Crescent will be providing protection for eight trucks this morning. A couple of the trucks are carrying food for the Italian army. Those will be dropped off at Tallil Air Base north of Basra. Several others are DHL mail trucks, and a couple of trucks are loaded with construction materials headed for a military base just south of Baghdad near the town of Karbala, called Scania.
Crescent’s truck drivers are waiting. A couple of them are Pakistani, several are Syrian, one is from Egypt, and another is Jordanian. As Schneider and his crew approach, they are greeted with warm handshakes and big smiles. Everyone is ready to roll, and Schneider leads his convoy out the gate and across the Berm. The Kuwaiti border guards don’t much care what cargo is leaving their country and just wave the northbound trucks past. They will be far more thorough when the convoy returns.
As the convoy slowly approaches the Iraqi border station, they pull over to the side and let a couple of trucks they call gauntlet runners cut ahead. The gauntlet runners are the poorest of the poor drivers and are working for themselves or for trucking companies that do not provide security. Independent truckers trying to deliver supplies in Iraq are often the victims of extortion, robbery, and executions. Corrupt local Iraqi militia units, police, and bandits frequently intercept these loner trucks and hold them hostage for some extraordinary toll that amounts to ransom. If they don’t pay, the truck and driver are taken a few miles into the desert, where the driver is killed and the cargo is looted. Mile-long stretches in the desert are littered with the remains of such unfortunate encounters. As the gauntlet runners pass by, Schneider and Jake exchange looks, shaking their heads in disbelief.
About a quarter of a mile into Iraq, the four Crescent vehicles pull into a small storage compound. This is nothing more than a sandpit and some scattered concertina wire guarded by a dozen or so Iraqi soldiers. A Bosnian civilian seems to be running the storage yard and is barking out directions to several men of mixed nationality. In the sandpit are a handful of prefab metal buildings and some scattered trucks. The Crescent convoy’s trucks pull off to the side of the main road and wait.
Jake, Danny, and Justin pull over to one of the buildings. A moment later, the trio emerges from the metal shack carrying armfuls of Russian AK-47 automatic rifles. Then come the PKM machine guns, Glock .45-caliber pistols, and dozens of metal boxes of bullet-loaded magazines. There are even a couple of light antitank weapons (LAWs) in the mix. Schneider is talking with Dee about who is going on which missions today. Dee, dressed in a traditional white robe and headdress, is not going on this mission. He will remain behind today and manage Crescent’s Iraqi contingent of contractors as subsequent Crescent convoys depart and return throughout the day. Behind Dee are a dozen or so Iraqis driving up in two pickup trucks. Dee has rounded them up this morning and brought them to work. They are in various states of dress as they change into their khaki pants and black Crescent T-shirts.
The U.S. contractors and Iraqis greet one another like long-lost cousins. They shake hands, high-five, and slap each other on the back. Schneider passes out a few bottles of cold water. One of the Iraqis, nicknamed Mongo, is encouraged by his friends to share some pictures with Schneider and the U.S. crew. Mongo is a world-class weightlifter who was once on the Iraqi national weightlifting team. After a few gentle ribs and nudges, he pulls out several color snapshots of himself in the classic muscleman poses. Everyone gathers around to look. Mongo grins sheepishly. The whole team starts chiding him to show off his biceps. Mongo, both proud and embarrassed by all the attention, pulls back the sleeve of his T-shirt and flexes his muscles. Everyone breaks out in a combination of laughter and good-humored chiding. Like the drivers at the truck stop, one would never guess that these men will confront grave danger today.
Most security contractors are not allowed to possess firearms in Kuwait. Consequently, each morning the U.S. Crescent guys link up with their Iraqi counterparts here at the storage yard on the Iraq side of the border. They distribute the hardware, discuss the missions, and tell a few stories before heading north. On their return trip, and before entering Kuwait, the weapons are returned to the shed. From this point, the Iraqis head back to their homes in the Basra region, and the U.S. contractors cross the border into Kuwait and back to their villa. For security reasons, before heading home, the Iraqis will change out of their Crescent uniforms and back into street clothes. Assassinations of Iraqis working for U.S. contractors occur all too frequently.
