Chapter Five
Kurdistan
THE BIG DAY CAME when space was available and we flew to northern Iraq seated on cargo netting, wondering if the circulation in our legs would ever return. We landed at an Iraqi airport in what was formerly known as Kurdistan. The Kurds are an ethnic minority that populates the northern section of Iraq, eastern Turkey and northwestern Iran. These are the same people that Saddam Hussein used nerve agents on as a means to control them and intimidate any other groups in Iraq that were not staying in line. I remember viewing pictures of the streets of Kurdish villages lined with the dead bodies of people who suffered a horrible death at the hands of their own government.
When I saw first-hand the cruel oppression that Saddam had inflicted on his own people, I believed America did the right thing by taking him down. Although some people have asked me, “If this is true should we not invade every country ruled by an evil dictator?” I would answer, “of course not”; yet does that mean that we must never help some who are oppressed if we cannot help them all? I believe that we as individuals and as a nation can only help others when we have the courage and moral standing to do so and for no other reason.
I found this area of Iraq to be unlike what I had seen on television while in Kuwait. It was no flat infinite desert like Kuwait, but rather rolling hills covered with green grass, scattered trees and an abundance of streams and herds of animals. The area didn’t have as many trees as we had in northern New England, but it still didn’t feel totally foreign. The air was reasonably clear and the Kurdish people extremely polite.
We settled in at our new base with two man trailers and decent surroundings. The Kurds were good to work with; aside from dealing with the enemy, this looked to be a good tour overall. That should have been our first clue that things would change; our company eventually split up and my platoon moved south to central Iraq to the Sunni Triangle (ST), Saddam’s home territory. We went from working where the locals hated Saddam and saw us as liberators from his tribal stronghold, to where the locals saw us as invaders.
The Palace
We were told that it was a better move because we would be living in one of Saddam’s former palaces. Sure enough when we rolled in the buildings were amazing to behold; it looked like something out of a Hollywood movie about Babylon (but with bullet holes in the walls). It was then that my gunner spoke words of wisdom.
“We are not staying in any of these buildings; we’re the Nasty Guard. There has got to be a ghetto here somewhere.”
(Nasty Guard was an insult often casted at the National Guard by active duty soldiers because in their minds we were not professionals.) Of course my gunner was right. We drove past all the big amazing buildings, past the Post Exchange (PX), the DFAC and the recreational building (MWR) and continued down to the swamp. This area near the Tigris River was where Saddam “kept women” in a small collection of buildings next to man-made ponds that were now a dark shade of puke green. Being so close to the river meant that we were dealing with mosquitoes and the possibility of malaria.
These three buildings were once well maintained with marble floors and walls, stone carvings and gold-plated art work throughout. Spacious bedrooms with open air patios overlooked a manmade pond stocked with exotic fish. Upon our arrival the plumbing was not functioning and most of the wiring had been ripped out. What once housed maybe six women was now home to approximately forty soldiers and their gear. No one dared swim in the green ponds, but we did manage to go fishing. Using the antennas from our HMVs with string and hotdogs for bait we entertained ourselves with catch and release fishing during what little down time we had. I mentioned this activity to my family and my oldest brother Ray sent me a collapsible fishing pole with a small tackle box. It was a big hit and a lot of fun when we could fish; it is the simple things that help make difficult times pass easier.
Sometimes the best military leaders think outside the box. Due to our constant movement and reassignment our luggage was lost, meaning that most of the gear meant to sustain us for the entire year was missing. Just when we had lost hope of ever seeing our gear again, a young officer took the initiative and devised a plan to find our gear. Our gear had been loaded into a couple of metal containers called the conex back at Ft. Dix and was shipped out ahead of us. This was vital gear; For example, many of the soldiers were living with a minimal supply of uniforms. Not only was the conex not at our base waiting for us, it was nowhere to be found.
Our leader acquired the numbers that were assigned to our conexes and with a squad began to drive to each base looking for ours. When they arrived at a base and were informed of where the conexes were stored, he would walk up and down row upon row looking for the matching numbers. Eventually he did indeed find them and our gear was returned; that is a great example of a leader taking care of the troops even when it endangered his own life by going outside the wire or outside the base.
Just when we thought things here could not get any more bizarre, we were advised by the Permanent Party (PP) of the base to not walk around at night because tigers, hyenas and other wild animals were living in the tall grass near the river. It seems that Saddam kept these animals in a zoo on his palace compound. When the invasion began he set these animals loose in the hopes of creating more chaos. I had to see this zoo for myself, and what I found was not only sickening but certainly helped to confirm in my own mind that Saddam and his followers were themselves animals. The cages were indeed open and empty, but on the concrete floor were obvious blood stains from times when Saddam had thrown in live victims. We were told by a team that disassembled the cages that Saddam routinely threw his political enemies into the animal cages and made their families watch with him as they were torn to pieces and eaten. This would not be the last time I would see hard evidence that the Iraqi people survived under a living nightmare.
