The Odd Before the Storm

Sorry for the unannounced and unexpected hiatus. No excuses here; just needed a couple of days away from the computer. I appreciate your understanding.

Ultimately, tonight I would like to talk about the days PRE-Iraq War; yes, that blissful, happy time that found America united against a common enemy but yet bound by a world of total uncertainty. For me, the world was even more surreal as I found myself in the desert wasteland of Kuwait, contemplating and doubting my pending experiences in war.

Before the telling of that tale, however, I want to relate a personal current event. Since the inception of Educated Soldier (and, certainly – by other medium - before), I have affirmed my ardent support for the efforts in Iraq. I was separate from the masses in suggesting that I agreed with entering the country in the inception and, I was like many others, in declaring that we must follow the mission through until its completion- however “completion” may ultimately be defined. While I felt that I had weight in my words because of my experience in Iraq, I still felt hollow in my assertions. For this reason, and many others, I have been in discussion with the liaisons from my campus’s Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC). While the decision is certainly not set in stone, I can say that I am thoroughly contemplating some future participation in the military via the Army’s corps of officers. To those that understand what the following means: I would definitely choose to branch Infantry, if available, and return to Active Duty.

The most daunting obstacle may not be my desire to participate but a few various blemishes on my credit record. I sure hope that these past mistakes don’t prohibit the opportunity to commission should I decide to do so. It is said that the purpose of gaining a security clearance (which dictates the necessity of an investigation where my credit record would be analyzed) is to find if one is trust worthy. I am certainly that. I just missed some bills. That shouldn’t reflect on my ability to be loyal but on my ability (or lack thereof) to make money. But I digress…

I will post more here concerning my possible continued progress in this regard as it presents itself. Until then, moving on...

Kuwait, 2002

While I am sure that the winter of 2002 was a trying and thought-provoking time in the United States, it was surely that and much more for those of us that were in the military at the time. In 2007, it is with no doubt that I can suggest that nearly all members of the Army are quite familiar with the idea of deploying. This wasn’t the case in 2002. While we had troops in Afghanistan, most of these seemed to be Special Forces folks or Airborne troops, either of which seemed steeped in a situation a world away from any mess that I would have to dirty my hands in. True enough, I would never smell the air of the Khyber Pass nor live life on a base in Kandahar; I missed the opportunity to fight in Afghanistan. This surely isn’t to say that I missed the chance to fight altogether, however.

Ultimately, I would get that opportunity – twice. I talked about some of those experiences here, here, and here. The first post told of a devastating situation that occurred while “invading” Iraq from the South. The second, a recovery operation that allowed me to meet the most amazing of United States warriors whom most definitely derived from a Spartan lineage. The third link leads to a story of a sensitive situation: a hostile mosque. My battalion found a way of dealing with and clearing the dangerous facility, but because of the peculiarities of the dynamics presented by a mosque, the results ended in both positive and negative sentiments. Tonight, though, we are tackling something totally differently; life in Kuwait. Life before the Iraq War and life with a band of troops that were absolutely naive towards the conflict that stood before them.

SCENE: Desert night, outside of the group immediately before us, there is no life visible in any direction at any feasible distance. While darkness would conceal such life, none is to be hidden. It simply fails to exist; this is Kuwait – land of only endless, rolling dunes of sand and waves of blistering heat. Tonight, the temperature is bearable. A slight breeze ruffles the flames of a large campfire that is the focus of the scene. Surrounding the campfire, in an unmeasured and roughly thrown-together circle, are humvees; the reflection of the dancing flames visible in yellow-orange on the sides of the lightly armored vehicles. These, however, are not the humvees that are prevalent in 2007. Instead of supplemental armor, many of these have doors removed. Almost all have gas cans mounted on every open piece of external body. Guns are mounted on the tops, ruck-sacks tied to the backs, and orange fabric panels attached to the hoods above the engine compartments.

Seated in folding chairs in various positions within the radius of trucks are leisurely looking soldiers. Most are wearing desert pants; many have no shirts on. Some are wearing sandals, while others wear boots. None of them seem occupied by any important task. Small talk is made but the scene is encompassed, in a general term, by silence.

It is mid-March, 2003. Each of the men of this scene would soon be traveling on a journey unlike any other they have ventured. They are the Combat Observation Lasing Team soldiers of Echo Troop, 9^th Cavalry of the Third Infantry Division. In just a few days, they will make one further movement to northern Kuwait, stage there temporarily, and then, ultimately, invade Iraq. However, just a few days before, many of them still doubt if the war is really going to occur.

And this is the unaltered truth. Up until the day that I stood beside a television reporter and watched from about 100 meters the first shots of the war being fired, I was on the side of the argument that truly doubted that this war was going to occur. In Kuwait, prior to the war starting, we – as soldiers – had pretty decent access to the “outside” world. By this point, having established bases in Kuwait for the past six months, we had dedicated internet access in all of our tents. We heard of President Bush’s demands and our leadership suggested that we may soon be entering Iraq. However, the word of confirmation came hardly a second before I was crossing some imaginary border.

