Pasciuti saw the man calmly stroll up to the driver’s side door.
“If he touches that car, shoot ’im,” said Pasciuti.
The man hurried to the car and opened the driver’s door. Before he climbed in, he glanced into the backseat, just as Homestead fired on him. The bullet struck him below the armpit, dropping him to his knees while he looked for the shooter. Pain was written on his face, and Homestead’s second shot hit him in the sternum. Surprisingly, he crawled into the car and lay on the center console. When he stopped moving, Pasciuti relieved Homestead and got back on his own weapon.
At that angle, Pasciuti did not have a great view of the man except for his legs. He put a bullet into both of the man’s knees to prevent his running away.
Minutes later, the track rolled up. After surrounding the vehicle, the squad leader approached it, while Pasciuti spoke to him over the radio, guiding him to the camera in the backseat. Pasciuti watched while the marine waved the camera in the air.
Blood filled the cab of the car. The man in the backseat had died almost instantly, while his friend took a few minutes to pass on. The marine inspecting noticed something else.
“Hey, there’s a weapon in here,” said the squad leader. He handed the rifle to another marine, who almost put it in the track, until Pasciuti noticed the butt stock. Once he saw it, he froze.
“Wait, Red One. Show me that weapon,” he said over the radio.
Any Marine sniper would have recognized it. The rifle’s stock looked exactly like the McMillan fiberglass stock of the M40A1 made specifically for Marine scout/snipers. The marine held it in the air, and Pasciuti asked him a question to be sure.
“Red One, look for a serial number on the barrel near the stock. Does it begin with E676?” said Pasciuti.
“Roger, that is affirmative. It reads E676. Remington 700,” was the reply.
Pasciuti was shocked and overjoyed. Killing an enemy sniper was one thing, but one using a Marine sniper’s rifle was even more gratifying. From that, he realized how the enemy employed their sniper teams. The insurgent’s sniper tactics called for the spotter to exit the car to draw less attention to the vehicle; then the sniper would shoot, and record the action. After hearing the shots, the spotter would then get back in and drive the vehicle away. It was a clever method until then.
Later, the marines pulled the car to base for inspection. They discovered a hidden compartment in the trunk, revealing grenades, U.S. machine gun ammunition, fake passports, and a Browning high-powered .45-cal pistol, exactly like the one Pasciuti noticed in the Juba video. From the bodies, IDs were recovered, leaving Pasciuti with an impression about the shooter’s background. He was clean-shaven, nicely dressed, with no prior record, a real professional.
Days later, Pasciuti shot the recovered rifle. The Unertl scope used by Marine snipers was missing, and Pasciuti understood that the last marine using the rifle must have done his job and destroyed it. Instead, a crude Tasco 3-9 power scope was mounted, but after firing the gun, Pasciuti felt that any shooter could have gotten the job done with it. At one hundred yards the bullet hit half a minute right, or half an inch to the right. Insurgent snipers hardly shot farther than that, and by default, the shooter must have been deadly with it. Pasciuti wondered if the man he killed could have been Juba.
When Pasciuti’s deployment was finished, he learned that the rifle belonged to Tommy Parker from the Second Battalion, Fourth Marines, the team leader of the fallen sniper team in Ramadi in 2004. Pasciuti saved the chambered bullet, and with the rifle, he made a plaque and presented it to the Fifth Marine regiment headquarters.
The contrast of the success and failure of the two teams is a strong lesson for any sniper. After Tommy’s incident, many sniper teams were forced to operate in no less than six-man teams, making for a bigger footprint and a greater chance of compromise. Regardless of fault, lessons can be learned from this tragic incident—namely that snipers thrive when allowed to think on their own. They should be employed according to their skill set and should never be forced to operate against sniper doctrine.
Pasciuti’s success is a prime example of what snipers are capable of when they are allowed to think and operate in their primary role as hunters.
