16-17 January 2008 (ON PATROL)

MISSION: 1st Platoon executes nighttime dismounted patrol vicinity village of 14th Ramadan, in order to assess CLC posture and readiness as well as village conditions during hours of darkness.

After grabbing a bit of dinner at the Camp Taji chow hall, we all headed back to our living area to get our gear on and make final preparations for a night patrol through 14th Ramadan.

In the room, I told Leo that I had been thinking about this patrol, and I had a weird feeling about it. “I don’t think we’re gonna get blown up or anything, but I’ve got a feeling that something is going to happen,” I told him.

As we tossed the essentials into our assault packs and double checked our gear, I attached an infrared (IR) strobe light to my vest, and threw extra batteries, chem lights, and even a VS-17 signal panel into my bag. I pulled apart my M4 and my 9mm pistol and wiped the moving parts down with a light coat of oil before reassembling everything.

Leo peaked around the corner of his locker in our room with an eyebrow raised. “You really are worried about this patrol, huh?” he said.

“Yeah, man. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve had this fucked up feeling all day,” I replied.

I lifted my body armor and slid my head through the hole at the top, then wrapped the side panels around my abdomen, securing the Velcro strips that hold it all together. Bouncing up and down a couple of times, I shrugged my shoulders and pulled at the collar, adjusting to the wait and making everything as comfortable as possible. I threw my assault pack over one shoulder, grabbed my helmet and rifle, and headed out the door.

As I walked toward our vehicle staging area, I knocked on my soldiers’ doors. “2nd Squad! Time to go, fuckers,” I shouted.

2 Vic was back from the mechanics, and I was happy to be rolling out in my own truck again. I walked up the ramp, ducking my head as I stepped into the passenger area. Moving to the middle of the truck, next to the gunner’s seat, I dropped my gear in front of my seat, and plugged my headset into the comm’s box. Spc. Crapenter and Sgt. Taaga were busy making last minute checks.

“Hey, T. What else do you guys need before we go?”

“Hey Sgt. Taylor, we’re all set,” he replied.

I liked having Sgt. Taaga as my vehicle commander. He was responsible, hardworking, and I always knew that I could count on him.

My squad arrived moments later, and we did our final checks and inspections. Sgt. Bridges and Sgt. Fraleigh went around to their soldiers, making sure each man had the equipment he was supposed to have; ammunition, water, dog tags, ID card, batteries, night vision, weapons, etc.

Ready To Roll #2

2nd Squad NCOs: (L to R) Me, Sgt. Bridges, and Sgt. Fraleigh getting ready to roll.

It was about 7:30 P.M. when we finished our patrol brief, and got everyone loaded up.

After doing our usual comm’s checks on the platoon and company frequencies, we got word to roll out.

On our way to the gate, Lt. Schardt got a call from battalion headquarters asking us to return to the TOC, so we found a place to turn around and headed in that direction. When we turned around, our vehicle shuddered a little, and started making some unusual noises, so I called Lt. Schardt and told him something wasn’t right with our truck still. He told me to stop by the motor pool and see if a mechanic was available to take a look at it.

The platoon headed toward our battalion TOC, while we made a quick stop to get it checked out. Luckily, there were still a couple of General Dynamics guys there working, and they came out and took a look. They told us to go ahead and roll, but they suggested that we get it back into the shop as soon as possible.

We left the motor pool and caught up with the rest of the platoon just in time for an intelligence briefing. We were told that battalion had received intel about a possible ambush aimed at a supply convoy that was currently underway on MSR Tampa. In response, a drone had been launched, and its operator had spotted a group of armed individuals in a palm grove on the east side of the highway. The drone was still on station, and the operator estimated that there were 12 to 15 of them gathered there.

The briefing continued, “Elements of Charlie company are currently operating in the area. They have one patrol southwest of Mshahdh and another to the east toward Tarymiyah.”

If intelligence was correct, our planned patrol to 14th Ramadan would have had us pass through the insurgents’ kill zone ahead of the supply convoy. An infantry platoon is a somewhat harder target than a logistics convoy full of quartermaster soldiers and truck drivers.

Lieutenant Colonel Boccardi, the battalion commander, changed our plans. He directed us to roll out and clear along the east side of MSR Tampa where the gathering had been spotted. They wanted us to find the ambush before the ambush found a convoy of coalition forces. 2nd platoon would roll with us, and clear the west side of the highway as well.

Initially, we were told that we would be dismounted, walking through the palm groves looking for the group of insurgents, but that changed before we even got outside of the wire. Someone at HQ had decided that we should remain in our vehicles when we reached the ambush site. We were supposed to drive slowly up the northbound lanes of MSR Tampa, while 2nd platoon stayed a couple hundred meters behind us driving in the southbound lanes. In addition to our plans changing, we were informed that the gathering had grown from about 15 to nearly 30 people, and that they had started walking to the south after spotting the UAV circling above them.

We are going to roll right into a complex ambush, I thought. As we rolled out, I was just imagining that there would be IEDs on Tampa, and small arms fire and RPGs immediately following the detonation. 2nd platoon is going fishing, I told myself, and we are their bait.

