3-7 Infantry in Western Baghdad
Without control of Baghdad, the Americans literally had no chance to succeed in Iraq. The capital city was a megalopolis, with a 2005 population of 6.5 million and growing quickly. Baghdad was so large, so profoundly central to Iraq’s economy, and so central to Iraq’s vexing political situation that it was at the very center of the fighting. The city teemed with insurgent groups of all shapes, sizes, and agendas—Shiite militiamen, Sunni rejectionists, Saddamist stalwarts, foreign jihadis, organized crime, al-Qaeda butchers, and most commonly, half-interested anti-American neighborhood resistance fighters. “You’ve got Mustaafa and Muhammad who are just pissed off,” one intelligence officer said in describing the latter type of insurgent. “They’re not getting enough water. They’re standing in a line and they can’t get a job.” So they lashed out. The population density and the concrete jungle of neighborhoods comprised the perfect environment for insurgents to operate, like proverbial fish in water. Baghdad made Fallujah look like a rural hamlet. By 2005, the capital city, similar to other parts of Iraq, was plagued with daily violence. Some of it was internecine, Sunni versus Shia. Much of the violence was directed against the Americans, the Iraqi Army, and the police. IEDs, car bombs, and suicide bombings were predominant; firefights and pitched battles were comparatively rare.
COPYRIGHT © 2010 RICK BRITTON
Amid this chaos, Lieutenant Colonel Dave Funk and his 3-7 Infantry Cottonbalers assumed responsibility for the Rashid district in southwest Baghdad. This AO included the Baghdad International Airport and Route Irish, an extraordinarily dangerous, IED-infested highway that led from the airport into the heart of the city. The 3-7 was configured like the 2-7, with the same combined arms mix of infantry, armor, engineers, and support troops, many of whom functioned as dismounted infantrymen. This battalion of 800 soldiers was charged with the task of controlling a district containing about 800,000 people (and growing by the day), an area of operations that two battalions had previously covered. Rashid featured a mixture of Sunnis and Shiites. Transient groups of poor squatters were growing in size and scale. Most of them were Shiites attracted to the area by the possibility of finding menial jobs in the growing city. Funk divided Rashid into sectors and assigned each of his companies a sector to cover. Quite commonly, platoons were responsible for several blocks, containing tens of thousands of people.
As in Tikrit, the soldiers lived in an FOB and commuted to war. Later, during the surge, the Americans would learn that the only way to defeat the insurgents was to live (and sometimes die) among the people by spreading out into combat outposts throughout Baghdad’s many neighborhoods. This wise but painful approach dramatically diminished the influence and potency of insurgent groups. But, at this point in 2005, the United States was still fighting its ineffective FOB-centric war. Most of the 3-7 Cottonbalers lived in FOB Falcon, a sprawling, dusty, walled base with tents, barracks, a motor pool, an excellent dining facility, and the usual amenities. “There is plenty . . . the soldiers can do to relax their minds and bodies,” Lieutenant Reeon Brown, an infantry platoon leader, wrote in a letter. “The gym here is as big as a warehouse. It is opened 24 hrs a day as well as numerous Internet cafes, where soldiers can e-mail loved ones. Every soldier stays in a two man room with ac [air-conditioning].” They also had satellite television and sufficient opportunities to watch movies or play video games.
Sallying forth from their remote base, these very few would have to decisively influence the very many, a daunting job indeed. The 3-7’s herculean task was merely a symptom of what was going on in Iraq as a whole—the Americans had nowhere near enough ground troops, especially infantrymen, to pacify the country and achieve their ambitious objective of transforming Iraq into a peaceful democracy. This difficult situation was a direct consequence of overreliance on air and sea power, at the expense of ground power, a mistake American policymakers had been making time and again since the start of World War II.