EIGHT
SUNNI TRIANGLE
IT is an eerie feeling knowing that someone is trying to kill you. In Iraq’s deadly Sunni Triangle, that was exactly what American forces felt daily. Starting above the northern city of Tikrit, the triangle spans southeast past Baghdad and westward to Ar Ramadi. It was the center of support for the former president Saddam Hussein, and when he was ousted, it became the center for Sunni opposition against the U.S.-led coalition. Living there for troops was about as comforting as sleeping with an M4 under your arm. From the first day he set foot in the triangle, U.S. Army Sergeant Adam Peeples was, just like every other American soldier, wanted dead by the enemy. After two deployments there, he was blessed to make it out with his life and limbs.
At eighteen years old, young Peeples left Griffin, Georgia, to join the Army. In high school he had never considered the service, but he figured that if he wanted to marry his high school sweetheart, the Army would provide some stability. When the time came to sign up, he wanted a challenge and the occupational specialty of 18X. Special Forces was just that. During the physical, however, he was not able to pressurize his ears, an essential physical quality for being airborne. Since Green Berets are airborne, it meant that Peeples was bound for the infantry and that he would have to be a leg, meaning non-airborne.
In 2003, Peeples became an 11B infantryman. After boot camp, his assignment was to Bravo Company, First Battalion, Twenty-sixth Infantry of the First Infantry Division based in Germany. Peeples arrived just as the war in Iraq kicked off, and because his unit was mechanized infantry, he was trained to drive Bradley Fighting Vehicles. Though he was not too thrilled about driving, the comfort of a light-armored vehicle equipped with a 25mm cannon in an urban environment was reassuring. After all, where he was going, every advantage would help.
Round One
His unit, the Blue Spaders, arrived in Iraq on Valentine’s Day 2004. They were not welcomed with flowers and chocolates, but instead by a tenacious insurgency at the center of the Sunni Triangle, Samarra. As one of Iraq’s four Islamic holy cities, Samarra encompassed ancient history and precious monuments, but Peeples cared nothing about that. He cared nothing about the ancient ruins, the golden mosque, or any other tourist attractions. All he knew was that Americans were not welcomed in Samarra, and that before his arriving there, insurgents had united to resist the American-led coalition. Their network and communications stretched throughout the city, resulting in unpredictable attacks on U.S. patrols and bases.
In Samarra, Peeples’s unit lived outside of the city. It occupied a small, desolate outpost known as FOB Brassfield-Mora, named after two soldiers killed the year prior. The base had no showers, no chow hall, and only dust and sand for amenities. Peeples was amazed at the lack of cultivation in the area. The Iraqis were years behind. That aside, the soldiers quickly learned that the enemy were capable of urban tactics, and they were thrust into the thick of things. For Peeples, training had long since passed. Now he would experience the realities of combat.
Soon his platoon was the designated security detail for the local ODA team. When the Special Forces soldiers needed their assistance, Peeples’s platoon rushed to their aid. In the meantime, however, their lives consisted of patrolling roads and providing escorts. The Special Forces Green Berets operated from a small compound made up of two adjoining safe houses on the western edge of Samarra. Their location allowed the soldiers to infiltrate the city quickly and return safety in the same manner, but the convenience came with a price. Being that close to the city gave insurgents the freedom to strike their base with ease.
One day, a massive group of insurgents assaulted the compound. Peeples’s platoon responded, and the soldiers took to their vehicles hooting and hollering as they head
ed for the fight. For many it would be the first time under fire, and they would finally get to see what they were made of.
Peeples was anxious during the drive to the compound. At the scene, the Bradleys positioned themselves for maximum security. The gun battle was raging when Peeples and other dismounts moved onto the rooftops under direction from the Green Berets. When he left the Bradley, Peeples managed to swipe an M240 machine gun. On the roof, he surveyed the neighborhood, ready to meet his first target.
The area looked like any other Iraqi city. Beige buildings blended for entire city blocks, with a few mosques with minarets scattered about. Countless telephone wires linked homes and structures, while run-down cars lined the streets. A cemetery sat in front of the compound and stretched to 100 meters (330 feet) away at the base of a wall. Beyond the wall was where the insurgents occupied several five- to eight-story buildings.
