“Do you have enough troops, Colonel?” Wolfowitz queried.
“Sir, I’m not going to lie by telling you what I think you and others might like to hear,” I offered, knowing such questions might typically be answered with “Oh, we’re fine, sir,” or “We’re making do, and we’ll get the job done,” as high officials were accustomed to hearing.
“It’s not a question of having enough troops to accomplish our mission, sir. It is a question of choosing which missions not to accomplish for lack of adequate troops. We’re getting the job done, but there is a lot more job out there. I’ll tell you straight, sir, that I need more troops.
“This program you see here is a classic example of why,” I continued. “Every soldier training these Iraqis was pulled off the line to do it. Even if they were not, we still cannot see what is beyond us on the periphery in villages and farms, as we do not have sufficient troops to patrol there. I could accomplish so much more if I had even the troops I am normally assigned back home.”
“Interesting,” he commented. “I appreciate your candor, Colonel. I am going to make a note of the reasons you gave me.”
I felt certain I would hear about it later. The most likely outcome would be the very senior leaders asserting condescendingly, “Oh well, of course, the battalions say they need more troops. Wouldn’t they all like to have more troops?” Still, I wondered what would happen if every colonel and general in the trenches spoke out with the truth. Would our military and political leaders listen and respond, or would we be told to drive on? Would we gain the momentum to roll forward or watch the wheels fall off the cart?
I felt confident that Secretary Wolfowitz had listened. I appreciated his coming to the front lines to see the situation firsthand. That was far more than some of our very senior generals in Baghdad had done. I took some satisfaction from at least being able to say, “Yes, we need more troops.”
As if to illustrate the example from our conversation, an Iraqi man sputtered around on a red motorcycle through the fields along the banks of the river, easily visible from the Tigris resort island where Secretary Wolfowitz and I were conversing. Because of prior insurgent activity carried out with them, I had issued orders for the local government in Tikrit to seize all motorcycles on the road during the summer. This one, being across the river, had escaped notice. The area of operation for Dez Bailey’s G Troop was so vast that it could only be patrolled, not fully covered. This lush farmland along the Tigris harbored rebels and resistance.
The Secretary’s departure was followed by an influx of other airborne visitors, though not from our division. Shortly after lunch, rotor blades snapped at the air about 300 feet off the deck as a pair of Blackhawk helicopters with an Apache escort hugged the surface of the Tigris River. They cruised down the watercourse carrying a special group of officers visiting a special group of troops.
Meanwhile, on the rim of a verdant orchard adjoining the fields along the Tigris River just opposite Tikrit and our headquarters, that same motorcyclist took a weapon to his shoulder, aimed it toward the sky, and squeezed the trigger. A white smoke trail traced a short line from ground to helicopter.
The soldiers flying on the trail Blackhawk heard a loud bang as fragments sprayed the engine compartment. Alarms on the bird began to sound. Flames instantly fused with smoke as the blades whirled kaleidoscopic circles in the sky. The helicopter started to plummet, the spinning rotors offering just a modicum of balance. Only a few hundred feet from the ground to begin with, the pilots pointed the craft as best they could to a field off the bank of the river, hoping to avoid the water. There was no time to think, only react.
The aircraft was hopelessly sluggish as fire leapt out the engine exhausts. The pilots squeezed the last bit of control from the bird and somehow manged to land it roughly and fully intact. Only the extreme skillfulness of these men prevented complete disaster. The passengers dashed from the blazing craft, including an adrenaline-pumped soldier wounded in the calf when the missile struck.
The lead helicopter pilots, hearing the distress, banked their craft and watched in disbelief the scene playing out before them. The escorting Apache continued to fly wide. The lead Blackhawk also swooped a wide circle and then leveled, attempting to rescue some of the survivors. Miraculously, there appeared to be no serious casualties.
The fleeing enemy, throttling away on his Chinese motorbike, had no idea whom he had nearly killed. We never disclosed the identity of those passengers. I have often wondered whether the target was Secretary Wolfowitz on the earlier flight or the very senior special operations general on this flight. Either would have been a grand prize and perhaps could have altered the course of history.
