To me it was black and white. In time, I would improve my relationship with reporters and learn to appreciate them, though I suppose I never became accustomed to the view that victory was not the best option. Our cause was certain because truth and justice must always prevail over evil. That should have been obvious.
During this period, I read a scripture from the twentieth chapter of 2 Chronicles. It encouraged me, and I made note of it. Just as Jehoshaphat emboldened the people in their struggle with the Edomites, I also took heart from his advice to his troops, “The battle depends on God and not you. . . . Just take up your positions, and wait, and you will see the Lord give you victory. . . . Put your trust in the Lord your God, and you will stand your ground.” We could never have forecast the remarkable events that would ensue as we chose to stand our ground.
I was moody from the high-level briefs and “stump the chump” treatment from reporters, so the best cure for me was joining the troops on patrol. The command sergeant major and I went to Mosul to visit the portion of our A Company troops attached to the 101st Airborne there. The town is situated on the site of the ancient city of Nineveh. I found it fascinating to think that Jonah had walked and preached there. The scenery was a nice change as well. The hills, the taller trees, and greenery were a pleasant contrast to the austere area of our operations.
First Lieutenant Casey Lusk commanded the platoon there. Our men were making the best of the situation which was, in my view, a fine waste of infantry. I understood how they got there but I didn’t like it. The original “handshake agreement” was between two esteemed commanders—General David Petraeus of the 101st Airborne and General Ray Odierno of our 4th Infantry Division. I imagined the conversation was something simple and meaningful:
“Hey, Ray, I could really use a bit of emergency firepower for my troops should we run into something big. Any chance we could keep a portion of the tank battalion that marched up here with us?”
“Sure, Dave, makes sense to me. You work out what you need, and we’ll do it.”
The translation of that honest and decent support was that a tank company team, the one containing our infantry platoon, remained in Mosul after the 101st took the city in April 2003. Fair enough. However, when I inspected the manner in which my soldiers were being used, it was clearly a good deal gone bad. My troops were reduced to providing a “mechanical gate” and gate guard. They were using my awesome Bradleys to block gate entries and would move forward and back to allow passage on command. My troops would rotate daily in shifts for this “arduous” and “skilled” duty that apparently only mechanized infantry were trained to perform.
I advised the troops to make the best of it. I told them to never relax their standards and to always stay in their gear. The enemy was looking for zebras to cull from the herd. They were to be hunters, even if their hunting spot was this menial outpost.
Upon my return, I raised the issue of the gate guard to General Odierno when I next saw him. With a wry smile, he placed his big hand on my shoulder and said, “Steve, you’re not getting your platoon back. Make do.”
I smiled and nodded back, “Yes, sir,” realizing that this support was as much about relationships as about effectiveness. I never broached it again. Instead, I heeded General Odierno’s order to make the best of it. I asked my staff if we could rotate the Bradleys back from Mosul by heavy transport and use the rotating duty as a kind of “R&R” (Rest and Relaxation). It was simply a matter of selling the duty to the troops in a positive light. They could view it as a waste or consider it an opportunity for reprieve from the front line in a safer environment. So it was. Our Mosul rotations resulted in needed rest for both troops and vehicles.
Part of “making do” was to exact better performance from my C Company through brilliant leadership. That was due, in no small part, to the skillful direction of Captain Brad Boyd. It was an odd journey that paved his way into a U.S. Army mechanized infantry battalion. As an enlisted artillerist in the U.S. Marines, he made non-commissioned officer and was selected for Marine officer candidate school. Passing with flying colors, he earned a commission in the Marines as an Artillery Second Lieutenant. Because he commanded a platoon well, he was selected to become a Marine instructor of recruits and was then awarded recruiting duty. Weary of training and recruiting, he opted for a service transfer to the U.S. Army Infantry. He came to Iraq upon completion of his captain’s course. The 1st Battalion 22nd Infantry was his first taste of the real Army.
