by Robin Moore
That evening, however, the enemy attempted to be teeming himself. At 2350 hours on the 17th, I moved about the city in my humvee convoy with a five-ton truck to collect curfew violators for a ready labor force to clean off graffiti. As we cruised around southern Tikrit near the Women’s College, also known as “RPG Alley,” we once again confirmed why we gave it this label. Making a right turn, we heard the whoosh and bang of RPGs, fired by attackers who did not anticipate our change of direction. The sound an RPG makes upon contact is best described as sounding like a Dumpster dropped from a fifty-story building. The volley struck in a prong with the left fork heading near an observation post atop the Women’s College and the right fork just barely missing our vehicles because we turned right instead of heading straight.
We immediately jumped the median of the multilane street and headed the unarmored vehicles back into the enemy. Our men deployed out to the crack of what sounded like pistol shots from a roof. Angered at this point at the enemy’s cowardice, we moved forward and taunted him, shouting expletives for him to be drawn out.
Gaining the defilade of a low and crudely laid block wall, we coordinated with an element of the MPs to move to the east and provide a cordon on the backstreets. This accomplished, we began to see our Recon Platoon humvees move up on our left as we moved north along the two alleys. As we met in the crossbar of an “H” of streets, we once again taunted the enemy. This time he obliged.
Gunfire erupted in a series of automatic weapons bursts. The first crashed near our feet sending newly chipped gravel in all directions accompanied by that clearly recognizable sharp crack of bullets aimed at you. As we returned fire in the direction of the attackers on a roof of a small building in the top half of the “H,” a second burst from a rooftop on the upper-right leg of the “H” peppered the scout trucks. A third burst that appeared to come from a submachine gun at the same location splashed over the middle scout truck.
The gunner mounted in the cupola of his humvee uncontrollably corkscrewed out of the vehicle with the shout, “I’m hit!” and collapsed into the street. “Q-Beam” white lights soon fingered the rooftop, revealing an attacker. As a sergeant tried to get to the aid of his buddy, we acquired the man on the rooftop. At the same time as a medic dashed around a humvee and grabbed our wounded man by the nylon strap sewn in the back of his armored vest, we engaged with more small arms and Mark-19 grenades. The wounded soldier was dragged to safety while the thump, thump, thump of three grenades from the Mark-19 grenade launcher signaled the deadly arc of firepower that soon ended the engagement.
The report rang out that our man was OK. A 9mm bullet had grazed above his right eye, creating an eleven-stitch cut, and then lodged in the back of his Kevlar helmet. This accounted for his spinning to the ground. As the medic checked him, he told the soldier he was OK, placed a bandage on him, and handed the man his rifle back. Through oaths and epithets our wounded man assured all of us he wanted to find the man who shot him. He recovers now with swellings, that if he were back home, might be mistaken as the result of a very bad barroom fight.
Our men continued to search the area for the man we surely must have hit, and found evidence of positions. We determined his number to be two or three men. True to form, his “miss-and-run” tactics produced little and he gained sanctuary among the multitude of innocent families lining the streets. For our part, we took great satisfaction in driving him off but our bloodlust was up and we wanted evidence to satisfy it. It would soon come in the form of a black mourning “martyr” banner appearing with one name and the same date on a mosque nearby, calling on those to honor him as he died attacking the Americans.
Scroll forward a couple more hours. Now the terrain changes to a dusty farm village to the south of Tikrit. A Company patrolled through the streets checking for anything abnormal. Flying rocket-propelled grenades certainly qualified. The men brought their Bradley section into action but the assailants fled to a house. The “Gators” of A Company quickly recovered from the near misses of RPGs and then brought their force to bear on the house.
Infantry spilled out the back of the vehicles, joining others that were brought up in a truck. The house was empty of attackers—but not his weapons. The cowards fled, leaving an RPG launcher and three rockets. Patrols went to police up the attackers the next day.