At first glance, Peeples had a hard time differentiating the tan structures. They seemed to melt together. That soon passed, however, and ten minutes later, he spotted an insurgent. The gunman fired from a window, aiming toward the adjacent compound. Without hesitation Peeples threw a hundred-round burst at the man’s position. With bullets landing near him, the insurgent ducked for cover and immediately others opened up. It was the beginning to an eleven-hour firefight.
When Peeples looked up, he saw insurgents firing RPGs and machine guns. A massive volley of rocket-propelled grenades exploded near the soldiers. Some destroyed pieces of Peeples’s building and the headstones in the cemetery below him. Bullets began to hit the wall in front of Peeples, throwing chunks of cement in his face. Instinct caused him to react. He unleashed with his M240 machine gun until another soldier arrived and took over, forcing Peeples to use his M4. The two soldiers were alone on the roof and held out as long as they could, but they were severely exposed with little cover, allowing insurgents to put rounds inches away from them. The fire was so close that Peeples pulled the back of his vest into his helmet so that he would not be shot in the back of the neck. At the first lull in fire, the two retreated from the roof, but they were ordered back.
Though shaken, Peeples resumed his position. His M68 red-dot reticle allowed for easy use; anywhere the red dot was, the bullet would hit. At first he shot at muzzle flashes from windows, but he did not seem to hit anyone, so he changed his tactics. Hours into the fight he learned a critical lesson in patience, which paid off.
He had decided not to shoot at everything. Instead, he let the enemy shoot and move, hoping they would get comfortable and make mistakes. Soon other soldiers took to his roof, and he and a SAW gunner moved to the back corner of the building to cover their flank. There, his plan worked.
From his position, he caught two insurgents moving toward them at 150 meters. In head wraps and sweatpants, one fighter held an AK, while the second carried an RPG with a bundle of rockets on his back. He struggled to keep up with the first one because he was fat, which slightly amused Peeples. He aimed at his large stomach.
It took five bullets to drop him. His stomach jiggled and he squirmed after being hit. The man next to him stopped behind cover when he realized what was happening. Peeples shifted to him, but the man had ducked around a wall. Moments later, however, his head turned the corner to look toward Peeples, trying to find the origin of the shooting. He did not leave enough time for Peeples to aim in on him, but Peeples rested his red dot reticle where the man’s head had appeared, and he waited. When the man turned the corner again, a slight squeeze of the trigger put a 5.56mm bullet in his face, and his body fell motionless.
Looking at the dead in the streets, Peeples had a realization. On the ground, Bradleys bombarded positions with their 25mms, and overhead F-15s and F-16s along with AC-130 Spectre gunships put scunion on the enemy. When he signed up for the Army, Peeples had known that war was possible, but now that it was at hand, it felt surreal. He could not stop thinking about the two insurgents he had killed. Now, suddenly, just as quickly as it had started, the fighting was over.
In the end, Bradleys were the deciding factor. On a few occasions, Peeples witnessed their impressive capabilities. Once, two Bradleys converged on and virtually destroyed an entire building when a gunman unloaded from it. Another time an RPG gunner tried downing one of the fixed wings that was in the act of a gun run. The gunner stood atop a high-rise and fired, allowing three Bradleys to lock onto his position. All at once they opened fire, decimating most of the gunner’s body. Peeples watched some of his flesh fall from the building. Other times, insurgents stuck their gun barrels through small holes in the compound’s walls, but with thermal sights, the Bradleys easily found them and switched to armor-piercing rounds, punching through the walls and killing them. The insurgents who had scaled the wall itself and low-crawled toward the soldiers in the cemetery had no chance.
The next morning Peeples and his platoon were back at base. Everyone reminisced about their first fight, discussing in finer detail how the events had unfolded. Their platoon was the talk of the battalion, as it was the unit’s first major engagement where the dismounts were able to fire. Though he had done well himself, it was the actions of the battalion’s snipers that left a lasting impression on Peeples.
