At this stage, we were thrashing Saddam’s network in Cadaseeyah. John and the SOF guys wanted to keep the pressure on them as well. With Auja effectively isolated, we were able to strike at points north and west. There was no doubt that we were close to penetrating the last shell of protection surrounding Saddam. Colonel Hickey was obviously pleased with the targets we were snaring. We needed to continue raiding as much as possible. To that end, my new intelligence officer, Captain Clay Bell, and one of John’s SOF guys, discovered a remarkable connection between the Khatabs, the Ghanis, and the Musslits. Their connect-the-dots game was bringing us closer to the prize. Clay Bell was a godsend. I had been devastated when Tim Morrow was wounded and evacuated, and I was certain that our momentum would be lost or decelerated, but Clay was one of the fastest studies I had ever seen. With a fresh set of eyes, he even picked up on things we had missed earlier.
Now Clay, with his able intel NCO, Staff Sergeant John Ferguson, together with Kelly from John’s team, deciphered the connections with some interconnected data gathered by Major Stan Murphy and Chief Bryan Gray from Colonel Hickey’s staff. It was becoming clear that the Ghanis and Khatabs were tied together along with the Rashid family in a greater resistance effort in Cadaseeyah and villages north. The Khatabs were related to Saddam by Ghalib Mahmood al-Khatab’s marriage to Saddam’s half sister, Bissan Ibrahim al-Hasan. The Ghanis were also related to Saddam by the marriage of Mahmood Abdul Ghani to another of Saddam’s half sisters.
We had been pursuing portions of these families since June, when Abid Hamid Mahmood al-Khatab, former Saddam Presidential Secretary and the Ace of Diamonds, had been captured. What we did not know in mid-summer was the degree of interconnectivity. In retrospect, we realized that Abid Mahmood was living next door to one of the Ghanis and one of the Rashids when he was captured.
The Maher Abdul Rashid family was bad news in every respect. He was a former member of the Himaya, the select bodyguard of Saddam Hussein, and a former Republican Guard commander whom the locals had sighted with Saddam since the invasion. He was also related to Saddam by marriage. His daughter, May, was married to Saddam’s son, Qusay. I killed his son, Ali, in a violent engagement in July when his cell ambushed my men.
We had now been able to isolate and hamper the insurgent network to a great degree. In Cadaseeyah, the Khatabs, Rashids, and Ghanis were the foremost network of street fighters and mid-level organizers. In Tikrit proper, the Musslits, Hasans, and Hadooshis were active but more upper tier. In Auja, the Khatabs, Majids, Heremoses, and Hasans were isolated. We still believed that the Musslits were at the center of it all, inspired by Saddam Hussein. Events of the next week only confirmed this belief.
By November 4, the Aujites in the south seemed resigned to their new fenced-in routine. I met with Sheik Mahmood and the town elders. They initiated a series of frank and honest discussions about the need for the Bayjat tribe, including the Nasiris, to reconcile with the rest of Iraq. Without some degree of reconciliation, they would have no future. They would be forced to fight or die. I told them that one would surely lead to the other and that reconciliation should be pursued.
The topic of reconciliation provided for some lively discussion at the Monday morning sheik council meeting. The other tribesmen and elders admitted that a resolution was needed, but they refused to welcome the Bayjat tribe back without blood compensation. They required revenge killings or at least ransom for wrongs. As I listened to the sheiks weave their tribal and feudalistic tales, I was thankful to be an American.
Their discussions did not seem to deter the enemy element that engaged Mark Stouffer and his “Gators” of A Company that evening. Firing from the vicinity of an abandoned air defense bunker, the enemy launched an RPG at one of our patrols and followed it with rifle fire. Undaunted, the “Gators” gave back in spades. The thump-thump-thump of a Bradley chain gun preceded the crack-crack-crack of 25mm shells exploding on the bunker. The soldiers cordoned the area, but the attackers were able to beat a hasty retreat from a defiladed position before the cordon was set.