A pall of seriousness comes over everyone now. Jake, Danny, and Justin begin passing out weapons. The machine guns are hoisted up onto the rear of the trucks and fastened to their mounts. A pile of AK-47 rifles and fully loaded magazines is passed out to the group. Glock .45-caliber pistols are locked and loaded and slid into thigh holsters. Schneider inspects a couple of LAWs and makes certain that each of the four security vehicles has at least one LAW on board. The gunners in the back of the trucks attach a metal ammo can to the side of their machine guns and feed the ammo belt into the gun’s chamber from the can.
Iraqi gunners take their positions sitting in the open back of the SUVs. They pull ski masks down over their faces. The masks will protect them from the brutal blowing sand that would otherwise scrape their faces raw as they travel at fifty to ninety miles an hour. They rotate and swivel the machine guns to ensure that the range of travel on the gun mounts isn’t impaired. Now everyone looks at Schneider. They’re ready. Schneider doesn’t say it, but you can guess that he is thinking one of his favorite slogans: “Locked, cocked, and ready to rock.” He climbs into his Yukon and leads the four SUVs back onto the main road to the waiting trucks. Each truck begins to roll as the SUVs fall into place in the convoy.
Schneider takes his AK-47 and slides it into a prerigged sling dangling just above the driver’s window. The butt of his weapon rides against his left rib cage. He knows that if he has to fire while driving, his fire won’t be accurate, but he gambles on the fact that any bullets bouncing around an insurgent could provide a second or two of distraction. A couple of seconds of distraction may mean the difference between life and death—Schneider’s life and death. The convoy begins to pick up speed. They drive past the town of Safwan and head toward MSR Tampa, the main route to Baghdad. On the sides of the road, groups of Iraqis are watching the convoy. As usual, the kids are begging and the adults are just staring. A couple of Iraqi soldiers wave as the convoy passes.
They drive through large tracts of barren desert. There are no vehicles, animals, or people in sight. Schneider picks up the mike on his Motorola radio, “Is everyone ready for test fire?”
Danny, Jake, and Justin each respond in the affirmative.
He then directs, “Go ahead and test fire. When you’re done, report back on weapons status.” The machine gunners burst out ten or so rounds. Dust tracks kick up on the desert floor as each round strikes. The AK-47s fire off one or two short three-round bursts. Brass pings off the inside of the windshield and bounces around the vehicle like corn in a hot-air popper. All weapons systems are functional. All shooters are ready. All vehicle gauges read normal. All radios are working.
A few miles farther up the road, they approach the entrance to the main highway. Two of the three SUVs accelerate forward and take up positions blocking traffic. The men inside jump out with rifles in hand and position themselves on the road a few feet from their SUV. The third SUV scurries up a slope to get a clear view of the overpass and the road ahead. The rear gunners scan the area and traverse their machine guns as they survey the surroundings. Part of the overpass is destroyed from a previous bomb attack. The convoy will have to bypass the normal entrance ramp.
Schneider leads the convoy through a short detour and around the caved-in overpass and toward the highway. He keeps a safe distance from fallen concrete and rubble, because new explosives may be hidden in the debris piles. Everyone quickly loads back in the SUVs and the convoy continues to roll. The SUVs speed back into their positions among the big rigs. The whole process is part of Cres
cent’s standard operating procedures, and the entire event is executed like clockwork without much comment. This action will be repeated a couple of dozen times today at intersections and danger spots until the trucks, cargo, and drivers, are once again safe inside the wire.
As the convoy rolls, the Crescent radios crackle. Justin, in the rear SUV reports, “Chevy with tinted windows coming in about two hundred meters at six o’clock.”
“Roger, copy,” Schneider responds, “I see him, keep him outside.”
Jake in the lead SUV reports, “Debris on the right shoulder, I’m shifting left.” A moment later he continues, “Southbound British convoy ahead.”
“Copy,” responds Schneider.
“Red truck on overpass, man outside of vehicle,” reports Danny who has sped ahead to recon the highway.
