The tank stopped close to them. The hatch on the top of the M1-A1 popped open, and the tank commander (TC) stuck his head out. He said, “Marines. You guys need some help?”
Mac replied, “Yeah, we’re good, but definitely need some help.”
The TC gave Mac his radio frequency and told him they had him covered until more help arrived. The tank scanned the area with its thermal optics, looking for the insurgents who had set the trap. They were gone.
The sun began to rise, and Mac sent the Marines back over to the damaged Humvee to start the strip procedures—ripping out all the radios, sensitive equipment, weapons, and anything salvageable from the truck.
The survivors of the IED blast looked at the truck. A couple of them smoked cigarettes trying to calm their rattled nerves.
They surveyed the damage. The entire front end of the Humvee was completely gone. Both tires and the front axle were missing. The engine had been pushed back into the cabin of the truck, and the turret was peppered black from the blast with shrapnel. The bulletproof windows were all cracked but had remained intact. The Humvee’s sturdiness had undoubtedly saved their lives that morning.
Mac and his team sat on Route Trans Am for six hours until a wrecker recovered the vehicle. Mac made his way back to the TOC at Camp Corregidor. He rolled into the Echo Company workspace still not able to believe they had survived the attack.
One of the Marines in the COC was sitting there in his chair and rolled around to Mac as he stood there. “Hey Mac, did you hear that one of our vehicles got blown up by an IED this morning?”
Mac glared back. He didn’t dignify the comment with a response after all he’d just survived.
CHAPTER 13
Tigers
Echo Company was ordered to the west side of Ramadi to support another U.S. Army unit: Task Force 1-77 Armor Regiment (TF 1-77 AR), call sign “Steel Tigers.” They deployed to Iraq out of Schweinfurt, Germany, comprised of M1-A1 Abrams tanks. Their area of operation made up the southwest corner of Ramadi.
The unit we were supporting had changed, but the mission remained the same—kill or capture Anti-Iraqi Forces.
We turned our posts in the Industrial District back over to Task Force 1-9 Infantry.
Most were apprehensive about leaving. The Marines had made tremendous gains. We knew the area and had a solid battle rhythm. But orders were orders.
I reported to the command post, which seemed like a ghost town that day. Most of the soldiers and the battalion commander were out in the city.
The workspace that we were assigned was not typical, by any stretch of the imagination. The compound which TF 1-77 AR worked from reminded me of an old Wild West fort. It was a single-level, U-shaped building that stood inside Camp Ramadi.
U.S. Army personnel had rightfully occupied all of the good work areas. The Echo Company staff was relegated to work out of a dilapidated 7-ton box truck converted into a planning space. It made us feel as if we were scab labor, but honestly, we didn’t mind—Marines were used to improvising, and we were eager to get back out into the city.
The truck was, to be frank, a piece of shit. Its camouflage paint was chipped off, and a big, rusty tow chain wrapped around the front bumper. The grated, aluminum ladder used to climb in and out of it routinely fell off, and anyone climbing the ladder ran the risk of being knocked off it if those inside weren’t careful when opening the large metal door.
Appropriately, the handle on that door was like that of an industrial meat locker because the interior of the truck was a small, square, and sparse box. Any Marine who stood more than six feet tall bumped his head frequently on the ceiling. The room held tables, chairs, maps, and other gear—utterly jam-packed inside. We called it “the A-Team van,” a reference to the 1983 television action series with Mr. T, though not always affectionately, and, like Marines always do, we made the best of it.
We immediately got to work on the capabilities brief for the commander—a fancy PowerPoint presentation highlighting the firepower that Echo Company was bringing to the game, and how our numbers had grown.
I recruited more attachments at Camp Ramadi before the push—former Green Beret Special Forces contractors, a half-dozen interpreters, MWD teams, and a team of civil affairs specialists. I added a combat camera crew, and two teams of THT soldiers that conducted biometric scanning of the population in Ramadi. All told, we rolled in with over two hundred fifty-eight Marines including the additional gunfighters.
I was unabashed at employing anyone from the rear area that was willing to fight—if they had a rifle and wanted to get in the mix, they were welcome to join the team. My strategy ultimately proved successful.
I met the task force commander, Lieutenant Colonel Michiotto “Bear” Johnson, in his office before the command brief. We chatted formally for a while, but I could tell he wasn’t much for standard protocol. He put me at ease right away.
He was a thick man, about five-nine. He was forty-two and had a thinly trimmed mustache that ran neatly to the corners of his mouth. He had a big, bright, toothy smile underneath it all. Clad in the traditional Army-gray digital BDUs, he wore a tan, leather pistol holster strapped to his back—his Beretta 9mm service pistol dangled under his left armpit, and two ammo mags under the right.
At first glance, he reminded me of the famous actor and comedian Cedric Kyles, better known as Cedric the Entertainer. But there was nothing comical about him. He was aggressive and proved to be one of the most skilled commanders I ever supported.
The Steel Tigers were the largest armored task force in the brigade—and in recent U.S. Army history. They had a vast resource of tanks, armored vehicles, and Humvees at their disposal. Bear proudly led over eight hundred thirty-five soldiers in addition to the massive armored arsenal under his command—but now he also had an additional two hundred fifty Marines ready to unleash in the city.