What’s interesting is that I knew my role should an invasion occur the day I landed in Kuwait. This isn’t a statement that should ignite a conspiracy theory; this is just how war works. Battle plans and operation orders are developed in preparation for nearly any situation far ahead of the time of utilization. I am convinced that thorough and directed digging would unearth the plan to invade Canada via guerrilla tactics with only small arms and strong motivation; every possible scenario has to be prepared and planned for. What’s peculiar is that the plan regarding Iraq that I was briefed in September of 2002 held nearly without alteration when it was enacted in March of 2003. Of course, in 2002, I paid little note. The winds of war were most definitely not present in Kuwait and we were the only maneuver brigade present in the area of operations. The day of the briefing was only notable, to me, in that it was another of many that I could mark off my calendar until my six month tour in Kuwait would end.

I remember utilizing the makeshift gym on my camp in Kuwait one night early in my deployment. On a radio somewhere, after a weird mix of Arabic-chant-over-string-ensemble followed by Britney Spears-straight-from-America pop, came the “local” military news that is ever present on the only available station: the Armed Forces network. While working out that night, the newscaster explained that the Brigade of the 3^rd I.D. that we had replaced would be returning. This was certainly unscheduled and unexpected but, to those of us following events back home, it was recognized as an act of might. My argument was that our President was building forces south of Iraq to force the hand of the dictator to our north to allow for the proper inspection of his weapons arsenal. Soon, we would find out that the 101^st Airborne Division would be joining us in Kuwait and still, oddly, war seemed far, far away.

To those that have military experience in the Middle East, this paragraph is dedicated to you. The Kuwait that exists today is not the Kuwait that I struggled through during my initial six months there. Kuwait is sort of an odd country. On its east coast is the beautiful Kuwait City and the equally as appealing Gulf. However, as soon as one exits via highway to the west of Kuwait City, all becomes desert and all also becomes property of the worlds’ allied militaries. One passes a few checkpoints, losing track of all civilization in trade for endless sand, and is suddenly in the middle of the world’s largest military training center. Originally, all the camps in Kuwait were known as “Kabals” and, because no other word does the conditions justice, they “sucked.” At some point, it was decided that “Kabal” was a bad choice of designator and they became known as, originally enough, “camps.” Despite the change in their designations, they always held the same names in honor of the tragedies of September 11^th. There were Camps New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Virginia. Soon Camp Connecticut would emerge as well.

If one were to visit these camps now, they wouldn’t have too badly of a time. However, some of the camps would be hard to find as they no longer exist. Instead, they have been replaced by enormous posts in the desert that feel more like home than would a base in Wyoming. The camps remaining are luxurious by Kabal standards. They have KBR-contracted dining facilities, internet access and other amenities. This isn’t to be holier than thou; I also enjoyed such facilities myself. However, in the beginning, these amenities were not to be. This is dedicated to those that suffered with me in those trying times. Remember, we didn’t know war was on the horizon. Had we known, we were too naive to believe. So, at the time, waiting in line for two hours for a phone that may or may not connect with your family members back in the states was a most dire situation. That was the Kuwait that I remember all too well.

Within my platoon, the debate was hot over the argument of whether we were going to war. I said, “No.” I read the internet, I was politically savvy, and I felt that I had a better grasp of the strategy being utilized by Big Government. I was wrong. It sort of worked like this:

A couple of days after the scene that was described above took place, all the units in Kuwait pushed north to tactical assembly areas to stage to fight. It sounds unbelievable, but even there –a few miles south of Iraq- I remained convinced that we were not invading. And little was done initially to refute me. To maintain all assurance of security, no one was absolutely informed that we were entering Iraq until we, absolutely, entered Iraq.

After moving to this new logistical area just south of the Iraq border, the first event occurred that suggested that war may, indeed, be around the corner. Everyone in my camp was instructed to keep their chemical protective suits within reach at all times. The standard performance time for donning these protective suits is eight minutes. It had been since basic training that I had taken any chemical training seriously enough to actually properly don this suit in the allotted time. However, about the same day that we arrived at the assembly area, we would be met by the sound of something never heard before: the siren warning of incoming rounds. Worse, the chemical alarms also sounded. We were being “slimed.” My chemical protection suit, all buttons buttoned, all zippers properly fastened, was in place, on my body in little more than three minutes. Nobody was timing this event, but I can attest that this was true. I helped a couple other buddies don their protective suits. Should I successfully navigate ROTC training in my current situation; events like this will cause me to always take training seriously. I hadn’t in the past and I was lucky that I maintained proficiency despite my lackadaisical nature. I can’t always count on being so fortunate. We weren’t harmed that day in the desert. Saddam had fired a SCUD in our general direction but it fell harmlessly in the desert somewhere near Kuwait City and it contained no chemical materials. Even at this point, I still had strong doubts that we were going to physically enter Iraq.