By chance, Brad’s first day in our battalion was the event at which we displayed Saddam’s cache of currency confiscated from the Hadooshi Farm Raid for the benefit of reporter ogling. There stood Brad with Brian Reed, looking the part of soldier-hero standing with the loot of his new battalion. He even got his name in the papers. Of course, we ribbed him about it later. But Brad hit the ground running. His aggressive style was precisely what we needed there. His top sergeant, First Sergeant Mike Evans, was an outstanding, if not youthful, first sergeant. Mike spent most of his time in the 82nd Airborne and had seen combat before. He was learning that infantry is what you make it, even mechanized infantry. He had all the makings of a great top sergeant but needed a firm hand. He would have it with Brad. The team these two would become was a sight to behold.
FIREWORKS
Long hot days greeted us, but not necessarily in the morning. Our men conducted operations at all hours. The average soldier in our task force was active 16-20 hours a day. Sometimes we got more rest but rest could not be scheduled. Operations drove activities and soldiers got snatches of rest when they could. They did not need to be told. As for me, I had never been so tired in my whole life. I would sleep a few hours in the early morning after coming in from patrols and would try to get an hour, maybe more, in mid-afternoon during the most oppressive heat of the day when activity was low.
Oppressive is a feeble description of the heat. The sun burned into our vehicles and clothing and eventually into us. Profuse sweating saturated our uniforms from shoulder blades to kneecaps. Our equipment absorbed even more sweat as it pinched and encased us like an exoskeleton, transforming us into stinky, sour, salty, drenched combat creatures. We had grown accustomed to the heat, but I found comfort in the vague hope that, since we were past the summer solstice, we would lose seven minutes of sunlight each day, which would gradually result in cooler temperatures. When we shed our equipment, we attempted to dry out. This being accomplished, our uniforms took on the appearance of stiff and badly starched fatigues, with salt stain maps delineating the shores where sweat had advanced into our clothing.
The sun also bored into the metal of our weapons. Sometimes our rifles were so hot to the touch we wore gloves to keep from burning our hands. But even the ruthless heat of the sun did not pierce our morale or diminish our ability. We were very much able to fight under these conditions, as our enemy would learn, to his own detriment.
The Fourth of July had come, but for soldiers it was simply another day of combat patrolling—no backyard barbecues, no baseball, no fireworks displays. However, the following day, soldiers from our B Company were greeted with a fireworks display of a different kind. A Bradley Fighting Vehicle, B14, was on patrol with a tank section on a dusty street in Bayjii. Sergeant First Class Joseph Walden, the platoon sergeant in the vehicle, noticed a tire in the road and, as this was unusual, told the driver not to drive over it. Private First Class Steve Fink, the driver, who, on a gut feel, had placed his armor plated vest on the floor below him that morning and wore a vehicle vest in addition to it, veered sharply to the right. When he did, a violent explosion erupted through the vehicle.
Thousands of pounds of engine lurched cock-eyed as the front hull-access cover on top sailed through the air, followed closely by the entire transmission of the vehicle. As the transmission completed its trajectory, road wheels, sprockets, and associated smaller hatches accompanied it. Walden’s helmet was blown from his head and immediately consumed in flames, although his head was miraculously un
touched.
Inside, Fink felt a searing heat. He smelled the halon fire extinguishers blow, which consumed the flames. He had his feet and legs bounced upward by his armored vest and felt a sharp pain to the back of his neck and left hand fingers. The soldiers in the back were consumed in a concussive shock wave of blast and heat that was extinguished as quickly as it had lashed at them. Private John Lyons’ glasses were blown from his face, while Sergeant Charles Myers, Sergeant Andre Allen, Specialist James Blalock, and Private First Class Joshua Whitson were all nearly knocked out, but somehow maintained consciousness. Two of the men suffered severe concussions. In the turret, Sergeant First Class Walden felt sharp stabs at his nerve endings and had blood on one of his legs.