This attack happened in full view of our headquarters on the bluff overlooking the Tigris River, so our soldiers witnessed the aircraft go down. Rushing across the river to the craft, we beheld what was becoming a red-hot mass of burning aluminum. Mark Stouffer and Brad Boyd were both in the area with their command convoys and headed to the site upon hearing the radio traffic. The functioning Blackhawk was just lifting off as we approached the scene. I ordered Brad Boyd to take his men north of the crash site to cut off the attackers. Mark Stouffer and his men linked up with the battalion quick reaction force I had released back to his unit. I ordered him to cordon the eastern road bisecting the farmland. If we acted quickly enough, we could possibly seal the main exit roads.
Captain Troy Parrish, the S4 Supply Officer serving on my staff while waiting for an infantry command, immediately brought his Hummers and medical support across the river from our headquarters. He assisted in the evacuation of the wounded soldier. The stricken chopper was fully gutted by this time, a mere 15 minutes after the crash. I radioed command headquarters with orders to have the local fire department bring a truck to extinguish the flames.
At the time, we speculated that an RPG could have knocked down the helicopter, but it was difficult to be certain. A surface-to-air missile was equally plausible. That was a frightening thought. We later learned that it was indeed a surface-to-air missile. We had captured twenty-three of them in a September raid led by Mike Rauhut. While a setback to the enemy at that moment, more of the projectiles had obviously been amassed. That was cause for grave concern for all helicopters throughout Iraq in the days ahead.
Colonel Hickey brought his Brigade Reconnaissance Troop, under Captain Dez Bailey, to reinforce our unit and help secure the ravaged site. Mark and Brad’s men searched roughly 100 vehicles along the roads leading into the villages. Nothing was found, though a few weeks later informant tips would prove to be invaluable. The wreckage was recovered from the farm field and towed to the 4th Aviation Brigade’s airfield just north of Tikrit at Camp Speicher. We were once again diligent to our dictum that no enemy would ever dance on American equipment on our watch. It was startling to lose a helicopter so close to us. I was thankful no one had died.
GOOD MISSION, BAD TIMING
We hosted another visitor on October 26. The stamina of this seventy-year-old man afflicted with Parkinson’s disease amazed me. Robin Moore, author of The Green Berets and The French Connection, visited to gather interviews and information for a new book he was writing about the manhunt for Saddam. What a delight to meet with and listen to him. We corresponded a great deal following his visit. My hopes were that, whatever became of our efforts, the story of our great soldiers and their sacrifices would be preserved for posterity.
In addition, the relationship I developed with our embedded press continued to bear fruit as correspondents recounted the labor of our impressive soldiers. We had learned a tremendous amount about how the press operated since we had been spotlighted in the hunt for Saddam and his henchmen. They were professional for the most part, fearless to a fault, and inclined to file fairly accurate stories. Even cases of inaccuracy appeared to be just a result of erroneous information and not speculation on their part.
Many that I got to know well, like Brian Bennett, Greg Palkot, and Kim Dozier, wer
e great fact finders and took personal risks beyond measure. They truly were craftsmen, seeking to separate the emotion of mission felt by the soldier from the skepticism of critics back home and attempting to find the truth of it all on the ground.
While the reporters accurately conveyed the stories of events from our unit, we learned that editors of various news organizations might never pick up the many positive accounts they would file. Some of the copy they did use was often edited to portray a different meaning altogether. A sense of frustration developed even among field reporters and photographers when a story they risked their lives to get was bumped for the splash headline of “Another Soldier Killed in Iraq Today” or “Celebrity X Enters Rehab.”
While acknowledging the public’s right to be informed of casualties, the reporters felt a focus on losses did not portray the truth when clear signs of progress were being made. Consequently, our raids continued to be well covered but were often misconstrued by those back home as exacerbating the situation. Only later would our tactics and results be examined and appreciated for their impact.