Sometime that night, my team was ordered on a mission. We were to escort this peculiar gray humvee to a specific point on some map. It wouldn’t be dangerous. In fact, it wouldn’t even take us any closer to the border. The atypical gray humvee happened to be manned by journalist Greg Kelly, his camera crew, and assorted video and computer equipment. My truck and another escorted Mr. Kelly’s to a seemingly random point in the vast desert. All was black; I could hardly discern fifteen feet ahead of me with the naked eye. Mr. Kelly’s crew set up his cameras and equipment and prepped a satellite feed to Fox News headquarters in America. As a lowly driver, I was totally unwitting to what was proceeding before me. On this same note, I truly believe that everyone in our two trucks from Platoon Sergeant to fellow low-ranking Joe were equally as uninformed. Quickly Mr. Kelly’s cameras were rolling, a light was on his face and he was about to go on air…

BOOOOOOM!!!

Let me tell you, as a forward observer, I work with our guys on the cannons often but I had no idea that there was a Howitzer any where near me that night. It was that dark and the tracked vehicle was that quiet. Its eruption echoed throughout the vastness of the night. Suddenly, everything became frenzied. The cannon bellowed several more times, sending rounds into Iraq. Mr. Kelly reported that he was live and the first rounds were being fired in this new war. And I was no more than five feet away. The journalist turned to my platoon sergeant and asked what was going to happen next. My platoon sergeant, ever dedicated to duty, answered truthfully. However, I truly believe that had he suggested that pigs were going to fall from the sky, Mr. Kelly would have informed America, via Fox News, that pigs were about to be fired into Iraq. And that was it; the war had started.

Mr. Kelly did some further journalistic things and, eventually, packed his gear and we returned to the assembly area. After the frenzy of “war” that I had just witnessed, things became again oddly serene upon returning to the logistical area. The war was only open on certain fronts and this wasn’t one of them. My emotions went from “up,” back to steady. The following day I would enter Iraq and they would peak again. Days after, they would flat-line as the “invasion” through southern Iraq proved mostly eventless. The biggest news on any given day during the early ride through Iraq would be the compromising of our team on any certain song to be played in the C.D. player that we had rigged for the journey.

And this is how it started. The night before we rolled into Iraq, I was still convinced that we were not going to go. As we rolled into Iraq, I remained convinced that modern war was fought with air forces and Special Forces soldiers. I even suggested that the only chance of injury for my team would be a wanton missile, which was an act of eerie prophecy.

You know, looking back, I can say, in retrospect, that I was naive in so steadfastly believing that I wasn’t being sent to war. That naivety has comforting values, I guess. It could be suggested that when I first engaged an enemy or when I first saw pure devastation that a loss of innocence occurred. However, I can say this wholeheartedly: I don’t want that naivety back nor do I desire the return to innocence. I am proud of my war experience, proud of service in a just cause and, ultimately, the more I write, the more I yearn to return…

G.O.P. Faithful Demand to Know!

Today’s issue of Educated Soldier is going to be relatively brief so that I can allow us to focus our efforts in something that I feel is very important that we attempt.

As most of you know, there is a CNN / YouTube Republican Party Debate tentatively scheduled for September 17^th. While this event may or may not occur given the paltry interest expressed by most of the G.O.P. candidates (besides, notably, Senator McCain, Representative Paul, and Governor Tommy Thompson), it could still be an ample opportunity for Conservatives to truly get to know the hopefuls – if, and only if – the right questions are submitted and subsequently presented to the candidates.

In this vein, I think that I have developed a question that absolutely MUST be asked. It is to be directed to Mitt Romney and Rudy Giuliani and follows:

“Given certain ambiguities in your ideologies concerning these issues, Conservatives want to know if you would be willing, as President and given the opportunity, to nominate a highly-qualified individual to the Supreme Court whom has in the past ruled strongly in the favor of Pro-Life decisions and against all further Anti-Gun legislation over a more moderate but equally as qualified judge.”

I would submit this question myself; however, I have good reason not to. Most notably is the obstacle that exists in my lack of owning a web-camera. Nor do I have the talent to create a catchy flash animation of, say, a SNOWMAN to ask this question on my “behalf.” Moreover, if more individuals submit this question, or one similar to it, it is much more likely that one will be proposed that is of high-enough quality to warrant presentation at the debate than had I only created one myself.

Furthermore, if you so choose to submit this question feel free to do so without any mention of my name or website. If you want to plug Educated Soldier, feel free. However, my objective is to get this pointed and important question asked, not drive traffic to my website. Also, of course, this question is just a foundation; feel free to edit / add / take away from it as you choose. You may even choose to add a snappy request to its conclusion to demand that “candidates do not dance around the question,” as many of the users did during the Democrats’ debate.

