Desperately needed sleep would have to wait until I ensured that all was in order. As my majors and I conferred, it was clear that we now had the initiative. I knew it, and Colonel Hickey knew it, too. He pushed us hard. Jack and I, excited at the prospect of the surge of new intelligence, worked together on the next round of suspects. We were getting some valuable tips from local Iraqis. Captain Tim Morrow, my intelligence officer, sifted through the new data.
Jack’s men continued to focus on Abid Mahmood. He arrived with the news that Mahmood may have fled to the northern suburb of Tikrit called “Cadaseeyah.” He asked for Chris Morris and my scouts again, and, of course, I complied. Jack left, and I gave instructions to alert Chris with a warning order.
I was comfortable with our plans to attack the enemy. So I was caught completely off guard when my staff relayed a myriad of senseless divisional and corps staff directives that would potentially impair our ability to pursue the adversary. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. One of my favorite directives introduced at that time was the “trip ticket.” Some genius, whose backside was no doubt shaped like the seat of a chair, determined each and every patrol had to be cleared by higher. Higher what? Intelligence? Stupidity? What kind of blockhead, I wondered, believed their staff directives could override the authority of a commander engaged in fighting the enemy? Maybe some troop leader who likely used his armored vest as a doorstop? It would be difficult to respond spontaneously, either defensively or offensively, to the tasks of war if each soldier had to obtain a “trip ticket” to leave headquarters, rather like getting your mother’s permission to play outside. No doubt the reason for leaving the compound in the first place would no longer exist after complying with protocol.
As I digested these new directives, I could feel the anger tempting me inside. This was an insane order for combat troops. It might work for the 3rd Leaf-eating Battalion or some such entity, but there was no way combat troops could endure such bureaucratic nonsense at our level. Once again, I lodged a complaint with Colonel Hickey and General Odierno. Once again, I was instructed to focus on combat missions and keep the enemy at bay. They promised to quash the protests of those who never ventured from protective compounds. True to their word, as always, they did.
The advantage of deploying with the first units into any war is that the volume of nonsense is far less than when the theater gets more developed. I had seen it before in Kosovo and Afghanistan. Still, there we were, not three months into our mission in Iraq, contending with such idiotic orders as wearing seat belts in combat fighting vehicles and needing a “trip ticket” to go on combat patrol. Insanity! The seat belt order was ludicrous because the strap couldn’t encompass soldier, gear, and ammo. Furthermore, trying to release a seat belt when caught in an ambush could be fatal when split seconds mattered. With the cover of my higher leaders, I instructed my soldiers to be polite at the gates but to never slow down for such frivolity and to always ensure that they could fight instantly. They were to inform inflexible gatekeepers to take up any objections with me. Few ever did.
I needed to turn in. In just three hours we would start all over. I felt like my head had just hit the pillow when Captain Matt Weber awakened me three hours later. I rose from a rock-dead sleep to a day that promised great activity. Our C Company was already netting a lot of bad guys by setting up flash checkpoints. By evening’s end, they would seize more than a dozen insurgents at gunpoint and haul in everything from AK-47 rifles to RPG components. As an added bonus, one of the captives was connected to a “Deck of Cards” guy.
As dusk fell, Chris’ scouts readied for action. Jack gave us the hit times for the Mahmood raid. I arranged for tank support in the north with Jon Cecalupo’s men while my rifle companies focused on the city. Cadaseeyah is more open than the tightly packed quarters of Tikrit proper. This allowed our tanks to use their optics and range to cover the operations. They would also be able to use speed for action when needed. My mortars stood ready, and Jack’s team prepared special ops birds in support.
The raid was swift. The forces converged on a well-appointed expansive residence with a walled courtyard. The main exterior wall of the residence was adorned with an elaborate sculpture of gazelles. Flash-bang grenades concussed the calm night as gates snapped and troops moved in. Our scouts held the corners of the walled compound; SOF guys invaded the interior. Stunned and haggard, a gaunt and unshaven Abid Hamid Mahmood al-Khatab was nabbed and secured. Saddam’s Presidential Secretary would perform no more administrative duties for him. The feeling of capturing the Ace of Diamonds was utterly euphoric, but this was no time to celebrate; much remained to be done.