We headed north on Tampa, passed through Mshahdh, and approached the target area. The temperature had dropped to just below freezing, which made standing in the top hatch of a Stryker almost unbearable. My face was red and aching, and the wind was just cutting through my uniform, chilling me to the bone. and the wind was cutting right through my uniform. We all had plenty of cold weather clothing (snivel gear), but we couldn’t really wear it when we were out on patrol. If we made some sort of contact and had to be out on the ground moving, we would easily overheat if we were wearing extra layers of clothing. As a result, we just dealt with the cold.

We reached the area where the insurgents had been spotted, and Lt. Schardt had Spc. Eichler slow down to almost a crawl. The rest of our drivers followed suit, and we crept through the area, scanning the roadway for IEDs and watching for movement off to the sides. We didn’t see a thing, so Lt. Schardt reported back to the company that there was no enemy activity in the area.

We halted and waited for further instructions. Cpt. Veath finally gave us the go ahead to proceed with our originally planned patrol to 14th Ramadan. My soldiers were clearly disappointed. They had been pumped up thinking we were going out hunting for a platoon-sized group of insurgents, and it was a real let down when we didn’t find anything. All of that excitement had been for nothing.

Our patrol through Ramadan was quiet. After we walked the loop around the village and checked in with the CLCs, we loaded up to return to Taji.

We headed west toward MSR Tampa, and I checked my watch. We were running a little later than we had initially planned, but it looked like we would be back in on Taji around midnight, and that wasn’t bad at all considering all of the stuff that had come up.

The ride back to Taji was cold and quiet. For the most part, we were alone on the highway. There really wasn’t any radio traffic to speak of either, and the guys had all come down off of their adrenaline rushes from earlier. Most of them were dozing in the back of the Stryker. We had rigged some wiring to connect an iPod to our vehicle’s communication system, so those of us wearing headsets or vehicle crew helmets were listening to music on the way back. After all of the excitement, I think everyone was looking forward to getting back and calling it a night.

The main gate at Camp Taji had just come into view when Lt. Schardt announced over the radio that we had another change of mission. “Battalion wants us to proceed north to the IA checkpoint near 14th Ramadan and link up with a platoon from Charlie Company. How copy? Over.”

They say that soldiers aren’t happy if they aren’t bitching. I can assure you that we had a happy platoon that night. We were all cold and tired, and we were all pissed that we were being called all over the place for nothing.

We made a u-turn right in front of the gate and headed back to the north. We pulled off to the side of the road just south of the checkpoint and waited for the platoon from Charlie. When they arrived, Lt. Schardt went and met with their platoon leader to find otu what exactly was going on.

The latest intel’ said that the group of insurgents that our UAV had spotted earlier, had entered a house on the west side of MSR Tampa. This platoon from C Co. was going to surround the house and call the inhabitants out. It was going to be a sort of knock and search. They needed us to set up blocking positions to the south and west, to make sure that no one tried to escape from the house as the men from our sister company approached. Our job was to capture or kill anyone who fled from the home.

It was after 1 A.M. when the platoon from C Co. was in position and ready to execute their mission. We dismounted on the highway and walked west through some tall grass and open fields to the south of our target. We ran into another house and a canal, and then turned north toward Charlie’s target, and found a spot with a good view of the house and the surrounding fields. It was a shitty location, because we were back-lit, and there was absolutely no cover or concealment. Thankfully, our Stryker crews, still parked on Tampa, could see us and were able to offer of some rear security so we could focus most of our attention on the target.

16 Jan Blocking Position

A rough sketch of our blocking position. We did have some eyes to the south and west, in addition to our Strykers watching us from the highway.

We were tired, and the night was growing colder. Still, we all hoped for some action.

Soon after we set into our blocking positions we saw lights moving around the target house, and it looked like someone was searching for something. We called up what we saw, so that it could be passed on to the Charlie Company guys. It turns out that it was the Charlie Company guys. They had gotten two of their Strykers buried in the mud, and they were trying to get themselves out so they could finish setting in around the house.

I heard the call to Lt. Schardt come across the radio, “Bushmaster Red 6, Dragon 6 says to hold your position until dawn. Over.”

Fuck! I thought. We are going to sit here and freeze our asses off. Half of our platoon is sleeping in their Strykers with the heat on, and we are stuck out here without any snivel gear.

“Roger that,” Lt. Schardt replied.

He walked over to give me an update, but before he could even say anything, I started bitching, “I know, Sir. I heard the call. What the fuck are these guys supposed to do out here in the cold? None of these guys have cold weather gear out here, and the B.C. is sipping coffee and watching this shit on a big screen in a heated TOC. What the hell is Charlie doing up there, anyway?”

He called SFC AB and told him that we may need to figure out a way to rotate soldiers, or at least get our assault packs brought out from the trucks.