I feel that this is an absolutely essential question. The method in which it is answered will go a long way in separating the ideals of Governor Romney and Mayor Giuliani from the rest of the pack. Or, on the other hand, it could show that they share more in common with the Conservative base than some of us may give them credit. In either case, the answers are sure to be quite telling.

I appreciate any and all effort that can be dedicated to the success of this mission. Thank you!!

Post Script

In developing this question, I got to thinking that this debate may be very beneficial to Fred Thompson. Consider this:

Let’s suggest that he declares just prior to the scheduled date of the debate but with enough time to request his own invitation to participate. If he did just that, I feel that he would put himself into a “win/win” situation. If he demands a spot in the debate, there is the possibility that other Republican candidates will follow. If so, it then shows that Senator Thompson is on the drum and the other hopefuls are following his beat.

If others still refuse to participate in the event than Senator Thompson will only have to compete against fringe candidates with extreme ideals (see, Paul, Ron et al). This is also positive in the following sense. It isn’t wrong to suggest that Senator Thompson already possesses the support of much of the Conservative base. Against competition so extremely to the Right that they seem unelectable, Senator Thompson would benefit by seeming more moderate in relation. This, in turn, would turn modern conservatives in his favor.

And, regardless, it seems given Thompson’s strong oratory skills that he would benefit from action in any debate, given any competition.

And finally…

Given the relative brevity of tonight’s post, I would really appreciate if you check out the following publications that I have made in the last few days. They all regard situations that occurred to me while in Iraq and each of them poses strong questions and deep personal emotion. I dedicated much effort in developing them and would appreciate if they find strong audiences.

Thanks again!!

Links to previous posts follow:



The Destruction of the 2nd Brigade Tactical Operations Center (2003)


Long Range Reconnaissance / Surveillance Team Recovery Mission

2005 Mosque Raid in Ar Ramadi

The Destruction of the 2nd Brigade, 3rd I.D. T.O.C. (2003)

The story that I tell tonight may be the most important that I ever post here at Educated Soldier concerning my experiences in war. It is also the most somber. Certain ambiguities in the recounting of this tale may also prove volatile. It is not my intention to raise controversy but it would be offensive in the telling of this event to not include all details- including some rather shady conclusions that were drawn in developing the lessons learned. The disastrous event that is retold below occurred just south of Baghdad on




April 7th, 2003…




At this point in the war, I am not sure if I was yet “battle tested.” I have no physical journal to assist in recounting my memories nor to help keep them in some semblance of order. In any case, this event occurred during the same short time period as the Long Range Reconnaissance / Surveillance team mission that I posted about here; both taking place during the Third Infantry Division’s drive toward Baghdad. If I hadn’t been made aware of the horrors of war by this point, the events of this particular morning would surely change me in that regard. In fact, the events of April 7th were the only ones that had a lasting impact on my mental being for time after returning home (an issue that will be addressed in the epilogue).



My team’s mission on April 7th was the same one that we had been partaking for the previous week or longer. Our humvee was assigned to provide security for our Brigade’s Tactical Operations Center (T.O.C.). To this point, this simply meant that we had to maintain a local placement in relation to the T.O.C.’s vehicles during the extended convoy through southern Iraq. The convoy was extended in both time and physical length. This is to say that our invasion technique up to that point was to line nearly all the vehicles of our brigade in a row and roll directly through the country. This may not have been the most strategically advanced tactic, but it was presumed to have thorough psychological effects on any enemy we might meet. This line of vehicles literally stretched over a mile long. Of course, my description is estimated but not exaggerated. In a mechanized brigade, there numbers hundreds of vehicles ranging from wheeled-humvees to tracked M113’s and their larger counterparts, M577’s, all the way to the massive Bradley and Abrams armored juggernauts.



Pauses in this journey required this line of equipment to break into smaller groups. Each group would form their own security perimeter; their vehicles forming the areas’ outside radiuses. These rest formations would develop wherever convenient which usually meant that they would form wherever we happened to stop. There isn’t much in the way of discernible terrain and land features in southern Iraq which caused most any area to be just as worthy of a rest location as any other. After digging foxholes that would presumably provide us some protection should we receive incoming artillery or mortar fire, we would utilize these hold areas to relax, eat, rest or, again – in my team’s case – play Pictionary.



Actually, it is worth pointing out because this is not an unimportant detail, that I had somehow come into ownership of a hand-held electronic “Yahtzee” game. Had I owned this simple electronic game in America, I would have definitely discarded it. Only in the most austere of conditions would it satisfactorily cure boredom. However, my current environment being, in fact, as austere as any, I played this game repeatedly. I must have logged over a thousand individual played games. While the numbers may again sound hyperbolized, I promise that I am limiting all exaggeration.



