We Got Him!

by Steve Russell

  The soldiers began to dig. They tapped into a metal box of some kind. It was a two-foot-square metal bank vault box containing more than $4 million in U.S. currency bundled in Chase Manhattan bank wrappers. Mark was alerted. The radio began to crackle. They relayed the information to me. By the time I reached the farm again, our men had discovered three such containers: two with $4 million each and one slightly smaller one with $2 million in jewelry. There was an additional $750,000.00 in foreign currency from Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and Great Britain. The scope of the find was staggering.

  Handling the incredible haul from the evening’s raid made it clear that we had landed something big. Among the males detained was Sabir Abd al-Aziz al-Hadooshi, a lieutenant colonel on our main target list. It was the documents and pictures, however, that captured our attention. Joe Filmore was elated.

  “Sir, look at these. This is from Sajida Kheralla Toulfak Hussein,” he asserted while tapping what appeared to be a passport. Seeing my puzzled look, he clarified, “This is Saddam Hussein’s wife!”

  In the next few moments, Joe described the documents and items lying on the table before us—identity cards, papers, and the personal family photo albums of Saddam Hussein. Stunned, I called Colonel Hickey. He returned to the farm, and more of Jack’s men came for a look.

  The Hadooshi Farm Raid was one of the most important events that summer. From that raid, we not only depleted $10 million from Saddam’s personal coffers, but we gathered intelligence from the papers, photographs, and documents that would prove invaluable in the hunt for Saddam. I have often wondered if Mrs. Hussein was among the women on the farm that night. Joe didn’t think so. Considering how Saddam would later be captured, I can’t help but wonder to this day if he was hiding below ground at the farm that night. We may never know.

  News of the raid and its yield quickly spread around the world. As we sifted through the haul, one of the most important finds was a picture of former Special Republican Guard Commander Barzan Abd al-Ghufar Sulayman Majid al-Tikriti, a relative of Saddam and number 11 on America’s Most Wanted List. He was also known as the Queen of Hearts on the Deck of Cards. This was the first photograph anyone had of him and, as a result, he was captured shortly thereafter. Another high-ranking member of Saddam’s elite expunged from the deck.

  TRANSITIONS

  After we withdrew our forces, we had a vast treasure to sift and sort through back at headquarters. I ordered the money and jewelry immediately secured by armed guard. After looking at the jewelry, I was concerned some of it might contain pieces of the Kuwaiti crown jewel collection still missing from the first Gulf War. While we were accounting for all the money next morning, Mark Stouffer’s troops netted a cousin of Saddam’s leaving Auja with a Samsonite suitcase containing $800,000. We added it to the $9.3 million worth of already confiscated booty.

  The sergeant major and I formulated a plan to safeguard this loot. Ten million dollars would be an overpowering temptation for even the most honorable soldier. Each individual bill was a Ben Franklin. Each half-inch wrapper contained $10,000. Each stack contained ten such wrappers totaling $100,000. We had 84 of these stacks, not including the foreign currency or the money that Mark had just reported. Spread out, it was literally a bed of cash on which a man could stretch out.

  Pete procured a black tough box, the kind one could purchase at Wal-Mart and throw in the back of a pickup truck back home. On the opening side were two hasps for locks. We placed a “Series 200” government lock on each one. Pete wore the key to one lock around his neck, and I wore the other around mine. Anyone wanting in the tough box would need both of us to open it, rather like nuclear missile guys collaborating for a launch. To make entry more complicated and to deter the curious, I ordered Sergeant First Class Milton Benson to count every bill each time the chest was opened. Benson could bench-press 300 pounds and looked like he could crush you with his thumbs. That would be enough to annoy him and keep the tough box closed to inquiring minds.

  By late afternoon, division reported the media’s interest in the fortune and jewels confiscated in our raid. We would later coordinate a press event for the purpose of displaying the currency and jewelry for the cameras. In the meantime, there was a war waiting for us.

