A Bloody Business

by Gerry Schumacher

  “I had to get out of this damn truck. Trying to free myself from this pinned position, I jerked my head toward the driver’s side of the car as hard as I could, and in the process, cut another gash in the side of my skull. But the effort worked and I was able to be pulled from the wreckage. Until that moment of freedom, I thought I was going to die. You wouldn’t believe how happy I was to be outside of the vehicle. Jason pulled me up, and in sort of a dry kind of humor said, ‘It’s good to see you Chazz.’ It took about forty-five more minutes to free Mickey from the driver’s side. He was OK, with only a cut above his eye. Ageel, our rear gunner, had a few scrapes but he was gonna be alright. Bob, our Iraqi shooter in the back seat, had taken the full impact of the dump truck. He was killed instantly. My jinx on this road was getting to be a bit much.

  “Mickey and I spent some time in the hospital and several weeks recovering. Around this time, Dion had been promoted to a team leader and there were several other personnel changes. My team now consisted of Boomhower, Festus, Ricco, and Mickey. We made the run to Irbil, and this time, finally, we made it without any casualties. So I figured our run of bad luck was over. The next day, on the way back through Al Ifem, you know what happened? We hit another IED. This time it was Boomhower [who] got hit. We were lucky enough to have only minor injuries and just another vehicle totaled. We’ve now made four attempts at this round-trip and been hit all four times. We never saw the enemy. We never killed any bad guys. We just kept getting blown up. After each explosion, as we were trying to get out our wounded and get the hell out of that town, you could see crowds of people just watching us. They stare, they point, some laugh. As soon as the shooting stops, the scavengers come out of the woodwork ready to pick any vehicle carcass clean. I wonder what they say to each other. I wonder what they think.

  “Nothing pisses me off more than an enemy that won’t face you,” exclaims Chazz.

  The team’s frustration had built to a boiling point. As with all men and women in combat who continually experience casualties from an invisible enemy, they reach a point where they are overwhelmed with the need to exact revenge. During the Vietnam conflict, Lieutenant William Calley’s platoon had been decimated for months by land mines, booby traps, unseen mortar rounds, snipers, and hit-and-run ambushes. When Calley’s platoon entered the village of My Lai, they thought they had finally surrounded the enemy. They hadn’t, but in the frenzy of the moment, and the burning desire to find and kill the enemy, many unarmed civilians were killed. Soldiers and armed security contractors are supposed to be above such fits of rage.

  In conflicts like Vietnam, Somalia, Afghanistan, and Iraq, it is nearly impossible to differentiate between good guys and bad. If a boy has a garage door opener or a cell phone in his hand, is he a good guy, or a bad guy about to detonate an IED? Never shooting a noncombatant is an easy requirement for academics, politicians, and pundits to pontificate about from the comfort of their lounge chairs. It’s entirely another matter for the men and women who watch their friends get blown apart every day. Until now, Chazz’s team had somehow managed to contain their anger. Something had to give. They couldn’t just keep doing the same thing over and over again and experiencing the same result. As Chazz says, “We were becoming nothing more than ducks in a shooting gallery.”

  A few days passed, and Chazz, Boomhower, Festus, Rico, and their Iraqi operators were back on the road again. Mickey had to sit this one out. Chazz recalls the mission: “We all knew the dangers around Al Ifem, especially Boomhower, who had been pretty banged up during the last IED. So we planned this trip at a different time. Our hope was to pass through Al Ifem around prayer time. This might catch the insurgents off guard and buy us a narrow window of time to get through the town.

  “As we slid through the town, there was an uncomfortable silence. The only thing we could really hear was the call to prayer echoing through Al Ifem. There were almost no vehicles or people on the street. Now and then a vehicle approached us and we threw a water bottle or broke the silence with a warning shot. For a moment, I thought the plan had failed. It just seemed like any second, holy hell would break loose, but nothing happened. I did notice that I had unconsciously slid toward the center of the car. I guess I was just getting myself ready for the door to be blown off. The plan worked, this time.

