We Got Him!

by Steve Russell

After Christmas, the lions still desired to roam about in search of fresh meat. Unwilling to come at us directly, they roared with indirect fire attacks in an attempt to be heard. Our tank company received two such attacks on their compound on Christmas Day and the day following. During the second attack, the “Cougars” countered with .50 caliber machine gun fire at the attackers who were spotted in the distance launching 60mm mortar rounds from a residential area in the suburb of Cadaseeyah.

  Our mortars worked up a counter battery mission, changed at the last moment to illumination by Jon Cecalupo. The scouts supported the “Cougars” in a search but were unable to get the attackers—this time. We discussed at length the dilemma of firing that mission and the type of munitions we used in a populated area. Risk of collateral damage had to be weighed against the risk of insurgents using the population to kill our soldiers. I tended to see it as a military target. The enemy was there, they were shooting us, and we needed to make it stop. Still, I was satisfied that the main reason Jon asked for illumination instead was that the shift from the mortar registration point had reduced the chance of the rounds landing on target in the residential area without a bracketing adjustment. Otherwise, we would have fired the explosive rounds.

  The episode continued to illustrate the difficult task leaders faced when fighting an enemy that disregarded the laws of land warfare and hid behind the innocent. None of our soldiers were injured in this attack, and fortunately for us, the attackers were not first-rate mortarmen. Neither were those who attacked our compound on the night of 29 December. Those rounds struck the bridge across the Tigris River where our soldiers manned a checkpoint on each end. One round exploded harmlessly in the river while the other lodged in the base of the bridge without exploding.

  The enemy, unable to inflict damage with his mortars, changed his approach to attacks we had not seen in some months. I believe this was due in part to having fewer willing to risk their lives for money alone or a Baathist resurgence that was now unlikely to materialize with the detainment of Saddam and so many of his leaders. Even so, we began to see more highly trained “diehards” emerge to engage us as they mustered what strength they could after our major advances during the last three months. We welcomed this in many ways, as we wanted to purge Tikrit of the most evil characters before redeploying in the next few months.

  The first indication of a new round of street fights occurred in the late afternoon on 30 December. An infantry foot patrol led by Sergeant Jeff Allen from 2nd Squad, 2nd Platoon of C Company walked the streets in northern Tikrit around the “Chevron.” Allen stopped to set up a flash checkpoint to search car traffic when a burst of gunfire interrupted the effort. Allen tumbled to the ground. A light blue car, unseen by the squad, had positioned itself by a corner, and a man had gotten out and shot at the patrol. The enemy immediately fled from the corner.

  “I’m hit!” shouted Allen, as the soldiers scrambled for cover, scanning the area.

  “Where you hit, sergeant?” called Private First Class Joseph Weaver.

  “It’s my back.” Allen winced as he struggled for cover.

  “Get down,” yelled Private Robert Pena to a man moving along a rooftop. Gunfire began to pop from his M-16.

  As his squad took cover and scanned the area, Specialist Gregory Sizer, the platoon medic, began to feel for Allen’s wound. Carefully removing the body armor, he slipped his hand to Allen’s back. There was a tear in the uniform but no entry or exit wound on Allen’s torso. His body armor backplate was shattered. Two rifle rounds from an AK-47 had partially penetrated but were obstructed before they pierced Sergeant Allen.

  “You’re OK,” informed Doc Sizer. “The plate stopped the bullets.”

  Allen slipped his body armor back on, heartened by the news but feeling as though someone had struck him in the back with a baseball bat. His soldiers moved cautiously along the houses where they believed the fire originated. As Specialist Patrick Belt led the squad to clear the suspect houses, First Sergeant Mike Evans arrived with reinforcements from the quick reaction force. Allen was evacuated to the battalion medics. Other than sporting an ugly, softball-sized bruise on his back, he was fine. Jeff Allen was truly a Regular, by God.

  GET IT DONE

  As 2003 came to a close, we pressed hard to secure intelligence on a number of Baathist individuals who were funneling money and weapons to finance attacks. Through signal intelligence intercepts, we were able to trace them to the inner city of Tikrit. It seemed that Saddam’s capture had not collapsed the resistance. Now it was up to us to force the issue. We received orders from Colonel Hickey on 30 December to raid a large section of the city in attempts to find the individuals.