  My personnel officer informed me of the arrival and assignment of Captain Brad Boyd to our headquarters. He was a godsend. I planned to place him in immediate command of my C Company. The current commander was no coward, but in my estimation, he was not handling his company well. In early assessments, I rated them the weakest of the fighting companies.

  Early on, I had several sit-downs with the soldiers and sergeants of the various units in my command. Clearly, there was much infighting within C Company. The soldiers, excellent material and with capable junior officers, were not being properly led. I was very candid with these men. At one such meeting, a sergeant asked me point-blank why I always gave the raids to A Company. I shot back, “Because they are better than you.” War is no place to be concerned with feelings or fairness. A soldier can either carry the water or he can’t. If he can’t, he’d better learn to use a bucket quickly.

  I had met Brad Boyd prior to my deployment from Ft. Hood. He arrived as I was about to leave. I had a good exchange with him and a young captain named Mike Wagner. My intention was to garner both of these excellent officers for the 22nd Infantry. While I was immediately successful in securing Brad, Colonel Hickey had other ideas about getting both of them. Mike Wagner was siphoned to brigade headquarters for a short time. Eventually, I was able to draw him in for command while still deployed in Iraq.

  We experienced high turnover of personnel during this critical period. Major Brian Reed, my outstanding executive officer, would be pulled by Colonel Hickey to become the brigade operations officer. While good for the brigade, it was a loss for us. Nevertheless, it was a good move for Brian, and I was happy for him. He was first-rate, and the job for which he was selected was awarded only to the very best officers. I mused a bit that Mike Rauhut would be lost without his “twin.” These two West Point classmates, who had served together on multiple occasions, would now be split apart. Even so, no one was more qualified to replace Brian as my new executive officer than Mike.

  Replacing Mike as operations officer was a big unknown. My first choice prior to deployment was to snatch Brian Eifler. He had worked for me at the III Corps G-3 when the three of us were sentenced to serve in the basement at the corps operations center at Ft. Hood. Serving there was about as much fun as poking a sharp stick in your eye, but soldiers like Wagner and Eifler made it more tolerable.

  I was not to get Major Eifler. He was pulled to shore up the operations in 2nd Battalion, 8th Infantry. Brian did outstanding service in Iraq with this first-rate unit. The choices remaining centered around the poor souls sentenced to service on the 4th Infantry Division staff. Major Bryan Luke stood head and shoulders above that crowd and was rewarded with orders to report to 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry. Bryan was a brilliant and focused planner who had been working for Major General Odierno. With a gap of a few weeks before Bryan would be released to my command, Mike Rauhut was left with both jobs in combat. Not an easy task at all.

  In the following weeks, I also made adjustments to my staff. Captain Craig Childs would become my adjutant, responsible for all combat personnel, replacements and casualty reporting. I moved the old adjutant, First Lieutenant Andrew Camp, who was a hundred pounds soaking wet and an annoyingly efficient West Pointer who would be great for shoring up the administration of C Company as their new executive officer. Few officers were more loyal. I received a lot of flack at first, but I knew Andy perfectly suited the needs of that company.

  We received our first set of replacements for some non-returning wounded. Command Sergeant Major Martinez plucked from among these a new soldier to replace my driver. Specialist Pedro Martinez, once Mark Woempner’s driver and now mine, was rotating back to the States. My new driver was a six-foot, seven-inch Crow Indian from Montana named Co
dy Hoefer. He was one tough, smart soldier that would endure a great deal with me. The bond we formed cannot be described with words.

  The assessment of our operations thus far was substantial. The local population reports indicated that we had severely impaired the subversive elements. Even the Muslim imams expressed their appreciation for our efforts, but our work was not nearly complete. Numerous hostile elements lingered and would attempt to strike back with indirect fire and convoy attacks or whatever means they possessed to remain relevant in the fight. We had to remain vigilant.

