We did not know then that Abbas Mahdi had begun to organize a small cell that had worked closely with Thamer around the “Chevron.” Mahdi, at a friend’s house discussing the situation, heard the high-pitched whine and rumble of American tracked vehicles. Peering outside, he spotted a pair of them approaching from the Tikrit market area. He rushed back inside to grab a weapon.
Like most patrols, our soldiers scanned every window, every corner, and every alley. A calm moment could change in the blink of an eye. Lieutenant Price’s Bradleys turned right, heading east toward Highway 1 near the “Lucky Panda” ice cream shop. They were looking for curbside bombs or the formation of demonstrations that were reportedly possible that day.
Abbas and his friend were prepared to fight should the Americans be coming for them. He grabbed the RPG. The troops might simply be on patrol or they might be specifically stalking them. Either way, he was prepared.
Staff Sergeant Michael Bordes, in the trail Bradley, had his turret positioned to the rear to provide 360-degree security while Price’s Bradley covered the front. He looked forward to guide his driver, Specialist Nathan Hebert. Covering the rear was the turret’s gunner, Specialist Donald “DJ” Wheeler. Their view was obscured by residential walls as they rounded the corner toward Highway 1. Wheeler stood up for a better view and leaned on the Integrated Sight Unit (ISU) as he scanned behind them with the turret.
RPG in hand, Abbas left the house and narrowly peered through the gate that hid him from view. The Americans were indeed coming but appeared to be on patrol as they didn’t seem to be focused on his friend’s house. The first vehicle turned to his left, heading toward the Bayjii-Tikrit Highway. The trail vehicle was making the turn; the front vehicle had just passed. Sensing an opportunity to attack in the blind spot, Abbas and his friend opened the gate and kneeled up to the corner with a shouldered and loaded RPG launcher. Abbas aimed at the turret and pulled the trigger. Then they ran as fast as they could to disappear into the residential neighborhood of the “Chevron.”
A short distance after the Bradleys made the turn, Staff Sergeant Bordes blacked out. He came to in a daze, realizing something was horribly wrong. He determined that Hebert was okay after talking to him, and Wheeler was standing next to him. Rising to his feet to make certain he, too, was okay, he noticed that Wheeler was not actually standing. He was lying back against the hatch, his helmet blown off his head. The shoebox-sized ISU in front of him was blown apart and impressed against his chest.
“Are you guys all right?” Lieutenant Price asked his crew through the vehicle intercom after hearing and feeling the explosion. Both gunner and driver responded, “Roger.”
“Cobra 6, Red 1, over,” Price radioed.
“Cobra 6, over,” Boyd responded.
“Roger, we have an IED contact, over,” informed Price, not yet fully aware of what happened.
As Price looked behind, he could see Staff Sergeant Bordes motioning and pointing to Wheeler. Jason could tell something was wrong. Wheeler was lying on his back. His helmet was gone, his face disfigured. He informed Captain Boyd of a possible casualty and called for a medevac. His men did what they could for Wheeler while simultaneously pulling security.
There wasn’t much to be done for the unresponsive Wheeler. Bordes moved the shattered ISU away from his chest as Specialist Willie Ewing, the medic, and Corporal William Velez from Price’s Bradley made their way to the scene. Price called on the platoon internal radio for the squad to assist.
As Bordes lifted the ISU from Wheeler’s chest, he saw a gaping hole just below his sternum where the RPG blast passed completely through him. Bordes and Ewing tried to bandage Wheeler. As they did, he fell to the floor of the turret. Velez, Ewing, and Bordes gently carried him out the back of the Bradley.
Captain Boyd rushed to the scene and began to clear the area, searching for the attackers. Captain Jason Deel, now leading the American-trained Iraqi troops, also arrived with an Iraqi pickup and several ICDC soldiers. First Sergeant Mike Evans, Staff Sergeant Felipe Madrid, and Staff Sergeant Bordes eased the lifeless gunner onto a stretcher. Captain Deel and the civil defense troops transported Wheeler to our battalion aid station.