  Information was scant, names were incomplete, and Colonel Hickey’s patience was wearing thin. As I evaluated the situation, I believed that I could find the individuals by working the local intelligence networks, but I would need a little time. I went back to Hickey and laid out the situation for him.

  “Sir, I need more time.”

  “Get it done, Colonel,” ordered Hickey.

  “Sir, you’ve asked us to raid a major portion of the city,” I started apprehensively. “Far from dragging my feet, I want to accomplish the mission. But the prospect of finding a few individuals whose full names we do not know, living in an area containing 107 houses based on several ellipses drawn on a map from signal intercepts seems like a recipe for disaster.”

  “Are you saying you cannot carry out the order?” Hickey pushed back. He was losing patience.

  “Sir, even if the scant information we have is accurate, these thugs would surely flee unless we hit the lottery on the very first house,” I pushed back.

  “You are an infantry commander with a large amount of resources,” he started. “I will not have these insurgents freely moving about the city killing our soldiers. Get it done!”

  “Sir, I fully intend to get it done,” I said, sensing a confrontation neither he nor I would welcome. I tried one more tactic. “Sir, as your infantry commander, you expect me to make recommendations to you and provide my insight on how best to accomplish our missions.

  “I’m not asking to call off the mission. I am asking for twenty-four hours to develop my intel sources so I can narrow this target from 107 houses to perhaps a few we can actually get. I need twenty-four hours.”

  Pausing and glaring, Hickey blurted, “You’ve got your twenty-four hours, Colonel, and I want this mission accomplished. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir, it is,” I shot back. “I will make good use of it.”

  We were all feeling the pressure. Colonel Hickey was fed up, as we all were, with the recent spike of activity and the wounding of several soldiers in the last two weeks. From his view, any lead needed to be relentlessly pursued. I agreed but realized that if we turned hundreds of residents out into the streets by raiding their houses in a single evening, there would be serious repercussions. We would create more enemies than we would find. My best hope lay in using the Mukhtar network that had proven invaluable to us in recent months.

  Joe Filmore and I approached our secret source that night. We explained the need to find three men. If I could deliver the very negligible information we had to the Mukhtar, there was a chance of narrowing the targets for the raid. As the companies patrolled the city, we worked the intelligence piece hard. Tougher targets than these had been uncovered in the last few months. We had even hunted down Saddam Hussein successfully. We ought to be able to flush out a handful of rebels. We went to work refining the targets in order to minimize the impact on the unwitting locals they used for sanctuary.

  The information we provided the Mukhtar and his son was thin at best. One individual we were seeking had a son of a certain name and the other worked in Jordan and they talked to each other on the phone. A different man who had a certain type of business in Tikrit talked to them both. That was it. That was all we had from the signal intercepts other than the attacks they were planning and the types of weapons they were mov
ing. We knew that they were communicating by short wave radio transmissions, but I did not disclose this to our source. Incredibly, by the end of the following day we were in possession of the full names and locations of our targets. Our raids would commence on New Year’s Eve and target just four houses instead of the 107 houses in the original plan.

  Toward evening, as we prepared for these raids, Mike Evans, C Company’s first sergeant, provided rations and water to his 3rd Platoon soldiers who were guarding the Civil Military Information Center. It was a routine task. He dropped off the rations and then left. Unknown to him, two men in a white Oldsmobile parked under cover of darkness in a back alley across the street drew pistols, and frightened away a local boy playing in the area. This was the same alley used in the CMIC attack on our soldiers the previous June. The insurgents, using the alley to mask their covert activity, placed a 107mm rocket on an earth berm used to cover a water main. The enemy crudely aimed the rocket toward the building where our soldiers were and hooked a motorcycle battery to it. Touching the terminals to the battery as they hid behind the cover of dwellings, the rebel rocketeers ducked as the missile popped, ignited its motor, and lurched across the highway like some child’s bottle-rocket experiment from the Fourth of July.