  Our soldiers were enjoying good morale and were flushed with recent successes. We were now living well for the most part, billeted as we were in former palace compounds. The weather remained oppressive, and every moment of the day our uniforms were soaked with our own sweat in the 115-degree June heat. The heat would increase another ten to fifteen degrees by summer’s end, as we would soon discover. Nevertheless, we were eating well and generally had good hygiene and protection because of the hard billets. Our equipment was holding up pretty well given the operations and environment. The robust Bradleys and our body armor had already earned the unqualified respect of our men for their lifesaving protection.

  As we contended with the issues of hunting Saddam and faced life-and-death situations each day, Americans contended with the possible prison sentence for Martha Stewart’s investment fraud and suffered anxiety over who would win the Stanley Cup and the NBA Championship. We could not help but feel that we were an army at war and a nation at peace. The feeling only increased with the passage of time. When the War on Iraq made headlines, it was portrayed with words like “setback,” “disaster” and “tragedy.” We focused on what we were sent to do: fight to win a war. Success is the best silencer of critics.

  BORDERS, REPORTERS, AND ORDERS

  The call came as a complete surprise, as such calls often do. “Need your location ASAP for a face-to-face,” said Brigadier General Mike Barbero, our Assistant Division Commander for Maneuver.

  I ended my patrol in Tikrit, and we met on a flat area of the sprawling landscape inside the Tikrit Palace grounds. The pace of operations continued to be brisk, but the news General Barbero brought would heighten it even more. The division needed an infantry unit to support operations on the Syrian border for a possible high-level intercept. He asked if I could spare an infantry company.

  “Yes, sir, but it will severely hinder our offensive capability,” I offered.

  “This will now be your number one offensive priority,” he countered. “I want to know how soon you can get them into action.”

  “Sir, I can assemble them now. I can send my A Company, use my scouts to secure Auja, and use my C Company and Tank Company to hold the city. You do realize that with this move I will have only three platoons of Infantry left?”

  “I hate to do this, Steve, but we need more than this,” he informed. “Can you beef up the company with an additional rifle platoon from your remaining company?”

  My mind raced to make an instant assessment of my situation. I had a platoon of infantry on loan in Mosul that I would likely never see again. Two squads guarded a large ammo site far to the south. I was about to loan Mark’s company to General Barbero, thereby leaving Auja and the hornet’s nest we had stirred virtually uncovered. I was about to gut my city infantry company by one third. Other than that, things looked pretty good.

  “Yes, sir,” I pledged, knowing full well that General Barbero would not be asking this sacrifice were it not of utmost importance. I had worked for him at III Corps at Ft. Hood. He had a reputation of the highest order when it came to taking care of the troops. This was about trust, and thankfully, I had General Barbero and General Odierno calling the shots.

  So it was that our Syrian border adventure began. Our A Company, along with a platoon from C Company, helicoptered hundreds of miles southwest to support operations along the Syrian border. The 3rd Armored Cavalry needed support for a containment operation, and our task force was given about 45 minutes’ notice from alert to liftoff. I stood with pride as our “mechaneers” from a heavy infantry battalion climbed the ramps into the belly of the CH-47 “Chinook” helicopters. They pulled together as though they were light or air assault infantry. Most of our battalion leaders had all been in light infantry and airborne units anyway, so it was really just assembling the guys for a new mission. The birds were merely transportation.

  The men operated out of rucksacks for about five days and performed superbly. The mission was somewhat successful, but in combat, opportunity is often created rather than delivered. I regarded the exercise as useful, if merely to keep our soldiers on their toes. The heat on the border was oppressive, as it was in the rest of the country, but the vegetation was a little greener, and the temperatures were actually quite cool at night. I had dispatched Major Rauhut as liaison so my troops’ needs would be adequately provided. He took a tactical satellite radio known as a TACSAT so he could relay daily reports.

