“In another twist of fate, it would be the luck of the draw that the insurgent was either too far away or hadn’t used a fresh set of batteries. The signal from the transmitter was too weak to trigger the bomb. Nothing happened. The insurgent had come so close to killing so many, but his trip to heaven was circumvented by an alert dog and a trusting handler.”
Explosive ordnance dog teams can’t prevent every terrorist bomber from hitting their target. Some U.S. security guards and their dogs have been killed while doing their job. Every morning, David Carlton realizes that this could be the last day for him and Blek. He knows that his life, in large measure, depends on his dog. So, too, do the lives of thousands of other men and women who work in the Al Sadeer complex. The Pink Flamingo is not as pretty as it once was. Nearly all the windows have been shattered by bombers hell-bent on killing people. Thanks to David and his dog, they have killed far fewer than they had hoped.
The stress of this daily existence takes a toll on everyone, and David is no exception. It’s time for a week or two back home. David Carlton makes his plans to head back to North Carolina and bids farewell to his friends and his dog. David says good-bye to one of his closest friends, Vince Kimbrell. Vince, a former Spartanburg, South Carolina, police officer is also a security contractor. The two men have a lot in common and share both their law enforcement experience and now the bond of war. The armored SUVs load up, and the U.S. security team, guns at the ready, escorts David to Baghdad International Airport for the trip home.
Back at home, David catches up with family and friends, but more than anything else he misses his friends in Iraq. David remarks, “When you are in Iraq, you know that your buddies there are important to you, but you really realize just how much they mean to you and how much they have become family after you’re away from them for a few days.
“I am actually looking forward to going back now. I’ve had enough peace and tranquility.”
The day before his vacation ended, David had to unexpectedly change his return flight. He had heard word that Vince Kimbrell was also coming back home—in a coffin. Vince hit an IED and was killed instantly. David attended the funeral and paid his last respects to his old friend and Vince’s family. A day later, David Carlton boarded a plane and returned to Iraq.
David and Blek reunited and got back to doing what they do best, protecting Americans. Shortly after his return, David was in the Pink Flamingo when a massive explosion rocked the building. A suicide bomber had blown up his vehicle a block away at the Sheraton Hotel. David bolted for his designated fighting position on the Pink Flamingo’s rooftop. As he raced across the roof, a second bomber detonated his load. The blast knocked him back a few yards. He regained his composure, ran forward, and had only just assumed a shooting position on the roof when a third explosion knocked him into the air and momentarily unconscious. He was still delirious from the concussion, his eardrum shattered and his vision clouded, when he saw a section of a car frame lying next to him on the rooftop eight stories from the ground. He managed to move forward and again take up his position, prepared as best he could to engage the enemy—another day in the life of a bomb dog handler in Iraq.
By December 2005, the time had come for David, now hearing impaired, to arrange for his and Blek’s return trip home to North Carolina. Sam Parlin Jr., a retired police officer from Garden City, Georgia, rode along with them to Baghdad International Airport. Sam had lived across the hall from David in Iraq, and the two men had formed a close bond. Sam assisted David and Blek through a steady stream of problems with different airlines unwilling to accommodate Blek. With Sam’s help, David persevered in getting Blek loaded up. It was difficult saying good-bye to such a good friend, but David was hopeful about returning to Iraq one day.
Only a few weeks later, while in the U.S. awaiting delivery of his new hearing aid, David heard that Sam had been killed by a roadside bomb on the same airport road they traveled together that last day in Iraq. A few days later, two more colleagues and friends died while on duty. Through all the terrible news from Iraq, David’s compulsion to return with Blek only gets stronger.
VI. The Welcome Committee
Chazz (Charles Rudolph) has a guardian angel. As a Crescent security team leader, he has been providing protection for convoys over the last six months and has never been fired upon or hit with an IED. His track record is exceptional. He likes to think of himself as a smart operator, but he also knows that he’s been really lucky. Convoys have been repeatedly hit in front of him and behind him. Convoys have been attacked the day before and the day after on the same roads he has been traveling. Chazz’s convoys always make it through unscathed.