By October 26, we had gathered enough information from informants to raid a troubling little village named Hamra, on the bluffs of the Tigris at the northern end of the old Republican Guard military complex. We conducted a joint raid with John’s SOF team, as they were also interested in what we might uncover. We detained one of Saddam’s physicists and about eight others who added more information about Saddam’s closest circle of friends for later raids. The most important of those captured was one of Saddam’s cousins from the Hasan family. We found large caches of ammunition and heavy weapons in the farm fields nearby, including ground-launched, unguided rockets. These were quickly becoming an enemy favorite for long-range but insignificant attacks on airfields and outlying compounds.
The city of Tikrit was becoming somewhat more civil with our increased efforts. Our raids seemed to cause the enemy to retreat, if only for a moment. Consequently, Colonel Hickey pressed us to persevere with raids based on intelligence and informant tips. There were still roadside bombs and sporadic mortar fire to contend with, but fewer rebels seemed willing to go toe to toe with us in street battle. Our patrols, ambushes, observation posts, and raids appeared to tighten security while relaxing the local population.
We attempted to further gain the confidence of locals by increasing the visibility of the Iraqi soldiers we trained. We also expanded our propaganda war with plans to place pro-Iraqi posters on lampposts across town and continue our “Mohammed’s Faithful” campaign. My brilliant intelligence officer, Captain Tim Morrow, had prepared another leaflet and was eager to plan another mission to drop it.
The evening of October 28 marked an increase in enemy activity. Mark Stouffer’s men narrowly missed an ill-timed roadside bomb. As Mark and his men began to investigate, a white Toyota approached them. Spotting the soldiers, the driver wheeled around. Mark’s troops fired warning shots to stop it. The truck did not stop, and the passengers fired back. A brief gunfight ensued. The Toyota escaped, but none of our men were hit.
Captain Stouffer reported the event and alerted all units to be on lookout for a white Toyota transporting armed men. Even though half of Iraq drove white Toyotas, Major Bryan Luke sent out the call to be watchful. The enemy was out tonight. So were we. Jon Cecalupo had troops across the river and tanks to patrol the area of the mortars. Brad Boyd had troops in the central and northernmost parts of the city. The Tigris bridge was well secured on both ends. Mark’s evening had already been eventful in the southern part of the city.
Approximately one hour before the 10:00 p.m. curfew, Captain Morrow, Specialist Jason Werts from battalion intelligence, and Specialist Gersain Garcia from my command element began their strategic leaflet drop. As in previous missions, they drove a light gray Iraqi civilian Toyota SUV previously captured from insurgents. Their plan was to cruise around the periphery of our troops with a faux “patrol” nearby pretending to attempt apprehension of the littering activists. Similar drops had been executed in like manner on previous occasions. They were always risky, however, and required meticulous coordination. Command Sergeant Major Martinez would act as the decoy patrol.
Specialist Ryan Steckler was on the bridge with the Iraqi Civil Defense Corps troops led by our trainers. The proximity to the frequent mortar attacks and the recent helicopter attack made this point a vital place to secure. It was also the only standing bridge on the Tigris River between Bayjii and Samarra. Having additional force to cover it, even if only with native levies led by our men, was a great relief to me. In fact, having Iraqis at the bridge offered one unique advantage. They could communicate with the steady stream of civilian drivers entering and exiting the city. They were on alert for the Toyota reported earlier.
Tim’s leaflet mission had been well implemented. With just ten minutes left before curfew, it was time to wrap things up. Pete Martinez patrolled parallel to Tim on the main highway in northern Tikrit while the light gray Toyota traveled toward an entry ramp under the Tigris River bridge. That move would conceal them long enough to arrive at headquarters without suspicion.
As the traffic waned and curfew neared, Steckler noticed another car approaching. It was a light-colored Toyota. Not overly alarmed as there were still ten minutes until curfew, the soldiers readied themselves to inspect the car as it drew closer to their checkpoint. Their position was situated to avoid exposure to the streetlamp. All appeared in order as the occupants of the car acknowledged them by switching off their headlights.
