s responsibility

  “Kasal sat down with me and explained he did it for tactical proficiency so he would know how the Marines had done,” says Iscol. “He didn’t get mad. He wasn’t disrespectful—at least not to my face. I probably seemed a little immature then.

  “I had another incident with a staff NCO, a very proficient Marine who, after our disagreement, refused to talk to me. First Sergeant Kasal, after a disagreement, would never take offense. His concern was for doing the best job possible. He would explain what would happen if you do it this way and what would happen if you do it that way—he would take the objective approach.”

  Iscol gained even more respect for Kasal when he saw his first sergeant step in and accept blame for something he could have easily palmed off on the green XO. Buhl wanted a nonregulation guidon, or small flag, in a Kilo Co. picture, and Kasal declined to break it out on Iscol’s authority. Buhl took a strip off Iscol’s ass as a result.

  “I got my ass chewing from the battalion commander for not having the guidon out,” Iscol says. “Later I just mentioned it to Kasal. He called the battalion sergeant major right up and told him he had refused to take the guidon out. He is a phenomenal Marine.”

  Buhl says that was one of the last times he really butted heads with Kasal. Kasal argued it wasn’t regulation; a company only rated one guidon. Buhl saw his intransigence as almost tantamount to insubordination so Kasal lost that one.

  All of that was buried in the past on the night of November 8, 2004. Like thousands of junior Marine officers before him, Iscol had learned from professionals like Kasal how to share responsibility and accept guidance from others during his training experience at Camp Pendleton.

  A critical test in Iscol’s career development came when he brought the Iraqis to the jump-off point. Nominally in charge of Company I of the ING was an Iraqi major named Ouda, a former Republican Guard officer. Major Ouda was ordered to lead his unit into the train station using as much stealth and surprise as possible, slay the defenders, then secure the structure until the actual invasion kicked off at 6 a.m. on the 9th. Even with tank support it was a tough assignment for anyone.

  “It was the first major objective taken down in Fallujah,” Iscol recalls. “It looked enormous. There was a huge platform and warehouses, and we had two platoons of eight to 10 Marines and 20 Iraqis to take it and cover about a kilometer of ground. We had two platoons of tanks with us and the AAVs that transported us behind us.”

  The Marine Corps tanks supporting Iscol were the same Marines who had taken Buhl, Malay, and Shupp to Fallujah six weeks before. Still under the command of Captain Bodisch they provided security to the Marines and their ING counterparts assaulting the train station.

  STORMING THE STATION

  At 5 p.m. the combined company moved into position, traveling south from the attack position to the designated release point. There the company would split into two rifle platoons, each supported by a Marine tank platoon.

  “We had attached to Lima,” Iscol says. “They provided overwatch. The tanks and AAVs with .50-cal and MK-19s [ grenade launchers] stayed outside the train station. We wanted to use the MK-19s to set off any IEDs. We dismounted 500 meters north of the train station and moved up using tactical movements.”

  After establishing a support-by-fire position overlooking Iscol’s riflemen, the tankers fired 34 rounds from their 120mm main gun, destroying a number of fortified enemy positions, obstacles, and VBIEDs along key avenues of approach. Iscol could not have been more pleased.

  “We were not authorized to fire any preplanned fires,” Iscol recalls. “We had to wait until we received fire. Almost immediately we took some fire from the train station. We put down smoke to screen Lima. We called on our FiST [Fire Support Team]; we had FAC [Forward Air Controller] Marines wearing night vision. There was none for the Iraqis. They were dependent on us for fire support.

  “This was a big test for our Iraqis. Before the offensive operation in the city, we spent a lot of operational and training time with the Iraqis emphasizing every man is a rifleman, fire and movement, and platoon operator.

  “The company commander, Major Ouda, was a great man. The Iraqis were some of the b
ravest guys you will ever meet. They go home every night to their families. They are getting murdered; their families are getting murdered and kidnapped. The ones that were reliable were the finest soldiers we could hope for.”

  As soon as the operation began Lima Co.’s FiST began laying down 155mm artillery fire and 81mm mortars on the objective. When they were sure the rounds were hitting their targets, the combined infantry assault began in almost total darkness.

