We Got Him!

by Steve Russell

  By this stage, we had a clear enough picture of Saddam’s network to sustain pressure on the families within it, but we did not have the same access or direct intelligence priority outside of our area as the SOF guys. While my own network of Iraqis had relinquished crucial leads and netted some very key players, we had little influence outside Tikrit. Maintaining the same caliber of cooperation with the new special operations task force would be vital to the hunt, considering that the principle players were still likely to be within my area.

  To this juncture, we had worked in concert to thin out substantial numbers of Saddam’s closest supporters, with a focus on the Ibrihim Omar al-Musslit family line. Two of the ten Musslit brothers had already been netted, but the one we wanted most desperately was Rudman Ibrihim Omar al-Musslit. Since our first raid on May 27, he had successfully eluded us no fewer than three times, often escaping with just moments to spare. We had captured quality photographs of him and several of his brothers during the July 7 farm raid of Omar al-Musslit, the granddaddy of all Musslits. An additional picture captured on September 25 even revealed specific tattoos that would aid in identification. With an excellent idea of his appearance and tips about his family being fed to us steadily, I believed that it was simply a matter of time until he was found.

  We also believed that Rudman was the key to finding Saddam Hussein. Whatever power his former Presidential Secretary and the Ace of Diamonds, Abid Mahmood al-Khatab, once held, it seemed to be dispersed within the Musslit family after we captured Mahmood in June. The Musslit family also had strong connections to the other families of the network, many of whom were a part of “The Forty” and “The Twenty-Five” groups of bodyguards known as the “Himaya.” We had thinned out a great many of those as well, from the Hasans to the Hadooshis to the Heremoses and the Majids. Supporting families like the Rashids, the Khatabs, and the Ghanis were also in our sights. We wanted to keep them there.

  By early October, I felt that we had successfully raised the edge of the carpet on Saddam’s inner network and were slowly rolling it back. There was no way of knowing the full measure of it or how long it would take to expose all concealed beneath it. The inner circle of bodyguards continued to coordinate resistance with Saddam’s inspiration and funding. Their recruitment activity had greatly increased the number of street fighters. They easily acquired and delivered large quantities of dangerous weapons. The inner network continued to effectively protect Saddam. While the hunt was a high priority, we could not neglect the street fight for even a moment. We could lose the upper hand in the blink of an eye if we blinked an eye. It was not only possible for the initiative to pass to our enemies; it could even spread beyond to Sunni Baathist holdouts throughout Iraq.

  So as Jack’s SOF team prepared for departure, I was concerned that any shift in attitude toward our joint operations between the unconventional black ops teams like his and conventional forces like mine would be a major blow to us and perhaps the whole manhunt. My fears were completely unfounded. When Jack brought the new team to Tikrit for introductions, we had a long and encouraging first meeting. It was a beneficial exchange of information, ideas, and possibilities from both viewpoints. We clearly needed each other and had the same goal of following the trail until it led us to Saddam.

  John was the new SOF team’s leader. He was shorter than Jack and not quite the cut physical specimen. He was equally broad-shouldered, slightly more compact and, no doubt, as powerful. If it were possible, he seemed even more laid-back than Jack. Back home he might be mistaken for a hunting buddy or any good ole boy you’d want to have around in a scrap. His sidekick sergeant major and ops man, Kelly, appeared to be as extraordinary as Matt had been. I clearly liked this team and its leader. While I would get to know the entire team, it was John and Kelly (like Jack and Matt) with whom I would become best acquainted.

  Relieved and optimistic that we might not skip a beat in our mutual cooperation, I focused the battalion on the rising insurgent activity among street fighters for the next few days. I told my staff to use every tool available, including propaganda, recordings, radio, bulletin boards, and the like to separate the common Iraqi trying to survive tough times from the insurgent hiding among them. We used every means to prevent the insurgents from convincing the people that we would not prevail if only they resisted.

  We even began a counter “red ops” program built around a fictitious resistance group. We had already encountered leaflet drops in Arabic from the “Army of Mohammed” inciting locals to rise up against the infidel and the new government. Perpetuating the theme, we named our faux group “Mohammed’s Faithful.” The brainchild of my intelligence officer, Captain Tim Morrow, this insurgent “group” advocated resistance only toward the occupation and not toward brother Iraqis and the new leaders of government who were working under the most stressful of circumstances. In this way, we hoped to divide resisting sentiments.

