We Got Him!

by Steve Russell

  Earlier in the fall, Mark had asked if I would write a recommendation for him to transfer to the 75th Ranger Regiment. He had served with them previously as a lieutenant, and I could think of no one more qualified to return. Unfortunately for me but good for the Army, he was accepted. Now we would lose him in a matter of weeks. Some would have advised waiting until our redeployment, but I recognized that opportunity does not always knock twice. I was very happy for him. Captain Mike Wagner could take the “Gators.” I was confident that Mike would do well as he had worked for me earlier in III Corps operations.

  After checking on Mark’s men that night, I decided to visit the “Cobras” in the heart of the city. Heading toward the main intersection along Highway 1, I conferred briefly with Captain Mitch Carlisle and First Sergeant Mike Evans. While conversing, we were noisily ambushed by a pack of two dozen wild dogs. Attempting to gain our flank on the abandoned street after curfew, the dogs had good separation of forces and an impressive formation as they closed on us at about fifty feet. Mike Evans pulled his captured flare gun from his vest, cocked the hammer and sent a flare sailing on a red arc right through the middle of the pack. A brilliant flash of red magnesium light burst on the street. The unharmed dogs scampered in retreat, yelping as they fled in all directions. Observing us from the balconies of the main street apartments above the shops were several laughing Iraqi men who gave us the thumbs-up for the entertaining counterattack.

  Though the attacks on us had certainly been intense since Saddam’s capture, I perceived a sense of relief among the people even as they looked to an uncertain future. While they could not know what the future held, they were beginning to envision it without Saddam. Cooperation and even acts of kindness were initiated among the population of Tikrit. Unfortunately, much of that relief and cooperation would soon be shattered by an incident on the interchange loop of Highway 1 at the northern part of the city.

  Ibrihim Allawi was transporting four passengers to the Mosul area in his blue Chevrolet Caprice taxi. Driving through Tikrit, he eased back his speed because a three-vehicle American convoy traveling the same direction was stalling the flow of traffic. Cars appeared to be passing safely, yet Allawi approached cautiously. Receiving a wave to proceed from a soldier in the trail vehicle, Allawi passed the first two vehicles. Just as he moved ahead of the lead vehicle, he felt sharp pain to his leg and heard loud bangs on his car. His hand was hot, and he felt excruciating pain to his stomach. Glass began to explode, the dash ripped open, and his passengers began to jerk and twist. Allawi lost control and the car went into the roadside ditch, where it came to an abrupt stop.

  Struggling to gain his senses, he looked to the other passengers. Rasheed Hamoud Taha and his brother, Abdullah, were dead. Intisaar Khadem lay lifeless, clutching her seven-year-old son, Ahmed. The boy’s head had been ripped apart by the heavy caliber machine gun.

  For Jon Cecalupo’s men patrolling the Highway 1 bypass, the scene was horrific. Iraqi civilians, attempting to come to Allawi’s aid, flagged down our soldiers. The men surveyed the carnage, immediately incensed at the scene played out before them. Whatever the perceived threat these innocent Iraqis posed, nothing on earth justified such wanton killing of innocents or the abandonment of them by the side of the road. Even if shot in error, the proper recourse would have been to stop and assist once the mistake was realized. Instead, the unknown unit convoy, among scores of others that passed along the main highway each day, left the tragedy to us.

  Captain Cecalupo radioed our headquarters to request assistance with a translator. He also asked for the Iraqi civilian hospital to be alerted. Allawi was rushed to the hospital. Our soldiers began to ease the shattered bodies from the car. Iraqi provincial police chief, General Mezher, arrived at the scene, stunned by the occurrence. As the facts began to surface, I ordered Major Mike Rauhut to investigate the scene. I then alerted all commands that once the word of this tragedy unfolded, we would likely be seen as the perpetrators and would need to prepare for an increase in violence.