  A wall of heavy metal laid down by the gunners kept the insurgents from reinforcing the train station. The insurgents knew the tanks and Bradleys had main guns and coaxial machine guns guided by night vision and thermal imaging equipment that could obliterate them, so for the most part they sat tight and tried to figure out what was going on, Iscol says.

  “We had emphasized fire discipline and movement,” Iscol says of the training exercises. “The Iraqis listened okay so they understood what we were doing. A lot of them had been soldiers and knew the fundamentals. They were very good with the AKs. They moved quietly, moving in the dark very well. I had night vision and I was impressed how well they moved in almost complete darkness.”

  Once the Iraqis had cleared the buildings an Explosive Ordinance Demolition (EOD) squad was called for. With two dog teams they began searching and clearing the train station of potential booby traps. Two bombs were discovered and disarmed. As soon as the buildings were cleared the Iraqis set up their command post and waited for orders.

  While the EOD team was disabling the bombs, Lima left its overwatch positions on the northeast side of the train station. They started to clear the way for the breach teams who were to break through obstructions the insurgents had built. Iscol thought the entire operation went off like clockwork.

  “We could see okay with our night vision. Captain McCormack, the S-2, had really briefed us well. We knew there weren’t too many insurgents in the train station. They knew it was isolated. IEDs were the biggest threat,” Iscol recalls.

  Several hours before dawn, the railroad station belonged to the combined Iraqi-Marine assault company. That meant 3/1 had a good jump-off point for their attack.

  OBLITERATING THE OBSTACLES

  The next part of the plan was for Marine engineer breach teams from RCT1 and from 3/1’s engineer platoon to blow three lanes through the berm immediately to 3/1’s south. Each lane was to be wide enough for vehicles to pass through, allowing the invasion to begin en masse.

  Unfortunately the exercise didn’t begin too well, Buhl recalls. Regimental engineers were a late addition to the plan and their inclusion caused some coordination problems and delays.

  But at roughly 3 a.m. the engineers finally got underway. On the way to their breach positions one engineer AAV overturned in a quarry, injuring several Marines and causing another brief delay. Buhl was already getting worked up and the effort had just begun.

  “The clock was ticking,” Buhl says. “Even with the regimental engineers helping we were barely able to get the work done.”

  The engineers used mine-clearing line charges, explosives, bulldozers, strong backs, and big balls to break through the insurgents’ defense line. During the operation they encountered light small arms fire from the edge of Fallujah, fire that they generally ignored. The incoming fire was suppressed by Weapons Co. gunners, snipers, and Army 120mm mortars—called “Maniac Mortars”—that quickly identified the targets and smothered them with fire.

  As soon as the lanes were carved out the Marine engineers and Lima Co. riflemen raced across the railroad yard to take out a high curb that was bad for the tracks and wheeled vehicles scheduled to follow their mad dash to the edge of the city.

  On the insurgent side radio and telephone chatter increased tenfold while the jihadists discussed what to do. No doubt some of them wondered which way they were going to die. Would death come on an invisible angel’s wings from an almost impervious Abrams tank? From missiles or rockets? Or was death waiting with the Marines who would attack their fortresses with little regard for their fanatical efforts? It would still be a few hours before they found out.

  CHAPTER 12

  BREAKING OUT

  The horrible dangers Kasal and his Marines would soon face still seemed remote when the 1st Marine Division lined up across the northern edge of Fallujah in a mobile wall of brute strength.

  Since 3/1 had arrived on the start line the previous morning, targets all over the city were being slammed by the fast movers—aerial artillery spewn from orbiting Air Force AC-130Hs “Spectre” gunships, plus heavy 155mm artillery firing from fixed positions and 81mm mortars.

  FIRE IN THE SKY

  Huge explosions rocked the night and tracers flashed across the city. It was dangerously beautiful, almost mesmerizing. The big guns would fire, the automatic weapons would rap out a tattoo, and Spectres would rain down automatic cannon and 105mm howitzer fire on what the military calls “targets of opportunity.”