  Staff Sergeant Matt Lessau had placed his men in various positions to support the feeding of the soldiers. Specialist Radhames Camilo manned a machine gun on the roof of the CMIC, pulling security. He noticed two red flares launch into the sky toward the south and thought it strange when he heard the initial pop across the street. He saw a stream of flame heading his way and lunged for the floor. Private First Class Andrew Pollock left his position at the gate to climb back on his Bradley. He saw the flame shoot from the back alley, tracing its way to the second floor of the CMIC.

  Lessau and the others in his squad were on the first floor preparing the rations when the rocket slammed into the building. The structure quivered as the rocket penetrated the wall and propelled through two more walls of the second floor before exploding. Flash and flame brightened the windows, followed by a gentle oozing of secondary smoke and dust. Miraculously, with soldiers on the lower floor, courtyard, and roof at that exact moment, no one was harmed.

  Sergeant Ramon Esparza-Reyes, alerted to the enemy attack location by Camilo, organized his men, who began to pepper the alleyway with small arms and light automatic weapons. Specialist Bradley Burns supported them with his squad automatic weapon from the courtyard.

  Captain Mitch Carlisle heard the explosion and gunfire from the location he had just left. He had been with the element that dropped off the chow to the soldiers. I had placed Mitch in temporary command of C Company while Captain Boyd recovered from his wounds. He was doing a superb job.

  Carlisle and First Sergeant Evans turned their Humvees around, trying to determine the direction of attack. Meanwhile, Staff Sergeant Lessau’s soldiers at the CMIC laid down a large amount of fire on the alleyway, opening up a general engagement. As they did, Carlisle’s group spied three individuals fleeing the area near the alleyway where the soldiers at the CMIC were shooting. Mitch maneuvered his element slightly, hoping to cut them off. Seeing Captain Carlisle’s group moving to cut off the enemy, Staff Sergeant Lessau ordered his men to cease firing.

  First Sergeant Evans fired a flare pistol to warn the three escapees and to deduce their intentions. Seeing hostile intent, he maneuvered an element on foot, firing at the enemy. Specialist Sergio Cardenas and Specialist Jacob Lynn joined them. Specialists Byron Foster and Rodrigo Vargas oriented on their fire and opened up with their Hummer-mounted .50 caliber machine guns, dusting up the fleeing element until they disappeared from view into the densely populated residential block.

  Captain Carlisle had the CMIC forces hold while he took the supporting element toward the neighborhood where the enemy had vanished. As they entered that street, Sergeant Mark Callahan noticed one of the three lay dead, hit in the jaw by .50 caliber machine gun fire. The “Cobras” then cleared the houses where they believed the other two had found safe harbor. They were not located.

  As the “Cobras” checked their men and equipment following the attack, Bryan Luke and I readied the battalion for the evening mission. We still had a major raid to conduct. Captain Carlisle was able to consolidate his forces and ready them for the raid. Fortunately, none of Staff Sergeant Lessau’s men had been hit in the CMIC. The enemy, however, paid a great price for their attack.

  On New Year’s Eve, we launched the raid for which I had requested a twenty-four-hour delay. Mark Stouffer’s “Gators” and Chris Morris’ “Commanches” joined Mitch Carlisle’s “Cobras” to hit all four targets simultaneously. We found all three of the targeted individuals and, more importantly, were able to capture all the special transmitters and cell phones. They exactly matched the types that division intelligence forces had intercepted. As we searched the houses, we found a fair number of weapons, large amounts of money, and documents providing details that we would use to launch a very large raid in the weeks to come.

  NEW YEAR, OLD FIGHT

  Around the world, people awakened to January 1, 2004, with resolutions and hope for a better year, as if old habits, deep-seated desires, and human nature had loosened their grip on their daily lives. Usually, such lofty aspirations faded after a few weeks. For us, it was mere hours. New Year’s Day was just another bloody, hard-fought day. Consistency and drive would make the difference in the success of our mission, not some folkloric tradition on a particular calendar date.

  The enemy continued to find his courage, in spite of the colder weather and overcast skies. By early afternoon, suspicious activity had been spotted on rooftops near the “Chevron.” Our soldiers on patrol, alert as always, had already discovered another cinder block bomb. By mid-afternoon, an MP convoy had been bombed, but the timing of the attack was slightly off, and the bomb detonated between two of the MP Hummers.