The following night, the cat-and-mouse game continued in Auja. Our soldiers were alert as usual when, suddenly, the power was lost, and the village became black. A clattering of small arms fire was coming from within the wired village. The town was searched, but the devious attackers blended into the village population and were never found. At daybreak, Captain Stouffer locked the only gate into and out of town. We used it as a bargaining chip to compel the sensible Aujites to make their brethren knock off the attacks.
On November 6 on the “Chevron” in the northwest part of Tikrit, a C Company ambush led by Staff Sergeant John Gilbert observed a man setting up what appeared to be a roadside bomb. He began by tying wire to a lamppost before running it to a location across the road. He did not accomplish this immediately because each time he saw military vehicles in the distance, he would back off and sit down passively like one of so many Iraqi men who squat on the side of the road. He was oblivious to our men observing him, waiting in ambush. Watching the pattern, Sergeant Ramon Esparza-Reyes, Private First Class Kevin Kammer, and Private Tyler Hood clearly viewed the bomber’s activities and confirmed that he was emplacing a roadside bomb. What followed next was a given. The soldiers placed him in their sights and hit him with a round each. The man dropped on his own trap—another Fedayeen foot soldier dead.
FIRE ISLAND
November 7th dawned with somewhat cooler weather but by mid-morning evolved into a very pleasant day. General John Abizaid, the commander of the entire Central Command (CENTCOM), arrived for an update from the leadership of the 4th Infantry Division. He and Major General Odierno came to the 1st Brigade at approximately 9:00 a.m. to meet with all the battalion commanders and our own commander, Colonel Jim Hickey. I had served with General Abizaid in Kosovo and Germany when he commanded the 1st Infantry Division.
Colonel Hickey’s headquarters was in its usual immaculate state. God help the soldier who screwed that up. Colonel Hickey could be calm and reserved and was as brave as any soldier in his command, but he was well known for his ability to strike fear in members of his staff. We even joked amongst ourselves about which member of his staff was serving as the “human piñata” on a particular day! Today he seemed quite satisfied. In addition to the impressive array of easy-to-read maps and charts posted on partitions around the commanders’ briefing area was a display of a different kind—a feathered one.
Some weeks before, our friend Brigadier General Abdullah Hussein Mohammed had presented Colonel Hickey with a falcon. As a skilled falconer, General Abdullah felt that a warrior such as Colonel Hickey should have a bird of prey. The falcon, now dubbed “Skyraider” as a nod to the 1st “Raider” Brigade, was indeed impressive. The predator had his own perch and a litany of soldiers rostered to tend to his every need. Most of the time he sat motionless but for an occasional blink or head shift, always scanning, and ready to strike.
It was only fitting that Skyraider found a place at this important brief among insurgent predators. At a moment of serious discussion between Colonel Hickey and General Abizaid about the motivations of the insurgency, Skyraider went bonkers. Tethered as he was by the foot, he became helplessly enmeshed in his own line. His claws and wings were dramatically splayed across the partition, and down and feathers drifted through the air. The amusing scene reached a crescendo with the bird’s shrieking calls for help.
“Is that thing OK?” asked the U.S. commander of all forces from Africa to Central Asia.
As if on cue, a pair of gloved hands appeared from behind the partition, first bracing and then whisking the entangled creature up and over the partition. Skyraider’s contribution to the briefing added little to solving the complexities of guerilla warfare but certainly furnished a memorable and entertaining break in the gravity of war.
Colonel Hickey’s pre-Skyraider update resumed and actually went very well. We had frank and open discussions with General Abizaid about the best method for gatherin
g intelligence. The general was impressed with our observations and later passed them on to other units. He confirmed that our leads on Saddam and his network were good and encouraged us to operate in the confidence that everyone develops patterns. Saddam would be no different, he assured us. He closed with some guidance to all the commanders and offered his vision on the future of the war.
Even as Skyraider was having his convulsions and we were deep in discussion with General Abizaid, Selwan Adnan Hamdi al-Nafat and his brother Sofian gathered in the northern suburb of Cadaseeyah in Tikrit at a friend’s house to have a discussion of their own. They were now ready to execute a plot received from the area insurgent commander, a member of the Musslit family named Finar Khatab Omar al-Musslit. Saddam, they were advised, had conceived this new strategem himself.