I had just concluded a meeting with tribal sheiks and local officials when Brad radioed the news. I raced to the area, but there was nothing I could do to change what had happened. Brad brought in another platoon to thoroughly search the neighborhood, and I ordered all my elements to be on the lookout for anyone or anything that might be related.
Apart from its gun sight, the Bradley was not damaged. Brad’s men drove it to the Birthday Palace. I called for a city fire truck to wash the blood from the streets. I wanted no visible evidence over which the enemy could gloat. We took our losses then cracked down on the city in search of the perpetrators. Iraqi police assisted us with the help of General Mezher. Locals provided some useful information, and a manhunt netted partial results over the next few days. The most important revelation was the name and information of Abbas Mahdi. It would not be the last time we encountered him.
On October 15, the soldiers of the 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry and some from 3rd Battalion, 66th Armor gathered at Saddam’s Birthday Palace. The “Bears” of B Company and the “Cobras” of C Company stood on that same asphalt used for Saddam’s military parades. A chaplain stepped forward and prayed. Purple Hearts and Bronze Star medals for making the ultimate sacrifice were laid on pairs of boots overshadowed by bayoneted rifles stuck in the ground with Kevlar helmets planted on top. At a podium, commanders and friends struggled to find words.
I, too, stepped to the podium, but to make a pledge. “We mourn their loss; we honor their sacrifice,” I said. “We will finish their mission. As long as Regulars draw breath, we shall not forget them.”
Soldiers stood at attention. First Sergeant Louis Holzworth began the roll call of B Company soldiers. Specialist James Edward Powell’s name rang out. He did not answer. Neither did Specialist Donald Laverne Wheeler, Jr., of C Company when called by First Sergeant Mike Evans. Silence filled the parade ground until rifle shots cracked in three sharp volleys from a line of soldiers on the balcony once used by Saddam to shoot his rifle in arrogant displays of defiance to the world. The live rounds from the volley interrupted soldier reflections, a startling reminder of the price of freedom. Taps resonated in mournful tones. Tears rolled down faces as we remembered the lives of our brothers. As long as we have breath . . .
DJ Wheeler, twenty-three, of Concord, Michigan, left behind his parents and 11 siblings, never knowing the joys of marriage or children. James Powell, twenty-six, of Mark Center, Ohio, would leave behind his wife, Ruby, and his two-year-old daughter, Lauren. He was scheduled to leave the next day to rotate back to the States, his term of enlistment being complete. He couldn’t wait to see his family and begin his new after-Army life.
RAIDS AND ROTOR BLADES
Twelve-year-old Zenab and her seven-year-old sister, Chenar, played in front of their house located near one of the city laundry shops in Tikrit. An Egyptian named Adel, a Coptic Christian who felt his fortune would be better working in Iraq, had established the shop years before. The locals admired his hard work and honesty. Abas Omran Ali, the girls’ father, had become friends with Adel and they often had tea while the girls played.
Two women and a man walked along the street in front of the laundry about mid-morning on the 16th of October. One of the ladies carried a flimsy, black plastic sack, the kind commonly furnished by local shops and food stands. She paused, conversed casually with her companions, and then walked away.
Chenar noticed that the lady forgot her grocery sack. She and Zenab picked up the bag intending to carry it to the lady in the distance who left it behind. Chenar advanced only a few steps before she was ripped apart by a powerful blast. Zenab, mangled and bloodied, could not walk or see. She struggled to crawl to her house, marking her progress with a trail of bloody handprints to the gate. The gutless attackers blended into the daily bustle of the c
ity.
The locals were frantic. Abas and his wife wailed in horror and disbelief at the sight of their girls, not knowing what to do. Our soldiers arrived very quickly. The only recourse for Chenar was burial. Jon Cecalupo’s men rushed the barely breathing Zenab to the hospital. She survived but would be permanently blinded. If only the images of the morning could be blinded from the memories of our men as well. Even as highbrowed discussions regarding the need for our mission roiled at home, the setbacks of the last two weeks provided little doubt as to why we were there.