However, on the day immediately prior to April 7th, we had started to enter the very southern suburbs of Baghdad. This was significant in many ways but, in the case of this story, the most important aspect that was provided by such urban terrain was the possibility of our unit finding actual hard-covered facilities to utilize as temporarily rest areas / headquarters. In fact, we found exactly such a structure. This building sat on the east side of the main highway that we had been following towards Baghdad. It was off the thoroughfare a bit and in between its location and the road was ample area for a large, makeshift parking lot. In this area, we placed all the vehicles associated with the Tactical Operations Center. By the 7th, this had grown to well over fifty vehicles of various sorts.



Between the lot and the building itself was a brick wall about ten feet tall. Opposite that wall sat the building that would house the Second Brigade T.O.C. for the unforeseen future. This structure was rather long and fairly tall for a one story facility. It resembled an empty warehouse of some sort. At the far end of the building, an Army Special Forces Detachment had taken residence. They were the cool guys with their baseball caps and Toyota pick-up trucks. They held my fascination and respect then and continue to do so today.



From that far-end, the building stretched back towards me. The warehouse-type facility ended at a courtyard and, across this small opening, was actually a second, smaller building. If the warehouse was a prison, so to say, this second building would represent, basically, an oversized residence for the guards. To maintain focus and recap, this entire two-building facility was behind the aforementioned brick wall that surrounded and separated the entire location from the working parking lot.



Before progressing to the heart of this story, there are two more details that I must ensure that all readers understand: the makeup of a Brigade Tactical Operations Center, and where each of the parties in this makeup was located on April 7th. The T.O.C. is the absolute center-mass, “brain” of the Brigade. Typically, the Brigade Commander and all his assorted high-ranking officer companions reside here. There are usually three or four Brigades that compose a Division. To give some gravity of the importance of the actors in such a location, there is no other level of authority between the Brigade and Division Headquarters. The Brigade Commander answers to the Division’s Two-Star General commander and the Brigade Commander subsequently orders the commanders of the assorted maneuver battalions within his auspices. One more detail to add credence: much has been said of the success of the 3rd Infantry Division’s so-called “Thunder Runs” into Baghdad. These Thunder Runs were, more or less, the brainchild of 2nd Brigade Commander, Colonel David Perkins, who also physically directed them. The people who reside in the T.O.C. are of the utmost importance and because of the depth of information and commands that are generated by them, the T.O.C., itself, is one of the most vital locations within the Brigade. For thorough understanding of the importance of the T.O.C., I suggest reading this report from Michael Yon. He describes a currently functioning T.O.C. in Baqubah, Iraq in detail.



On the fateful day of April 7th, most of the high-ranking officials were operating out of the above-described secondary, smaller building. Outside of the officers, most of the strategy-developing units of the T.O.C. were staged in the courtyard. This included my friends in the Fire Support Cell who were working out of their armored 577’s. Also located in this courtyard were numerous upward-stretching antennae and other various communication devices. If I recall correctly, we may have even posted a 2nd Brigade Guide-on (flag) here. In the warehouse facility itself were numerous resting soldiers as this was the makeshift quarters for all participating men and women. While my living arrangements were inside that building, on the morning of April 7th, my team and I were located in or near our humvee which sat just opposite the courtyard, separated by the brick wall. The far end of the building, home to the Special Forces Operational Detachment, was unoccupied as they were, presumably, out on mission.



As a side note, my team had very deep understanding of the complexities of this compound because the night before we had completed a self-motivated “reconnaissance” mission throughout the grounds. The result of this pseudo-mission was the locating of a kitchen and several ducks, a few of which my team leader slaughtered in a futile attempt to compose a “home-cooked” meal of sorts.





Absolute Devastation




The event that occurred at the T.O.C. on April 7th is forever engrained into my soul and will be carried onward for all of my living time



On that morning, my teammates and I were sitting in our humvee with as little apprehension as any could have given the environment. We were not in our protective armor. All of this equipment, including our flak-vests and helmets, was stored in our living area of the warehouse. We were relaxing. As such, we donned little more than pants and brown tee-shirts. I was just outside of the driver’s seat of the truck, attending to another game of Yahtzee.



Around eleven in the morning, I heard the distant sound of an incoming plane. This is a sound that I am quite familiar with having served as a Forward Observer. It had often been my job in the past to lead low flying aircraft toward ground targets during training missions. Initially, I was hardly startled by this rather routine sound. It may be a phenomenon of memory or a result of adrenaline that was suddenly developing, but I recall the sound of this airplane building ever slowly; like the pace of time, itself, had been reduced to a crawl. It just kept inching closer and closer.



At some point, the loud growl of the aircraft had become so intense and so close that I took the time to fully voice my frustration in such a wanton pilot. The sound just kept growing in its apparent proximity.