Schneider comes back, “Stop short . . . if he doesn’t clear, warn first and then light him up.” And the alerts go on and on. The radio chatter is continuous as each SUV spots different potential threats and notifies the rest of the team. Nothing, and no one, is taken for granted.
Coming off the main highway and onto a secondary road, the convoy has had to slow down to about ten miles per hour. Schneider spots a dark-brown pickup racing toward the convoy. At nearly the same time, Danny and Jake report seeing the vehicle. Schneider responds, “I got it.” He positions his SUV between the charging pickup and the main body of the convoy. He throws a water bottle in the direction of the intruder. The truck keeps coming. Now, one of the SUVs has pulled alongside. Both trucks fire warning shots, and when the vehicle doesn’t slow down, they both open with bullets walking up the desert floor toward the charging pickup. The pickup careens off the road and makes a swooping 180-degree turn. Apparently undamaged, it heads back into the desert and quickly disappears over the next hill.
Schneider comments, “I don’t know what that was about. He knew better than to be speeding at us like that. The only person in Iraq who doesn’t know the rules of engagement is a wet newborn baby. He should have backed off. It was clear he wasn’t going to.” Schneider grins, “That’s what I call muzzle phonetics!” and he laughs for a moment and explains, “I swear you can scream stop, halt, or throw water bottles all day long but it falls on deaf ears. They only seem to respond to the sound of those bullets leaving the muzzle. That seems to be the only thing that gets their attention. These people only respect power. Anything less, and they’ll walk all over you. It’s their culture. It’s centuries of subjugation under dictators and tyrants. That’s what they’ve come to know. That’s all they respect.”
Schneider goes on: “These people laugh at Americans trying to enforce rule and order through negotiations and common sense. Most of these Iraqis think we are pretty timid.
“I know that we could have blown that pickup off the face of the earth. He’s lucky we shot in front of him first. Another second or two of that, and he’d have been history.” This event is no big deal to the contractors. Having to ward off approaching vehicles is a daily occurrence, but the one time they don’t may be their last road trip in Iraq.
They pass by the town of Nasiriyah. Schneider points out a small bridge, where during the initial fighting in Iraq, a U.S. supply convoy was ambushed. This is the place that a U.S. soldier had been wounded and captured. She was later rescued by special operations forces. “Now how the hell could they have missed the main road here and wandered back and forth in that town?” Schneider remarks. “They were totally screwed up. Worse yet, they actually went back over that bridge twice! It was like they were hanging around just asking to be fired up!”
The first stop is Cedar II (Tallil Air Base), north of Basra and about a hundred and fifty miles into Iraq. It’s just about noon, and the temperature is now close to 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Given that the day started at 4 a.m., everyone has worked up an appetite. The convoy pulls into the base. Two of the trucks will remain at Tallil. The rest of the convoy will head up to Scania, just south of Baghdad. The group parks in a sandlot. They leave their weapons in the vehicles and head over to the dining facility. Hundreds of soldiers are lined up at the entrance to the DFAC, clearing weapons before they enter. A couple of soldiers are inspecting identification and checking to ensure that weapons are clear. Schneider shows his contractor ID and vouches for the Iraqi men on his team.
The dining facility is huge, with several serving areas. One is a short-order line for sandwiches, hamburgers, and hot dogs, and another features full-course meals. This is quite a smorgasbord and one wonders what is passing through the minds of the Iraqi team members who are, like everyone else, loading up their food trays. Scattered throughout the giant facility and on the periphery are drink dispensers and refrigerators with double-wide glass doors, stacked with bottled water, Gatorade, soda pop, and desserts. Seated in row after row of long tables are soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, and contractors from around the world; rifles slung across their backs, pistols dangling against their chests from shoulder holsters. The casualness of the entire scene takes a moment to digest. This is quite an eclectic collection of humanity, each person with his or her own unique job. They are all here for one purpose, to stabilize, secure, and rebuild a war-ravaged country. Everyone chows down.
