by Bing West
For the attack Renforth had to plot the geometry of fires. In flat terrain rounds would travel for a thousand meters down straight streets. Battalion 2/1, under Olson, would provide the anvil, holding the rooftops in the northwest quadrant above the Jolan market in the old city. But which battalion would swing the hammer? To avoid friendly fire, they couldn’t all charge forward at once.
Three kilometers due south of 2/1, Lieutenant Colonel Gyles Kyser had moved into position with his battalion, 2/2. To Kyser’s right lay the section of houses called Queens. Byrne and 1/5 held the industrial quadrant east of Queens. He would swing west, flush out Queens, and join up with Kyser. The two battalions would then be set to drive straight north into the Jolan and crush the defenders against 2/1. At the same time 3/4 would push in from the east. The two forces would be at right angles. At some point Renforth would have to halt one battalion before they fired into each other.
Each battalion wanted to seize the Jolan. For three weeks they had lain on the rooftops absorbing mortar attacks and exchanging sniper fire and taunts with the insurgents. Wounded Marines had left the field hospitals and returned to their companies to finish the job.
The four battalion commanders were good friends. Olson had been McCoy’s best man at his wedding, and Kyser, a hard-charging recon type, had served as McCoy’s executive officer in a rifle company years earlier. Byrne and McCoy had attended command and staff school together.
Each battalion commander knew that his Marines wanted to be in the fight and that they were relying on him to give them that chance. Byrne looked at Queens on the photomap. To him, it was a matter of jujitsu, pushing the insurgents off balance and letting their own confusion trip them up. He liked using the darkness to move forward a kilometer, then back-sweeping when light came, catching the insurgents off guard.
McCoy planned to have Kilo and India Companies press forward, followed by Lima Company. When a strongpoint was hit, the lead company would mark it for Lima to destroy.
Kyser and Olsen each had six tanks in support. Renforth gave McCoy two and held six in reserve. McCoy considered this an injustice, arguing mightily for eight tanks.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Renforth replied. “With eight tanks, Bryan, you’d be on the Euphrates in a day and I’d be stuck cleaning up the mess in the rear. Unh-unh, buddy. I’m keeping you on a leash. Two tanks, that’s it.”
“Too much back-clearing could slow us down,” Bellon said, coming to McCoy’s defense.
Back-clearing, the tedious searching of the thousands of houses behind the front lines of the advancing Marine troops, could bog down the speed of the offensive, allowing thousands of civilians to gather before the accommodating cameras of Al Jazeera. Bellon’s concern was massive civilian protests filling the streets in front of the onrushing Marines.
“Maybe Bellon’s got a point about too much back-clearing,” Renforth said to McCoy. “We’ll see about getting you more tanks once the attack gets rolling.”
Renforth sat smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He wasn’t about to let McCoy set too fast a pace. He might give McCoy and the “Black Plague” battalion more tanks—it depended on how the division attack developed.
“Satisfied I’m not screwing you?” Renforth asked with a smile.
He wanted to give 2/2 and 1/5 to the south enough time to straighten their lines. That way, as the battle unfolded, Toolan would have a choice of seizing the Jolan from the east (McCoy) or the south (Byrne and Kyser).
“No. Let me explain again why I need more tanks,” McCoy replied.
While the two argued back and forth, Toolan stepped out to take a phone call. He was gone for less than fifteen minutes. When he returned, he looked grim.
“The attack has been called off,” he said. “Instead, each battalion is to begin joint patrols with the Iraqis. We’re to meet with the Iraqis tomorrow.”
18
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STRATEGIC CONFUSION
“IN WAR, YOU SUPPORT THE TROOPS,” President Bush said. “It’s not complicated. You give them support.”
In Fallujah, supporting the troops had become complicated. On April 23, President Bush said that “most of Fallujah is returning to normal,” an assessment that threw into question who was providing him with information. Continuing the unilateral cease-fire was causing American casualties and increasing the morale of the insurgents. Thirty-two soldiers and Marines had died in the fighting west of Baghdad—thirteen inside Fallujah itself—in the past three weeks.