“We were on Highway 2, about forty miles north of Balad (Camp Anaconda) headed for Irbil,” Chazz recalls. “My team—Jason B., Mickey, and Dion—had been running these roads with me in northern Iraq for the last several months. We were a tight group. You might say that we were like brothers. The highway runs right through the center of this little town called Al Ifem. It’s a blink of a place that you are in and out of in a minute or so. As we passed through the town, I was getting uncomfortable about the way people were looking at us. We were getting a lot of unfriendly glares. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but things just didn’t seem right. I could just feel it. The military intelligence we received on this area hadn’t indicated anything that we should be concerned about, so we just kept rolling.
“As we exited the north end of the town, I heard a loud explosion. It caught me off guard. An IED detonated somewhere in the convoy behind me. I looked back and could see that Mickey, driving our rear vehicle, had been hit. His SUV was engulfed in a cloud of smoke. I had been operating in Iraq for over six months and in this area for the last two months. I guess, subconsciously, I had started to believe it was never going to happen. The insurgents had targeted our SUVs and not one of the convoy trucks. They were after Americans. Three of my operators were wounded and the vehicle was totaled. We scrambled instinctively through our ambush-reaction drill. We got the wounded out, abandoned the SUV, and headed back down to Anaconda to get some medical attention, get another vehicle, and regroup for another run north. We were shook up but we were intact and still doing our jobs. The injuries weren’t terribly serious. Most of the guys would be able to make the run again the next day.”
When Scott Schneider learned of the attack, he contacted another Crescent team, Team 2, led by Louie Holguin. Louie’s team consisted of Kevin Avery, Jason Holmquist, and several Iraqi operators. They were about a hundred miles south of Camp Anaconda, and Scott directed Louie to head to Anaconda and link up with Chazz’s guys. They were told to give Chazz whatever personnel and vehicles he needed and then to remain at Anaconda as a QRF in case Chazz developed more problems on the second attempt to get to Irbil the next morning.
Chazz continues: “So we get back to Anaconda, and aside from some medical patchwork, we were all pretty pumped about our experience. Everyone on the team was pretty happy with themselves about how well we had executed our immediate action drill, recovered the wounded, and got out of the kill zone. I was proud of my guys. They were really professional. I thought to myself, I’ve finally busted my cherry in this contractor business and lived to talk about it. In kind of a perverted way, I was really happy. I mean, imagine spending a year in Iraq as a security contractor and coming home having to say, ‘I never got shot at or anything. I just drove a lot of roads.’
“It’s not like I ever thought I wanted to be shot at, but stuff like that kind of lingers in the back of your mind. I guess if you gotta be attacked this was probably a good way to get it—no serious injuries and at least one personal war story. What I didn’t know at the time is that over the next week I’d have a bunch of personal war stories—more war stories than anyone really needs and certainly more than I wanted.” Chazz’s guardian angel was about to get overworked.
Chazz continues, “The next morning we load out at Anaconda and we’re headed up toward Irbil. As we approach
the town of Al Ifem, we go into high alert. I’m running point. Jason B. is now riding with me. We’re not about to be caught off guard. I’m expecting another attack, but I’m not expecting it at nearly the exact same place two days in a row. The blast goes off. This time it’s my vehicle that’s hit. My vehicle is pretty screwed up, and four of my operators are wounded or shell-shocked from the explosion. Jason and I have mild concussions and our Iraqi rear gunner has some shrapnel wounds. Small-arms fire is coming in, and we open up with suppressive fire in all directions until we are out of the kill zone. Our injuries aren’t life threatening, but we were pretty screwed up this time. We needed help.”
The Crescent QRF, Louie’s team, hears of the attack on Chazz’s group and learns that he has several wounded guys. They quickly lock and load and launch north out of Anaconda. Scott Schneider is in southern Iraq, near Basra, delivering a package to a power station. They have two SUVs. Scott is driving one and Danny is driving the other. They have a couple of Iraqis with them also. As he learns of this second attack, he knows his guys are going to need every shooter they can get. Scott drops his package at the power station and heads north at speeds more than a hundred miles an hour. What few people realize about security contracting work is that, for the most part, the contractors can’t depend on the U.S. military to bail them out of difficult situations. Their first line of reinforcements in battle is usually their own people.