I briefed my team leaders on the situation and told them to be sure they are checking on their guys. Sgt. Bridges and I walked around talking to the men and making sure they were okay. We also made some minor adjustments to our security perimeter since we were now planning to stay put for longer than we had initially anticipated. PFC Colleran was already hurting from the cold. He was tall and skinny; not really ideal the ideal body type for being in the cold without extra layers.

Colleran as RTO in Abayachi

PFC Colleran in Abayachi later in the deployment.

Sgt. Bridges sat down with him, and I walked over to talk with some of the other guys in Sgt. Fraleigh’s team.

When I came back around, Sgt. Bridges and Colleran were still talking about how cold it was. Colleran kept repeating, “this sucks. It really sucks. This sucks so bad.”

I sat down with them, because I was a little concerned he was going to freak out while we were sitting out there.

Dogs had been barking around us since we first moved out into that area, and just as I sat down, one ran by really close to us. We joked about skinning it so we could have something to keep warm with. Then we decided we would be better off if we could catch it, tie its legs, and tape its mouth, so that we could take turns cuddling with it for warmth. We joked too, about how we might react in the morning if we found a cobra snuggled up to us, using our body heat to stay warm. We sat there quietly talking and telling jokes, trying to keep Colleran’s mind off of the situation.

Colleran finally said, “I wish someone would just shoot me.”

Sgt. Bridges replied, “I just wish we could get some mortars coming in. We could run around and get warmed up.”

Sgt. Bridges and I could not stop laughing at Colleran’s discomfort. He couldn’t figure out why we thought the situation was so funny, so we explained to him that he just doesn’t have as much experience in the suck as we do.

“One day, Colleran, you’ll be used to the suck. When things get really bad, you’ll just laugh at it,” I told him.

“Embrace the suck,” Bridges told him. “I’m glad I can be here to share your first sucking experience.”

I chimed in, “Hey, at least we’ll be up in time for breakfast.”

“At dawn, they’ll probably tell us we have to stay until noon,” Colleran moped.

Bridges replied sarcastically, “Holy shit! Have you done this before?”

It was around 2 A.M. when Charlie Company finally approached the target house. They hit the front of the house with lights and called on a loud speaker for the occupants to come out. The family that lived there came out, and they were willing to cooperate.

It was bad intel’. There weren’t 30 people there. It was just a family. Soldiers searched the entire home and found nothing.

Once the search was complete, we were told we could return to Camp Taji. We started walking back toward our Strykers a little after 4 A.M. We were freezing and feeling pretty drained.

We arrived at Camp Taji a little after 4:30 A.M., and we headed to the fuel point. After our vehicle crews topped off on fuel, we linked up with a heavy wrecker, and headed back out onto Tampa. We had to escort the wrecker up to the C Co. Strykers that were stuck in the mud near the target house.

When we arrived, they had already managed to pull the Strykers out of the mud, but we sat nearby until they had all of their vehicles back on the hard pavement on MSR Tampa. Once all of their vehicles were on the blacktop, we headed south again, toward Camp Taji.

It was a little after 6 A.M. when we arrived back at Camp Taji. We finished up some after patrol business and went to bed.

 

More later.

A February Raid in the War on Terror

Featured image

This story began on Facebook. It was published in Proud to Be: Writing By American Warriors, Volume 3. I rushed to finish it before the submission deadline, and I wasn’t totally satisfied with it. Maybe I’ll turn it into something bigger later on.


It was 1AM. Sleep this night had been elusive at best, coming in short segments between bumps and swerves that jostled us around in the cramped troop compartment of our twenty-ton tin can as we made our way toward the drop off point for our mission. Boys in camouflage body armor, packed like sardines leaned against one another. They moved and shifted, desperately searching for some small semblance of comfort while trying to keep their legs and asses from going to sleep. A rifle magazine jammed into the inside of a thigh here, a hand grenade pinched a hip there. In the dim glow of my squad leader commo screen, their heavy eyelids slowly closed behind the lenses of their ballistic glasses. Heads bobbed up and down like pistons as the young warriors drifted off to sleep and awakened, startled, before their eyes drooped again. Gravity was especially cruel, pulling hard on the nearly 5 pounds of each advanced combat helmet adorned with tactical lights, d-rings, para-cord, camo bands, photos of wives and babies, and night vision goggles, commonly referred to as nods.

Each of us fought a stiff neck, a sore ass, and tingling legs and feet when my gunner, Sergeant Taaga, opened the ramp. It was early February, and cold night air surrounded us as we stumbled out, rifles at the ready and adrenaline just starting to pump through our veins. We would have to worry about being tired and having aches and pains later, much later, when we are old and in our thirties. We had a mission to do.

The cold, winter night concealed our movement through a frosty grove of date palms. Our armored Stryker vehicle had deposited us along Iraq’s Highway 1, at a spot some 30 miles north of Baghdad, leaving the last few klicks between us and our objective to be covered quietly on foot. The spikey trunks of date palms stood in uniform rows that disappeared into the glowing green darkness ahead. Dead and dying fronds hung low and out of place, making strange silhouettes in our night vision. Others reached up at us from their final resting places on the ground, their dry and hardened points like finely sharpened claws grabbing at our pant legs, at times puncturing fabric and flesh. Some found our faces, slicing and stinging our cold red cheeks. Decaying palm leaves, underbrush, and knee-deep ditches paralleling each row threatened at every step to give us away as we crept toward our target.

