Into the Storm: On the Ground in Iraq

by Tom Clancy

  And so, as warriors and soldiers, we all experienced this go-for-it-and-win feeling. It was nothing personal. But if they wanted a fight, they had come to the right place. There was no holding back.

  These intense feelings heightened senses to a new level. They put you in a zone. I cannot explain it, but I have never been so aware of sights and sounds as I have been in combat. You can just sense things you could not before. Maybe it is a function of the physical danger to those for whom you are most responsible, like a parent in a crisis situation with his family. You just know and do things that seem right at the time. You reach into the depths of your memory and recall things from your training, education, study, and experience that were not available to you before. You make patterns out of scraps and pieces of information that you could not make before. Later, when people ask why you did do such-and-so, you answer, "It felt right at the time." There is an uncanny sharp intellectual focus that allows your brain to process information, accept some, reject some, form conclusions, decide, not decide, all in nanoseconds. Napoleon said it was the result of "meditation," of enormous and continuing concentration on an area, off it, then back to it--and then things just appear to you. A certain calmness comes as well, it is all suspended in front of you in your head, the knowledge of what to activate and what not to. You can see it all in your mind's eye. Things go into slow motion; moments seem to last longer than they actually do.

  All of these experiences have happened to me in battle, and I have never been able to replicate them anywhere else. I especially felt them when I was out and around the soldiers, sensing their pride and pain. Even though I was not out there in the middle of it, I was close enough and I knew what the soldiers were feeling, because I had been there myself, had been shot at and hit and missed many times. I could feel it all--the emotions, the highs and lows of command and combat.

  REFLECTIONS

  That night was the most intense of the war, with the most concurrent activities . . . for me as the VII Corps commander . . . for the soldiers in the tanks and Bradleys . . . for the small-unit commanders trying to maintain order in their attack east in the dark . . . for my brigade and division commanders. The largest corps tank force in the history of the U.S. Army was on the attack. There was no time to stop or for summary briefings. I just listened and absorbed it all and used my imagination to picture the battle in my mind's eye.

  We had the 1st and 3rd Armored Divisions side by side in contact with the Iraqis on about a seventy-kilometer front, with five brigades attacking, or about 500 tanks and 300 Bradleys. These were supported by twelve battalions of cannon and rocket artillery (close to 300 systems). Coming on line with them on about a thirty-kilometer front in the south was the 1st INF passing through the 2nd ACR. They would attack forward with two tank heavy brigades--or about 230 tanks and more than 100 Bradleys. To their south, the British were attacking with their two brigades, numbering almost 150 tanks and a similar number of Warriors. In all we had literally nine tank heavy brigades on line in a night attack against the Iraqis, plus the Apache attack deep into Minden.

  At one point, the noise was so great I thought there was a thunderstorm, grew concerned about the Apaches, and stepped outside the TAC. It was no thunderstorm. It was a JAYHAWK storm of firepower crashing down on the Iraqis. The sky was lit up by tracers big and small, and by the sparkle effect given by the MLRS as they fired off on the ground onto Iraqi positions. The air was filled with the constant roar of exploding artillery and the thump of tank and Bradley cannons. The ground vibrated. It was awesome.

  All the while, like all my commanders that night, I had to make quick decisions about this current battle even as I continued to think about the next day's fight. Should we pass the 1st INF at night? Yes. Should we conduct a deep attack with the Apaches? Yes. Should we do a second attack on Minden? Yes. Should we go beyond the FSCL in that second attack to Highway 8? No. There were reports of fire across boundaries and fratricide. Time to call 1st AD and 3rd AD commanders and order them to get their flank coordinated so that it would stop.

  Then came the plans for the next battle. If I wanted to maintain the tempo of the attack, I had to issue orders soon, before the current fight was finished. So we drew up the double envelopment, our tentative maneuver scheme for the next day.

  Time to give John Yeosock a word picture of what was going on, and to request more maneuver room for the British, and also in the north between us and XVIII Corps (Stan Cherrie had asked for another ten kilometers of space to the north of our sector to ease fitting the 1st CAV into our attack east; he was turned down). Watch the open flank of the 1st AD in the north. Track the progress of the 1st CAV to Lee, then tell them to go to Horse. Figure where to displace the TAC in the morning.

  I was enormously proud of the soldiers and leaders in the small-unit actions all over the corps. I knew it was not easy. I had been in battle at night, but never like this, not on this scale, not with almost 1,000 tanks, not with nine brigades on line.

  AFTER the Big Red One had reported successful passage of lines through the 2nd ACR and the Apaches had returned safely, and after I decided on another attack on Minden, I decided to get some rest--something the soldiers in battle would not get that night.