Scott remembers the unfolding events: “As soon as we got word of Chazz’s second hit, Danny and I headed north instead of returning to Kuwait. We were on what I call a day trip, that is, we had no plans for an extended stay in Iraq. A sad fact is that I’m the one who always preached to the men to be prepared for anything. I used to say, ‘No matter where you are going in Iraq or when you think you might return, always, always, take along extra clothing, ammo, food, and water. Well, needless to say, Danny and I weren’t prepared for what turned out to be four days and a whole lot of sweating. Before this was over, we just called it the stink fest. We smelled so badly our eyes watered to even be close to ourselves.
“Louie brought Chazz’s guys back to Anaconda. Team number two then took the wounded and the damaged vehicles and headed south for Kuwait. I intercepted Louie on the road while I was headed north. We stopped and talked for a while. Team two brought me up to speed on the enemy activity up north and the status of Chazz’s remaining men. Louie had left one of his men, Salty, and a vehicle up at Anaconda. We were going to have to make another attempt to get the convoy to Irbil, and now we would have my two vehicles and Salty’s SUV. I radioed Chazz and told him not to move until I got to Anaconda. When I got to Anaconda the next morning, I met with Chazz. He said that he and his men were ready to go north again. I wasn’t so sure.
“I spent the day with Chazz’s team. They all confirmed that they were willing to make the third attempt. But what I saw in their eyes said otherwise. I decided not to take them. They had been through enough for now. The following morning, I had to tell Chazz that I wasn’t taking what was left of his team. Instead, our security shield would consist of Danny, Salty, a couple of our Iraqi shooters, and myself. We would take the three vehicles and leave Chazz’s guys to rest up and lick a few wounds. Several days had passed since Chazz’s team had hit the second IED. Intelligence reports told us that the area was infested with insurgents and several more convoys had since been attacked in the Al Ifem area. The convoy and their supplies were badly needed in Irbil and this is our mission. No one ever discussed not going at all. We developed a new strategy and tactics that I can’t reveal, but we arranged the trucks and loaded up again. The last thing I remember the military intel guys said to us was, ‘Expect to get hit.’
“Knowing you are going to get hit, but not having a clue as to where, is pretty unnerving. To further complicate matters, we were told that the insurgents were using radio-activated IEDs, so we would have to observe strict radio silence in the high-danger areas. Our adrenaline was high and we were all doing our own thing to control our fear. As we approach the village of Al Ifem, I can see the stretch that we now call the killing zone. About three kilometers of the road ahead are pockmarked with huge potholes from explosions that have been taking place all week. We initiate our new tactics for getting through this stretch of the village but we are moving very slowly. I am white knuckled and crunched down in my seat. Danny is in the lead vehicle, I’m in the center of our five-truck convoy, and Salty is in the rear. I see people milling around and hope that this is a good sign. We get through about two-thirds of the danger zone, and for some unknown reason, Danny’s SUV just stops, right there, still in the killing zone!
“Danny’s about one hundred yards in front of me, and still stopped. I’m thinking to myself, Damn it, Danny, keep moving. I try to make light of my terror by mumbling to myself, ‘I know you’re not stopping to shoot pictures. Damn it, just move!’ I don’t dare use the radio. I just have to sit there and trust that Danny knows what he is doing. I can see Danny pointing at a cluster of vehicles and some homes at about fifty yards, at ten o’clock to his left front. I’m thinking that this has got to be a secondary ambush and we are sitting in the middle of the primary ambush right now. Did Danny just take sniper fire from there? I look back and I can’t see Salty’s SUV at the rear of the convoy. What happened to Salty? With no communications, fear of the unknown is close to killing me. Pounds of perspiration are pouring off my body. My eyes and lips are soaked with salty fluid dripping off my forehead. I figure that whatever is going on has got to be real bad, because Danny would never just stop like this. He’s like sitting right on top of an IED crater.
“Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I pull out of the convoy and race up alongside Danny. Just as I get parallel to his vehicle, he begins to move, so I drop back into formation. We pass the cluster of cars and buildings. I prepare myself for small-arms fire and I’m expecting that at any second I will see the flash and hear the boom of an IED. I swallow hard. It’s all I can do to keep from just opening fire at everyone standing by the cluster of vehicles. The idea that you have to wait for them to shoot you before you can shoot back is a concept of this war that, at moments like this, is very hard to accept. Nothing happens. About a mile past the town, the convoy pulls over and stops. We all get out to discuss what happened. God, we needed that break. Although no one would ever admit it, I think we all needed to change our underwear. So why did Danny stop right smack in the kill zone? His air filter had plugged and the engine coughed out. We always carried spare air filters, but team number two had needed the one out of the car they left, and in the changeover of drivers and cars we hadn’t realized that we were missing the spare filter. That mistake could have cost all of our lives. It didn’t this time, but we’ll never make that mistake again.”
The next morning Scott’s team takes another convoy back south to Anaconda. Once again, they confront the challenges of getting back through Al Ifem. It’s another dicey trip, but their new tactics work and they make it to Anaconda without incident. Chazz and his team greet them. They are glad to see their buddies back, but you can sense now that this Anaconda-to-Irbil run is their responsibility, not Scott’s. They want their mission back. In a way that only men and women in war understand, they are anxious to prove themselves and not be bested by some other group. This is their turf.
Chazz has had to replace a couple of Iraqi shooters, but the men who have just been assigned to his team are good men. Crescent is a small company. Chazz knows all of these guys. They have had about a week to rehearse their immediate-action drills, review procedures, and assign responsibilities. They are healed, rested, and anxious. Chazz’s team is ready to hit the road. Franco and Scott discuss the missions. Scott gives the green light to the team. Chazz, Mickey, Dion, and Jason B. roll out the gate with another convoy.
Chazz thinks to himself, Third time’s a charm. Chazz and Mickey are in the point vehicle. Mickey is driving. Chazz rides shotgun. An Iraqi called Bob is in the second row behind Mickey, and A
geel, another Iraqi, is the rear gunner. Tensions are high, but the team is in good spirits and is confident that they will make it this time. Chazz and Mickey, both former marines, are best friends. They pass through Al Ifem without incident. The two men take a deep breath. They have confronted their fears and overcome them. They radio Scott that the convoy has cleared Al Ifem.
Chazz recalls what happened next: “Our convoy was now about fifty miles north of Al Ifem. We were still on high alert and not taking anything for granted when we rounded a curve and noticed a dump truck stopped in the oncoming traffic lane of this narrow two-lane road. As we were just about to pass by the truck, a second dump truck pulled out from behind the stopped one and headed directly at us in our lane. Mickey tried to swerve onto the shoulder, but there just wasn’t any time or space to avoid the collision. I knew in an instant that we were going to be hit. I didn’t feel any fear; I just watched the event unfold in front of me. The collision was more violent than I had expected. It’s hard to say exactly what happened in the following seconds, but when the crashing sounds of steel and glass ended, the dump truck was on its side and on top of our vehicle.
“I was still conscious. I could feel a lot of pressure on my back and I couldn’t move my head. The roof of our Chevy Avalanche had collapsed and pinned my head against the dashboard, and my legs were crushed up against my chest. Every part of my body hurt, but all I could think of was that I had to get out. I called out to Mickey. He was alive but he couldn’t move either. Then Jason showed up and yanked my side door open. I told him, ‘I can’t move.’ I remember him saying, ‘I know, dude, you have a dump truck on your head.’
“I could only see out of one eye. Blood was streaming over the other eye and obscured my vision. Finally, I was able to move my head a bit, but every time I did, torrents of blood washed down my face. Now I was starting to feel real fear. I was begging everyone to get me out. This wasn’t good, and my fear was starting to induce shock. Jason was by my side trying to comfort me. Jason is such a hard ass about everything that his being consoling almost had the reverse effect. I mean, if this guy is being warm and fuzzy, I must really be screwed up. Whenever he walked away, even for a moment, I started hyperventilating. It was so strange because I was thinking clearly and I knew I was going into shock but I couldn’t stop myself. I started throwing up.
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