Apparently, my identification of the airplane was completely misguided. Instead, the approaching sound ended in the huge eruption of violent explosion from just behind me. In one quick motion, I dropped my game and launched my entire body into my truck, sprawling over my seat, across the middle of the vehicle, and into the passenger seat occupied by my team leader. For a brief second memory blurs, and then I recall my teammates expressing immediate concern for my well-being. Momentarily, a large object fell from the sky and impacted on the back of our humvee, causing the entire frame to dip on its shocks and then rebound upwards. Behind me, I would soon see all too clearly that the warehouse was destroyed; its remaining bits left to smolder. An object had dropped from the sky and blasted violently and directly on the courtyard only a total distance of, maybe, fifty feet behind me.



Everything was destroyed.




Nearly every vehicle that had been in the courtyard had, in one instant, vanquished from existence. All of the communication equipment was gone. At least half of the large warehouse had collapsed and the remaining elements were quickly burning down. Chaos of a scale I had never before been witness ensued. I immediately identified with the pictures of Ground Zero in New York City, the only event in which I could compare such singular destruction.



There were, first, a few moments constituted of shock, horror, disbelief, bewilderment, and all emotions in between and beyond. However, leaders did their duty and began to lead efficiently. I was directed to move my humvee as it was dangerously close to sources of ignition. After doing so, I followed the others in a mass of humanity that attempted to quell flames with rather feeble attempts. We filled buckets of water and splashed their contents on flames that seemed to only grow larger and more efficient. My two teammates, however, acted much more heroically.



Their minds raced and they made the quick realization that our equipment was still in the smoldering building. While it was likely that these pieces of equipment were destroyed, they had to attempt to retrieve them. In logic that only a soldier would understand, they thoroughly believed that risking their lives attempting to retrieve the equipment that we were negligently without was less bothersome than dealing with the reprimands that we would later receive for not having kept them in our constant possession. They raced around the building to the area of the night prior’s attempted bout of cooking. From that location, they entered the now completely unstable structure. Once inside, they located our equipment. More importantly, they located a very badly injured soldier.



In an act of bravery not often surpassed, they carried the body of their fellow brother-in-arms through raging flames and out the very hole that had been created during the source events of this destruction. Their actions extended the life of the soldier within their grasps. They rushed him to the closest source of medical aid. The soldier had a renewed opportunity to fight for life. Unfortunately, he would make the ultimate sacrifice in coming days because of the wounds sustained. However, this does not devalue the valor of my teammates’ in their attempt. They would be subsequently awarded for their heroics. While I am not going to express the name of the deceased soldier as I am not certain if his family has ever been made fully aware of the proceedings of that day, I am not going to be as guarded with the names of these heroes: Sergeant Michael Dalton and Sergeant Phillip Wilkens are both fully deserving of any little recognition that I can muster on their behalf.



Meanwhile, ranking enlisted members attempted to regroup and account for their soldiers. While this was occurring, it was becoming immediately clear that our close buddies in the Fire Support Cell were located in their armored 577 at exactly the point of impact during the exact time of impact. And now they were missing. Quickly, our thoughts turned to these men and we assumed the worst. Nearly every vehicle that had been in that courtyard had disintegrated. While everything was still awash in fog of memory and physical smoke, this was certain: the chances of survival in that courtyard were slim.



However, despite all this, I would become witness of another of the day’s seemingly unbelievable occurrences. From the wreckage of decimated vehicles and buildings that was the current courtyard scene, emerged our friends in their 577. Somehow, this lightly armored vehicle had sustained the attack and managed to recover strongly enough to drive out of the mess on its own accord. We had taken the unfortunate fates of these individuals as granted. But they defied our most dire predictions and death itself and left the scene of destruction shaken up but with hardly a bodily injury among them.



Eventually every soldier on the ground that remained capable would compose their spirits and efforts and join in an amazing display of timely teamwork. The T.O.C. was quickly rebuilt, albeit in lesser grandeur, at a different location in the parking lot. While all this was occurring, our friends within the Brigade’s maneuver battalions were entering Baghdad proper. It was essential that the T.O.C. regroup as quickly as possible to provide the needed tactical support for these forward elements. And all soldiers worked eagerly to regain this combat readiness despite the devastation that they had just witnessed. No later than twenty minutes after the time of impact, the T.O.C. was up and running again. We had lost men and equipment to the destruction but not our soldierly bearing.

























Conclusions





Ultimately, I am left with many questions concerning April 7th, 2003. I had initially identified the incoming object as an aircraft. While I was declared wrong, I am not ready to totally admit to such a misidentification. I feel wrong in continuing any sort of instigation. However, another event during that day, besides my own recognition of the airplane, has led me to be, at least, a bit unsure of the actual composition of what was in the air.