The president prided himself on making firm decisions, showing no tolerance for hand-wringing. But the longer he uncharacteristically agreed to incremental extensions of the cease-fire, the more the political pressures were building to call off the attack altogether. On April 24 the president conferred with his advisers about whether to risk the “potentially disastrous public relations impact” of an American assault on the city.
Although Bremer had delivered a tough speech warning that hostilities could resume shortly, he had repeatedly cautioned that widespread uprisings would be a consequence of an attack and he did not want that to happen. Rumsfeld was pushing Abizaid to get on with the attack, and Abizaid was pushing right back, arguing that the Sunnis had to be given a chance to determine their own futures. From Bremer’s perspective, he and Abizaid were in agreement that taking the city would be a disaster. Instead, both wanted to see moderate Iraqis step forward as leaders rather than have Americans thrust themselves into the lead.
“We must in all things be modest,” Gen Abizaid had said. “We [Americans] are an antibody in their culture.”
The president’s pro-consul to Iraq (Bremer), the president’s representative (Blackwill), and the theater commander (Abizaid) all offered judgments to the White House. But despite the ease of worldwide communication, the military’s rigid hierarchical system prevented those with the battlefield knowledge from giving the president advice. Mattis talked to Conway, Conway to Sanchez, Sanchez to Abizaid, and Abizaid to Washington. Mattis insisted that his battalions were poised to attack, but Mattis wasn’t even at the meeting at the MEF.
Had they been asked by the White House, Conway and Mattis would have said that taking the city would require two to four days—after eighteen days of waiting on the lines. But they were not asked. The MEF and division commanders were like the general manager and the coach of a football team, sometimes included in discussions about the game being played and sometimes not.
The mood at the White House was not to take the city. The president had expressed serious reservations about both American and civilian casualties as well as damage to the city, shown to be extensive by Arab TV crews.
Lacking any other source, the press worldwide repeated Al Jazeera’s estimate of over six hundred dead and a thousand wounded civilians in the city. Based on the sheer volume of repetition, the allegations acquired plausibility.
Stu Jones sensed that all the negotiators—Marines, American diplomats, and Iraqis from Baghdad—were affected by the incessant reports of mass civilian casualties.
“The Iraqis were so excited,” Jones said. “Incessant complaints about Marine snipers. I thought at least a thousand civilians had died. Only later did I learn it was under three hundred.”
The president had asked for options.
At the MEF on April 24, Bremer explained to the generals that two negotiating tracks were under way. First, the Governing Council negotiators, led by Hassani. They were waiting in Conway’s bedroom with Jensen, Stu Jones, and MajGen Weber. Second—unbeknownst to the Hassani group—Ayad Allawi, soon to be named prime minister, was holding secret negotiations with Janabi.
Conway did not tell Bremer that the MEF was pursuing a third negotiating track via CIA contacts with former Iraqi generals.
To those gathered at the MEF, one option now seemed viable. The Iraqis at the MEF recommended that the Marines patrol with the National Guard who had deserted two weeks earlier. The delegation from Fallujah nominated a new commander to be pla
ced above LtCol Suleiman. He was LtCol Jassim Hatim, a trim, neat man who spoke some English and presented a distinct military bearing. Details about where he came from and his past were hazy, but the city elders pushed him in front of Suleiman, who was considered an outsider because he was born in a different town.
The MEF staff and Conway believed joint patrols were a reasonable request. They told Bremer they needed a few days to work out the details. On the afternoon of April 24, Abizaid, Bremer, Sanchez, and Conway agreed to extend the cease-fire for another three days so the Marines could patrol jointly with the Iraqis. Bremer flew back to Baghdad for a sivits teleconference with Washington, satisfied that the Marines’ idea of conducting joint patrols was sound.