First squad was on point, walking in wide fire team wedges, with Lloyd, their squad leader, directing from the middle. The infrared strobe light in his right shoulder pocket flashed every couple of seconds, invisible to the naked eye, but clear as day in my night vision. It lit up the palms around him, and left eerie snapshot profiles of the soldiers walking between us. I hoped they were on their game, as Lloyd’s squad would be my overwatch when we reached our objective.

My alpha team walked between me and Lloyd’s soldiers. Sergeant Fraleigh, who we often called Frolo, was at the front of his fire team wedge. Fraleigh was the best kind of guy to have as a team leader. He was a young sergeant, but he was big, loud, aggressive, and fearless. I watched him win our division’s boxing championship long before he became one of my team leaders. He was the type of NCO who struck fear into the hearts of privates and Iraqis alike. No one wanted to be on his bad side.

As we walked, I spun around to check the spacing of my bravo fire team. My other team leader, Sergeant Jimmy Bridges was walking at the apex of his team’s wedge. They were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing. I was proud of my boys tonight. Their spacing was perfect, and despite all of the obstacles, we were moving silently through the palms toward our objective. It all looked like a scene from a war movie, or even a trailer for some new video game. Heavily armed soldiers moving through the darkness like silent ghosts. To the naked eye, the only evidence of their existence was the dim green glow that the night vision goggles left on their faces. All that was missing was a soundtrack by CCR and the thumping of helicopter rotor blades.

I turned back around and smiled at no one in the darkness. This was my favorite kind of mission. “Bravo Company, 1st Platoon, the “Maggots” conducts a raid against target house, vicinity Iraqi Army checkpoint, in order to kill or capture enemy sniper.” My boys, second squad, would be the assaulting element, while first and third squads were to provide support and security.

I couldn’t remember a time when we had walked more quietly in the dark, and I was anxious to hit this house. Just days earlier our platoon had been returning to Camp Taji after a twelve-hour patrol, when we were directed by our battalion headquarters to support our sister company, Charlie, as they searched this very home. We had hoped to make it back in time for a midnight meal at one of the Camp Taji chow halls. Instead, we set up hasty blocking positions to prevent anyone from fleeing as soldiers from Charlie Company entered and searched the house. No one had tried to run away. We sat in an empty field watching lights come on in the windows of the house, and listening to the radio communication as the mission progressed. The occupants were cooperative, and there were no weapons or contraband found.

After several hours of waiting in the cold, we received instructions to hold our positions until daybreak, so that Charlie Company soldiers could search again during daylight hours. The temperatures had dropped below the freezing mark, and we sat there shivering, while frost formed around us. Finally, just before dawn, we were given permission to return to base. Charlie Company had found nothing in the home.

Now it was our turn to search this place. As we continued moving, I could make out the outline of a building through the palm trees. Lloyd, the first squad leader, whispered over the radio that he had the target house in sight. It was a pretty typical Iraqi home for this area. It was two stories with metal doors, a flat roof, and a sort of stucco exterior. There was a garage, a couple small outbuildings made of mud bricks, and a small fenced area with goats and sheep. It was quiet and dark as we approached.

We halted, and waited for Lloyd to set up his over watch position.  As he set his men in place, I whispered radio checks with Sergeant Taaga; Sergeant First Class Arambula, our platoon sergeant, who had the medic; and Leo, the third squad leader. I had clear comms with everyone but Leo.

Where the hell was our reserve squad?

I walked over and knelt next to my Lieutenant. “Hey sir, I can’t get Maggot 3 on the radio.  Where the hell are they? I don’t even see his strobe flashing behind us.”

While Lieutenant Schardt, our platoon leader, tried to raise third squad on the radio, I heard brush breaking to our right. I turned around to see what or who might be moving, and the noise grew louder.

Then Leo called out, “Hey, first platoon, where the fuck are you?”

So much for noise discipline, I thought.

“My fucking radio isn’t working,” he continued, almost shouting.

By this point, we had practically announced our arrival. His squad continued tromping toward us, seemingly stepping on and breaking every stick and branch in the palm grove.

I quickly walked over and whispered through clenched teeth, “Hey, shut the fuck up. What the hell is wrong with you guys?”

Leo approached and started complaining that he had been trying to get us on the radio, and that we had just left his squad alone out on the highway. He went on and on about how he had somehow ended up on the east side of the road, opposite our objective, where he ran into another platoon’s blocking position while trying to figure out our location.

Finally, we got ourselves organized, and Lloyd and Leo finished getting their squads settled into over watch and security positions. Amazingly enough, there was no sign that we had disturbed the occupants of our target house. It appeared that we still had the element of surprise working in our favor, but this whole cluster set the tone for how the assault phase of this mission would go.