It was clear, during this “holy month of Ramadan” that the insurgency was spreading and striking on multiple fronts. Not only were the weapons and tactics used against us more sophisticated, the assaults on local Iraqis had multiplied. It was one thing for soldiers to fight elusive insurgents in street battles. It was quite another to defend every civilian, especially when those afforded protection could be the very ones trying to kill the protectors. It was time to exhibit our ability to remove the offenders from the picture as we had demonstrated so successfully in prior months.
I had to get our minds off the casualties that we had suffered in the last three days. Two more of our men were dead, and a half dozen more had been wounded. Those who were not injured were dealing with scenes of children ripped apart by bombs. I continued to focus my men on only a few objectives. Any more would dilute the effort. We would fight the “Trigger Pullers” and ambush them. We would raid the middle tier “Bodyguards” to disrupt organization of the insurgency. We would pursue the “Big Guys” protected by that middle tier, shattering their leadership and funding and, hopefully, follow that trail right to Saddam. All indications were that Saddam’s inner circle was connected to all of this activity. We had to keep after them.
It would not be an easy task, but if we wavered from this strategy, everything won to date would be lost, and we would be visionless for the future. No amount of political progress or goodwill projects for the people would matter if we could not secure them. This was no time to be passing out lollipops. It was time to bring down the hammer on the bad guys. We had to prove ourselves to be strong and win the trust of the locals.
Colonel Hickey and our brigade, John and his SOF team, and the commanders in my task force felt that the path we were pursuing would continue to bear fruit if we stayed on it. Reassuring key leaders above us would be the challenge. Fortunately, Major General Odierno believed the operations in our area were succeeding and needed to be replicated across the spectrum. I was grateful for this and believed that it saved lives in our area and brought stability sooner. Peers, pundits, politicians, and popular writers already choosing to shape the history of the war to suit their own agenda even at this early stage would criticize his decision. From their armchairs, they opted for a more “velvet gloved” approach that I believe would only prolong the human suffering.
Lieutenant General Tom Metz, an equally tough-minded commander of III Corps paid us a visit on October 17 along with many of the old friends I once worked with at Ft. Hood on the Corps staff. I briefed General Metz on our operations whereupon he expressed appreciation for our efforts. Our division fell under the command of this man of great repute at Ft. Hood. By spring, he would be the senior ground commander in Iraq, going on to show once more why he was so respected. Major Tim Karcher was among the general’s group. It was good to see an old friend. Our paths had crossed on various occasions since Tim was a lieutenant and I was a captain. Seeing some familiar faces triggered reflection on happier times and places where people had not utterly lost their minds. The visit also afforded an opportunity to reiterate past operational successes and reaffirm current tactics with senior commanders.
The next few days were fairly calm. We found more roadside bombs and rendered them harmless, typically by shooting them. We captured more 60mm mortar ammunition and some RPGs, along with some trigger pullers. We were able to nab another upstanding citizen of Auja, Saddam’s birthplace, in a joint raid with John’s SOF team. Although this raid merely produced a minor player, it would be the first of many raids with the new team. On the day we lost Powell, Mark Stouffer’s Gators netted Ahmer Abdullah al-Hadooshi, a member of the “Five Family” network, after launching a hasty checkpoint. It was good to be back on the hunt again.
The enemy seemed equally determined to counter us on all fronts as we struggled to keep the initiative. On the evening of October 20, the mortar attacks returned, this time falling near our C Company, 3-66 Armor’s compound. Jon Cecalupo’s “Cougars” endured several of these attacks, and although most of the shells dropped into the open desert around them, one was slightly more accurate.
Private Antonio Hernandez, manning a .50 caliber machine gun atop a storage building at their front gate, felt the concussion of shells and heard the cracking rounds “walking” their way closer. Hernandez spun around and dove for cover behind some sand bags. As he did, a round landed in the nook between the gate and the building, exploding in dirty flame. Large chunks of fragmentation caught Hernandez in the armpit and leg. Fortunately, his body armor prevented serious injury. He recovered and returned to duty shortly afterward.