The previous outfit in Rashid was a cavalry battalion with plenty of vehicles but very few infantrymen. As a result they rarely ever got on the ground to speak with people. They would drive from place to place, at high rates of speed to avoid IEDs, always careful to stay away from areas they thought of as too dangerous. “Their method [of] relationships with the community was to wave to ’em from the vehicles,” one Cottonbaler infantry platoon leader related. As a cavalry unit miscast into an infantry role, this was all they were equipped to do. Moreover, they had bought into the notion so common among Americans in Iraq that personal safety necessitated the protection of armored vehicles or an FOB. In their view, getting on the ground was way too dangerous.
The Cottonbalers were not comfortable with this. Regardless of the initial dangers they might face, they believed in getting to know the locals and establishing a strong on-the-ground presence in every area. “We thought the decisive terrain was the people,” Funk said. The colonel was a six-foot-five giant of a man with a sizable personal presence and a wry sense of humor. He knew that, in southwest Baghdad, personal relationships would help his people accomplish their mission like nothing else could. “We have to develop a level of trust in the people and they in us and we have to develop in them the confidence that we are there to do good for them. So the notion of speeding around at Mach Seven, gun ablazing . . . wasn’t getting the results . . . that we all thought we needed.”
Thus, the 3-7 soldiers spent many hours on the ground, patrolling the streets. They had a bit more time off than their counterparts in 2-7, but the pace of operations was still similarly hectic. On average, a grunt enjoyed a day and a half off per week. Often, on dismounted patrols, they were protected by up-armored Humvees with .50-caliber machine guns or M240 machine guns mounted in their turrets, or Bradleys or even the occasional tank. Most of the time the patrols had a defined purpose, such as visiting a certain person, checking out a certain neighborhood, or apprehending a wanted insurgent, rather than just riding around waiting to get attacked.
Ever vigilant, the infantry soldiers circulated up and down the crowded commercial streets and among the diverse blend of neighborhoods. Every earth-toned house, large or small, seemed to have a satellite dish perched atop its roof. Many of the men marveled at this weird blend of space-age technology with old-world poverty. “They introduced themselves to local power-brokers and imams [religious leaders], visited schools, police stations, and mosques, and went door to door introducing themselves and passing out contact information,” Alpha Company’s unit history declared. “There were some very wealthy neighborhoods as well as some brutally poor ones. Where former regime officials lived the infrastructure was relatively good, whereas in other areas sewage clogged the streets and created small lakes.” The sewage created the powerful stench of human waste, dust, and rotting garbage that soldiers grew to associate with Iraq. Experiencing the smell was like standing in a landfill, next to a sewage treatment plant, on a hot day. It was nauseating but the soldiers grew used to it. “You noticed where the corruption really was,” Specialist Javier Herrera, a machine gunner from Miami, Florida, recalled. “Some neighborhoods looked pristine. Others . . . looked like everybody from this [nice] neighborhood just picked the trash up and put it in their neighborhood.” He and the other soldiers were especially amazed at the resourcefulness and abject poverty of the squatters. They would collect aluminum cans, pack them with mud, and build small houses with them. “Then they would tarp . . . a blanket or something . . . and make a roof. It rarely ever rained during the summertime so they were good to go.”8
After many months without much of an American presence, quite a few of the Iraqis were shocked when the soldiers began to mingle with them. “They looked at us like we’d just come out of a space ship,” Lieutenant Kevin Norton, a platoon leader in Bravo Company, quipped. “To actually walk up to a café . . . dismounted, on the street, in a security posture . . . but walking down the street . . . where you can get close to people and wave to ’em, say hi to ’em . .
. to them was unbelievably shocking.” Some people were so excited to see the Americans that they hugged them and gave them flowers. To them, the Americans represented a new way to solve local problems and enhance security. Others were more reticent or suspicious. Few, if any, were overtly hostile. One street might be full of friendly residents. The next block might be empty or packed with sullen people. “Daily patrols would visit homes and talk to families about . . . what the Iraqi government was doing for them and improvements in the ISF,” Alpha Company’s history said. “Each patrol leader had his own business card that he would pass out with contact information.”