  We countered the genuine “Army of Mohammed” leaflets with a message tempering the hatred while being cautious not to advocate any type of surrender. The message was cleverly crafted to appeal to their sense of order and desire for peace. It also discouraged retribution among the local population. If successful, we could keep the neutrals off the field and locate the bad guys more quickly.

  To accomplish this, we produced leaflets handwritten in Arabic and photocopied to emulate the locally produced propaganda already seen in circulation. Joe Filmore, with his inimitable background and understanding of the Iraqi mind, wrote the messages periodically to counter the real threats we faced. Joe made a strong, poetic, and convincing message for non-violence against local civilians, citing Koranic verses for added emphasis. We knew that we had scored when we began intercepting insurgent messages that called “Mohammed’s Faithful” a bunch of traitors who did not believe the true message of jihad and offered reward for their identification. We were already beginning to segregate the insurrectionists from the people while causing division of the enemy within their own minds.

  To strengthen and assist the fledgling government in our area, we used recordings of Iraqi officials as a means to broadcast to the “Arab Street.” I told my staff that the number one cause of stress was lack of information. We could reduce the anxiety of the people by communicating with them using their own traditions and their own people. The key was to transmit the message by bulletin, leaflet, and loudspeaker from their countrymen. The result, I predicted, would translate into morning tea shop talk. That is where the real communication needed to occur.

  Staff Sergeant Charles Darrah of our attached 362nd Psyops Detachment did a tremendous job aiding these efforts. His Hummers were equipped with loudspeakers and a recording machine. Prerecorded messages by the governor or chief of police could be broadcast to the city while driving through town.

  On the morning of October 12, Darrah and his team left to coordinate the recording of messages. They had traveled no more than 500 meters beyond our compound when a tree exploded on the right side of the road. They were enveloped in a downpour of splinters, leaves, twigs, concrete, brown dust, and debris. Darrah was out cold momentarily, suffering a concussion. Sergeant Antonio Carrizales sustained a concussion and lacerations. Specialist Malcolm Mosley was not as fortunate. He received some nasty leg and arm wounds on one side. Doc Marzullo, Alex Morales, and our medical crew were able to treat them all swiftly as the aid station was in close proximity to the scene of the impact. Marzullo coordinated Mosley’s evacuation for more intensive medical care whereupon he was ultimately transported to Germany.

  As Darrah’s men were being evacuated to our aid station, I examined the blast effects of the contact site. The tree that so cunningly concealed the bomb also shielded the soldiers to some degree. The insurgents had positioned the bomb between the tree and a wall to obscure it. Consequently, the blast ricocheted between the tree and the wall before lashing back into the direction of the street. We were fortunate that morning.

  On the heels of this attack, we detected an
other bomb at a gas station in Cadaseeyah. An Iraqi local fingered two men plotting their evil deeds and alerted the police and our soldiers. We were able to locate and capture one of the bomb layers. The attack was averted solely as a result of the goodwill of a local Iraqi citizen. Perhaps we were beginning to win the battle for trust in the city.

  Such was not the case in the city north of Tikrit where my B Company conducted combat operations. Captain Scott Thomas and his “Bears” patrolled an area on the outskirts of Bayjii known by our soldiers as “The Projects.” Only the day before, they had received a cool reception that turned colder still when locals began to hurl rocks and shake their fists.

  Captain Thomas, never one to concede ground to the enemy, decided to revisit this troubled spot that evening. Scott typically organized patrols with two Bradleys carrying a rifle squad and one M1 Abrams tank. It was a patrol of this configuration led by Second Lieutenant Erik Aadland from B Company, 3-66 Armor with a squad of “Bears” and their two Bradleys that approached “The Projects” in the early evening hours. Thomas informed Aadland that the neighborhood had been relatively quiet all day.