  What Mike found was horrific. The car had been riddled with over forty rounds of .50 caliber heavy machine gun bullets. It was a miracle the driver survived. We quickly alerted Colonel Hickey to the tragedy and hoped whoever was responsible could be identified to get their side of the story. It never happened. No units would acknowledge responsibility. We opened an investigation that was later taken up by the 4th Infantry Division, but without evidence, the incident became an unexplained tragedy of war. For my soldiers handling the flesh and blood that day, it remains seared forever in their memories.

  As might be expected, the press wanted the details surrounding the attack. I shared information with them freely, emphasizing that my soldiers were not involved. They could clearly differentiate between innocent civilians and the enemy. I was urged to play it cautiously, but I chose to state publicly my belief that the act of cowardice had been executed by a U.S. convoy. No other element had access to .50 caliber machine guns. Had an insurgent group been in possession of such weaponry, we surely would have noticed it on the road. I felt, as always, that speaking the truth as known when known would always be greeted with fairness. To the credit of the press, they could see that my soldiers were not involved and made no attempt to paint us as the perpetrators.

  I met immediately with General Mezher to secure his assistance as well as the Governor’s, to reinforce that neither “Tikrit’s” soldiers nor my men were involved. While this eased the pressure slightly, it changed nothing in the hearts of those who hated us and viewed us all the same. This lesson (that the actions of one affect thousands) was about to be driven home.

  DEATH THROES

  Staff Sergeant German Sanchez moved about alertly with his squad as they walked their patrol from the Birthday Palace to the market area in Tikrit’s city center. As they patrolled, his heightened senses told him that the temporary attitude of goodwill from the people had soured again. Men spat on the ground and narrowed their eyes as the soldiers passed by.

  Continuing eastward to what we called Market Street or Cross Street, the soldiers heard an echoing pop and began looking intently for the source. Staff Sergeant Sanchez heard a man behind him screaming in pain. He spun around to see Specialist Will Gilstrap writhing on the ground, his Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) entangling him where he fell. A sniper’s bullet had passed through the drum securing the weapon’s belted ammunition, causing some of it to cook off. The bullet then passed into Gilstrap’s pelvis and the secondary explosions made his midsection appear to be smoking.

  Immediately the soldiers bristled their weapons in every direction, scrutinizing balconies, side streets, and bystanders. Specialists Jaime Garza and Jason Klepacz rushed to Gilstrap’s aid, shielding him with their bodies, as he lay helpless in the street. Sergeant Michael Trujillo ordered a wider security as the soldiers fanned out. Using his squad radio, Staff Sergeant Sanchez alerted C Company to assist in Gilstrap’s evacuation.

  Specialist Garza tore open the wounded warrior’s vest while Klepacz removed the SAW sling from around his neck. As Garza searched for wounds, he discovered a bloody hole in the pelvic area. The pain seemed almost unbearable for Gilstrap. Applying a bandage and pressure, the two soldiers comforted the exposed and wounded warrior as best they could while he lay on the street.

  First Sergeant Evans arrived some minutes later with a Hummer for evacuation. Gilstrap was in extreme pain as the soldiers loaded him into the truck and rushed him to our battalion aid station. With his wounded man secured, Staff Sergeant Sanchez led his squad into the surrounding area where they reasoned the shot might have been fired. Searching several houses and probing adjacent alleys, they found nothing. The enemy scored on this one.

  As soon as I was alerted to the casualty, I went to the aid station to see how serious Gilstrap’s injury was. When they brought in Will Gilstrap, he was in excruciating pain. The bullet had perforated an area where the nerve endings were very sensitive. Doc Marzullo immediately set to work searching fo
r the bullet as attendants gave the anguished soldier something to dull the pain. He began to calm but spiked with verbal assaults and stinging winces when probed.

  To keep his mind off his condition, First Sergeant Evans began to tease and taunt Gilstrap. This seemed to work as he pushed back on his first sergeant with jabs and assertions of his toughness and manhood. After the doc stabilized him, Gilstrap was evacuated to the 28th Combat Surgical Hospital. He would suffer more than a dozen surgeries and limp with a cane, but he would make it.