Selwan and Sofian, in possession of a long, tube-like object known locally as a “Hatashi” missile, took up a position near the riverbank of the Tigris. They were alive with anticipation. These new Russian-made SA-16 anti-aircraft missiles had just been smuggled in from Syria. A mole working for the Coalition Provisional Authority in Tikrit had alerted them to another flight of American helicopters skimming south along the Tigris River from Mosul.
First Lieutenant Phil Thompson, from our tank company, was patrolling with two M1 tanks and his gun Hummer along Highway 1 in the northern Tikriti suburb of Cadaseeyah in search of bombs. Saqr Ghani, a local resident of the Cadaseeyah district, observed Thompson’s patrol as he sat with several other men going through their morning ritual of small talk and tea. He cursed under his breath, still stinging that relatives of his had been captured by the evil Americans a few days before for insurgent activity. To the north, he could hear helicopters. He wondered what the Americans were up to and where they would strike next. He was relieved when Thompson’s patrol passed by without stopping.
A pair of Blackhawk helicopters clipped south along the Tigris River aiming toward the helipad at the 4th Infantry Division headquarters just a few kilometers distant. The birds flew just above ground level but perhaps three hundred feet above the water.
Chief Warrant Officer Kyran Kennedy had flown this route dozens of times, but he and his co-pilot, Captain Ben Smith, were particularly vigilant that day, as they were transporting some especially important visitors. With several of the highest-ranking Staff Judge Advocate (SJA) personnel on this mission, the passenger load was split between the two birds making the flight. Smith and Kennedy would fly trail carrying Command Sergeant Major Cornell Gilmore, the Army’s senior SJA enlisted soldier. Staff Sergeant Paul Neff and Sergeant Scott Rose, the crew chief and engineer, trained their machine guns on the bluffs and rooftops of houses dotting the bank’s edge.
Kennedy looked forward to a little downtime in Tikrit. His wife had just sent him a beautiful case lined with red flannel for his handmade dulcimer. It arrived in time for his 43rd birthday the week before. He had crafted the hammered dulcimer himself on their farm in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, near Ft. Campbell where they were stationed. Now it would be protected as he carted it around.
Flying the rich farmland along the Tigris reminded Kennedy a little of home. He liked the simple life even though he was actually a Boston native. Clearly, the Kentucky farm he and his wife, Kathy, and their three children lived on was far better-looking than anything over here.
In the back sat Chief Warrant Officer Sharon Swartworth, accompanying her commanding general on her last assignment with the SJA office. She had already sold her house in the DC area and would retire after this brief interlude to visit the troops in Iraq. She had been excited about this opportunity to see things firsthand, capping a great career. Tomorrow would be her 44th birthday; she never imagined she would celebrate it in Tikrit! She looked forward to returning home to “live in paradise” as she put it, as her naval captain husband had just received orders to Hawaii.
Major General Thomas J. Romig, the Staff Judge Advocate of the Army (the Army’s highest-ranking lawyer), sat in the lead bird. As the chopper began to ease up and prepare for landing on the helipad just ahead, he felt relieved to have made it to Tikrit without incident. He had important work on this trip concerning the testimony and allegations of Iraqis held in custody by American forces. One thing was certain: he wanted to ensure that his soldiers had the best support possible and encourage them to operate with full confidence to protect U.S. soldiers from undue criminal allegations as they attempted to sort out the enemy in this difficult insurgent war.
After passing Saqr Ghani and his tea-drinking cronies at approximately 9:40 a.m., First Lieutenant Phil Thompson patrolled south close to the riverbank with his tank men. He caught a flash out of the corner of his eye. A flaming rooster tail spewed from a Blackhawk helicopter as another one flew ahead. The trail bird was obviously in serious trouble as it struggled for altitude. The nose began to pitch forward.