Scroll forward another hour, but this time the scene switches to northern Tikrit to the “Cobras” of C Company. A skinny man on a motorcycle cruises down the four-lane road with an even skinnier weapon. The silhouette reveals it to be an RPG launcher strapped to his back. Still a good distance from the “Birthday Palace,” but close enough to be deemed hostile, fusillades of fire greet the man, causing him to turn wildly and escape down a side alley. He is quickly absorbed into the city and into the night. His attack and no doubt his pride were thwarted but unfortunately we did not get him.
The enemy’s boastful claims of Saddam’s return on the 17th of July never materialized. Instead, the view that the Iraqis had here when they opened their windows on the morning of the 18th was of their own police, government officials, and American forces providing for their security. They seemed to accept it. They also seemed to acknowledge that Saddam would not return.
Even his image on the Farouk Palace gate was blown from its mount on the morning of the 18th, providing a powerful visual to those that observed it. The huge bronze statue that sat atop a fifty-foot-high arched gate was soon laced with explosives. The metallic body of Saddam holding a banner and sitting astride a charging horse flanked by rockets soon trotted down the parapet, stumbled, then crashed with a finality symbolic of Saddam’s former regime.
When the dust settled, the people seemed to settle with it. They have been somewhat calmer and assured since, realizing that all the fearful talk of Saddam returning was just talk. The evening of the 18th was calm—except for a volley of mortar rounds fired into an insignificant patch of sand near C Company, 3-66 AR—the “Cougars.”
A More Developed Enemy
Now that we are in the post “return” period, the people seem to cooperate more but we also see a more developed enemy. Take the evening of the 19th for example. An observation post (OP) providing security and warning to C Company noticed a two-man team in all black, long-sleeved clothing and black veils stealthily scale a wall and begin to work toward a corner near the entrance. They each carried loaded RPG launchers. The OP soldiers took aim and let out an accurate burst. The first bullet literally struck two inches from an attacker’s head, when it penetrated the rear flange of the weapon, causing him to lose control of his RPG.
Startled by the shot, he also prematurely squeezed the trigger and fired his RPG grenade wildly into the street. The second attacker also pulled the trigger of his weapon, sending a deadly blast into the compound wall but fifteen meters from where he intended it to go. A metallic, echoed boom—followed by a shower of gypsum-starved concrete—blended with the sharp chatter of American rifle fire.
The badly shattered enemy fled over the low wall he was pinned against and into even darker shadows. A quick reaction of men assembled inside the compound. A Bradley Fighting Vehicle, not waiting for the gate to be opened for sake of time, crashed through it and flattened it to the ground. Other forces began to cordon approximately four blocks of the city along a two-street axis. The enemy fled on foot, ditching a grenade and other items that would mark him as hostile. The soldiers weaved through city blocks, unable to find those whose attack had been thwarted once again.
The next morning, a command-detonated explosive hidden in a pothole erupted into a humvee of a passing element using the main supply route in our area. Three soldiers were wounded but fortunately, they were very near one of our surgical hospitals. The “Cougars” quickly assisted them in their tanks and provided medical assistance and thankfully the men were not seriously injured. Sifting through the debris, the men noticed parts of a cell phone used to detonate the device. Also visible were parts of a mortar tube, apparently packed with C
-4 and used in a very unconventional manner.
The Regulars used our own mortars, but in a more conventional way the next day. Finally given permission for counter battery fire, the “Thunder” soldiers of our mortar platoon registered 120mm rounds, sending earth and stubble skyward from abandoned fields. In the last several days, we have fired numerous rounds to counter the enemy’s indirect-fire attacks. Since we began this, we have seen little more activity. This is the first firing of “regular” mortars since Vietnam and the men are very proud to carry on the traditions of our veterans before us.
A Strange Mood
The evening of the 22nd, a strange mood descended over the city. Every eye is glued to the television sets as the breaking news of Uday and Qusay Hussein’s deaths jolts like an electric shock. The city is eerily quiet but not without danger.