While I sat and spoke to Bear, he quickly understood what Echo Company was bringing to the fight—a team of highly-trained warriors with substantial combat experience.
He referred to us as his “Blunt Instrument” of war. He then asked, “How many vehicles do you want to start the clearance ops, Scott?”
“None,” I replied.
Probably a bit stunned by my response, he asked, “Well how the hell are you boys planning on moving around the city then?”
“We’ll walk.”
A look of admiring disbelief crossed his face as he let out a one-syllable laugh through his nose, exhaling sharply.
I continued, “I want to break this area of operation into three sectors and have Marines crawling around every corner, building, alley, and street located in the Ta’meem District and scare the living shit out of any insurgents that think they have a safe haven here. If they stick their head around a corner, they’re going to get it shot the fuck off.”
Bear smiled. He seemed excited to have us in the fight.
The Steel Tigers had arrived in Ramadi four months before Echo Company and had developed a good battle rhythm in their area—but they still needed more help. M1-A1 tanks were great machines, but they were even better with hundreds of Marines integrated around them.
Bear’s predecessors had made significant gains in western Ramadi, but he and his men still had work to do. When Echo Company arrived, he let me in on his plan.
Bear knew that to gain a foothold in Ramadi, he had to achieve two objectives. First, he had to get out into the heart of the city and set up functional forward operating bases (FOBs). Simply pushing out tanks and patrolling the streets wouldn’t achieve the results he wanted.
The second was that he knew he had to plan and execute a major offensive that would allow the task force the opportunity to seize the initiative for his men to occupy the city seamlessly. He was successful.
By the time Echo Company joined the Steel Tiger Task Force, there were already multiple FOBs and outposts in key positions that we used to our advantage to have ammunition and supplies pushed to our maneuver elemen
ts. Bear needed Echo Company to go into the Ta’meem District and systematically and aggressively clear and hold the area.
The Ta’meem District was an austere section of Ramadi. It had suffered the same devastation from the war that most of the cities in Al Anbar Province had endured. The Ta’meem was another perfect image that reflected the crumbling cityscapes of Iraq—semblances of what used to be a community.
Bear was a little hesitant about our approach when Echo Company began the clearance of the Ta’meem District. He thought we were too violent and our actions might diminish any advances the Steel Tigers had made concerning local support garnered before our arrival. Our relationship over the course of a few weeks inevitably changed the tide of the war, but the methods in which we did it seemed too radical for some.
I abated his concerns as we planned and executed a disciplined and methodical approach while conducting our patrols. We knew what we were doing—controlled chaos.
The Marines moved through the city with fierce determination every step of the way. They helped those who needed it. They crushed others that stood in our way with violence of action.
We were in contact with the enemy every night as we pushed from the southeast corner of the Ta’meem District in a westerly direction. We cleared every single structure that we encountered in our zone. The platoon commanders met with me every morning, and we went over our maps and compared notes.
I took a yellow highlighter pen and marked every building we cleared. We left nothing untouched. As we did, we fought and killed the insurgents. We raided their safe havens, disrupted their supply routes, and collected every single weapon we found hidden or buried in the ground. We took some casualties but managed to make it through without a single fatality.
We knocked the enemy off balance. They never saw us coming. When they did see us, they knew it would be a bad day if they tried to engage the Marines of Echo Company. We simply never gave them a chance to breathe. There was never an hour in the day during our time in the Ta’meem that there wasn’t a Marine or soldier on patrol fighting and taking it to the enemy.
Echo Company never left the zone. We lived out in the city. We never rested or returned to Camp Ramadi. We cared only about mission success.
It was hard for the boys. Living in that environment for such an extended period was extremely tough and unforgiving. The Marines and soldiers made it through it all, though—because they had each other. The focus was always on the unit, not the individual. They executed every day singly focused on their mission of destroying the enemy.
There was never any rivalry between the Army and Marines in Ramadi. It was always one team—one fight. I think everyone believed that, and they respected each other for it. Ultimately, our success and lives depended on it.
Echo Company continued to dominate the insurgents in the Ta’meem District. Our tactics were different than the Army’s, and our violence and audacity shocked the enemy.
We moved fast and deliberately to confuse and disorient the enemy—we constantly kept them guessing.
As we continued to apply pressure on the insurgents in the Ta’meem, it allowed Bear and his men to set up a more permanent presence in the city. It enabled them to focus on creating IA compounds and Iraqi police stations the city desperately needed. I was determined to eradicate the enemy from the Ta’meem District without compunction to allow Bear to expand his control.
Bear’s blunt instrument proved to be just the tool he needed.
CHAPTER 14
Jump
If I pushed my platoon commanders hard, I pushed my second in command, Bobby Lee, even harder.
I had to. Our implicit and expressed relationship as CO and XO was vital to the success of the company. More importantly, if anything happened to me, he had to be ready to take command. I knew that every chance I had needed to be used to develop him into a company commander.
Lee’s gregarious nature made him very likable to those around him—his peers, the Marines, and especially me. He never missed an opportunity to find the levity in a tough situation and had a knack for brightening everyone’s spirit in tough times.