I signaled for my alpha team to move forward to the house. They spread out, crouching low as they ran quietly across the clearing to the front door of the house. I followed closely behind, and as we reached the corner of the front wall the men automatically lined up in a stack. Most infantry fire teams have a breach man. In this team, it made sense for Frolo to be the door kicker. We had never encountered a door that he couldn’t get through.

Sergeant Fraleigh stood in front of the door and looked at me through his night vision. I gave him a quick nod, and he took a step back with his left foot, and then slammed the heel of his boot into the door next to the latch. It gave way, but the door didn’t fly open like they usually did. He kicked again. Then a third time, and the plastic mount on his night vision goggles broke. They were hanging from the para cord attached to the camo band on his helmet.

Frolo turned to me and said, “Sergeant T., my nods are down!”

“No shit! What the fuck to do you want me to do about it? Take care of it once we get inside.”

He reached up and held onto the nods while he kicked the door again. It sounded as if someone were hitting the door with a sledge hammer. It was bending in the middle, and each strike left a new dent, but it simply would not open more than a couple of inches. A light came on inside. Through a window at the top of the door, we could see a large wooden cabinet that was preventing it from opening. An outside light came on, and we no longer needed our night vision. We had also lost the benefit of surprise.

I paused for a second to figure out my next move, and a woman pulled back a window curtain and waved at us frantically. With our rifles pointed at her she motioned to the side of the house. About that time, a small boy, maybe ten or eleven years old, came walking out from around a corner and gestured for us to follow him. A man in his early forties met us at the side door and invited us in. In the main room, where Fraleigh had been kicking the door, we found a China cabinet that stood seven or eight feet high, and ran the length of the room. It was full of all sorts of stuff; silver platters, little trinkets, and lots of newly broken dishes.

I called for Sergeant Bridges to bring up his team and help secure the first floor of the home. There was an elderly man, a younger woman, and four children ranging in age from toddler to about ten or eleven. They were cooperative but not very happy with us. The old man kept shouting at us. Our interpreter said that he wanted us to know that he was not a terrorist. He wanted to know why we were searching his home again.

We secured the first floor, and separated the men from the women and children. With the help of an interpreter, I asked about any weapons in the home. The younger of the two men explained that there were two AK 47 rifles in the house, and pointed to where I could find them. He said that they worked with the Sons of Iraq, and that they were allowed to have the rifles and the ammo pouches. I checked their ID cards, and they were indeed on our payroll as checkpoint security guards in that area.

Raid 3

That figures, I thought.

“Tell them that we are still going to search their house for weapons and contraband.”

Our interpreter relayed the message, and told me that they understood.

“Maggot Six, this is Maggot Two. Over.”

“Go ahead, Maggot Two.”

“Six, first floor is secure. Moving to second floor now. Over.”

“Roger that.”

Lieutenant Schardt entered the house with one of Leo’s fire teams, and asked which rooms the occupants were in. I pointed to the room where the men were being held, and started up the stairs with Sergeant Fraleigh and his fire team.

At the top of the stairs, there was a landing and four doors. The door to our right was metal and had a window much like the door downstairs. It was access to the roof of the home. One open door revealed a room that was mostly empty expect for a few large bags of dates, presumably from the palm groves that we had just walked through. The second room was used for storage. It was piled full of all sorts of junk. I could see burlap sacks, car parts, pots and pans, broken chairs, and all kinds of other things. The door to the third room was closed.

Sergeant Fraleigh gently checked the door handle and signaled that it was locked. I nodded to him, and he kicked it. Unlike the plain metal door downstairs this door was very ornately carved wood with a brass door handle. The handle and latch mechanism fell to the floor as wood splintered around it. The door was destroyed, and the latching side of the door frame came out of the wall as well. We thought we were ready for anything as we entered and cleared rooms, but we were not prepared for what happened next.

We rushed into the room, and a man rolled out of a large bed onto the floor in front of us. A woman rolled out of the other side of the bed, taking the sheets along with her. She was screaming as she pulled the sheets up to her neck in an effort to cover herself. The man, probably in his mid-thirties, was startled and confused. He got up from the floor quickly, his eyes wide with fear and surprise. He had one hand over his head, and was attempting to pull his pants up with the other. When he realized that our weapons all pointed at him, he dropped his pants and raised his other hand. He still stood there awkwardly bent at the waist, as if he really wanted to pull his pants up, but he wasn’t sure he could do it without getting shot.

A quick glance around the room confirmed what we had busted in on. His pants were around his ankles. His naked wife was curled up in a corner of the room holding a sheet up to her neck. There was a red light bulb glowing in a wall fixture above the bed’s headboard, and there was a box of peach scented douche sitting on one of the nightstands. I looked at her and then back at him, and I started laughing.

Sergeant Fraleigh laughed too and said, “That sucks dude! We had no idea you were gettin’ some ass in here.”

The man gave an uneasy smile. He didn’t understand English, but he knew we were laughing at him.

I looked at the interpreter. “Tell him to pull his fuckin’ pants up. I don’t want to see that shit. Tell her to get dressed too.”