  As Aadland’s patrol rumbled up a trail intersecting a “hardball” road, the soldiers noticed an absence of people. Specialist James Powell pulled the lead Brad up tight with the tank, but it was necessary to keep some security as well. Powell was piloting yet another B14, a replacement Bradley of the same name lost in July. Staff Sergeant Donald Smith ordered Powell to follow the tank closely in echelon to the right. Smith was in charge of the platoon in the absence of Sergeant First Class Joseph Walden, on medical leave from wounds sustained in the July attack that destroyed the original B14. The trail Bradley, B13, led by Specialist Jason Duncan, also followed in echelon manner to the left of B14.

  The security was good, the patrol confident. As they moved toward the dense residential area in town, they readied themselves for confrontation with locals and possible demonstrations. What they encountered was far more vicious. The ground unexpectedly erupted into a violent explosion. Smoke and flame shot through the driver and engine compartment of B14 as a concussion of dust encompassed the three vehicles. Staff Sergeant Donald Smith’s night vision goggles, once tethered around his neck, vanished in the blast, lost in a fog of acrid smoke and dust. Specialist Leonard Johnson, the gunner, was wounded above his right eye but was otherwise intact as he and Staff Sergeant Smith began to grope around the turret.

  The vehicle stopped abruptly as a result of a shattered engine and final drive, a missing sprocket, and several missing road wheels. The track sections lay like a broken snake behind them. Specialist Powell had not yet dropped the ramp, so the soldiers scrambled to escape from the crew compartment hatch on top of the vehicle.

  “Red 1, this is Gold 3. Gold 4 just struck a mine, over!” radioed Specialist Jason Duncan from his trail Bradley to Aadland’s tank, using the call signs of B Company 3-66 Armor.

  “Roger, break,” replied Lieutenant Aadland. “Blacknight 5, this is Red 1, contact over.”

  “Drop the ramp!” shouted Specialist Duncan in the trail Bradley, as Aadland radioed requests for assistance from nearby units.

  Staff Sergeant Paul Marler, the squad leader, and his team raced from the back of B13. Still struggling to breathe inside B14, Staff Sergeant Smith began to take account of his men. He observed his guys bailing out the top hatch in the back. Glancing down to his gunner, he identified a cut on Johnson’s head, though he appeared to be moving without difficulty. The vehicle was smoldering from the instant blast of the halon fire extinguishers, but did not seem to be on fire.

  Assessing his surroundings immediately, Staff Sergeant Marler ordered his squad to pull security before dashing from B13 to the incapacitated Bradley. It was a ghastly sight. The track on the left side was blown off. Three of the six road wheels and the entire sprocket were missing. Consequently, the Brad was listing heavily to port, as though kneeling on its left knee and crouching forward. The turret and gun were permanently immobilized in a left-facing position.

  Jason Duncan also dismounted B13 and ran to his stricken wingman. The M1 tank could take care of anything that might threaten the infantry vehicles. He climbed atop the driver’s hatch and shouted, “Powell! Powell! Are you all right?”

  “You guys all right?” called a concerned Staff Sergeant Marler to his men who had escaped through the top hatch of the troop compartment.

  “Yeah, we’re okay, but not sure about the others,” his soldiers responded.

  “Powell! Can you hear me?” asked Duncan, still on the top of the stricken Brad. There was no response. Lifting up the hatch, he continued to shout to Powell. Inside, Powell appeared to be unconscious or worse. He was in dreadful shape.

  “Sergeant, we gotta get him out of there to help him!” suggested Specialist William Evans, the medic.

  “Roger, okay, I’ll go down inside,” answered Duncan.

  As Duncan entered the Bradley through the hatch, he wiggled his way around the turret mount space that connects the troop compartment with the driver, affectionately known as the “Hell Hole.” Evans and another soldier reached down into the driver’s hatch from above. As the men struggled to get him out, they noticed a four-foot gaping hole in the bottom of the Brad. Blood, fuel, and hydraulic fluid soaked the cratered ground below. The men tried to ease Powell from his cramped station, but his broken and shattered limbs precluded an easy extraction. There was still no response from him.

  Those not directly involved with extracting Powell pulled security as Lieutenant Aadland called for a medevac helicopter. Once the men eased Powell to the ground, Staff Sergeant Marler applied tourniquets to his limbs, and Evans administered CPR procedures.