Relaxed, stomachs full, thirst quenched, the U.S. and Iraqi Crescent team leave the dining facility and heads back toward the parking lot. Jake is talking with Danny, Justin, and Schneider about a Stephen Pressfield book, Gates of Fire. Jake reflects, “In 500 B.C., thousands of fine Spartan warriors died to save Greece from Persian invaders at the Gates of Thermopylae.”
Almost rhetorically, one of them asks, “Do you think war is just nature’s way of managing human population growth?” Danny and Justin smirk.
At first no one comments, but then one of them asks, “What are you doing here, Jake?” Jake thinks over the question.
“After working this job, I just don’t know what else I would ever be content doing. I haven’t been able to figure that out. I work on that question every day.”
The team climbs aboard their SUVs. Some of the vehicles have to make a quick pit stop to gas up again. Now the convoy rolls out the gate, past the same guards that meticulously checked them in an hour ago. This time they just wave to each other. Winding toward the highway, they drive by kids scattered in ones and twos every hundred feet on both sides of the narrow, sandy, potholed road. All of them are begging.
Although the children seem innocent enough, the contractors cautiously eye each of them. The slightest sign of aberrant behavior by any of them will require immediate evasive action. The wind is blowing hard, and the trucks are kicking up large dust trails that make it difficult to see ten yards ahead. Now and then, the team spots the faint image of a child darting across the road between the slow-moving vehicles. Tension sets back in as they merge onto the main highway and head north to Scania. It will be at least four more hours before anyone can relax again.
As they drive north, signs of recent enemy activity become more frequent. They drive past burned-out trucks here and there. Every ten or twenty miles they encounter blackened sections of road and twisted guardrails that attest to an earlier IED detonation. A long sand berm runs on the right side parallel to the road. This would seem like an ideal spot for insurgents to hide. But Schneider knows that it’s unlikely that they’ll be attacked from that side. He remarks, “If they hit from the right, they will have to escape toward coalition forces behind them in that direction. No, around here they are much more likely to hit us from the left, when we’re on the way back, because they have plenty of desert over there to disappear into.” Then he adds as an afterthought, “Well, that’s what they’ve done in the past, but if someone pops his head over that berm and he’s pointing an AK at us, don’t hesitate to light him up.”
About an hour into this second segment of the road trip and fifty miles north of Cedar II, Schneider spots a wisp of smoke on the right side and shouts into the radio mike, “RPG 3 o’clock!” The Crescent shooters on the
right side of all the SUVs open fire with AK-47s on full automatic. Shooters on the left scour their side to make sure it’s clear. The left-side shooters are ready to hand off ammunition magazines to the men engaged on the right side. Hot brass is pinging all over the inside of the vehicles.
The PKM machine gunners in the Avalanches open fire on the same general spot. Bullets by the thousand are striking a sand mound about two hundred yards off the road like a bucket of pebbles being tossed into a still pond. Every vehicle in the convoy has gone into maximum acceleration. As the last SUV passes the RPG location, the sound of rifle shooting diminishes. Schneider pushes the talk switch on the radio mike, “Is everyone clear?”
The report comes back from each of the SUVs, “Clear.”
“Give me a status report,” Schneider directs.
The convoy is gradually returning to normal speed. The SUVs speed up alongside the big rigs. They make a visual inspection and get a thumbs-up from their drivers. Danny and Jake report back that everyone is OK. The entire event is over in less than a minute.
Schneider is back on the radio again: “Keep a sharp eye out; remember the last time we were hit less than five minutes after the first attack. Everyone watch their gauges. Make sure you are not losing oil, fuel, or water.” He sets the radio mike down, “You know, if you put out enough firepower quick enough, the bad guys lose their concentration.” Then he adds, “I shouldn’t laugh just yet. The last time we ran through one of these, I thought we had made it by unscathed. When we got to Scania, we saw that an RPG round had gone clean through a prefab metal building that we were hauling on a flatbed. The damn thing never exploded. And then, to make matters worse, we noticed that one of our SUVs had several new bullet holes. We’ll take a closer look at everything when we stop.”
A Bloody Business Page 18