Once the woman was dressed, she was escorted downstairs to the room with the other woman and the children. I kept lover boy in the room so that I could ask him some questions.

“Ask him if there are any weapons in the house.”

“He says that there are two AKs downstairs, and that those are the only weapons they have.”

“Has he heard any gunshots in this area recently?”

“He says no.”

“Ask him if he knows anything about a sniper firing on the Iraqi Army checkpoint out on the highway? I’m sure he can see the checkpoint from the roof of his house.”

“He says he doesn’t know anything about it.”

“He’s a fucking liar.”

I took him downstairs and handed him off to some of the 3rd squad soldiers who were now in the house. I walked over to where Lieutenant Schardt was standing and gave him a sit rep. “The house is secure. We have two women and four children in that room. Three military-age males in this room. I’m going to start searching the place upstairs first.”

“Sounds good Sergeant T. Let me know what you find.”

I walked back upstairs where Jimmy and Frolo already had their teams starting to search the rooms. I looked around as well, watching what the soldiers were doing, and rifling through drawers and closets that hadn’t been checked yet. I knew that this house had just been searched, and I wasn’t very confident that we would find anything. I didn’t see any reason at that point to totally trash the place.

Then I found something. In the back of the top drawer of one of the nightstands, I found a little glass dish that held about ten bullets for a 9mm handgun. Iraqis were allowed to have an AK-47 with one 30-round magazine for home protection, but there were no handguns allowed. I grabbed the dish and walked downstairs to ask lover boy about them.

Raid 4

Speaking to the interpreter, I asked, “Where is your handgun?”

As our interpreter spoke, he looked at me, and shook his head no.

“He says he doesn’t have a handgun, only AKs.”

“Why do you have ammo for a handgun if you don’t have a handgun?”

“He says he doesn’t have any handgun ammo either.”

I showed him the dish and said, “What the fuck is this then?”

He backpedaled a bit, but still insisted that there were no other weapons in the home.

“Tell him that we will leave if he just gives up the handgun.”

“He still says that he doesn’t have one.”

I left my lieutenant to continue asking questions, while I went back to searching. We looked in all of the usual places and found nothing out of the ordinary. By this point, we were hours into the mission, and I was tired and pissed off. Captain Veath, my company commander and our first sergeant, 1SG Angulo were now in the house poking around and asking why we hadn’t come up with anything yet. I pointed out the bullets in the dish.

Captain Veath said, “Where is the gun?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It has to be here somewhere, but they won’t give it up. Without flipping this whole place upside down, I’m not sure where else to look.”

“Flip this place, and find it then.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Back upstairs, I called all of the soldiers out of the rooms onto the landing at the top of the stairs. “We have a handful of 9mm rounds that were in a nightstand drawer in that room,” I said, pointing toward the busted wooden door. “You will check every nook and cranny in this mother fucker. Flip the beds. Take the drawers out of each piece of furniture. Check the bottoms of them. Check inside to make sure that there is nothing taped above or below the drawers. Turn the furniture over, and check the back and bottom of each piece. Toss everything.” We broke to continue searching.

Raid 2

I walked into the bedroom with Pvt. Shane Steward. He went to the night stand where I had found the 9mm bullets, and pulled out the top drawer and dumped it. He dropped the drawer on the bed, and looked into the bottom drawer. Then he got up and started to walk over to the closet. I told him that he needed to remove the bottom drawer, and check under and behind the nightstand too. He turned back, pulled the bottom drawer out of the nightstand, and dumped it.

Raid 5

“Umm, Sergeant Taylor? I think I found something.”

I glanced over and saw the excited look on his face as he pulled the bag from the nightstand. He placed it on the bed and opened it. He shook his head as he reached in and pulled out a handful of 7.9mm rifle rounds.

Raid 10

“Nice job Steward! Take that out on the landing and dump it.”

When he dumped the bag, hundreds of 7.9mm rifle rounds on stripper clips, and loose 7.62mm AK 47 rounds fell out onto the floor along with several loaded AK47 magazines.
Raid

I called for my lieutenant to come up, and some of my privates started organizing our find so that we could get an accurate count. When Lieutenant Schardt came up, he smiled at me, and asked if we had anything else. I told him that we still had a couple of rooms to check, and that we had found yet another caliber of ammunition. I started thinking we would find more weapons.

Next was the junk room. Jimmy and I started searching this room. After finding so much ammo, we were feeling a second wind. We started pulling stuff out of the room. There were burlap sacks full of sheep’s wool. It was now daylight outside, so I carried the bags out onto the rooftop. I pulled out my knife and slit the side of each bag and dumped the contents onto the cement roof.