As the smoke cleared and the dust settled, the men began to come to their senses. Steve Fink, despite his wounds, was able to pull himself free, exit his station and help the others out. Everyone exited the vehicle, covered by the tanks in trail. The men could not imagine having been inside the vehicle they were now viewing in disbelief. This was the second time that B-14 had been destroyed. This vehicle had replaced the one destroyed in June. For Walden and Myers, this was the second time in a month that they had struck a mine in a Bradley, and it was the second time Myers had been wounded.
Now full of adrenaline, they accounted for themselves and their equipment and realized that God had spared them from what should have been certain maiming or death. They secured themselves, evacuated the wounded, and recovered the destroyed vehicle. Of the eight men aboard, five of them were wounded and all but one was able to return to duty. The Bradley was a contorted, twisted, mangled mess. It was hard to imagine that anyone could have survived that blast. I thanked God for sparing our soldiers’ lives.
NOT TOO SHABBY
We continued to suffer some losses without replacement. When we deployed, the Army envisioned sending packets of soldiers to replace combat losses while also refusing to allow soldiers whose terms of enlistment had been completed to depart. Withholding newly arriving soldiers was called “Stop Move” while preventing soldiers leaving their units was called “Stop Loss.” Now that policy changed. Soldiers scheduled to depart could be released, provided that they had replacements in addition to combat replacements for wounded or killed. Those due to rotate, in turn, would have some valuable combat experience for the Army to use as they prepared units to come to Iraq for the long haul. While these policies would later change again, it did allow some of our troops to go home. Some who had been extended to deploy were allowed to leave the service as well.
We were privileged to receive a visit from General Jack Keane, the Army Vice Chief of Staff. General Keane earned the love of every infantryman in the Army the first week he was assigned to the Pentagon. He said that a bunch of the Pentagon staff were fat and ordered them to go on Pentagon staff runs. That shook the place up. He was a huge man given to some theatrics, but what effective leader wasn’t?
I asked the General if he would personally pin Purple Hearts on my wounded. He said that he would be honored. About a dozen of my return-to-duty (RTD) soldiers were awarded Purple Hearts on the spot. A couple of these fine soldiers would be wounded again. At least one of them would earn another Purple Heart after being killed in action. Others would receive their medals in the States while recovering from wounds. For still others, because of flaws in the system, we fought for their awards for years after deployment. Gone were the days of World War II when a young company commander could pin on a Purple Heart. Now, the authority for issuing awards had gone all the way to the Pentagon with consequential delay, nonsense, and red tape.
I briefed General Keane about our operations, our view of the enemy, and our plan for stalking him. As he and General Odierno walked away, not knowing I was following at a distance, he turned to General Odierno and said, “Not too shabby—that battalion commander. This is a good unit.” It was a great compliment.
It was my honor to pin Combat Infantry Badges on some of our men before they went home. The CIB is a silver flintlock musket measuring a quarter of an inch tall by three inches wide, framed with a light blue background. It has a silver wreath of oak leaves around it and conveys to all that the bearer earned it by risking his life against an armed enemy in close battle. It was created in World War II, and veterans for the last 60 years nod at each other when seeing it on a lapel or ball cap. It speaks volumes.
The Command Sergeant Major and I pinned Combat Infantry Badges on each of the qualifying soldiers and thanked them for their service to America and to the Regulars of the 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry. I told them to walk tall for us back home. I challenged them to look people in the eye and to be proud of what they had accomplished. I asserted to them that every reason that brought us here was as valid today as it had been in March 2003. If not us, then who? Who would step up for these 26 million Iraqi people? Our resolve remained clear, and we would continue on to finish the job.
The men were becoming very proud of their service. They were seeing results from their tenacity and were aware the enemy’s will was being broken. They were confident that we would win. Our reason for being there was as legitimate in that hot summer of 2003 as the day we arrived. We could never forget how vile this country’s regime was under Saddam Hussein. The fool’s notion back in the States that Iraq was better off before our intervention and that, “at least, Saddam made the trains run on time” was just that—a notion for fools. Iraqi testimonies were a constant reminder of the human suffering inflicted under Saddam, which could not be ignored with a clear conscience. To do so was to sanction the evil that oppressed the nation.