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On April 24, the battalion commanders left the meeting with Toolan not understanding why the game plan had been changed at the line of scrimmage. Mattis had his troops psychologically motivated to attack. There were four battalions on the line, a ten-minute drive from one to the next. Mattis knew every sergeant major and battalion commander; Toolan knew every gunnery sergeant and platoon commander. From Col Toolan to McCoy to Cpl Amaya’s squad, those fighting and dying on the lines were a small, tight-knit group. After weeks of the nightly taunting, the sharp crack! of the sniper’s bullet, the metallic thunk of a mortar shell leaving the tube, and the boots and rifle ceremony for another dead comrade, every Marine entrenched around the city wanted to finish the fight, not walk away from it. The Marines understood that if they stopped, the insurgents would believe they had won, grow stronger, and be harder to defeat the next time.
By the evening of the twenty-fourth, as each Marine battalion planned in detail, the concept of joint patrols appeared to ensure victory in another guise. Each patrol assumed it would be attacked, so each had requested a Quick Reaction Force to stand by with tanks. The odds were overwhelming that heavy fights would erupt within hours. Battalion 3/4, for example, was planning that Kilo would lead with a patrol to Janabi’s mosque, with Lima and tanks standing by. A fierce fight was guaranteed. The same was true when Byrne advanced toward the government center, when Kyser turned up the Yellow Brick Road, and when Olson headed down toward the Jolan.
Once the patrols began, the insurgents would fight back, the “cease-fire” would be shattered, and the Blue Diamond would be back on the offensive. At the tactical level, the Marines believed that the Iraqi security forces were a token gesture that provided political cover without altering the military strategy. The joint patrols were a brilliant negotiating ploy. The generals and ambassadors had set a trap. All that was needed were a few Iraqi soldiers to lend a joint flavor, and the battle was on.
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The next morning, Toolan and his battalion commanders met at the Fallujah Liaison Building with the Iraqi National Guard officers. Over the course of the previous week 350 Iraqi soldiers had returned to their barracks, more than enough for joint patrols. With the air-conditioning turned on full blast, a dozen Iraqis and Marines sat uncomfortably around the table, notebooks open. No one was smiling.
Toolan got right to the point. “The Fallujah council agreed yesterday that we are going to patrol together,” he said. “The council nominated Colonel Hatim to be the Iraqi brigade commander.”
As a Marine interpreter rapidly translated, Toolan leaned forward to look directly at a stern-faced LtCol Hatim in a white shirt and pressed chinos. Originally from Fallujah, the former army officer had returned to his hometown a few days earlier. The story was that he had accused a National Guard unit somewhere to the north of fraud and had to flee for his life. Toolan had authorized Hatim to use a confiscated black BMW, but Hatim refused, saying that he couldn’t be seen working for the Americans. Now Hatim was being offered the senior command.
When Hatim didn’t respond one way or the other, Toolan turned to LtCol Suleiman, commanding the 506th Battalion. The mutilation at the trestle bridge happened on March 31, a week after the Marines had taken over from LtCol Drinkwine. The Marines knew Drinkwine admired Suleiman, a solidly-built man with a bristling mustache. But since Fallujah had erupted, Suleiman had stayed in his compound with his few remaining soldiers. Toolan knew him slightly.
“I need leaders from Fallujah to stand up,” Toolan said to Suleiman. “We’ll equip your men. We need them to live with our Marines twenty-four hours a day for the next few weeks. We’ll pay them good money and take care of them.”
“They won’t do it,” Suleiman said, shaking his head.
Toolan looked at a pinched-faced Iraqi sitting next to Suleiman. Lieutenant Colonel Jabar, who commanded the 505th Battalion and took his cues from Suleiman, refused to say anything. The 505th had collapsed at the railroad station on April 13, when LCpl Gray was killed in the searchlight tower.
“You’re asking too much,” Suleiman said, answering for Jabar. “We cannot do this.”
Toolan turned to the police chief, an overweight man who was drinking a second bottle of cold water.
“My police have lost everything,” the chief said. “No cars, no equipment. We can do nothing.”
“I’ll provide cars,” Toolan said. “Bring ten or fifteen of your men tomorrow. I’ll have a hundred Marines walking with them, with tanks.”