Pete Martinez continued his patrol along Highway 1, conducting spot checkpoints in the city to delay traffic briefly, while Tim Morrow, according to plan, stealthily moved along a side street to make the river bridge turnoff to our compound. Tim cut his lights to escape the notice of any lingering civilians. In the dark, he inadvertently missed the turn. Traveling but a short distance before realizing his mistake, he stopped, put the Toyota in reverse and backed up to the turnoff point.
Specialist Steckler recognized the Toyota as the one encountered only minutes before. When the driver threw the car in reverse gear and started for the exit ramp, Steckler ran toward it shouting, but it disappeared down the ramp that curved under the bridge where he was standing. The Iraqi soldiers on the bridge heard his shouting and drew alongside him in support.
Tim Morrow drove down the ramp and under the bridge, completely oblivious to the scene playing out above him. He guided the car along the side road leading toward our headquarters some distance away.
“Stop!” Steckler shouted from the bridge above. Loud whistles ensued. “Hey! Stop!!”
Realizing that the suspicious Iraqi Toyota could be heading toward our headquarters, Ryan Steckler had but moments to react. A gunshot cracked through the air. He had fired the warning shot hoping it would be heard above the yelling and whistles, which had not been effective. The Iraqi soldiers with him, misunderstanding the meaning of a warning shot, aimed their AK-47 rifles at the car and fired enthusiastically, eager to be of assistance to Steckler.
Captain Morrow heard loud reports as rifle fire began to rip through his Toyota. Specialist Garcia, sitting behind Morrow, readied his weapon and tried to locate the source of fire. He leaned out the back door precariously and fired a burst in the general direction of the sound of gunfire. Specialist Werts looked behind from the passenger side but could not determine where the fire was coming from either. They were able to clearly determine that they were the target. Glass shards exploded from the rear windshield. Morrow tromped on the accelerator. Their only hope was to speed through the ambush.
Above on the bridge, Steckler saw the car begin to race forward as one of the occupants leaned out and fired. This was similar to what Captain Stouffer had reported earlier following the roadside bomb, and the car fit the same general description. Now he and two Iraqis began to pour fire into the car as it sped away. The other soldiers ran across the bridge to Steckler’s aid.
In the distance, Pete Martinez began to
hear M-16 and AK-47 gunfire. He ordered his patrol to move in the direction of the battle. Those already on the ground began running toward the sound of the guns. Specialist Michael Bressette and a couple of soldiers from Martinez’s patrol could see a car racing toward them in the distance.
Captain Morrow struggled. He slumped forward at the wheel as the vehicle slowed. “I’m hit. I’m hit in the chest,” he managed as he summoned all his strength to keep moving the Toyota forward. Rounds slammed into the backseat and the driver’s seat, and two found their way into Tim’s upper back. He grasped the wheel to hold himself upright as he nosed the vehicle around the curve ahead. Finally clear of the shooting, he saw Command Sergeant Major Martinez’s patrol ahead.
“Captain Morrow’s been shot!” yelled Jason Werts to Michael Bressette and the other soldiers running up. “We need a medic, NOW!”
Pete’s patrol rushed to the stricken Toyota and pulled Captain Morrow to safety. The men grabbed a stretcher for him from one of their vehicles. Like all battle scenarios, the situation was confusing. Pete struggled to sort out the details. Bressette and Werts ripped the sterile packaging from bandages in their first-aid pouches and pressed them onto Captain Morrow’s back and chest. Pete took charge, pulled the patrol in, and rushed Morrow to the aid station.
My staff and I were organizing plans for operations the next day when the radio calls started coming in. Reports filtered through our Headquarters Company as Specialist Steckler reported the contact at the bridge when they tried to stop armed men fleeing in a Toyota. On the battalion net, calls were coming in from Command Sergeant Major Martinez about contact and casualties.
“Sir, there is contact by the Tigris bridge,” informed Major Bryan Luke. “Tim Morrow’s been shot,” he said in measured sadness.
We Got Him! Page 23