During the fighting, Peeples kept an eye on the snipers. It was not until after nightfall that he got an up close and personal experience of sniper operations. On the roof next to him, the shooter handled the Barrett M107 .50-cal sniper rifle with a thermal sight attached. His spotter spied the area with night vision while Peeples listened and watched how they went about finding targets. When it was time for the snipers to act, their approach was precise and professional
“I’ve got two guys,” explained the shooter, quickly directing his spotter onto them.
“Roger that. Weapons confirmed,” agreed the spotter, and he relayed the distance.
The snipers were calm and collected. Peeples had never seen such a casual approach to killing. It was strictly businesslike. He hurried to find their target, hoping to witness the skill of the snipers. The heavy rifle boomed and a man dropped at eight hundred meters (half a mile) away. Peeples knew right then that he wanted to become a sniper, but it did not happen on that deployment. He still had a long way to go, and would live through much fiercer fighting.
By fall of 2004, the insurgency controlled Samarra. The city’s supposed governing body, the city council, was involved with peace talks, but the committee held no real power. The true controllers were foreign and domestic anti-Iraqi fighters along with several crime families and tribes. They simultaneously competed for power and joined forces to attack U.S. and Iraqi authorities. By the end of summer, insurgents had complete control. Their attacks plagued the U.S. soldiers so much that even patrols into the city were out of the question. It was just too dangerous.
One final attack quickly changed the insurgents’ position and prompted the Iraqis and the Coalition Forces to react. It started with a suicide bomber dressed as an Iraqi police officer in a truck packed with explosives. He detonated the bomb at the Iraqi Army compound, which started a small arms fight. The attack left five U.S. soldiers dead and wounded others. The event hit Peeples hard. One of his close friends had died in the attack. To add insult to injury, when it was finished, many of the Iraqi Police and National Guardsmen abandoned the post that Peeples’s friend had died protecting. The post also happened to be the last Coalition foothold in the city.
In October, U.S. forces were left with no choice but to execute Operation Baton Rouge. The planning had taken months, with small intelligence-gathering missions into the city giving U.S. forces an idea of the enemy fighters and expected responses. With enough intelligence collected, U.S. forces commenced the operation. The mission called for U.S. troops to drive the insurgency from Samarra and regain control for Iraqi forces.
The operation bred a mix of intense moments for Peeples. The night of the attack, his unit led the way into Samarra. He sat crammed with seven other soldiers in the back of a Bradley with a
n M240 machine gun, extra ammo, his pack, and a radio all stuffed between his legs. They pushed in from the west and immediately met a well-prepared enemy.
In Samarra, five hundred to a thousand fighters waited. Most of them operated in small teams and used the cover of darkness to move about their preplanned positions. Command cells called for many of the teams to meet the Bradleys at the main bridge leading into the city. As soon as the enemy fighters heard the vehicles, they opened fire. Inside his Bradley, Peeples heard the whistle of falling mortars and the unmistakable sound of exploding IEDs. Bullets from enemy machine guns and AKs ricocheted off the vehicles, clarifying for the soldiers exactly what they were up against.
Peeples was the radio operator and stuck close to his platoon sergeant. Throughout the fighting, he watched how the senior soldier held up under pressure. He would also learn a lot about himself in the days to come.
Explosions filled the first day. Insurgents held many fortified positions and stopped the soldiers’ advance—that is until air assets and tanks moved in. It was an impressive show from then on, with images of entire buildings being destroyed. Yet the most vivid image on that first day was a grenade from an M203 grenadier decimating an insurgent only fifty feet away. The man’s body disappeared when the grenade hit him.
On the second day, Peeples’s platoon took a building across from the Al-Askari Mosque. Its golden dome appeared out of place. Under other circumstances, Peeples might have loved to observe the one-thousand-plus-year-old structure, but just then, all he could focus on was survival.
At the time, his platoon remained the deepest in the city. They holed up in a hotel overlooking the main roads. Fatigue wore on them, and it showed when Peeples and a few other soldiers initiated an ambush. They planned to simultaneously shoot a group of men, and they were to open fire after a count of three. The soldiers were so tired, however, that they had forgotten to take their weapons off safety, and after the count, no bullets were fired.
Hunters: U.S. Snipers in the War on Terror Page 13