While the enemy was small in comparison to the combined forces present in Iraq, he continued to engage us, and the attacks increased in response to our raids. We faced an activity at this time not seen in other sectors of Iraq. The casualty lists bore witness to that as well. Most of those we were fighting were Saddam loyalists. In retrospect, it was clear that the opening rounds of the insurgency occurred in our area. What started as a Baathist-led, Saddam-inspired insurgent effort would be defeated by us, but the resistance would be hijacked by al-Qaeda in the spring of 2004.
This was yet unknown to us. We only knew that bad guys were trying to kill us and that Saddam and his henchmen were still at large. We felt then, and still feel, that it is better to fight those who hate America on their soil than on our own. Our immediate task was to seize the initiative, retain it, and weaken the enemy by driving into him relentlessly. To date, our efforts had been “not too shabby.”
PEPSIS, RUBBER BOATS, AND GRAFFITI
Our driving into the enemy was not without response. In the days following, our positions were probed by a series of “pinprick” attacks, producing little but damage to the enemy. In acts of desperation, assailants made improvised bombs from Pepsi cans filled with gunpowder from artillery shells and packed with “creative” fragmentation such as glass or gravel. The tops were then sealed with tar and capped with a fuse. The attackers crept up on our positions behind walls at night and hurled the makeshift bombs at our troops. The flying, sizzling cans hit the pavement, looking like nearly spent cigarettes being cast into the street. The ensuing flash and bang caused little damage, and in most cases, our soldiers captured the inept manufacturers of these beverage bombs.
After a few days of “Pepsi” war, C Company thwarted a more serious attempt at injury to our soldiers by their alertness and swift action on July 7. Two men on a motorcycle followed First Sergeant Mike Evans’ convoy, which was rotating troops from a position. The assailants intended to advance to the trail vehicle, shoot a soldier point-blank with a pistol, and escape down a side alley, as had been done in Baghdad.
Our soldiers, having had previous experiences with punks on motorcycles, carefully watched the riders. As they approached their turnoff, Mike decided to make the turn but use the vehicles as an instant barricade on the road. The tactic caught the thugs completely by surprise. The motorcyclists braked sharply and tried to jump their bik
e across the median to escape the soldier blockade. The soldiers fired warning shots. The passenger took a poorly aimed shot with a 9mm Beretta-style pistol. Our soldiers’ next shots showed no mercy, hitting the armed man in the leg. The driver gave up but his passenger attempted resistance by continuing to fire. Specialist Ricardo Uribe’s M-16 rifle put a shot into the jaw of the gunman that ended the engagement. Both Iraqi men were captured, and the wounded man struggled for life at our local combat hospital with tubes stuck in every opening of his body. Again, the ranks of the enemy were thinned.
The following day, our entire battalion ventured out from Tikrit to well north of Bayjii on a 50-kilometer raid of a house belonging to Saddam Hussein’s first cousin, Fidel al-Asawi. This was the third major raid to directly target Saddam in as many weeks. The intelligence was decent and came from sources that had led to past successful raids. The intelligence claimed that Saddam was being harbored on this farm. Given that he had nearly been caught at the Hadooshi farm, this seemed plausible.
Our recon platoon, led by Chris Morris, along with the oft-attached Brigade Reconnaissance Troop under Captain Dez Bailey, scouted the initial objective area and provided an inner cordon. Mark Stouffer’s A Company, with attached engineers, provided the assault forces, while Brad Boyd’s C Company provided an outer cordon. Some tanks from Jon Cecalupo’s C Company, 3-66 Armor permanently attached to our task force, reinforced them.
I selected Brad Boyd, being a former Marine, to lead elements of C Company in borrowed engineer RB-15 rubber boats, from the 74th Engineer Company, along the Tigris River to effect a cordon of the riverbank at the target house. Several of us had graduated Ranger School and trained with these boats so this was not over the top. C Company had a few Rangers to rally around for this movement. We would hit them from all sides.
We Got Him! Page 9