The entire time that the events of this day were unfolding, the radio in my truck was wrought with action; after such activity, nearly everyone is attempting to transmit information. I did hear a message immediately after the object made its impact: Our counter-battery radar crew (the technicians with the equipment to pinpoint the source of launch for such an attack) made it very clear that their computers had located who or what had initiated the assault. However, time followed that transmission before a more comprehensive one was aired. When the technicians came back over the radio, after this atypical pause, they refuted their previous statement and insisted that, instead, some error had caused the source of the round to be unclear. The only investigation that I am aware that proved the composition of the round was a quick one conducted by a Warrant Officer in my unit who was practiced in just this duty. After a quick assessment, he concluded that we had been the victims of an Iraqi missile attack.



Ironically, this was the first missile attack that I was aware of since I had been in Iraq. While I have been on the ground during many a mortar attack, never again would I face a missile of this magnitude (or, in fact, any missile at all) approaching my location. In fact, the only other attack that had any similarity to this one that I am aware were the sporadic and few SCUD missiles that Saddam Hussein launched at our positions while we were staging for attack in northern Kuwait, before the first actual American aggressions.



I love the military and I am proud of my service in Iraq. I have a desire to return to Iraq and I may do so with the military. For these reasons, I am going to leave any further conclusions to be drawn by the readers. I have my own. I will say this, however; it seems highly unlikely that the Iraqi military, at that point on its last throes as we had units pushed into Baghdad, would have been capable of directing such a well-guided projectile. Moreover, if they had such capable weaponry, I question why the Iraqi military only fired a single volley of this very effective, quite lethal round…




Epilogue




As I promised above, I wanted to use this section to tell of the scars that remained personally from April 7th, 2003. I must make it clear that I do not feel that I am the victim of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I remain completely sympathetic to those that are. However, for a period of nearly a year after returning home, the sound of airplanes remained a source of great tension.



I can recount flying into an airport during a recess of leave. I was in the airport and walking around. Near the commercial airport were military runways. I want to say that this was in Chicago but if the description seems wrong than I could very well be mistaken. However, one of these military jets landed as I was walking around the terminal. I can’t describe the feeling that momentarily overcame me. I didn’t “flashback” to the events of April 7th; I simply felt a chill go up my spine and then developed fear throughout my body. This was a normal occurrence that even ordinary overhead plane flight would provoke. This happened notably again the first time I visited my Mom in Florida as she lived relatively close to the Tampa airport. The fear was never long-lasting; just momentary internal apprehension.



Slowly, these occurrences faded. The exited my life altogether, ironically enough, when I returned to Iraq. I guess the best cure for the ills of war is war itself.



However my memories are still strong. Again, I want to bring special mention to the heroics of these soldiers of Echo Troop, 9th Cavalry (detached from 1/9 Field Artillery): Sergeant Mike Dalton and Sergeant Phil Wilkens. Although their original intentions were a bit misguided in retrospect, their ultimate willingness to sacrifice for a soldier whom they had never met before should be worthy of the respect of all.




Finally, the pictures that I included in the retelling of this tale are not mine. I found them while browsing the internet in search of news sources telling of the events of April 7th. What’s more interesting is that the humvee in one of the above pictures (the uppermost image) is my own. I had no idea or association with it being posted online. The pictures were originally located on these sites:


http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/library/report/2004/onpoint/photos.htm


http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/library/report/2004/onpoint/ch-6.htm




I would recommend these articles for further reading on the devastation incurred by the 2nd Brigade’s Tactical Operations Center:



http://www.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/meast/04/07/otsc.irq.rodgers/


http://www.globalsecurity.org/wmd/library/news/iraq/2003/iraq-030410-army-spartan-toc-hi.htm


http://transcripts.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0304/07/ltm.12.html




If you own any of these sources or pictures and feel that this material has been misused or cited wrongly, please contact whiskey_boarder@hotmail.com for immediate removal.

Soldierly Political Musings

Before moving on to matters of more importance, I want to wax empathetically and briefly on the little intricacies of my life. Concerning this life of mine, I have made two observations that reek both of insignificance and personal amusement.



First, during my occasionally daily run today, around mile 2 of 4, it began to rain. This wasn’t drizzle nor was it a salacious downpour but something in between; just steady sheets of refreshingly, cool rain. It rarely dips below 85 degrees in my neck of the woods and more typically the temperature hangs around a muggy 95 degrees. During this run, wet and satisfied, I realized that I really, genuinely appreciate rain.



Observation number two may explain the sporadic nature of the first reflection: my sleeping pattern is remarkably peculiar. Last night, for example, I laid for rest at four in the morning. My roommate entered the room simultaneously as I attempted to sleep and his movement caused my lofted bed to sway in the most annoying manner, bouncing against the wall that it skirts against. Moreover, I am a fellow that enjoys sleeping to the company of music and, unfortunately, my lofted bed prohibited me from being able to stretch headphones down to the only source of tunes; my computer.