They also gave out their cell phone numbers and flyers that described all the work the Americans were doing to improve living conditions. Through interpreters and an assortment of halting Arabic and English, they conversed with scores of people on nearly every patrol. As time went on, the soldiers’ understanding of Arabic increased and, of course, many of the people knew some English. Children tended to have the best linguistic skills. They would often translate in exchange for chocolate. “Everyone out there is a potential informant or a potential insurgent,” Captain Ike Sallee, the commander of Alpha Company, asserted. “If you really want to get this place secure, you’ve got to change perceptions. You’ve really got to focus on changing people’s minds.”
The Cottonbalers understood the vital importance of human intelligence. In essence, they were soldiers doing a policeman’s job. Only by cultivating local informants, building trust and rapport with the people in their respective neighborhoods, and gathering good information from them could they foil the insurgents. Only ground troops could do this very personal job. The 3-7 Infantry basically had to start from scratch in this regard. “Beyond overall demographics of the area and figures [power brokers] at key locations, we really had nothing,” Lieutenant Ben Follansbee, an infantry platoon leader in Alpha Company, explained. Lieutenant Colonel Funk was shocked to learn from his predecessor that almost 90 percent of that unit’s intelligence information was coming from higher headquarters rather than from everyday soldiers on the ground. “Well, geez, I think that’s backwards,” he thought.
He was absolutely right. It is an incontrovertible fact that, in combat, the best intelligence information comes from on-the-ground sources—human contact. The higher up the chain, the more distant intelligence analysts tend to be from their subject, and the more reliant they tend to be on such technological sources as satellite photos or audio intercepts rather than bona fide human contacts. Human informants can sometimes be of questionable reliability but, in a counterinsurgency war, they are vital. After all, in such a war, knowledge is practically everything: Who is an insurgent, what motivates them, when and where will they strike, what is an acceptable counterinsurgency approach within the constraints of the local culture? All of these are central questions. “As the S2 [battalion intelligence officer],” Captain Steve Capehart said, “when we . . . got on the ground and gathered information and built a rapport, it made my job a hell of a lot easier.” Truly, counterinsurgency is an intelligence officer’s game. Indeed, as the Iraq War unfolded, infantry companies began using their artillery forward observation teams as company intelligence specialists. “Nothing beats having your own informal network down at your level that helps you develop something,” Funk said.
Over time, through sheer repetition and endless human contact, the soldiers of 3-7 developed these sorts of relationships with Iraqis, Shiite and Sunni. “You were a detective,” one small-unit leader said. “You’d go out there and you were questioning, on the ground. You’re an ambassador. You’re going out trying to fix what’s broken, trying to help the people, win their affection, see if you can get ’em on your side. At the same time, though, you’re also a combat patrol leader.” This meant that they always were on the lookout for any threat, especially suicide bombers. They also made sure to maintain good discipline—soldiers covering corners, covering each other’s movements and the like—to project an aggressive posture. This deterred many of the insurgents, who were more inclined to attack soft targets.
As mutual trust accrued, the locals began passing along good information. Over 90 percent of the battalion’s intelligence data eventually came from such sources. As the Americans got better information, it minimized one major by-product of poor intelligence: the disruption, and popular resentment, caused by raids on the wrong houses, or the incarceration of innocent people. “I would say that maybe half of the IEDs we found was because a local . . . would say ‘Ali Baba’ and actually point out where it was,” Lieutenant James Cantrell, a platoon leader in Delta Company, said. One friendly local kid, whom the soldiers called Johnny, regularly pointed out the location of IEDs. “Every [weapons] cache we found was from somebody calling in the information,” Lieutenant Follansbee said. Before long, tips began pouring in by phone and personal contact. The majority of the time, the information was correct. One of Follansbee’s squad leaders, Staff Sergeant Michael Muci, found that acting with restraint, even on raids, counted for a lot with the Iraqis. “We knocked on the door. We didn’t go crashing in. That saved a lot of hassle. You’re a foreigner and you come into these people’s house because someone said something . . . so our platoon always knocked. The people liked that. We gave ’em courtesy” and respect. They also made sure to give any women in the house plenty of privacy. As a result, the platoon’s area was usually very quiet.