Occasionally we would provide convoy security for prisoner transport or detainee release. We all hated this work; handling prisoners was always more dangerous due to the nature of the work. Some of the detained Iraqis were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had been cleared by our Military Intelligence (MI) so we could transport them to their hometown or village for release. Others were bad news; these were Saddam’s loyal soldiers who had enjoyed a certain amount of power. Their power came as an extension of their position within Saddam’s regime. Iraqis do not see each other as fellow countrymen but as belonging to a particular tribe and followers of a certain Islamic tradition. Therefore all that matters to them is what tribe you belong to and whether or not you are in power.
When we loaded and unloaded detainees from the trucks, we did so one at a time. We conducted them in a very rough manner, not abusively, but in a way so that they understood we meant business. They had to believe that if they screwed with us we would kill them. If I have learned nothing else from living in the Middle East it is this: strength and the willingness to use it is all that matters to some people. If they do not fear you, you will die. Osama himself stated that America was a “Paper Tiger” and he was therefore prepared to attack us knowing that he had nothing to fear from us.
One event that I was honored to take part in was the posting of our unit guidon. A guidon is a unit flag that is posted outside of the command center for each unit. I got to hold the actual guidon that was carried to the Pacific Theater during World War II. It was donated to our unit prior to our deployment so we could carry it to Iraq and post it alongside our current guidon.
Chapter Six
Missions to Save Gilligan
THE BEST PART OF BEING BASED at Saddam’s former palace was the fact that we did not spend a lot of time there; rather we were on the road performing convoy escort (CE) missions which could last for days. Most of our missions became known as “Missions to Save Gilligan.” We would be sent out for a short escort to a nearby base and upon arrival be advised that we were then to escort another convoy onto another base and so on. What started out as a “three-hour tour” became a never en
ding series of CEs that could last for days.
The first time this happened it caught us by surprise. We were not prepared for such a lengthy mission. From that point forward our squad was prepared for almost any crazy order that came down to us. We would meet up with the convoy leader at a designated base, discuss logistics, routes of travel, ROEs and proceed to the next base which usually took all day.
I discovered that I preferred to spend my tour traveling from base to base rather than just sitting back at our own. Most soldiers will tell you they would rather be as far away from the “Flag Pole” (away from their CoC) as possible.
Taking Fire
During my first tour to Iraq I had opportunities to engage the enemy on their ground. Due to our CE missions my unit was ambushed on a regular basis. Once I got over the initial shock of being shot at I responded with a vengeance. While some soldiers were hoping that we would get through each mission with no attacks, I was praying just the opposite. I realized that when the enemy shot at me I discovered his exact position (there is an old saying with the infantry, “tracers work both ways”). I wanted my time in Iraq to count for something. I did not come here as a tourist, and I wanted to return home with the knowledge that I had damaged the enemy and protected my family in the only way I could. This outlook reminded me of a scene from the movie Pearl Harbor (Bay, 2001) when Ben Affleck’s character volunteered to fly for the British Royal Air Force (RAF). He was asked by a British aviator if Affleck was in a hurry to die, and Affleck responded with “I’m in a hurry to matter.”
Our CE missions were comprised of hours of driving around Iraq staring at miles of sand, camels and mud huts with satellite dishes on the roof. I even saw a number of nomadic tribes that had satellite dishes mounted outside their tents. This was an amazing picture of a mixture of old world traditions and new world technology. It was also a testament to how things had changed for Iraqis since our toppling of Saddam’s regime. Prior to the American invasion it was illegal to own a satellite dish because Saddam wanted to control the flow of information in and out of his country. Now they were everywhere.
When we first arrived in Iraq we were briefed by the soldiers we were replacing. They warned us about being ambushed. They stated that when you are forced to stop in a city, listen to the “call to prayer” that comes from the mosque (technically over a loudspeaker projected from the tower next to the mosque, a minaret). The call to prayer is sent out at specific times of the day and of course is in Arabic. Correctly assuming that most American soldiers do not speak Arabic, the enemy would use the loud speakers to announce and coordinate attacks on us. Being aware of the time of day and what the call normally sounds like allowed us to prepare for such an attack; however, however it became routine that if our convoy was forced to stop that we were about to get hit with enemy fire.
This was just another incident where I was appalled and felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. The enemy would use mosques as a means of attacking us, while hiding inside of them, knowing that we were forbidden to enter or fire at any Muslim religious building. What kind of people use the pretext of “holy ground” as an excuse for protection while trying to kill someone else? This would be similar to me shooting from the steeple of my Baptist church back home, knowing that my enemy could not fire back or enter my sanctuary. This also fueled my contempt for my enemy. Yet I was only scratching the surface of what I would witness later.
This would not be the last time I would be disgusted by the low level tactics they would use. Throughout my tours mosques were used to announce attacks, as staging areas, as actual headquarters and as a place to take prisoners for torture. Imagine dragging someone inside of your church, tying them down and drilling holes through their kneecaps (which are a common method of torture with our enemies).