  It was time to strike back. We continued preparations for the upcoming raid, a large-scale operation. The locations for targeted individuals were shaping up nicely, but we wanted to snare as many of the enemy as possible. Having seen so many possible family connections over the past six months, we realized that each insurgent could literally bed down at one of three or four places each evening. That, compounded with the number of individuals being targeted, increased the possibilities exponentially and necessitated the utilization of the greatest part of my battalion for the raid.

  Despite losing Gilstrap to wounds, we were able to contain the activity in the city. It appeared that the Tikrit Baathist resistance remaining loyal to Saddam was in its death throes. While there was indication that Baathists nationwide were shifting their allegiance to al-Qaeda operatives, we were not seeing it in our area. Nor did we wish to. With the ever-growing police force, the couple of hundred Civil Defense soldiers that were already patrolling with us, and the full cooperation of the Governor, we felt like we could get total control of the city now that Saddam was removed from the picture.

  We dubbed the grand raid “The South 40 Roundup.” It was a reference to most of the targets being in the southern portion of the city and along the Street of the Forty district that we called 40th Street. We would target twenty houses, three shops, and eighteen individuals. Most were in the “Trigger Puller” category but still had family ties to those who had harbored Saddam. Even with their leader gone, they still maintained their deadly allegiance.

  The raid was set for January 8, 2004. With a tactical modification, we struck that night at approximately 11:00 p.m. That being the hour of curfew, we reasoned that most of the targets would just be settling down for the night, thereby raising the probability of our finding their security lax. I additionally reasoned that the large number of forces used in this mission might not immediately arouse suspicion as the enemy was accustomed to seeing increased patrols around curfew time.

  Pat’s Green Berets struck several of the targets related to a cell they had been tracking. We hit the ones related to bomb attacks against our soldiers and those attempting to infiltrate the Iraqi police. Striking with coordinated swiftness, we found twelve of the eighteen targets. Two were cell network commanders, seven were trigger pullers, one was a bomb maker, and two were manufacturers of fake police identification cards. We seized bomb-making components, stacks of fake IDs, the equipment to produce said IDs, and numerous photos that we would later find useful in tracking down those we missed.

  Mark Stouffer’s “Gators” were wrapping up their targets while Mitch Carlisle’s “Cobras” continued to ransack the fake ID maker’s house for evidence and clues. Chris Morris’ “Comanches” assisted Pat’s team while Jon Cecalupo’s “Cougars” provided city security. I had positioned myself between the “Gators” and “Cobras.” Command Sergeant Major Pete Martinez controlled the detainee evacuation, as he often did on larger raids, to provide a central battalion collection point for the companies. A few of my command group soldiers were assisting Martinez when one of the detainees broke free of his zip cuffs and lunged at Specialist Jeff Barnaby.

  How the insurgent broke his cuffs became evident when he attacked Barnaby with a “Knuckle Duster” fighting knife sporting a blade with brass knuckles built into the hand grip. While Barnaby was frequently described as “pint-sized,” he was one tough soldier. He not only contained the Iraqi but prevented injury to himself. Several other soldiers, seeing the struggle, subdued the insurgent, who was whisked away posthaste with his peers.

  Several authorized reporters witnessed the attack and were amazed at the soldiers’ restraint and presence of mind, as any one of us would have been justified in shooting this man point-blank. It irrefutably demonstrated that our targets were not poor innocents wrenched unjustly from their homes in the middle of the night. These evil men would sacrifice their own countrymen for their cause.

  At the raid’s wrap-up, Robin Pomeroy from Reuters asked for my assessment and the meaning of the evening’s events.

  “We’re trying to get out the last remaining resistance in the city,” I replied. “I think it was a good night. Tikrit will be a safer place tomorrow as a result.”