  The troops, though stunned by it all, reacted quickly and bravely. First Lieutenant Matt Fahey, the Executive Officer of B Company, 3-66 Armor, who was leading the evening’s patrol, quickly called for medevac support and recovery assets. Sergeant First Class Christopher Koski, already skilled in recovering decimated B Company Bradleys, loaded up his noisy M88 recovery vehicle and thundered out of the B Company compound. Fahey’s men, as well as others who heard the blast, began moving toward the scene.

  Captain Thomas knew the situation would be dismal when he arrived. As men began clearing the area, the Blackhawk medical chopper fluttered into view. It landed near the devastated Bradley just twenty minutes after receiving the emergency call. The men bore Powell’s bloodied and broken body to the bird that would initiate his long journey home. Powell was transported to the field hospital for immediate care, but it was likely that he had died instantly in the explosion.

  Sergeant First Class Koski’s recovery assets continued to inch forward. Upon arrival, his men began recovery of debris from the vehicle and surrounding area. The mechanics lashed the inoperative vehicle with cables in an effort to tow it back to the compound. As always, nothing would be left behind for enemy souvenirs.

  The deafening M88 lurched ahead, dragging its crippled cousin awkwardly along the asphalt. Sparks from the grinding metal of exposed road wheel arms appeared to ignite pools of fuel inside the vehicle. The Bradley caught fire. Its halon fire extinguishers already blown, the Bradley erupted into flames.

  As the vehicle was being towed at a safe distance from the M88, Captain Thomas decided to proceed. The Bradley was obviously a total loss anyway. If left to the enemy, it would be worse still. Koski ordered his mechanics to continue marching with the flaming wreck in tandem. Once on the compound, it would be extinguished. As the peculiar procession pressed on, the ammunition inside the blazing Bradley began to cook off. Because it was armored, no harm came to those outside it, but if the vehicle was not already a total loss, it was now.

  I received the report of this action as I always received such news—like a knife in my chest. Another Regular was dead, and more were wounded. I was at once angry and sad. October was exacting a high price. The enemy was becoming more lethal. Our successes were diffusing in the shadow of mounting defeats. I wa
nted to lash out at someone or something, but I had to keep my composure. I had to be patient and resolute because my men would mirror my response. I had to remain confident and assure them that we were on the path to success, that good would prevail over evil. As another painful day ended, I had to remind myself that a new day would dawn. But new days are not always better days.

  Operations continued in Tikrit the next day. We conducted bomb patrols along main thoroughfares and secondary crossroads. Brad’s troops were primarily responsible for the urbanized area of the city while Mark and Jon’s companies covered south and north of the city.

  The early morning had already yielded high adventure. One of C Company’s Bradleys had been ambushed by a roadside bomb. Fortunately, the timing had been miscalculated, and the Bradley escaped injury. Jon’s tank company had been attacked in a drive-by with insurgents firing from two gray vans. They sped away and disappeared into alleyways before our troops could follow in pursuit. The assailants were never found, but they also inflicted no damage.

  The enemy was up for the game that day. That had already been proven. It was speculated that Thamer Mahdi Salah Hamoudi, aka “Thamer the Bomber,” was likely behind some of the morning’s activities. He continued to be an elusive thorn in the side. Unknown to us, he had recently acquired assistance in the form of an associate, possibly even a relative, named Abbas Mahdi. Much of our recent contact had been related to Thamer, but Abbas was new. He was a member of the expanding and emerging “Third Tier” guys, the “Trigger Pullers” hired by Saddam’s mid-level organizers. They were financed and motivated by the upper tier we so desperately wanted to resume hunting.

  With our guard already up that afternoon, Brad Boyd’s 1st Platoon from C Company patrolled with Bradleys and infantry in the part of the city we called the “Chevron.” On the map, the area forms a giant inverted V-shaped symbol capping the northern third of the city. First Lieutenant Jason Price was leading the two-vehicle section along the street parallel to the mosque near the soccer field. He was to deliver his squad to the market area and pick them up after the tracks made a loop around the surrounding area. The tactics were sound, and the Bradley would never be very far from the infantry squad should they meet trouble.