Our intelligence reports indicated that several of these mortar attacks were being organized in a farm village north of the old Republican Guard military complex. The complex was rife with weapons, many of which made their way into private hands when the Iraqi army collapsed. We believed that Saddam’s supporting cast of thugs orchestrated these attacks as they attempted to cultivate the insurgency. Too many incidents of late seemed to be well coordinated, having the mark of Fedayeen tactics, Republican Guard expertise, and Saddam inspiration. Timed bombings, rocket attacks, RPGs, mortars, attacks on our helicopters—these were not the signs of unrelated activity, but rather highly evolved, creative organization.
On a tip from our expanding informant network, we raided a series of houses on October 22, netting explosives, grenades, an RPG launcher, a heavy machine gun, and a host of other ordnance. My soldiers with mine detectors discovered the deadliest of these weapons beneath some dairy cattle in a stable. The owners, not realizing we would use such devices, had confidently pled innocence prior to this discovery. Their attitude quickly changed. While not the mortarmen we were seeking, they certainly intended to do us harm. Now they would be doing time.
On the night of October 23, the mortar attacks returned to the “Cougars.” This time, Jon Cecalupo’s men were ready. Seeing the mortar flash in the far distance through their tank gun sights, they engaged a car with two men. The men attempted to escape at a high speed with a mortar tube in the trunk. Amazingly, the car continued on even after several hundred machine gun bullets ripped into it. The car veered around a corner and escaped from immediate view. We discovered later that the tankers had killed one of the insurgent occupants. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.
I ordered increased outposts in an effort to ambush these escalating mortar attacks north of the city. They were hard to prevent because the insurgents, like the duo that Jon’s men engaged with the tank, could roll up, toss a few rounds in a 60mm mortar tube, and flee even before they impacted. Still, “hard” is not “impossible.” The enemy was using short-range mortars with predictable launch points in the open area of Cadaseeyah in the northern part of the city. I firmly believed that taking them by surprise with ambushes on likely routes was the best tactic.
Ever mindful of the shortage of men for the task at hand, I added to the observation posts the next night with one of my own. I set up observation with my command group and maintained control of the battalion with radio contact. That allowed Jon’s men and Brad’s men to lay at least one extra ambush in the northern suburb where all the mortar activity had been taking place.
My men and I infiltrated a nearly completed three-story house overlooking Highway 1 leading to Bayjii. The ground floor was locked tightly. We could have forced our way in, but that would have created unwanted attention, so we elected another option. The bottom rung of an assau
lt ladder unhooked from a Hummer was tenuously balanced on the top of an eight-foot wall to enable an acrobatic access to a third-story balcony. As I forced my forty-year-old body up the ladder, I wished to be twenty-something like all the young men around me. What was I thinking?
I managed to scale the ladder and pull myself over the balcony without incident (or accident) and we set up the observation post. Hours passed as night fell on Tikrit. The locals were oblivious to our presence. A family next door carried out their evening routine of cooking, playing, and conversing while sitting in their ubiquitous white plastic chairs in a patch of green courtyard. While watching the highway and surrounding residential area, I thought about how tough it must be to raise a family in the midst of war.
We continued to spy, noting peculiar characters and unusual traffic until curfew took effect. The night proved to be relatively quiet, undoubtedly due to the machine gun marksmanship of our tank company on the previous evening. We crept out of our third-story hideout in the early morning darkness. I returned to headquarters before dawn and hit the sack for what little sleep I could snatch.
Later in the morning we would host an important visitor. He came to investigate the potential of our fledgling Iraqi troop training effort firsthand. I was impressed when Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz got out on the ground with us and spent several hours with my men to grasp the full scope of the program. Impressed with our efforts, he asked about the various plans for training Iraqi soldiers. He also discussed with me at length the situation in Iraq. Of particular concern back home was the widespread debate as to whether the national leadership had erred by invading Iraq with an insufficient number of troops.
We Got Him! Page 22