At approximately 2250 hours, another familiar “Dumpster crash” is heard signaling an RPG attack as we head south in our command group convoy. We head north along the main highway that bisects the town and see a pall of smoke. Local men gesture from balconies with general directions deduced from their pointing fingers. A quick patrol from our men loops around the block but finds nothing. The target was a photo shop wedged into a corner. Maybe the assailant didn’t get his film on time.
On the 23rd, we saw the enemy become very active. Perhaps the news of Uday and Qusay’s deaths ignited hatred and anger. Regardless of what sparked the evening events, the enemy would soon pay dearly.
At about 2130, our C Company reported stopping a car that had sped at a high rate of speed with 25 million dinars (about $15,000 U.S.). Being an unusual sum, the men called to ask what to do. We took my translator to the scene to decipher the situation and learned that the Iraqi males in the car had made a legitimate business transaction on the sale of some property and were afraid of being robbed, so they hurried to their house. Deducing this after verifying it with documents, we let them go and proceeded south in the city. The C Company patrol then collapsed their checkpoint and prepared to leave.
As they left the T-intersection, a crash of RPG rounds accompanied with small arms fire thundered about them. No damage was caused to our men in the Bradleys. The attackers fled to points south as quickly as they had fired. Hearing the explosions near the location we had just left, my convoy cut to the east a couple of blocks down and then headed north in complete blackout with our night vision toward where we thought the attack might have come from.
A white Nissan pickup truck fishtails around a corner. My safety instinctively flips to fire on my M-4 carbine. My driver, SPC Hoeffer, veers left to block the pickup. Weapons are visible. Four men in the truck. Looks of surprise flash from underneath all-black Arab headdress. Hoeffer rams the vehicle.
The enemy is startled by the impact. I’m on my feet charging the vehicle, shattering the windshield with rifle fire. The second vehicle in my group now rounds the corner, seeing enemy fire sail through the air, but it is unnoticed by the two of us. Hoeffer cuts down the man exiting the passenger side of the truck. The enemy driver never made it out after my opening burst.
I shift to the two men in the back. Hoeffer and I have them in an “L” with no place for them to go. Blurs of clothing, AK-47s, and earsplitting sound. I squeeze my tactical flashlight on my weapon and fire heavily into the man in the back and then at the other man as he attempts to take cover on the other side of the vehicle. Hoeffer denies him refuge with his rifle and he becomes still in a wadded-up heap by the right-rear wheel—AK-47 nearby. Our other soldiers in the trail vehicles come up to support but the enemy lay in heaps. A Fedayeen cell is destroyed.
Simultaneously, rifle fire erupts to the east along the main street of the city. A blue car and an ambulance move cautiously down the road. Two men exit the ambulance with AK-47s and get into the car. We have waited a long time for this one. Snipers engage. The blue car races as glass shards fly from its rear windshield. The ambulance driver cannot maneuver. Spider-webbed circles the size of half-dollars sequentially dot the driver’s side of the windshield.
The vehicle stops. A man struggles out of the vehicle, badly injured, and collapses on the street. Unidentified fire arcs toward the soldiers. A confused “friendly” force from a completely different unit on the main street—also a main supply route—mistakes our men for the enemy. Our men keep their heads and attempt to gain their attention, shouting that they are American forces. No avail.
Our three men remain disciplined despite the automatic grenades that impact their location. Our recon element rockets toward the location and forcefully disengages the confused element. Three Regulars are wounded but, thankfully, the wounds are shrapnel wounds to the flesh only. Two are returned to duty, another will return shortly.
Pumped with adrenaline as we search for the four men from the pickup, I take this latest development hard. Our ambushes have been extremely successful, now darkened by the careless actions of well-meaning but non-Infantry soldiers. We continue the search and find Indian currency and French cigarettes. What does it mean? Three AK-47s, two RPG launchers with rounds prepped and ready, two hand grenades, an M-79 40mm grenade launcher with six rounds, and several magazines of small arms ammunition are pulled from the truck and the dead. Armed to the teeth, the enemy clearly intended on more attempts to kill Americans.
Three points of the city are secured. The enemy’s attack is defeated at each point with heavy price exacted from him. We learned later that the four in the truck were the sons of bodyguards of Saddam Hussein or sons of his relatives.