  With our patrols meandering through much of the city, First Lieutenant Conrad Wilmoski, our medical platoon leader, assisted in the escort of a brigade medical element transporting an Iraqi man to the combat surgical hospital. The escort accomplished, he returned his “Blood Convoy” back to our headquarters. Slightly ahead of them, a white Mercedes dropped a wheat sack near the curb and then immediately accelerated to put some distance between them and the convoy. Despite the clearly delineated red crosses on the white background identifying them as medical vehicles, the enemy attacked them.

  Lieutenant Wilmoski and his driver, Specialist Chase Cradeur, noticed what appeared to be a wheat sack near the drain recess by the curb. They saw the speeding car ahead but had only moments to process the information. They had just exited the Highway 1 overpass and were entering the city from the interchange. Before they could alert anyone to the danger, they were already past it.

  Driving trail in the five-ton truck, Specialist Lovie Moran was thrown to the passenger side by a violent explosion. Keeping his foot on the gas pedal but unable to see, he focused on keeping the wheel straight toward the last direction he had been going. Riding shotgun, Corporal Reuben Nambo tried to focus on getting through the blast area. Private Ronald Bailey was pulling security in the five-ton cupola when the bomb went off. He blacked out completely.

  Moran felt the truck shudder and wobble to a stop. Six of its tires were blown, holes littered the skirts and sides of the truck, and it was leaking badly. Only its substantial size and height prevented greater injury to our soldiers. Corporal Nambo called to Moran and Bailey to get out of the truck. Vaguely sensing Corporal Nambo’s order through his dazed state, Moran pulled himself from the truck. His arm was bleeding and his uniform torn. Bailey came to and reflexively followed the others. Suddenly feeling dizzy, he soon found himself on the ground.

  Lieutenant Wilmoski set up a perimeter. The wounded soldiers were fortunate that everyone in this convoy was a medic. Spurred into action, they placed Bailey on a stretcher and dressed his wounds. Specialist Moran, with his arm now bandaged, continued
to pull security. Captain Jon Cecalupo’s “Cougars” heard the blast and responded immediately, quickly followed by Captain Carlisle’s “Cobras.” They searched the area, gathered evidence, and assisted in the ground evacuation of our two wounded soldiers.

  The enemy was becoming brazen. Short of garrisoning the entire city, we could not cover everything. We could not prevent normal life from happening, and the enemy exploited that normalcy to shroud their underhanded movement. They were shifting tactics from night to day and from indirect assaults to face-to-face attacks. The enemy was assailing soldiers from back alleys and side streets. He was dropping bombs in front of convoys. The white Mercedes plop-and-drop bomber was becoming a major nuisance. He had already accounted for several wounded men in my battalion, including Brad Boyd. Two more were added to his list that day. Chris Morris’ scouts were still set up in the area of the city most likely to net him, and would be for several more days.

  I had planned a series of raids in close collaboration with a detachment from the 10th Special Forces Group recently assigned to Tikrit. We hoped to shut down the trigger-pulling network reinvigorated following Saddam’s capture. Having worked previously with the 10th Group in Kosovo and with the 3rd Group in Afghanistan, for me they were a most welcome sight. We were still refining our targets based on a large quantity of intelligence from the Mukhtar and his son. We would use this information along with the intelligence that “Pat” and his Special Forces element had developed to undertake a massive “roundup” raid that would catch them all by surprise. Pat and I had forged a strong working relationship. This would be our first big raid together.

  Having expended a great deal of mental energy throughout the day working the intelligence for the raids, I was longing to get back on the streets to circulate among the men. Activity had been fairly heavy, and I felt it might continue into the evening. I dropped by to see Captain Mark Stouffer and his “Gators.” They were doing great work in Auja and farther south, continuing to provide the quick-reaction forces as needed to parts of the city. We discussed the lifting of the lockdown as we were about ready to open the gates on the fenced-in village. I continued to be impressed with this fine officer. The entire southern area of our task force rarely caused me concern because of his skill and maturity. Mark would be leaving us very soon, and it was not something I wanted to think about.