I asked the officer who was briefing us why we didn’t eliminate their advantage by either firing on mosques or going in after them. By not doing this we are setting ourselves up for failure and the war will unnecessarily drag on if we are intent on not offending the people who are trying to kill us. His answer was that the United States did not want to antagonize other Muslims by doing this, my answer to him was “then why are the friendly Muslims not outraged by others using their mosques this way?” He stated that they most likely are outraged, but the average Iraqi has been so beaten down by Saddam that they fear to take a stand for anything. (During my later tour in Afghanistan I witnessed a very different reaction by the Afghan National Army (ANA). The enemy rarely used mosques as a fortress because the ANA would go in after them and drag them out by their heels.)
When we discussed these events at night most of our soldiers were horrified by what they saw and learned of our enemy. Yet there was always a critic of Christianity who would snidely accuse Christians of the same horrors, using the Inquisition and other terrible actions by the medieval Christian Church. I would respond by thanking them for proving my point; they had to draw from medieval history in order to make the comparison to “modern day” Islam. I would then ask them to imagine the Christian church without the Renaissance, without the Reformation and without the Enlightenment. “What then would we have?” I asked. “Islam,” he answered.
We were also advised that if you saw a news reporter with a camera, get ready, you were about to be in an ambush. It seems that the enemy was feeding their plans to various news agencies. This was done in order to maximize their propaganda opportunities and the news agency would get live coverage of Americans in combat. Unbelievable as that sounds it happened to us just that way. Once, our convoy was forced to stop in Baghdad with two- and three- story buildings on either side of the road. We exited our trucks and took cover while watching the windows and roof tops for any suspicious movement.
It was then that a blonde-haired woman with a microphone accompanied by a cameraman exited a building adjacent to our truck. There were no identifying markers on their equipment but I could hear the woman clearly speaking English. Within seconds of their appearance bullets began pinging off the side of our trucks from the building the newscaster had her back to. I was stunned for a moment; this news crew (American or otherwise) knew that American soldiers were going to be ambushed. They allowed it to happen, knowing that soldiers could die. Later that night as that picture raced through my mind over and over, I became sick asking myself why they were there. Was it just to get a sensational video or some twisted anti-war news agenda or both? How does someone rationalize their way through something like this? That was one of the most demoralizing moments of my time in Iraq; the thought that newscasters would knowingly be a part of an ambush. It sticks in my gut to this day.
As we continued to take fire I was trying to determine the actual location of the enemy shooters. The shots started from the right but quickly stopped and began coming from the buildings on the left side of the street. The combination of seeing the news team along with the fact that someone was shooting at my brothers angered me like nothing before. The anger I felt was not some type of out-of-control rage, it was much deeper than that. It grounded me and I felt almost invincible. I immediately began shouting orders to soldiers with the convoy trucks behind my own, directing their fire and looking for targets of opportunity myself.
It was then that I noticed that the pinging sound of bullets striking metal was all too close. Bullets were striking the side of our truck; the enemy had targeted me and was walking the rounds in. I jumped behind my HMV door for some protection and scanned the rooftops in the direction that the shots had come from. Just then I saw him, a man popped up over the short wall on a roof top approximately two hundred yards out on the second floor. He fired his AK-47 at me in a spraying motion and then disappeared behind the wall when he knew I had seen him and he was no longer willing to take the time to aim. Firing a semiautomatic rifle in a spraying motion, especially at that range, is extremely inaccurate.
I rested my M16 on top of the door and placed my sights near the rooftop where I had last seen him. Sure enough he popped u
p again, fired another burst of rounds, and disappeared. The whole world became still. I focused in on that one moment with my sights trained at his last location. Like clockwork, he popped up for another volley in the same location and I fired a three round burst at the silhouette of his head. His entire body was jerked backwards so violently that his head snapped up toward the sky and his arms opened up while he retained a death grip on his rifle, spraying bullets as he fell. A soldier nearby had seen and heard what had happened, called my name and gave me a thumbs up. At that very moment I did not even begin to think about what I had just done. We were still under fire and I had moved onto my next target.
The enemy intensified its attack with small arms and RPGs, so I moved to the side of a five-ton (a large truck used to carry troops and or supplies). There was a soldier from the convoy we were escorting manning a machine gun in their turret. Due to the advantage of his higher position I asked what he could see. Before he could answer I saw a shocked look on his face as I caught the boom of an RPG being fired behind me. An instant later the grenade from that RPG impacted the metal door of the truck within inches of my head! I was frozen there in time waiting for the inevitable blast that would kill me, but it never came. When the paralysis of the moment subsided I saw why I was still alive. The RPG was either not armed or had malfunctioned, which was not uncommon.
I looked up and noticed the gunners face was still pale from shock then he suddenly broke out laughing and pointed over my shoulder. I turned around to see the enemy who had fired at us standing on a rooftop still holding the empty launcher being slapped across the head by another enemy soldier; it looked like a something out of a Three Stooges movie. While we were laughing the gunner exclaimed, “Hey shouldn’t we be shooting at them?” I replied, “they will most likely kill themselves before the week is out.” Within a second of my remark they were out of sight.
Purple Hearts & Wounded Spirits Page 4