  Tomorrow came, and as predicted, a sense of relief permeated the city. The locals began to talk excitedly of the future and optimistically anticipated getting on with their lives. While I certainly believed that they were nearer that dream, I knew that we must remain focused and vigilant until the 1st Infantry Division relieved us in March.

  HOW’S BUSINESS?

  With the exception of a university school bus running over a landmine intended for Jon Cecalupo’s tanks on 15 January, the coming days did appear safer. As tragic as that scene was, with the ensuing loss of life, the overall activity in our area fell sharply, yielding a well-deserved respite for our soldiers. Our patrols remained consistent, but the city seemed much more relaxed.

  Hoping to take advantage of this lull, I asked Colonel Hickey about the possibility of obtaining startup funds for some small businesses in our area, particularly along 40th and 60th streets of Tikrit. Procurement of friendly young entrepreneurs would produce Iraqi men focused on profit rather than pandemonium and perhaps new sets of eyes and ears in the area.

  Exploring options led us headlong into a typical bureaucratic morass. No worthy idea would go unpunished. Every proposal was routed through some unrelated group, agency, or system whose priorities had no relationship with troops fighting on the ground. At such moments, I was envious of British field commanders in Iraq and Afghanistan empowered to produce and fund credible projects. Our “assessment” teams were unable to follow up with financing for potential and promising enterprises. Sadly, field commanders were not trusted to invest small amounts of money where most needed. Commanders would later be sanctioned to directly coordinate “micro-grants.” At this time in the mission, however, these options were not available.

  Undaunted, Colonel Hickey and I were able to secure some subsidies earmarked for religious purposes and intended as relief aid to the area. The funds were intended for allocation to local imams who, in turn, would distribute goodwill through the mosques. In our experience, the only commodities distributed in the mosques of Tikrit were enemy weapons and propaganda.

  I made the argument that underwriting small businesses in modest amounts of one hundred to two hundred dollars per venture rather than dispersing free “aid” to imams of dubious motivation would give the same result. General Odierno agreed. Fully comprehending the circumstances in Tikrit, he earmarked some discretionary funding for Colonel Hickey and the other brigade commanders across northern Iraq.

  The allotment to my battalion amounted to approximately five thousand dollars, a seemingly insignificant sum. In Iraq, however, it had roughly thirty times the buying power it would have in the States. The difficulty would be in disseminating the funds judiciously. Indiscriminate distribution might well create a new dilemma. Further, Army bureaucracy required each transaction to be recorded and traceable to a known recipient. Getting “known recipients” to cooperate with the Army would be a challenge of its own.

  There had been a time when I implored Colonel Hickey to close the Civil Military Information Center because it was an RPG magnet. One of our soldiers lost his life there, and many others were wounded during its tenure, including one the previous week. Colonel Hickey refused permission for closure, so it was guarded at our own peril. Nevertheless, Iraqis could inte
rface freely with us at the CMIC with minimal risk. At last, it would redeem itself as an improvised “small business administration” distribution center.

  Since Iraqis would often use the CMIC to lodge complaints and make claims against Americans, it seemed the perfect place to receive funds for cooperating with us without fear of suspicion. If the money were disbursed from the CMIC, a man could claim it was for damages or whatever other explanation he could concoct. Application needed to first be made at the CMIC before receiving the funds from the Finance Corps, who needed assurance that the Iraqi in question was one authorized by us for payment.

  I considered a wide range of ideas from some form of battalion currency to some type of note “known recipients” could present to Finance Corps. Whatever we produced would, no doubt, be compromised eventually. Since I only had a $5,000 endowment, I decided to use a deck of cards, assigning a value of one hundred dollars per card. Rummaging through my kit, I found a pack of National Rifle Association cards that I was certain would exist nowhere else in Iraq and would be difficult to forge. I could present a single card to a future businessman signed and dated in red ink on the face, explaining the value of that card was $100.00, redeemable at the CMIC to underwrite his business. He need only negotiate it in the aforementioned manner, and no questions would be asked. I could issue multiple cards if the situation warranted. It worked like a charm.