Like their regimental brothers in Tikrit, the Cottonbalers of 3-7 also worked closely with the Iraqi Army and the local police. In a way, the Americans felt sorry for them because they were in so much danger from insurgent reprisals. “It took a lot of guts for them to be in the military,” Sergeant Jason Wayment said. “They would stay in their compound for three or four days and then go home for two days. If anybody saw ’em leaving the place, going to their house, then they’d get killed.” Wayment personally knew of several soldiers whom insurgents killed while they were on leave. Specialist Herrera knew one NCO who was so concerned for his safety and that of his family that he did not go home for six months.
The army compounds and the police stations were sometimes attacked by insurgents. By and large, the ISF men were brave, but not very skilled or savvy. “They’re not very disciplined people,” Specialist Joshua Macias, a mortar platoon soldier who often worked with the Iraqi soldiers, opined. “You’d try and tell ’em something and they’d go off and do something else.” They did not pull guard duty and maintain security the way the Americans knew they must. The grunts had to be careful about correcting them, especially in front of their peers, because this would cause them to lose face. It was also shameful for them to admit that they did not know something. In response to questions, they would often shrug and say “Insha’Allah,” a fatalistic phrase that means “God willing.” The expression was a source of great frustration for the proactive, blunt-speaking Americans. “If you ask an Iraqi if he’s gonna do something, if he says yes, it might get done,” Lieutenant Colonel Funk commented drily. “If he says no, obviously, it won’t get done. If he says Insha’Allah that means it ain’t gonna get done. It’s the universal Arabic way to say if God wills it, it will get done but don’t count on me, buddy.”
Soldiers and Ministry of the Interior (MOI) commandos often participated in American raids and patrols. The police maintained traffic control points (TCPs). By and large, the quality of all these security people got better as the months wore on, but they were still not all that good or as reliable as they needed to be. Most of the Americans did not completely trust them. More important, many of the locals did not like or trust them. Often, the Americans found themselves trying to persuade residents to change their negative perceptions of the ISF and their own government. Still, in a larger sense, they were an asset because, as Lieutenant Colonel Funk pointed out, “[they] don’t have to be as good as us. They just have to be better than the insurgents they’re fighting.” In southwest Baghdad, by the fall of 2005, they were significantly better than most o
f the guerrillas.9
In spite of 3-7’s wise approach to counterinsurgency in Rashid, there was no way a battalion of eight hundred soldiers could hope to truly control such a densely populated area. The danger of IEDs and suicide bombers was always profound. For the troops, this urban environment was stressful and unforgiving. The 3-7 Infantry spent many months intensively patrolling Route Irish, a stretch of road that had gotten out of control over the course of the previous year (reporters routinely referred to it as the most dangerous road on Earth). The highway bristled with IEDs of all varieties. The most common were drop-and-go types. Insurgents would cut a hole in a van, slow down a bit, and simply drop the IED on or alongside the road. Others were hidden in trash or buried in curbs or in the grassy median between the eastbound and westbound lanes. The Cottonbalers found and detonated countless IEDs on Route Irish. They also outlived all too many explosions. “We were on Route Irish a lot,” Lieutenant Cantrell said. “We realized that you can survive IEDs.” The soldiers weathered many near misses. “We saw a flash,” one Alpha Company soldier remembered about an IED that exploded near his Humvee one night. “The IED went off . . . about four or five feet in front of our vehicle. Thank God . . . I stopped in the middle of the road and it blew up about four or five feet in front of us.”
Eventually, new technology and new tactics took Route Irish away from the insurgents. The Americans began to equip most of their Humvees with the Warlock system, a piece of equipment capable of jamming the signals of cell phones and garage door openers that the terrorists used to detonate IEDs. Even more than Warlock, though, new tactics secured Route Irish. Not only did they saturate the road with patrols night and day, but they began to restrict access to the road. Engineers built concrete barriers and wire screens to prevent pedestrians from walking along the road. Then the Iraqi Army maintained checkpoints at every possible vehicular access route. To top it all off,
Grunts: Inside the American Infantry Combat Experience, World War II Through Iraq Page 54