  Back in Tikrit, we had to make do with reduced forces, and there was no doubt that the border operation gave the enemy in Tikrit a brief respite. When our battalion reassembled, we followed up on leads from earlier raids. Our intelligence led us to massive areas of farmland along the Tigris River. William Booth, a reporter from the Washington Post, spent about three days with our task force and wrote a nice piece (26 June 2003) on our operations. His purpose was to witness the reaction of a unit that had given and taken casualties. He was impressed at our ability to maintain the initiative with good spirits and good results.

  He observed one operation that missed our target, but one of our Bradley Fighting Vehicles doing a forced entry into a farm courtyard made a profound impression on him. No danger would ever be risked with our men going through what all infantry know as “the fatal funnel”—the obvious entryway that channels them into a danger zone or ambush. On this raid, the BFV smashed through the gate, removing wrought iron, concrete, and mortar in a cloud of dust and was quickly followed by our Infantry shuffling down the ramp of the vehicle to secure the area as the Bradley’s gun scanned like a metronome. I confess that it was magnificent to behold, something one never experiences in training.

  Our troops were becoming weary from constant raids, operations, and routine combat patrols. The physical condition of the men remained healthy but the “Fedayeen Funk” began to seep through the ranks. It struck me personally as I received radio reports in an early morning brief. I suddenly had a tunnel view of my surroundings. I stood, handed the radio handset to Mike Rauhut and said, “Take over. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I took two steps. The next thing I knew, my staff was huddled around, and I was regaining consciousness, sprawled out on the floor. Talk about an embarrassing moment. There I was in command, the picture of poise and confidence transformed into a vomiting wimp on the floor, having had a needle stuck in my arm. Dizziness, vomiting, and diarrhea overwhelmed me for a miserable 24-hour period.

  Fortunately, the battalion had an ample roster of talent who afforded needed rest for me. All of our men saw bouts of this type on occasion, and the soldiers even coined several entertaining terms to describe the maladies: “Saddam’s Revenge,” “The Two-Cheek Sneak,” and the already mentioned “Fedayeen Funk.” Fortunately, our medics and docs attacked these maladies with medication that would “shock and awe” viruses into submission within a day.

  After springing back to health, I was privileged to brief Ambassador Paul Bremer and Army Secretary Les Brownlee on our recent successes. They were very complimentary of our soldiers and noted the important success of our operations. I tried to convey our resolve to maintain the initiative rather than hold static points while the enemy moved freely. I assured them that we were on the path to mission success in our area, both in terms of fighting the nascent insurgents and in terms of tracking down Saddam’s henchmen.

  I also conveyed to them the exasperation at the “poor soldiers” treatment articulated in the press. Some BBC reporters h
ad arrived with a pre-written story in mind and were seeking to acquire sound bites to support it. They weren’t the only ones. The popular notion at that time was that we were somehow suffering from a complete misunderstanding of the situation we had gotten ourselves into.

  We could not concur with the media’s estimation that operations had somehow turned for the worse in Tikrit. Every soldier knows this simple truth: pursuit of the enemy increases the chance of finding him. Never mind that Abid Mahmood and other significant targets had been captured in Tikrit. Never mind that Saddam forfeited wealth, personal property, and clues as he narrowly escaped our operations. The press preferred to focus on the violence because violence sells news. It was difficult to understand, then and now, why the media spotlighted the negative with political approval while each day soldiers witnessed positive results of the American presence in Iraq. I felt that we should all be on the same side—the side of freedom.

  I did not view the press as the enemy. I was actually grateful to have media coverage of our soldiers in hopes of showcasing their success and reassuring Americans back home. I explained to reporters that the acts of violence perpetrated against us signified the actions of a desperate and defeated foe and that we would see the ring closed on Saddam. Some listened. Most did not.

  I explained that cooperation with the locals continued to improve, and both the Iraqi government and police officials in our area had joined our forces in securing their future. I could not speak for all of Iraq, but I knew that we held the upper hand in Tikrit and made no apologies for taking a heavy hand with those who did not comply with our resolve to accomplish the mission assigned us.