Embedded

  Still processing what the colonel had said, I responded, “Sir, what do you see happening? How do you see all of this playing out?” Abass paused to think for a bit. “Are you familiar with the civil war that occurred in Lebanon?” he asked me. “I see our crisis working very similar to theirs. I see America leaving soon after they realize they are only exacerbating the problems in our country and their dream of a democratic Iraq becomes hopeless. Once they leave there will be civil war and a struggle for power within Iraq. This struggle may last one year or it may last fifteen, as it did for the Lebanese, but eventually people will get tired of fighting and the leaders will sit down at the negotiating table and work out some sort of deal. The end game here is very predictable and has been played out many times in this region.”

  I hate to admit it, but I think Colonel Abass is a man to be listened to, even though everything he says spits in the face of the logic and rhetoric that comes from the Bush administration. His description of the Iraqi people as caged lions may sound as though he is saying the people act like wild animals and have no sense of civility without a cage around them. Unfortunately, his assessment, in a general sense, is correct. The Iraqi people are completely different because they live in completely different circumstances. All they know is violence as a means to an end. All they know is dictatorship and power as a means to control the population.

  In hindsight it seems foolish for George W. Bush to claim that we are granting the Iraqi people freedom. What he really means is that we want to grant Iraqis the freedom to act in a society that constrains the actions of citizens. What we have given them is freedom in the truest sense, or in other words, anarchy. The questions Iraqis rightfully ask us are simple: how can America grant us freedom and then all of a sudden expect us to conform to the many rules a free society inherently accepts and abides by? What if we don’t want to have other people practicing other religions here? What if we want to practice two-thousand-year traditional tribal practices of stoning women who commit adultery? What if we want to implement Islamic Sharia law? What if we want to implement honor killings? You gave us freedom, right?

  I think America has made a huge strategic blunder in assuming that Iraqis would perceive freedom and democracy in the same way Westerners do.

  Chapter 25

  America Never Looked So Good

  January–February 2007

  One morning in January I went into the MiTT COC to catch up on the latest news. It was not happy. Once again I was reminded of just how dangerous and volatile Al Anbar Province could be. A massive IED had struck a Marine Humvee, killing Navy corpsman Matthew Conte and Marine gunnery sergeant Terry Elliot. In addition, two other Marines had to be evacuated for urgent surgical wounds and their survival was questionable. I just hoped that their families had the strength when they heard the news.

  Sickened by the news of more Marines dying, I went to turn off the Internet. Suddenly an instant message window popped onto the screen. It was a college fraternity friend of mine who worked and lived in New York City. He, like most Americans, wanted to thank me for my service. While I really appreciated his concern, he inadvertently said something that showed his ignorance. He asked, “Wes, has your wife had time to visit you out there in Iraq?” I didn’t really know how to respond. Here I was chatting with an Ivy League-educated Wall Street investment banker and he didn’t have a clue about the situation in Iraq. Ridiculous.

  I wasn’t mad at him for his comments, but I feared that his ignorance was representative of many Americans who were never forced to deal with the realities and costs of war. Unfortunately, these same people also vote for what happens in war. Any time decision makers aren’t forced to recognize the costs of their decisions, they are destined to make poor decisions.

  We All Want to Escape Iraq

  The final days at Camp Ali were some of the best I’d had in Iraq. Now that things were winding down and the few jundi I still advised were taking care of their own respective functions, I spent my time learning about Iraqi culture and experiences.

  One afternoon I stopped by the terp hooch—my favorite destination for good conversation. Mark, Moody, Imus, and Martin were all available for discussion. Because the end was so near for me, and the terps would have loved to be in my shoes, the topic for the day was how to escape from Iraq. Mark’s story had to be the most captivating. He told us the tale of his brother’s harrowing escape from Iraq and into Sweden.