  It was difficult to leave the TAC. I knew we were in the largest corps night attack since World War II, and maybe ever. Before the night was finished, there would be acts of unbelievable heroism by VII Corps soldiers and moments of sheer terror, as units fought their way through Iraqi forces trying both to defend and to get out of the way. Commanders would be tense as they maneuvered their formations to keep them oriented on the enemy and to avoid blue-on-blue, and as they brought their awesome firepower against the Iraqis. Our attack helicopters would range deep, and that would require steady nerves and coordination. A-10s flying night CAS missions would do their best to help, even with their limited night-vision capability.

  The Iraqis would try to cope. They'd crank their turrets by hand to keep the tanks cool and thus invisible to the M1A1 night sights. They'd allow attacking U.S. units to pass through, then fire on them from behind creating 360-degree fights, and trying to hit U.S. tanks in their rear grille doors. Some dismounted Iraqi infantry would even try to climb onto U.S. tanks.

  Some of our soldiers would be wounded that night.

  Some would not see another day.

  I knew all that, and felt I should remain awake while it was going on, but the truth was that it was no longer in my hands. The orders had been given, and now it was up to the major unit commanders and their subordinate commanders and the soldiers to execute them. I had made the decision to commit them. All I could do at this point was trust in their leadership, courage, and skill. All were in abundance that night.

  I was more convinced than ever that time was running out. At one point, I said to Toby: "I'll bet there will be a cease-fire soon." How soon, I did not know.

  The length of a limited-objective conflict is influenced by a lot of factors, most of which I was not privy to as a corps commander. In all of the Arab-Israeli wars, for instance, last-minute tactical actions were undertaken in order to gain ground or positions that could be used to one side's advantage in talks after the war, and stalling allowed eleventh-hour maneuvers.

  When the opening shots are fired, the hourglass is turned over. How fast the sand runs from top to bottom is influenced by many factors, and the two chief factors here, at least that I was aware of, were, on the one side, Iraqi resistance, and on the other, our own objectives. On the night of 26-27 February, the Iraqis were still fighting in some coherent defense, and they were capable of brigade and even division-sized actions. Yet I was also aware that their units were beginning to become intermingled, a sure sign that their cohesion was breaking down. We were taking prisoners, but they were not giving up without a fight, as some of their frontline units had done. Some equipment was later found abandoned, but that was because the Iraqis thought they were getting hit from the air (they could not see some of ou
r tanks firing at extended ranges); when attacked from the air, their drill was to abandon their equipment and get in their bunkers.

  How much longer would they be able to fight back? I thought another twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Meanwhile, we still had not come in ground contact with either the Medina or Hammurabi Divisions, which meant we definitely had some fighting left.

  But the results would be similar. We clearly had the initiative and the firepower. The battles so far had been one-sided, and more one-sided battles would follow. So it was then a matter of how long and at what cost to our troops.

  In prewar estimates, I had figured two days to get to the RGFC, four days to destroy them, and two days to consolidate. In fact, we had actually gotten to the RGFC security zone less than twenty-four hours after the launch of our attack--the 2nd ACR action at noon on the twenty-fifth against the 50th Brigade of the 12th Armored Division along Phase Line Smash. And less than twenty-four hours later, on the morning of the twenty-sixth, the 2nd ACR had hit the early defense lines of the Tawalkana. Then 73 Easting had come only a few hours after that, about 150 kilometers from where we had first attacked at 1500 on the twenty-fourth.

  At midafternoon, the 3rd AD had begun a major attack against the 29th Brigade and elements of the 9th Brigade of the Tawalkana at what they would call the Battle of Phase Line Bullet (just east of Phase Line Smash).

  All units were in contact with security and lead tank battalions of the Iraqi forces by midnight on 26 February. Throughout the night, VII Corps divisions fought major armored battles that continued all day on 27 February and into that night.

  After they overran the logistics site and HQ of the Iraqi VII Corps at al-Busayyah, the 1st AD turned east and began their attack on other elements of the northern brigade of the Tawalkana, the 29th, and the brigade of the Adnan Division sent south to assist the Tawalkana. The 1st AD also would send their Apaches deep three times to attack repositioning elements of the Medina Division.

  Midnight was fifty-seven hours after we had begun at 1500 on the twenty-fourth.

  I did not know we had only another thirty-two hours. Neither did anyone else at that point.

  So while it was difficult to go rest while the soldiers were still fighting out there, I knew I had to. "Don't worry, General, we trust you." Well, had I fulfilled that trust? To that point I thought I had, but there was more to do. We had to bring this to an end. The troops did not need a tired, fuzzy-thinking corps commander the next day when we made our final move. Toby was right. The best thing I could do was get some rest.

  I asked Stan to wake me if anything came up, and went to get a few hours' sleep. I think it was sometime past 0100, probably close to 0200. The TAC was still humming and radios were crackling with battle reports. Most of my TAC crew were still at it.

  0400 VII CORPS TAC CP

  It was still dark when I awoke, but by now the sounds of battle to the east had passed us by. Coffee was welcome. You learn to wake up fast in combat--your brain and senses turn up to maximum right away; maybe they never completely turn off.