The next day, another cell attempts a daylight attack on C Company’s compound in an open field abutting to the east. The engagement begins with sporadic rifle fire. Perhaps the enemy attempted to draw us out. He is obliged but not in the manner he expects. Bradleys in an “Overwatch” position wail on a now-ubiquitous white Nissan truck. A man struggles and flees the burning vehicle, only to be shot sideways through the lungs by a soldier’s rifle fire.
RPGs launch and crash from a northern side street. Additional C Company force is brought to bear and is engaged from the south. Small arms, 25mm chain guns, and machine guns crack and thump in swift reply. The contest ends. Another cell is destroyed with one enemy killed, two wounded, and one surrendering. Those from the harboring houses are detained. C Company is unscathed.
The damage to the enemy is manifest. His anger and carelessness continue to cost him in deficits he cannot repay. The city takes on an apprehensive calm. So continue the gurgling gasps of a dying regime. Their lifeblood now draining, it is only a matter of time. Meanwhile a new Iraq is born.
Hot!
AUGUST 24, 2003
“REGULARS, BY GOD!” “DEEDS, NOT WORDS.”
We finally won the battle to get e-mail. It took a lot of effort, but now the soldiers can at least drop a note every few days with better turnaround on news to their families. We set up three terminals for the soldiers to use in the battalion headquarters and the companies rotate on a schedule.
Beginning the 27th of July, CSM Martinez and I made the rounds to the companies to award the Combat Infantry Streamer to each Infantry Company guidon (unit flag). It is a great honor to the units and one of which they are very proud. Also during these visits, we took the opportunity to talk to the soldiers about their concerns. These ranged from the need for certain items of mission-essential equipment, to small comfort items to help them relax when they are not on patrols, to how to better communicate with their families. We have been able to improve in all of these areas. We fought to get the newer body armor vests for all of our soldiers and won, though not without exertion. Now all our soldiers are better protected.
After coming back on the 27th from Bayji (north of Tikrit) where B Company is, we had activity that quickly reminded us that we have much work to do even while feeling proud of our accomplishments. Someone placed a bomb in front of a house in central Tikrit. The blast blew open the gate and damaged the wall of the courtyard. The Iraqi family there asked our soldiers to hel
p them move to relatives that night as it was after curfew. My operations officer, MAJ Brian Luke, obliged and as the family was escorted a few blocks to the east, one of our soldiers noticed a shovel leaning against a wall.
SPC Garcia began to look at the dirt and the shovel. Within minutes, 44 antitank mines, 20 lbs. of C-4 explosives and 200 lbs. of propellant were unearthed. More digging: 9 grenades, 4 mine initiators, an AK-47, and 30 60mm mortar rounds soon followed. This same building had been cleared not a few days before.
As this developed, a burst of gunfire erupted to the south in an arc across the main highway toward the governor’s building. A Company soldiers soon enveloped an area of two warehouses. The soldiers entered the first and spotted five men, one armed with an SKS rifle. The Iraqi man immediately dropped it when he saw the Americans and our men quickly deduced that these men were just food guards.
They continued on to the next warehouse. A man stood in the shadows as the soldiers approached. SPC Morgan entered with his fire team and shouted at the man to come forward in English and Arabic. The man darted into the shed instead, and appeared a second time with an AK-47. SPC Morgan aimed his rifle at the man and killed what turned out to be the assailant that had attacked the governor’s building. An enemy and lots of deadly mines and explosives were now in our hands.
We continued to thin the ranks of those attacking our men the last week of July and we also received detailed information as to the location of an important bodyguard of Saddam Hussein. This particular man was often seen in photos with Saddam and his family. The locals also knew him as a vicious murderer.
In a lightning raid, the Recon Platoon and A Company secured three houses in residential Tikrit. We were looking specifically for three men; two were bodyguards and one an organizer for the former regime. Within forty-five minutes, we had all three men. The raid made national news and the men were extremely valuable to our efforts.