  “We got to Irbil without a problem, but we knew that on the trip back the same plan wouldn’t work twice. Our real concern now was how to get back to Anaconda the next morning. We were sure they’d be waiting for us. We had to pull something new out of the hat. We knew that the only way we were going to live was to be more creative and more aggressive than they were. It was time to get real inventive.

  “At the warehouse in Irbil, our team sat down to plan the return. We weren’t taking any chances. First, we would leave later than the normal time. Then just outside of Al Ifem we would stop the convoy. Our four SUVs would pull out in front. I would run ahead at point and clear out any traffic on the road. The other three SUVs would move forward ahead of the convoy in a triangular formation. The flank SUVs would be off the road cutting across open terrain. Ricco would run left flank, with Boomhower on the right. Festus would lead the convoy through the first section of the gauntlet.

  As the convoy moved through the urban section of Al Ifem, the flank vehicles would look for possible insurgents hiding on either side of the road. Insurgents waiting to detonate IEDs often hide in these areas, fifty to a hundred or so yards off to the side. The convoy trucks had to stay on the road itself. If necessary, the flank vehicles were instructed to fire warning shots at anyone lurking behind a building or berm. About midway into the town, Ricco, Boomhower, and Festus would stop and establish a protective shield around the convoy. When the main body of trucks passed through the security screen, I would lead them a few miles up the road and the rest of the guys would fall in to protect the rear of the convoy. We all agreed—there couldn’t be anything timid about this run. Basically, it was, ‘When in doubt, light ’em up.’

  “So we’re about twenty miles from Al Ifem and we stop at an Iraqi police checkpoint. They tell us that an Iraqi police vehicle was just ambushed in Al Ifem. We continue on and stop at another police checkpoint. This time we are just a couple of miles from Al Ifem. They confirm the attack on the Iraqi police. The police vehicle had hit an IED and when the officers tried to get out of their vehicle they were taken under fire by machine guns. All five police officers were killed.

  “The convoy rolled south, and now we were about a half mile from the town. According to plan, we stopped the convoy. Our four SUVs pulled up to the front. I called Crescent headquarters and told them where we were and gave them an idea of what we were about to do. We had a good visual on the town. We could see the smoldering ruins of the Iraqi police vehicle. I wondered if their bodies had been removed. I wondered if the insurgents had dragged them through town in some kind of celebratory display. I couldn’t help but to pity them, while at the same moment hoping that we wouldn’t meet the same fate.

  “All of us looked toward the town making mental notes of routes we would take and objects and people that were going to have to be moved. A couple of guys took a perfunctory piss. No one likes going into battle with a full bladder. We shuffled a few grenades, double-checked ammunition, tightened down some straps on our personal gear. We talked briefly about the danger spots that posed the greatest threat. I took a swig of water. I looked at my team. Pucker factors were as high as they have ever been. We were all trying to stay as calm as possible. We all knew what we were about to get into. I said in a very calm voice, ‘You guys ready?’ ‘Yep’ was all I recall hearing. I said, ‘Alright, let’s do this shit.’

  “Without another word, everyone loaded up. We rolled into Al Ifem. As we closed on the town, I saw more and more IED craters. Every twenty yards there was another crater. I guess I wasn’t the only unlucky bastard to have passed through this place. Shit, the road was like the face of the moon. I was out in front of the security triangle. Vehicle
s started to slow in front of me. I just plowed them off the road. Then I noticed that vehicles were coming from all directions and swerving and slowing right in front of me.

  “I had no doubt about it: they intended on slowing us down enough to detonate their bombs and take us under fire. Vehicles began coming in from the side roads and conveniently stopping on the main drag. I opened fire on them, blasting out their rear and side windows. They were clearly trying to box us in. Finally, they got the message: we weren’t fucking around this time. Cars and trucks started clearing the road and heading in reverse to get out of my line of fire. This may have been the first time the insurgents ever took us seriously.