“No walking. We should drive to the city hall [Government Center] together,” the chief said. “Marines on the street make the people nervous. It’s better to drive to city hall, then leave.”
“That’s the old way and it didn’t work. I was with the 82nd when we drove to city hall in March. We were shot at and the police disappeared,” Toolan said. “If someone shoots at us, we are shooting back this time until it is over. We walk, and we choose where we walk.”
The Iraqi leaders shook their heads and looked down at their notebooks.
“The people refuse joint patrols,” Hatim said. “You can destroy the city, like Hiroshima. I believe in dialogue, not force.”
LtCol Olson tried his hand. “Colonel Suleiman, we must build trust together,” he said. “Show the people we work together. We won’t enter a single house unless we are shot at. Like any city in the world, we must have feet on the ground to know what is going on.”
Suleiman shook his head no and looked away.
Hatim, becoming more agitated, ignored Suleiman and leaned across to speak to Toolan. “All is like the war last year. No electricity, no water,” he said. “The Americans before you didn’t have respect for the people. Drove where they pleased. Many mistakes. I had eighteen years in the army all over Iraq. This is a good city. This fighting is America’s fault.”
“The city is not safe now, Colonel,” Toolan said. “Together we’ll bring safety, and I’ll bring money. Forty million dollars. I’m here until October. By then the city will have electricity, clean water, many jobs.”
Hatim shrugged and looked down at his hands.
LtCol Byrne tried a different tack. “Colonel Hatim,” he said, “can we agree that we share the same goals? We both want the heavy weapons and the foreign fighters removed from the city, do we not?”
“That is an American story. There are no foreign fighters,” Hatim said. “Anyone attacking my house, I fight. You are fighting everyone. There is no trust of you. We take care of security by ourselves. If you are not here, there is no problem.”
Toolan looked again at Suleiman, who had withdrawn from the conversation. It was impossible to tell whether he was distancing himself from Hatim’s remarks or was miffed that the Fallujah council had offered Hatim a position above him.
“My boss,” Toolan said to Suleiman, “wants joint patrols.”
Suleiman shook his head.
“My soldiers will not come,” he said. “They are afraid to be seen with Americans. Their families are afraid. We will not go into Fallujah with you.”
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When the Iraqis left, Toolan told his commanders to stay behind and beckoned to an army staff sergeant sitting in the corner. Staff Sergeant Rashed Qawasimi walked forward and sat next to Toolan.
Qawasimi, a Palestinian by birth, had the linguist’s gift for mimicking local dialects. An intelligence operative, he had worked for Mattis and Toolan a year earlier. He wanted to remain undercover as long as possible, listening but not speaking Arabic.
“Colonel, they won’t come around, no matter how many meetings you hold,” SSgt Qawasimi said. “Joint patrols are dead. Anyone seen with us ends up with a cut throat.”
“What’s going on between Hatim and Suleiman?”
“Suleiman’s genuinely pissed. You said you were placing Hatim on top of him. His pride is hurt.”
“I said the council wanted to do that,” Toolan said.
“You’re the man, Colonel,” Qawasimi said. “You provide the payroll. Council’s got squat.”
“The Council goes along to get along,” Toolan said. “They want Hatim. That means Hatim’s acceptable to the other side, and Suleiman’s not. I’m not anointing Hatim just yet.”
“They’re both staying away from us, sir,” Qawasimi said. “Joint patrols will never happen.”
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While Toolan was meeting with the Iraqis, Mattis was driving back to division headquarters outside Ramadi. Toolan called Col Dunford to say the joint patrols looked like a nonstarter. Back at the Blue Diamond, Dunford pulled together a dozen officers to assess the alternatives. When Mattis arrived, Dunford began the meeting by saying that the only written guidance was the JTF Warning Order of April 22, advising the division to be prepared to resume offensive operations. The concept of joint patrols had been passed verbally to the division. Now that idea was dead. We’ve lost weeks, Dunford concluded, and we’re back at square one. The division is ready to execute, but the staff doesn’t know what’s going on at higher levels.