The document guys went to work quickly. What a wildly successful night! In a calculated move, the news of Mahmood’s capture, the biggest of the war to that point, was released in an effort to show that we had the upper hand. The news spread around the globe, and reporters in Baghdad and elsewhere made plans for increased coverage of Tikrit. News was being made there.
Success felt good. Nothing raises morale like success. All the comforts of home can do nothing to lift the spirit like success. Even if the comforts of home were available, they could do nothing for morale if the mission failed. Success is the only true thing soldiers desire in battle. It is the only thing that lends any kind of meaning to our suffering and sacrifice.
QUEENS AND CASH
We readied ourselves for the next mission based on the information Mahmood surrendered in his capture. That led back to his original residence in Auja, which was added to a list of two other suspected target houses. News of Mahmood’s capture gave Iraqis enough confidence to tell us about a possible safe house for Saddam south of Auja near the Tigris River. I instructed Mark Stouffer to plan raids on the three dwellings in Auja since his command was there. To beef up his force, I attached Chris Morris’ Scout Platoon to him for the raids. Chris’ troops were needed because part of Mark’s company was still attached to the 101st Airborne in Mosul and some were guarding ammo dumps in the south, which strapped his forces even further. Mark would be in overall command of the fourth target, but some autonomy would be given to Chris to provide the initial force to cordon the farm until Mark’s troops could arrive following their house raids in Auja.
I alerted the battalion mortars and gathered what air support Colonel Hickey was able to secure for us. My other companies would continue their combat patrols of Tikrit. We would execute the raids at 0200 on the morning of June 18. Our forces planned to be in position on the evening of the 17th to avoid raising suspicion in the targeted areas. It was going to be another long and busy night.
Mark opted to use an infantry platoon on the Auja houses. Two of the houses were adjacent to each other and could easily be grouped together. By arranging his forces in proximity to the Mahmood house, he could provide mutual support to his forces and still hit each objective. Chris Morris announced that, after the strike in Auja, his scouts would move to cordon and monitor the farm as Mark’s forces closed in from Auja. The idea was to display a lot of activity in Auja in order to catch the farm by surprise. Chris’ men would surround it; Mark’s soldiers would then raid it.
To better support the operation, I relocated two mortar tubes near Colonel Hickey’s brigade headquarters to increase their range. We had seen the Auja targets before. Mark’s troops lived among them, and his main compound, a sports complex in the village, was actually quite near two of the houses. The Mahmood house had been raided by Jack’s SOF team and our troops a few nights before. These were all well-constructed and well-appointed houses. Most had eight-foot or higher exterior walls with a single point of entry. The two houses near Mark’s compound were bordered on the back by a large wooded area, making the possibility of escape a major concern for the troops surrounding the locality.
A few miles farther south, the setting was very different. Resting below a bluff several hundred yards from the Tigris, the Hadooshi farm was sorely out of place. The main structure looked ordinary enough—a typical
concrete prefab multi-room dwelling with a garage and garden, all facing the west bank of the Tigris. Cattle dotted the field within the wall to the east. A stable was nearby. South of the main structure was a large fish hatchery, and even farther south, and wildly out of place, was a square guest house that dominated the entire compound.
The guest quarters, constructed of fine Italian brick and marble, were elaborately trimmed and crowned with expensive chandeliers. It was designed on the order of Saddam’s palaces in Tikrit. What was it doing out here, and why weren’t the residents living in it? These questions would soon have answers.
We led the raid as Jack’s guys were interested but still not sure of our intelligence sources. Still, with Saddam as a possible target, some of their guys joined us later, and we were glad to have them.