  “They were driving off the road and into garages. Garage doors were closing; people were ducking into buildings. Usually, they just stand around and watch us get blown up. We were almost to the center of town, and I radioed the team that this looked like a good spot to establish the security screen. Ricco pulled his vehicle up on the left flank. Boomhower was on the right. Just as Ricco stopped, he reported seeing armed civilians on the rooftops. I guess this was part of the Al Ifem welcome committee. They were probably the same guys [who] killed the Iraqi police officers a few hours earlier. We weren’t about to give them a chance to get a good shot at us. We opened fire on the surrounding buildings.

  “Ricco, Boomhower, and Festus were all engaged in laying down a shield of suppressive fire. Bullets were coming down at us from all sides of the road. They struck the ground around our feet, and dozens of little pops of dust were kicked up. Ricochets glanced off of rocks and cars and whizzed in every direction. You could hear the sound of safety glass shattering on car windows. Now and then an RPG rocket blew past us and we could only hope that it didn’t hit one of our convoy trucks. On the rooftops we could see what looked like sticks waving in the air. They were AK-47s poking up to fire at us.

  “Our Iraqi machine gunners in the rear of the Avalanches began a systematic back-and-forth stream of bullets raking across the top edges of the buildings. Their barrels were overheating, they were red hot, but there was no time for a pause or a barrel change-out. If they melted down or we had a cook-off, well, shit happens. As we fired into the buildings, our backs were to the main road. The convoy continued to move through the center of this firestorm. I’m sure our truck drivers were scared to death, but none of them backed out. Not one of them hesitated, stopped, or started to turn around. They did what we had asked of them and kept rolling. We shot our way all the way out of town and cleared the south end of Al Ifem.

  “On the way out, Ricco’s vehicle got pretty shot up and one of his tires was blown out. He limped his car out of the worst of the kill zone. Boomhower provided security for Ricco while Festus and I provided security for the main convoy. When Boomhower and his operators jumped from their SUV to set up protection for Ricco, they noticed that their vehicle had been seriously perforated with bullets, but it still ran and that’s all that mattered. Ricco made a tire-change operation that was damn near as fast as a pit stop at the Indy 500.

  “I reported the enemy contact to headquarters. I told them that we had received fire and had to return fire to get through the town. We delivered the convoy safely to Anaconda. I don’t know if we killed any insurgents. I don’t know we if killed or wounded any innocent civilians. I don’t know if there is such a thing. It’s hard for me to imagine that Al Ifem really has any ‘innocent civilians.’ I do know that Al Ifem was ready for us in a big way. I do know that if we hadn’t executed the mission the way we had, we probably wouldn’t be alive. If there are any armchair quarterbacks out there [who] have a better method, let them make a drive through that hellhole.

  “That day, when we drove through the town, it was like it was a completely coordinated event for the townspeople. It seemed like every person and every vehicle was playing some part in the attack. I think, for those people, blowing up Americans is a sports event. How do you explain that back in our country? I hope my guardian angel doesn’t have a statute of limitations. I have another convoy to run tomorrow.”

  Charles “Chazz” Rudolph: “The Welcome Committee.”

  After some light-hearted encouragement from the team, Mongo, one of Crescent’s Iraqi operators, shows off his biceps. He is a world-class weightlifter and former member of the Iraqi Olympic team. Mongo is now a shooter/operator with Crescent.

  Jake Guevarra sucks in some air and controls his breathing as he gets ready to run another convoy mission on the roads of Iraq.

  Dee, Crescent’s Iraqi team leader, shows off the scars from the bullet wound he received during one of the team’s engagements.

  A scruffy-faced Scott Schneider, director of Crescent Security, supervises unloading weapons at the “sandpit” storage yard in Safwan, Iraq.