  Mark’s story began after the Gulf War (1990–91). Because of the security situation in Baghdad and turmoil after the war, Mark’s family fled to Iran. After a few years they caught the “Kurdish pride” bug. This disease forced them to return to Kurdish lands in northern Iraq, where they would be surrounded with their family from generations before. Everyone was keen on the idea except Yasser, who felt there were no opportunities for him in Iraq. He had his eyes set on Europe.

  Despite the impossible odds Yasser commenced his mission to escape Iraq in mid-1993. The first stage of his journey involved attaining a fake Iranian passport and sneaking into Iran. Once in Iran, the next stage for Yasser was to make his way north into Russia. Typically, the cost needed to bribe people along the way was prohibitive, but Yasser had saved the appropriate amount of money from selling Persian rugs on the black market in Iraq over the previous couple of years. In mid-1994 he made it to Moscow.

  While in Russia Yasser rented a studio apartment and dated a local Russian woman who could show him around the city and teach him the language. Life was good—for the time being. In 1995 economic turmoil struck the country. A survivor by nature, Yasser saw the turmoil as an opportunity to escape to Europe, his final destination. As soon as it was possible Yasser jumped on a train to Lithuania, which had recently opened a policy to accept Iranians into their country. Bribery and Yasser’s fake Iranian passport were going to come in handy for a second time.

  Once in Lithuania Yasser scoured the country for work, but with no luck. After spending six months living on the streets, the situation was dire. Thankfully an opportunity finally came knocking: A new black market transport operation had opened for business and was offering to smuggle individuals on a cruise boat that traveled between Sweden and Lithuania.

  The smuggling operation was not comfortable for refugees. The kitchen workers on the boat were involved in the operation to pad their poor incomes. The operation was simple: store refugees in the meat cooler away from the ship’s security and then smuggle them off the boat in the garbage containers once they reached Sweden. Although it sounded chaotic, Yasser wagered his last funds on the opportunity.

  Cruise liners typically attract many nationalities. The black market cruise line, it seemed, would do the same. On Yasser’s trip inside the meat cooler, he was smashed in between 150 other people from Pakistan, Russia, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, and most other countries within a five-thousand-mile radius of Lithuania. All of these people had the same story: they were fleeing their countries and wagering their last funds on the chance for freedom. And the stakes were high. If the Lithuanian or Swedish government found them on the boat before they had entered Swedish waters, they would be returned to a Lithuanian prison where they would starve to death.

  The boat ride during the cruise was horrific. The exiles shivered uncontrollably, meat carcasses slapping them in the face with each wave. What made the situation worse was the lack of oxygen in the refrigerator. The operators of the smuggling business had gotten greedy and had tried to fit twice as many refugees as was possible given the oxygen content of the cooler.

  Stuck in the meat cooler with no oxygen proved a disaster. People started dropping like flies. Unfortunately, there was no way for the refugees to open the door from the inside to allow more oxygen into the room. Yasser, assuming the role of the leader for the group, decided on a plan. They would form a human pyramid that was tall enough to reach a small opening at the top of the meat locker. Hopefully, someone could fit in the opening, crawl through it, and eventually make it to the outside to op
en the door and save everyone inside. If this person was unable to open it, the meat locker would gain 150 additional carcasses.

  The strongest individuals still able to function created the human pyramid. Yasser crawled along the human ladder to the small opening at the top of the cooler. He met face to face with the small opening that would save everyone’s life.

  Yasser attempted to squeeze through the opening but failed miserably. But he couldn’t give up. He stripped naked to make his profile slimmer. He tried again to force his body through the opening. He eventually became stuck and thought for sure he would die in the meat locker. With no hope, Yasser corkscrewed his body through the shaft. As he moved he felt blood slowly trickling down his body as his exposed sides scraped against the screws along the passageway walls. The pain was excruciating, but this was a matter of survival.

  Eventually Yasser popped out on the other side of the shaft. Unaware of his surroundings, he immediately started running around the ship, buck naked with blood soaked over his body. He yelled for a doctor or the captain of the ship. Miraculously, he ran into the captain’s quarters on the ship. Trembling and in extreme pain, he began yelling in Arabic, hoping the captain would understand what he was saying.