Saqr Ghani, seeing virtually the same thing from his location, began to jump and shout, “Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!” as he and the other tea-drinkers shared in the jubilation.
“Regular Mike, Regular Mike, this is Cougar Five, over!” called Thompson.
“Regular Mike, over,” came the reply.
“I just saw a Blackhawk go down near my location! I’m heading there now with my patrol,” announced Lieutenant Thompson as he switched radio handsets to contact his own company.
Chief Kennedy and Captain Smith felt a violent bang and immediately lost control of their craft, affectionately known as “The Goat.” This was bad. Very bad. Where to land? Blackhawk #92-26431 was going down. No time. The pilots used what little control they had to aim for a sandbar island to avoid the river. The tail section gave way completely as the craft began a violent summersault. Debris, weapons, and soldiers fell from the stricken craft before it completely disappeared below the river bluff.
Phil Thompson quickly gathered a small force of three tanks and three gun Hummers and raced to the bluff. What he saw below did not look good. As he secured the bank and checked for enemy activity, Staff Sergeant David McClean and Sergeant Joseph Jago scrambled on foot down the tenuous cliff trail to the island land bridge below. A grisly, flaming scene rose before them.
Our battalion headquarters could track Phil’s location with his digital tracking system. Headquarters Company security outposts could also see fire on the sandbar island north of their location. They called in the approximate grid.
Within minutes, our task force spurred into action. Major Mike Rauhut radioed my driver, Cody Hoefer, and then dispatched forces to the location in my absence. Captain Brad Boyd darted a patrol north from his downtown location, while Captain Mark Stouffer alerted his quick reaction force already on standby in the city. Command Sergeant Major Pete Martinez was holding a promotion board with several of the company first sergeants when the word came. Suddenly, soldiers from every one of our companies burst into action.
Staff Sergeant McClean and Sergeant Jago continued to thread their way down the tenuous trail to the island. What they saw was traumatic. The helicopter lay scattered along a straight pattern, perhaps a hundred yards long. The lighter the pieces, the less distance they traveled. The main body of the aircraft tumbled into a ball and burned profusely. McClean and Jago raced to the disconnected parts of wreckage looking for American soldiers.
Phil Thompson met Captain Brad Boyd at the top of the bluff. Brad took charge of the site as Phil’s “Cougars” and Brad’s “Cobras” worked together to do what they could. Mike Rauhut began feeding everything to Brad, who was now the senior commander on site. Sergeant Major Cesar Castro, who had been out checking up on the “Cobras,” followed after them. We now had a very able force to work the grisly task at hand.
The sandbar was covered with bulrushes and monkey grass about eight to ten feet high. About a quarter of the island was on fire, and the flames were spreading. Aluminum, magnesium, and steel morphed from aerodynamic marvel to molten mass as the wreckage burned intensely. Brad and our soldiers hastily searched for survi
vors in the wreckage.
I emerged from the meeting with General Abizaid shortly before 10:00 a.m. My driver and operations sergeant reported the news to me. We sped north to Cadaseeyah, arriving about ten minutes later. The island was belching smoke and flames. My first priority was to extinguish the fire so recovery of remains and aircraft could begin. As I took in the scene before me, I could not imagine any human surviving this inferno. We drove down to the island. I called Mike Rauhut for fire trucks, Army or city—it didn’t matter. We needed serious help to contain the flames. Until they arrived, there was little that we could do. I ordered Brad Boyd and Mark Stouffer to make sure security was tight. The enemy was active, and we could be vulnerable to mortar or sniper attack.
“Look, a couple of things need to happen,” I told my two company commanders on site. “First, we need to recover the bodies and all the equipment. These Blackhawks are usually armed with waist guns. We need to find those and any personal weapons and gear that may have been scattered over the area. Second, we need to sanitize this site once we secure it and the aircraft is properly recovered. I want nothing for the Iraqis to gloat over. I want it to look as if this had never happened. We’re gonna be here awhile until we get all this cleaned up. There will be no dancing Iraqis on any helicopters.”
We Got Him! Page 25