Raid 8

As we moved further into the room, I found a green cylinder with white military markings on it. The cylinder was empty, but it was a shipping container for a warhead for a Brazilian surface-to-air missile. Raid 11Raid 9I set that aside, and continued digging. Next I found a navy blue child’s backpack with UNICEF embroidered on it. Inside the pack I found a cowboy style leather belt with bullet loops all around it. There were a few AK 47 magazines, three strands of Christmas lights with no bulbs, which are commonly used to make IEDs, and finally wrapped in a piece of cloth was a rifle scope. After moving all of these things out of the room, we reached several large rolls of canvas on the floor. They appeared to be large tents or something of that nature, but when I tried to lift one of the rolls, it was much heavier than plain canvas. I unrolled the first one, and inside I found a bolt-action rifle. I held it up for Jimmy to see. He unrolled the second roll and found a sniper rifle that went with the scope we had found. In another larger roll there was another green cylinder, this one filled with rifle cartridges for the sniper rifle. Two more rolls revealed two more rifles and two more shipping containers filled with ammo. Raid 7

Jimmy and I carried the rifles and ammunition out onto the rooftop, and I called for Lieutenant Schardt, the commander, and the first sergeant. When they came through the door to the rooftop, I held up the sniper rifle and the scope.

“We didn’t find a handgun, but here is your sniper rifle, sir.”

“Damn Sergeant Taylor, we’ll have to call Charlie Company and tell them that you found what they were looking for.”

“No shit, sir.”

I went down to speak to the three men who had claimed that they only had two AK 47s in the house. I asked again where their handgun was. They continued to deny that anyone in the house had a handgun.

Talking to the interpreter, I said, “Okay, I believe that you don’t have a handgun in the house. I have searched upstairs, and we didn’t find a handgun. Are there any other weapons in the house?”

They all told the interpreter that there were no other guns in the home, and they looked relieved that I hadn’t mentioned finding any weapons.

I turned to the other soldiers in the room, and instructed them to put flex-cuffs on all three of the men. Once they were cuffed, I told the soldiers to bring them upstairs to the rooftop. The looks on their faces were priceless when they came through the door and saw all of the weapons and ammunition laid out across their rooftop.

In all, we discovered more than three thousand 7.62mm and 7.9mm rifle rounds, almost thirty AK-47 magazines, and seven rifles. We also had materials that were commonly used in making IEDs, and evidence that these men had gotten their hands on some sort of missiles or warheads that could have potentially been used against American soldiers in a number of different ways. It was a fruitful raid. We found what we were looking for. We accomplished our mission, to conduct a raid on the target house in order to kill or capture enemy sniper. There was not a single shot fired, and there were no casualties, aside from some dishes and a couple of doors.

Raid 6

All of our success aside, I felt guilty about that raid. It was approaching lunch time by the time we had processed all of our evidence, and prepared to move our three detainees. As my soldiers escorted the three handcuffed men to our vehicles and placed blindfolds over their heads to protect the secret materials in our Stryker vehicles, the oldest boy came out of the front of the house. He watched armed American soldiers blindfold his father, uncle, and grandfather. His face was emotionless as the armored ramp closed, concealing the men in his family inside. My company commander walked over to him and patted him on the head. The boy’s stare changed to anger and hatred when Captain Veath handed him a soccer ball.

I saw it right then; we took his dad, and his uncle, and his grandpa, and gave him a shiny new soccer ball in return. What a fucked up war. 

We took weapons away from insurgents that day, and we interfered with insurgent sniper activity in that area. What else did we do that day? Did we help reinforce negative feelings toward Americans in another generation of Iraqi people? Did we create another insurgent or another terrorist that day?

A story from Djibouti (2003) that still makes me laugh.

“Sergeant Taylor, First Sergeant wants to see you in the company CP for the platoon sergeant meeting.”

“I’ll be right there,” I said, as I sat up. Getting up from my green canvas cot, I pulled on my desert camouflage uniform shirt and buttoned it. I grabbed my M4 and slipped the sling over my shoulder as I walked toward the door.

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When I stepped out of my dark tent, bright African sunlight assaulted my eyes. It was mid-afternoon in October, but the temps still hovered around the 100 degree mark nearly every day. Before my eyes had completely adjusted, sweat was beading up on my forehead, and my brown undershirt was sticking to my skin. I hate this fuckin’ place, I thought to myself as I walked down the gravel path between rows of tan tents.

I stepped into the company CP and found my 1SG and the platoon sergeants from headquarters, first, and third platoons sitting around rickety table made of plywood and scrap 2x4s. “Sergeant Taylor, just the guy we were looking for. I’ve got a mission for you,” First Sergeant said.

Aww shit. I’m supposed to be going home in less than a week. My platoon was in Dire Dawa, Ethiopia, a couple hundred miles south of our camp. The platoons in my company were doing two week rotations between Camp Lemonier, in Djibouti, and Camp Ramrod, in Dire Dawa, Ethiopia. I had been left behind, because I was on orders to PCS from Fort Drum, NY to Schofield Barracks, HI. Basically, I was leaving one deployment to move from NY to HI, so that I could get ready for another deployment. What the fuck do I have to do now? “Sure, First Sergeant, what do you need?”

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First Sergeant explained, “Your platoon is doing a MEDCAP with a civil affairs unit, and they need some more medical supplies. I need you to get this box down to them tomorrow.”