  Yasser failed to communicate but was able to convey that there was a dire situation somewhere on the boat. The captain called on a doctor to attend to Yasser’s wounds. When the doctor arrived Yasser was able to explain to him the situation. Yasser and the doctor sprinted for the meat locker hoping to save those inside.

  Once at the door to the meat locker, Yasser sprinted to open the door. He pulled on the levers. An Afghan man yelled at him from inside, “If you let us out of here I will kill you, and so will many others!” The Afghan, and a concerned crowd inside the locker, were afraid they were still over Lithuanian waters and believed that even if they survived this ordeal they would be sent to a Lithuanian prison to die.

  Yasser was then faced with a decision: save these people now or wait a bit longer to fully explain the situation and hope they were in Swedish waters. Yasser explained in confidence to the doctor the situation they were facing. The doctor looked Yasser in the eyes and told him that if he did not open the door, the people in the locker would die very soon. Yasser continued to hear the cries of the Afghan man and a large crowd inside the meat locker who begged him to reconsider. Yasser decided to follow the wishes of his fellow refugees.

  Yasser told the doctor his decision and the doctor sprinted to the captain of the ship to explain the situation. The captain of the ship, a kindhearted man, called the office of the king of Sweden to ask for a solution to their predicament. The decision was quickly reached by the king: everyone on board would be granted green cards, guaranteed safe passage, and would not be handed over to the Lithuanian authorities.

  Upon hearing the news the doctor streaked to the meat locker, where he met Yasser. “Open the hatch!” he cried. “The king has saved you.” The two men tugged on the doors with all their might and cranked them open. A crowd of very cold but very grateful refugees poured from the cooler. The immediate exposure to oxygen-filled air saved everyone in the nick of time. They were all going to be given another chance at life in Sweden.

  To this day, according to Mark, Yasser thanks God and prays for the king of Sweden on a daily basis. He has also found out about the finer things in life, such as drinking wine and hitting on Swedish woman, things that he dreamed he would be doing in Europe five years before he began his journey.

  Showing the New Guys around Campus

  Il hamdu Allah! The day the new MiTT arrived at Camp Ali was quite possibly the best day of my life. At the time I thought that if I died right then and there it would not matter, because in the past twenty-four hours I had felt more joy than most people feel in a lifetime.

  The Iraqis decided to make the new team’s first experience outside the wire way more exciting than we had hoped it would be. Within five minutes of leaving friendly lines, as we crossed into South Dam Village, the lead Iraqi vehicle had spotted an enormous daisy-chained IED, set up to destroy multiple vehicles in one shot. On finding the IED we conducted our immediate action drills, secured the area, and waited for the EOD teams to arrive.

  As we were waiting on EOD there was even more excitement to be had. The jundi starting firing their massive Dushka (a 12.7-mm antiaircraft machine gun) in the direction of the palm groves. A hundred meters away each of us in the Humvee could feel the thunderous boom of the machine gun’s rounds leaving the barrel. The young captain in the rear of my Humvee yelled, “What the fuck is going on? Are we in a firefight?” Suffering from combat complacency, I calmly replied, “No, Sir. I’m not sure what’s going on. Iraqis like to shoot things. I wouldn’t worry about it. There will be radio traffic any second now explaining what is going on. Just stand by.” As I had suspected, the jundi firing into the palm groves was a knee-jerk reaction to nothing.

  Eventually EOD arrived on the scene. We handed over the situation to them and proceeded to take a bypass route through the western desert. Typically, such a bypass operation was not a problem. However, Bill, the new terp, had forgotten his Motorola radio. Without a radio to communicate with the Iraqis, the scene escalated into pandemonium. The new team was witnessing the most unprofessional and pathetic showing of military efficiency and effectiveness the world had ever seen.