The tactical approach to Mohammed al-Hadooshi’s farm was tenuous at best. The access road from the main highway led through a small village called Oynot (pronounced “Why not,” the name a source of comic relief for our soldiers). Exiting town, it led downward into a carved-out bluff, which was ideal for an ambush. If we attempted to bypass the main road, which we did, we would have to traverse even narrower dike roads. Any navigational error would result in a fatal plunge into fetid, soaked fields. These were even more vulnerable to ambush.
We already had indication that a guard regularly patrolled the farm compound with other guard activity all around it. Satellite photos showed guard shacks at both the entrance and the back of the farm. Approach to this compound without detection was unlikely. Speed would, therefore, be essential. Chris’ scouts would secure the outer areas while Mark Stouffer’s A Company would strike the main buildings. Air and mortar support would stand by.
With successive raids planned and coordinated, we would wait for evening, but evening would not wait for us. About an hour after sunset, the explosive “dumpster crash” sound of an RPG rocket smashed the stale night air. The radio began to crackle with contact reports about an attack on Mark’s troops in Auja. I was patrolling in Tikrit and ordered my driver to nose our vehicle south. In such a situation, the heart begins to race. The mind fills with a thousand “what-ifs” as you check your weapon and equipment while mentally trying to prepare for the unknown. I alerted my other companies but waited for Mark to develop the situation. He had a hundred guys to work it, and the last thing he needed was his commander breathing down his neck. We raced toward Auja from downtown Tikrit.
None of our men had been hit, but Mark’s compound had. Two insurgents, armed with a rocket launcher, fired directly at Mark’s troops who were occupying the security post on the northeast end of their compound. The rocket exploded just short of their post, showering flame, metal, and concrete, but hurting only the wall. The soldiers on security at this outpost spotted brief activity to the east in the woods just south of the very dwellings we intended to raid in a few hours.
Chris Morris’ scouts immediately mounted up the scout gun trucks and spurred them into action. Chris was coordinating the final preparations with Mark at his company command post when the attack hit. Mark deployed his “Gators” into the woods and along the houses. They spotted two men running south from the market area into the woods. Chris searched farther south in an attempt to cut off anyone trying to flee into the fertile, overgrown river area.
I arrived in Auja to see Mark’s Bradleys positioned around part of the area we intended to raid. Chris had a gun truck deployed with them. Soldiers watched walls, roofs, alleys, woods, and streets while I found Mark to get an update. He told me that First Lieutenant Eric Tapp’s soldiers had cleared the two houses near the place attackers were believed to have fired the rocket. Our soldiers detained several males from the houses. I put Joe Filmore to work on them while Major Mike Rauhut relayed reports to Colonel Hickey. Mark said that the attackers likely headed south.
All our plans for the night had instantly changed. Any bad guys leisurely going about their business in Auja would be nervous about our presence and might have ideas of fleeing before our planned raids (which were still three hours away) could be carried out. While we could adjust our plans, it was obvious that the enemy had plans of his own that evening. Was this the end of the enemy’s attack plans? Was it a diversion? Were there additional enemy cells afoot preparing for an ambush?
With these questions in mind, I quickly made a decision. I told Mark and Chris to execute the raids right then. While it was not the fight we anticipated, it was the fight we had, and I believed that we still had the advantage of surprise. The individuals at the target houses would not anticipate our interest in them based on the events that had just transpired and they would likely be hunkered down. Ironically, one of the houses that our troops had searched in pursuit of the RPG attackers was one of two target houses. We were able to find some very useful photographs, documents, and phone lists there even though our targeted individual was not found.
Mark adjusted his forces. Chris reset his own. Mike Rauhut radioed from my command Humvee to Brian Reed at battalion headquarters about the new plan. Colonel Hickey arrived, as he often did when activity spiked. I briefed him on our situation and told him that we were implementing the raids immediately. He agreed. He wandered over to the Iraqis detained by Mark’s soldiers and questioned them with the aid of Joe Filmore, my translator.