  Corporal Mitchell remembers November 8 as the day Fallujah came under attack from every heavy weapon in the American arsenal. “They were firing 120mm Army mortars, 155mm guns, 81s, everything. They fired for 24 hours straight,” Mitchell says. “They fired a lot of red phosphorous; it looked like red sparklers falling from the sky. The stuff would hit the ground and turn everything red.”

  Red phosphorus, a variation of the ubiquitous white phosphorus used in other modern conflicts, was used at Fallujah both to create smoke screens and to flush defenders from fortified positions.

  LOSE THE SHORTS

  Running the air operations at 3/1 was Captain Pat C. Gallogly. “PUC,” as he was universally known, was a Huey pilot who had flown more than 100 missions during OIF 1. He volunteered to become a forward air controller (FAC) after his first deployment so he could get some experience with the mud Marines. FACs guide available aviation assets to targets designated by the Grunts. Essentially they are the pilots’ eyes on the ground. Marines have championed close air support directed by radio-equipped FACs since its days in the banana republics.

  PUC’s first conversation with Kasal was a few months before the Fallujah fight when Kasal turned up at the Forward Operations Center (FOC). As usual Kasal was in all his gear—absolutely regulation in every detail. PUC wasn’t as well turned out.

  “One night a bunch of Marines got hurt by an IED,” PUC says. “A Marine comes knocking down my door at about 3 a.m. and says, ‘Sir, we got urgent casualties.’

  “I put on my pistol over my blue boxers. Other than that I had on my T-shirt and sneakers. I come in, the radios are going, people are all over, and Kasal is in there. He takes a hard look at me and comes up to the side of me and says very quietly, ‘Captain. Hey, sir, you better lose those blue shorts.’

  “Brad Kasal was a very strict Marine, very formal; he didn’t bullshit with officers. He’s the kind of Marine that you don’t have credibility with until you work with him months and months. He didn’t care about your rank. He cared how you did your job.”

  And in Kasal’s Marine Corps officers don’t report for duty in their boxers.

  Kasal remembers the incident well: “I had just got back off a patrol, and I heard an air medevac come over the radio in the COC [Command Operations Center], so I went there to see who it was and find out what the details were. Captain Gallogly, who was down in his rack sleeping, also got the word, so he came up to direct the helo. He had just woken up and was in a hurry, and he came running up there with just a pair of boxer shorts, a green T-shirt, and combat boots on, and that was it. I think I told him he ought to at least get some shorts on.”

  The 33-year-old Citadel graduate says he frequently arrived in the COC in his underwear as the nights grew longer and more and more Marines came in requiring urgent care. It was his job to coordinate all the aerial Casualty Evacuations (CASEVACs) for Marines in need of urgent medical care. It was a demanding job that required him to talk every arriving mercy flight into the landing zone (LZ).

  AIR OPERATIONS

  PUC had other jobs
as well. His primary concern was approving the missions and coordinating the efforts of three other FACs spread out among the line companies. He also advised Buhl on the best use of the air assets flying over the city 24 hours a day. A helo pilot himself, PUC had a special affinity for the Huey pilots and the crews of the venerable CH-46 “Sea Knight” helicopters—called “Frogs” by the Marines—who came in low and slow to pick up desperately wounded Marines. Sometimes PUC would recognize the pilot’s voices and they would exchange a pleasantry or two, but usually it was all business.

  Under the air officer’s nominal supervision the pilots and FACs out with the line companies coordinated air strikes that always changed the momentum of an attack when 500- or 1,000-pound guided bombs arrived through a roof or even a window of a contested structure. The FAC on the ground and the pilot in the sky would share laconic messages in their best ChuckYeager voices, then buildings would suddenly explode. Each company in 3/1 had its own FAC. That was a departure from the usual three per battalion. Buhl recalls it paid off in spades.

  A modern air strike is an awesome display of precision firepower in which a 500-pound bomb can turn a perfectly fine building into a smoking hole in the blink of an eye. For those providing the magic show it was an intense, no-nonsense experience that required close coordination and far more than a modicum of trust between the FACs and aviators flying in lazy circles high over the battlefield. In a lawn chair back home with a can of beer in hand the sights and sounds of D+2 would have been highly entertaining, but not from where PUC stood.