  Time to change stump socks: the last thing I needed was a blister on my stump. It had held up well, though. My enlisted aide, Sergeant First Class Lance Singson,45 had gotten me spare cuff straps in case I needed them, and had brought a spare leg. I never used either, but I was glad to have them. As a student at the National War College, I had broken my leg while running on the streets of Fort McNair doing physical training, and done the same thing later as a member of the J-7 Joint Staff--both times landing as though I'd been cut down by a cornerback on a Saturday afternoon. So a spare leg was good to have. By this time the chemical suits were getting nasty. Though we had had no reports of chemical use by the Iraqis, and had not discovered any chemical munitions, we all had been wearing the suits and sleeping in them for almost three days. The charcoal was coming through and getting all over everything.

  UPDATE: FRATRICIDE

  On this night, we would have the greatest numbers of blue firing on blue.

  It is a fact of war, present in every war we have fought. Who does not remember Stonewall Jackson at Chancellorsville in 1863? The Army chief of ground forces, General Leslie McNair, was killed by blue-on-blue in Normandy in 1944. We certainly had it in Vietnam. In our unit one day, an error with 81-mm mortars brought fire directly onto a unit that had requested fire on the enemy.

  The fact of it, though, should not diminish our urgency to eliminate it in the future, however slim the chances. How do we do that? By training the troops, by giving them knowledge of the situations where the probabilities of fratricide are higher, and by simple increased awareness. At the same time, we must not so alarm our troops or leaders that they will become tentative in battle; that would make matters even worse.

  In Desert Storm, we tried a few more specialized preventive measures. Some worked better than others. None was foolproof:

  Our troops were well trained in identifying enemy equipment, but at ranges in excess of 2,000 meters on a night-vision sight, all you see is a hot spot about the size of one of the letters in this word.

  To provide better identification for our vehicles, we tried uniform theater combat markings (which, unfortunately, could be seen only in daytime). And at the last minute, we also got so-called glint tape, which was supposed to be visible through night-vision devices. It did not work. For identification by our own air, we had standard air-ground issue marking panels, but these were not visible from 10,000 feet, where most of our fixed-wing air flew. We tried it by sending Apaches to 10,000 feet; even with optics that were better than the Air Force's, they could not tell friend from foe.

  So we did what soldiers and leaders have always done. We relied on discipline, and looked at the risks to various types of tactics in various types of weather, and adjusted accordingly.

  In the end, despite all the possibilities for blue-on-blue as the armored formations attacked in close proximity to one another, countless stories emerged about how combat discipline prevented it. Our soldiers and leaders were extraordinarily restrained, and in fact at times that led to severe command tensions in the heat of battle. On many occasions, our troops gave up their range advantage over the Iraqis and closed to ranges where it was possible to make positive ID, even though they were in greater danger from more accurate Iraqi fire. I have already mentioned cases in which units passed Iraqi units, which would then fire on them from behind. When our own units fired back, they occasionally caused inadvertent hits on our own vehicles behind the Iraqis. An enemy force between two friendly units posed similar problems: if one of the friendly units fired and missed, the shot could easily impact on the other friendly unit (that actually happened on the morning of 28 February). Similarly, on the flat desert, rounds traveling at close to a mile a second could easily cross unit boundaries. Finally, if you look through a so-called night sight, it is virtually impossible to tell whether you are seeing an enemy firing at you or a friendly vehicle being hit by enemy fire. We expected our gunners to make that life-or-death judgment in nanoseconds.

  In VII Corps during Desert Storm, of the forty-six U.S. soldiers KIA, ten were classified as killed by our own fire. Of the sixteen British KIA, nine were blue-on-blue--the A-10 attack on the Warrior. Other deaths were listed as probable or possible, as they occurred during simultaneous friendly fire and enemy fire, where it was not possible to determine the cause of death. Still, we did our best to find out. A team from AMC (Army Material Command) checked our hit vehicles for uranium residue--a telltale sign that it was from our fire, since the Iraqis did not have that type of ammunition. That team personally briefed me and our commanders.

  In every case where there was suspected blue-on-blue in VII Corps, I ordered an investigation. I wanted it done for three reasons: so that commanders could make the proper classification of combat death; so that family members would know what had happened; and finally, so that commanders could make a judgment about how it had happened and whether there was justification for punitive action
. We were not directed to do this by higher HQ. I just thought it was the right thing to do.

  The results of these investigations were all reviewed personally by major unit commanders, by me personally, and by Colonel Walt Huffman, my staff judge advocate, for legal correctness, then they were forwarded to Third Army. It was not until April 1991 (before we left Iraq) that we finished these reviews and forwarded the results. It should not have taken so long to release the information and to tell the next of kin.

  None of these thoughts is offered as an excuse, nor are they probably of much comfort to the next of kin. These soldiers died doing what they were ordered to do against an enemy on a battlefield. It does not diminish their status as heroes and soldiers that they died from our own fire or our own munitions. I regret every one of these deaths, just as I regret all the deaths in the corps from every cause.