It was hard for me to stifle his charm. I didn’t want to, but I also had to make sure that he knew there was a time and a place for letting his hair down. I’m quite sure I saw a lot of myself in him, and that made it more difficult for me at times. I counted on him to be “The Heavy.” The enforcer. I think it went against his natural style, but I was training him the way Marty had trained me. Relentlessly.
I am certain he felt frustrated and overwhelmed at times. He was a relatively new lieutenant with only a shade over two years of experience under his belt in the Marine Corps, and I often had an abrupt way of tasking Lee in the midst of the chaos.
Despite any look of exasperation on his face, I was famous for telling him, “XO, just get it done.”
I failed to factor in his lack of experience when I saw the frustration. I simply saw a bear of a man standing in front of me, and I expected results. Lee never let me down in that regard, and he thrived—notwithstanding my limited guidance at times.
Ramadi was Lee’s first combat deployment. After a short time in the city, his nervousness disappeared—he became desensitized by the combination of emotions and constant stress.
Lee had assembled a team of Marines that functioned as the company Jump, a mobile command post of sorts. It consisted of a couple of armored Humvees, but it was highly effective and provided critical support to the entire company. Lee and his team drove fearlessly around the war-torn city in their trucks and Echo Company could always count on them.
He identified and chose one of the new Humvees for his headquarters team, and over the course of the deployment, that vehicle became his house, office, bedroom, and protector.
I thrust a lot of responsibility on Lee, and he handled it well. His team of characters in the Jump were constantly on the move as our dismounted platoons patrolled throughout the city. I relied heavily on them to be the forward eyes and ears of the company. They scouted out safe zones. They served as a resupply for ammunition and chow, and pushed detainees back to the rear for questioning after we’d capture them on raids.
They were left alone and unafraid at times. Vulnerable and without the support of the rest of the company, they moved on the battlefield encountering all, if not more, of the same perils everyone else did. Their biggest threat was their constant exposure to IEDs on the roads. It was a feeling of impending doom every time they drove anywhere in Iraq. It had been that way since the initial invasion.
Lee and his team pressed on through the turmoil of tight living conditions inside the truck. They were always on call and would go for days without sleep. It wasn’t uncommon for them to take a handful of Excedrin PM to force sleep when needed then awaken on a moment’s notice to push to a platoon’s location for support. They’d instantly wash down another handful of tiny white ephedrine pills with two or three highly-caffeinated, fizzy Rip It energy drinks to get back in the game.
We went firm in the Ta’meem District. Lee and his crew navigated the unknown streets of western Ramadi and pushed support as we cleared in zone, going from house to house. They’d frequently stop at houses we’d just raided. They dropped off chow and boxes of tiny CR125 SureFire flashlight batteries that we burned through daily. They’d pick up stacks of confiscated enemy weapons, or a detainee we’d been holding and race back to Camp Ramadi, make a drop-off, grab some more supplies and repeat the cycle.
Lee and his men had been up for over thirty hours when they headed back to Camp Ramadi to turn over a detainee to THT. Lee’s driver slowed the truck to a stop.
“Sir, take a look up there. It’s an IED off the side of the road,” he said, pointing to what looked like two small aluminum baking sheets pressed together.
They studied the device. There were wires visibly protruding from the side of it. They ran for twenty meters toward a house on the east side of a street named Route Cindy—just sitting out in the open.
Lee called over the radio, advising a squad out on patrol in the area of the device. They were blocks away. The squad pressed closer to the suspected IED and cordoned off the area, keeping a safe distance from the unknown object.
The squad leader found the wires that led from the device to the side of the house. They were bare. There was no battery or detonator attached to the ends. Unwisely, he grabbed the wires and gave them a solid yank.
The wires spooled back loosely in his hand, like a string from a kite that had broken loose in the sky. The device lay in place in the middle of the road. Nothing happened.
“Has to be a decoy,” Lee thought.
Not being EOD experts, they didn’t want to take any chances. They tried to test the IED just to be on the safe side.
The turret gunner skillfully threw cans of Mountain Dew at the square aluminum target with great aim. After hitting it directly with several cans of soda and expending a few precious Rip It drinks, they deduced that it had to be a decoy.
With the wires now out of the device, Lee and his team approached the plate and determined that it was harmless, but thought they’d best take it back to the EOD experts at Camp Ramadi so they could show them that the insurgents were placing this type of decoy out on the roads. It looked different from any they’d seen before.
They picked up the two-by-two-foot piece of aluminum plating and strapped it securely to a pile of camouflage netting that was always on the back hatch of the Humvee.
After they turned over the detainee to THT at the camp, Lee and his men drove over to the EOD compound.
Outside the compound, the EOD team had set up an impressive and educational display of dozens of IEDs they had picked up and defused throughout the city so soldiers and Marines could learn what the enemy was using.
A master sergeant stood outside of the EOD compound as Lee got out of his truck. He gave the master sergeant a quick recital of how he’d found the decoy and walked him to the back of the Humvee. He unstrapped the plate and sat it on the ground by the truck. The master sergeant began to take a closer look.
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