  After bypassing the IED through the open desert, we continued on our way to central Haditha. A few miles away from the Haditha FOB, we entered an Iraqi police checkpoint. As soon as we arrived at the checkpoint, bursts of AK-47 fire spewed in front of us. We were in the rear of the convoy and did not know what was happening. It turned out that the Iraqi police had opened fire on a vehicle that was speeding toward their checkpoint. The captain and the sergeant from the new team immediately looked toward me and asked, “What the fuck is going on up there? Does this shit happen all the time?” I attempted to calm them down. “Gents, listen, this is not normal. Past month has been dead silent. I’m not sure why everyone got antsy on your first time outside the wire.”

  After showing the new team the operations in Haditha, we returned to Camp Ali. On our arrival the boss ordered, “Gents, we’re going to turn around and do the same convoy, but we’re switching in different members from the new MiTT.” Doc sneered at me. “Sir, is he serious?” I answered, “Doc, would you expect anything less from our fearless leader?”

  On our second trip to the Haditha FOB, we assumed we would field fewer questions. We had a Navy corpsman who was on his fourth combat tour and a Marine gunnery sergeant who was on his third trip to Iraq. Our assumption was false. The Navy doc acted like a puppy the entire time. First, he bitched about Staff Sergeant Haislip’s driving and told him he was “swerving and juking around on the road trying to play games.” I tried to explain to the doc that you couldn’t drive in a straight line because you have to dodge potholes and suspicious areas along the way. This explanation sailed over his head. In his mind the drive to Haditha should be like a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway in California.

  The new doc’s other gripe was that we didn’t immediately turn on our Chameleons on leaving camp. I tried to explain to him that there was no radio-controlled IED threat in the area and that the insurgents don’t plant IEDs just outside the gate of Camp Ali because it is under surveillance at all times. He dismissed my answers and then threatened to kick all our asses if the next time around we didn’t turn on the Chameleons the exact second we left the wire. Doc McGinnis replied to the new doc’s threats for all of us: “Doc, quit being a pussy. You are with the Marines now. Plus, the Chameleon is not a force field that saves your life. Grow a pair of balls, dude.”

  The new team was running scared. I understood being motivated when you are in a combat zone and training hard, but I also understood that this was a marathon and not a sprint. If these guys planned to survive the deployment they needed to take a “chill pill” or they wouldn’t survive the tour. I got tired just watching them.

/>   The absurdity of the new team was exemplified on our convoy to Barwana. On the way the Iraqi water truck overheated and died along Route Phoenix. Somehow Sermen and his crew of Iraqi mechanics were able to get the thing running just long enough so that we could make it to the entry/exit checkpoint that sits on the outskirts of Barwana. With the malfunctioning water truck, we made it into the safety zone. We were relieved. If we had been stuck along Route Phoenix in hostile territory, the situation would have been much worse. The new team seemed to have a different assessment of the situation, however. They still thought we were under enemy fire. Once the Humvees stopped at the checkpoint, the new MiTT rushed from their vehicles, posted security, and searched for the enemy.

  Doc McGinnis and I, still sitting in the safety of our bulletproof Humvee, looked at each other in amazement. Doc blurted out, “Sir, are these guys crazy?” I had no reasonable response. They were crazy. Here we were, in a Marine-controlled checkpoint surrounded with ten Marine amphibious assault vehicles mounted with 50-cals and MK-19 grenade launchers. What the new MiTT guys were going to accomplish by exiting the safety of their bulletproof Humvees was beyond me. I wondered if we had acted like this when we first got here. I remembered being nervous, but not stupid.

  Chapter 26

  An Assessment

  January–February 2007

  Turnover to the new MiTT was officially complete. We were no longer on the hook for anything. The new team was definitely a different breed, and I hoped they would be successful. I thought they would realize over time that their overconfidence, strictness, and motivation were useless on adviser duty unless they formed relationships with their Iraqi counterparts. I knew it had taken our team at least a few months to understand that Iraqis do not take orders from Marines.