“No problem, 1SG.” I grabbed the box, and asked, “What do I need to do about transportation?”

“Just walk down to the flight line tomorrow morning at 0600. There are usually flight crews working on their birds in the morning. Find one that is going to Dire Dawa sometime tomorrow, and see if you can catch a ride. Hopefully they’ll be able to get you back tomorrow too.”

All of our aviation assets in Camp Lemonier were either Marine or Air Force. Anytime we had to fly, we flew on CH-53 Sea Stallions. They were bulky gray helicopters, and they leaked unbelievable amounts of hydraulic fluid. When the helicopters banked, the fluid would drip from the ceiling, or run down the walls. The floors that we sat on were always slick and oily. I don’t think a single soldier in my company left Africa without greasy brown stains all over his uniforms from riding in the back of those leaky helicopters.

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The next morning rolled around, and I was at the flight line at 0600, as instructed. I had everything that I needed for the trip, since I had no idea when I might leave. I wore my body armor and Kevlar helmet. I carried my M4 rifle, and my black 12-gague shorty shotgun. I also had the box of medical supplies, and a rucksack that was packed for a couple of days. I really did not believe that I would manage to get there and back in the same day.

I approached the open ramp of the nearest helicopter and saw one of the Marine crew members inside. “Do you know if anyone is flying to Dire Dawa today? I need to deliver some medical supplies to a unit down there.”

“We aren’t flying today, Sergeant,” he said walking toward the back of the helicopter. He stepped down the ramp and pointed to another bird parked near the other end of the row of helicopters. He suggested that I ask someone down there.

I moved down the flight line, starting to sweat from all of the gear that I was carrying. I’m glad they had me clean my gear for customs already. This shit is going to be covered in dust and sand again.

I walked up to the back of another Sea Stallion, and asked the Marine inside if he knew of anyone flying to Dire Dawa. “I’m supposed to hand deliver this box to a unit down there, and they need it today,” I explained.

“We are heading down there this morning, Sergeant. We are supposed to be wheels up in about forty minutes,” he said.

“Can I catch a ride with you?”

“Sure, I just need to add your name, social, and blood type to our flight manifest.”

I chuckled to myself thinking, holy shit. This is actually going to work. I’m going to hitchhike from one country to another on a damn Marine helicopter. I put the box in the back of the bird and gave the crewman my information. I sat down on canvas seat in the back of the helicopter and pulled a cereal bar and a warm Coca-Cola Lite from my cargo pocket. Breakfast of Champions, I thought. I couldn’t wait to be home to real food in just a few days.

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 I sat there waiting, and I wondered if I was going to have the whole back of this bird to myself. After about twenty minutes, the crew members climbed in and started getting into their gear. Helmets were going on. Machine guns on the sides and on the tail ramp were being loaded. The pilot and copilot climbed in and started flipping switches and pushing buttons. The helicopter came to life. The engines started to whine, and cockpit lights turned on or flashed on and off.

Just as the rotors were starting to turn, several Marine Corps officers climbed on board. There was a colonel, a couple of majors, and then two or three captains. They did not appear to be infantry officers, as none of them were wearing any sort of tactical kit. They each had pistols in hip holsters, and their uniforms were neat and clean. Even their boots were nice and new looking.

As they climbed into their seats, they each put on safety glasses and helmets. One of the majors sat down next to me, and from the way he was scrambling to find the female end of his seat belt, I got the idea that he was a little nervous. He appeared to be relieved when he had finally fastened his seat belt and pulled the straps at each end to tighten it.

I slipped some ear plugs into my ears, and leaned my head back against the inside wall of the helicopter and closed my eyes. Over the growing noise of the whining engines, I heard someone trying to talk to me. “Hey Sergeant, are you our…” I opened my eyes and saw this very nervous major looking at me and talking.

I pulled the ear plug out of my right ear and leaned towards him. “What’s that, sir?”

“Are you our security, in case we go down?”

Is this guy fucking serious? I held back my laughter. Did this major really just ask me if I am his security…in case we fucking crash? I smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up. “Yes, Sir. If we go down, just get behind me. You’ll be alright,” I said as I slipped the ear plug back into my ear. Still chuckling to myself, I took my helmet off and leaned my head back closing my eyes again.

The crew chief signaled that we were ready to move, and the ramp raised a couple of feet off the ground. The bird started to shake, and we began rolling forward. We taxied away from the rest of the parked helicopters and moved toward the runway. Once there, the pilot turned and stopped the bird. We sat waiting, I assume, for clearance to take off. After just a moment, the helicopter got much louder, dust kicked up from the runway, and the bird started shaking and bouncing. Once up to speed, the pilot pulled back on his stick and the rotors started making the loud whop, whop, whop sound as they pushed down hard on the sticky morning air.

The wheels left the tarmac, and we hung there, wobbling side to side for just a few seconds until the pilot tipped the nose forward and the ground fell away from us.The Marine officers made it to their destination safely, and I managed to hitchhike back to Djibouti in time for dinner that night.

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