  On MSR Tampa, the Crescent team passes a burning fuel tanker that was hit by an insurgent IED just moments before.

  At day’s end and having spent the last twelve hours running the roads in Iraq, Scott and his wife, Belinda, get ready to go out to dinner in Kuwait. Just another day at the office.

  Dustin Benson (left) and Scott Schneider wait for their Iraqi team members to arrive for another trip north through Iraq. Scott is holding a light antitank weapon (LAW).

  Dustin Benson stands by for the daily mission brief.

  Security team on the road in Iraq with guns protruding out of every window.

  Left to right: Scott Schneider, Staff Sergeant Stouffer, Captain Waldman, and Franco Pecco. Captain Waldman is the “gatekeeper” at the Kuwait border. His job is to control the movement of convoys into Iraq.

  On the streets of Baghdad, David Carlton (left), Jason Stanford, and Stanford’s bomb-sniffing dog, Enroll, search for bombs following another IED attack.

  The Crescent security team with UN inspectors and an Iraqi informant at an Iraqi mass grave site. The Iraqi informant and his family were assassinated after he returned home later that evening.

  Here, a Crescent Security team operating in central Iraq is armed to the teeth with an assortment of machine guns, AK-47 automatic rifles, knives, and glock automatic pistols.

  Major General Peterson, David Carlton, and Blek in front of the Al Sadeer Hotel, known to those who reside there as the Pink Flamingo.

  Interior of Scott’s Yukon with extra 30-round AK-47 banana clips stacked on the transmission hump. When having to fire while inside the SUV, the collapsible-stock AK-47 is easier to manage than a fixed wooden stock.

  Chazz and Mickey’s Chevy Avalanche after an Iraqi dump truck plowed into and toppled over on top of it, with them inside.

  Danny, the author, and Jake on their last break before crossing the Kuwaiti border and heading into Iraq.

  Dee (left) and Jake Guevarra display an interior chest plate from Jake’s body armor. The indentation on the plate is from an insurgent’s bullet that struck Jake but narrowly missed entering his body.

  Wolf and one of his men return from the area of an IED attack.

  Wolf and Jake’s SUV after the firefight in “The Fog of War” (Chapter 7). Wolf had been on the radio directing his team when he took a fatal bullet to the head. “I could see the bullets, like in slow motion, just walking across the windshield toward me,” Jake recalls.

  Wolf Weiss sports the tattoo of a panther on his left bicep and the grim reaper playing a guitar on his right. His hair is braided and pulled back in a ponytail. Inked into his back is a full-color image of a wolf preparing to attack; in one of the wolf’s eyes is the reflection of a hunter with his hands in the air. Weiss sees himself as that wolf. He is not your typical military-looking contractor. As he is known to remark, “There’s only a few things in this world I can do really, really well. War is one.”

  Postscript

  So many Americans, both civilians and soldiers, have been risking their lives to give democracy a chance in Iraq. Nearly everyone I met or otherwise interviewed for this book was trying their best to make it work, but many expressed doubts. One U.S. instructor who served at the Jo
rdanian police academy commented, “You must understand that these Iraqis don’t have allegiance to their fellow countrymen. It’s not like the feelings an American would have toward another American. As long as the person is not affiliated through tribal, family, religious, or personal friendship, they don’t seem to have much compassion for other Iraqis. Their world is much smaller. Few of them can relate to national objectives. Even fewer believe anything will change in their lifetime.”

  In light of this lack of nationalism or sense of connection to fellow countrymen, it should come as no surprise that enemy fighters blow up their own citizens in the marketplace, on the buses, or inside of mosques. While writing this book, I marveled at how some Iraqis working for U.S. security contractors had no compunction about opening fire on other Iraqis. At first, I thought it was because they were determined to defeat the insurgents. In retrospect, I wonder how much of it is about money and power. Sides can change quickly in that country. If you are not family, then you had damn well better be the highest bidder.