Within ten minutes, our soldiers swarmed the remaining houses of our planned raid. Eric’s men seized two individuals of note, one of whom we were specifically seeking. With the capture of Brigadier General Kafim Jasim Nafar, the night’s effort was already worthwhile. Joe and Mark speculated that the men detained from the initial raid were not likely involved in the RPG rocket attack. We freed them. They were just dolphins among the sharks—wrong people, wrong place, wrong time. I ordered Chris to detach from us and set out for the Hadooshi Farm. He had already bagged one target, so speed was essential to prevent word from leaking to other possible targets at the Hadooshi farm.
I felt good about the evening and was proud of the way Mark’s men handled the earlier attack, but I felt a bit of angst about the farm. If Saddam was using it as a safe house, the enemy contact may have decreased our chances of nabbing him due to our change of plans. Such is war.
Chris’ scouts approached the Hadooshi farm from various points intending to cordon the area so that Mark’s soldiers could search the grounds. It did not play out that way. Because of the difficult approach, the scouts were spotted. Using a fleeting moment of surprise, Chris decided to speed toward the front entrance. As the scouts approached, two Iraqi men ran toward their pallets on the ground. The soldiers acted quickly, drawing their weapons on the men. Within moments, the Iraqis were zip-tied and squatted near their pallets. A quick search revealed two AK-47 rifles under the makeshift beds.
Chris radioed Mark to tell him that he had detained two men running for rifles and told Mark to notify him when the front entrance was secured. He needed immediate backup to better cordon the area. I raced toward the farm, as did Mark Stouffer. Eric Tapp’s platoon was already moving in that direction as Chris advanced into the compound. A large number of women and children were discovered inside the main dwelling, about fifteen in all.
Pablo Rivera, the Scout Platoon Sergeant, covered the front entrance on the north with his section while Staff Sergeant Brandon Walker’s section moved on the east side of the farm. Staff Sergeant Sean Shoffner’s section moved in to cover the other side. As the scouts thinly covered the farm, Mark’s troops closed in. Staff Sergeant Brad Owens’ troops linked up with the scouts and very quickly brought the farm under control.
When I arrived, Joe Filmore immediately went to work interrogating the Iraqis. We had definitely discovered something—but what? This place was odd—garages, stables, ornate guest quarters and multiple families. I ordered everything searched. This would take some time. With Eric Tapp’s Bradleys on site now, we had ample firepower for any contingency. What we needed was to make sense of this objective. With armed guards already detained, the scou
ts and infantrymen probed the remainder of the compound.
Brad Owens’ soldiers began to search a 20-foot trailer filled with hundreds of bags of grain. As Specialist Matt Summers and Private James Lusk removed the bags, they discovered a large cache of weapons. Soon, our soldiers would have submachine guns, foreign-make handguns, an SVD sniper rifle, more AK-47s, night vision goggles, cell phones, and many other high-end items not typically found among the average Iraqis.
Satisfied that we were onto something, I ordered Mark to secure the area until morning. I wanted every square inch of the farm searched in daylight. There was something irregular here, and I couldn’t let it go. I conveyed this to Staff Sergeant Sean Shoffner. He was adept at finding things, so much so that I called him “The Bloodhound.” He assured me the guys would be vigilant and uncover whatever was there. After conferring with Mark and Chris, I left Joe Filmore with them to continue grilling the Iraqis on site. As Jack’s SOF men arrived to search through our discovery, I returned to downtown Tikrit where C Company was wrapping up the successful checkpoint operations that had yielded numerous weapons and insurgents.
The search continued on the farm over the next several hours. Documents, photographs, weapons, phone lists—it was a treasure trove that would direct us to even more bad guys. However, nothing prepared us for what happened next. At the first break of daylight, Chris Morris emerged from the back of the farmhouse. Even though soldiers had searched all around, Chris noticed a patch of bare ground in the garden. When he stepped on it, the ground gave in a strange way under his weight. He called for a mine detector. There was a strong hit on it.
We Got Him! Page 7