So, this afternoon, after the aforementioned run, I completed a total rearranging of my room, removed the loft bed, and placed my bed in such a way that I would be able to utilize my headphones at night. All this activity, ultimately, made me very tired. I began to nap at six p.m. At 7:30 p.m. my alarm stirred me which I disregarded. Eventually, I would wake again- at ten p.m. This four hour excursion into much needed sleep promises me another late night characterized by insomnia.



Welcome to my world… moving on.






The Commendable Attributes of Senator Biden





During the inaugural posting here at Educated Soldier, I voiced my own solution for the war in Iraq. It was a plan that included the separation of the country into three nearly autonomous states that answered to a central government for only the most basic of needs. I wrote this totally unwitting that legislation was in place suggesting almost exactly this plan.



The bill in question was developed by Democratic Senator Joe Biden, along with some outside assistance, and was deemed the Biden-Gelb Plan for Iraq. After more thorough scrutiny, I have come to my own conclusions that cause me to be less warm to such a plan.



However, tonight I want to give credit where credit is due, despite opposite political affiliation. In this regard, there is much to like about Senator Biden’s overall stance concerning the War in Iraq. However, I will get to Senator Biden momentarily. First, I would like to point out why exactly I have strayed from my own conviction in such a plan for Iraq.




Ground Experience-Based Strategy




The idea that Iraq could survive as a three-state, federalized nation nearly fully hinged on at least one of the states being completely stable. The state in question would be the Iraqi north, a so-called “Kurdistan.” This area seemed the least conflicted when compared to a Sunni western Iraq and a Shiite southern Iraq. However, it is this same Kurdish area that might be most susceptible to trouble if such a plan is enacted. Recent news such as this proves that, even in Washington, observers are wary that an autonomous north would cause conflict between its citizens and military opposition in Turkey. If a highly independent Kurdistan proved unachievable, little is left to lead one to believe that a similarly independent Sunni region would stand any better of a chance; especially given the aggressive nature of a Shiite Iran remaining so strong and so close.



Moreover, upon reflecting on my experience on the ground, I was given more evidence that such a federation was unneeded. Let me explain. While times may now be different because my experiences are based on time spent in Ar Ramadi from 2004 through 2005, the basic idea, I am sure, remains the same. When I interacted with the local populace and we discussed the problems that they had with terrorist actors in their communities, the discussion wasn’t about their evil neighbors or the bad guys up the street. Instead, our Iraqi friends would tell us stories that went much like this: after American presence would leave the area, the neighborhood would be plagued by masked-men who would use threatening means to negate any progress that our unit had achieved. This isn’t to say that the opposition was always successful in this regard, nor is this the point of this observation.



Instead, the importance lies in the fact that these enemy forces were described as being outsiders. While their identities were thoroughly concealed, most Ramadi residents were able to categorize them as being from outside of their own neighborhoods. This may suggest that the opposition was foreign in nature, and it may not. Ultimately, what I concluded was that the general populace within Ramadi was fully ready to embrace peace and was also willing to accept a nationalized Iraq. The people that were causing the strife were outsiders in their location of origin and their mindsets. If my observation proves true – if the “sectarian” violence in the country is really generated by a small ostracized segment of extremists – then the need for a defined separation of states based on ethnic and religious ties becomes less necessary. Recent developments in Ramadi give credit to my accounts.





A Republican Soldier's Positive Sentiments for a Democrat





Now this all comes back to my recognition of Senator Biden. First, I have to make a few important declarations.



I am a Republican. I fully intend on voting for Fred Thompson should he run for President. If he decides not to then my allegiance belongs to Senator McCain. However, I am partial to the G.O.P. mostly because of domestic issues. For example, Senator Thompson has stated that he would sign into law the Fair Tax act should it pass Congress during his Presidency. I have no fantasy that this will actually come to pass. However, the basic attitude regarding taxes that allows someone to endorse the Fair Tax Act is an attitude that is very much akin to my own. Moreover, Senator Thompson has proven a strong advocate on issues important to me such as his continued support for Pro-Life legislation. However, he has been much less clear on his stance concerning the situation in Iraq.



And this is where I must give Senator Biden his just due. Most Republicans are taking the angle that they are awaiting General Petraeus’s September progress report to develop advanced strategy for our troops in country. This makes sense. However, it is also a weak answer. One could simultaneously exhibit patience while taking a decisive stand on the issue. The acknowledged Republican candidates are not doing this and, to my knowledge, Fred Thompson has not either. Senator Biden has developed a plan that he seems committed unconditionally. For this, he should be commended.



However, Senator Biden’s plan does have a further weakness. His strategy for a three-state nation in Iraq goes hand in hand with his ideal of a slow withdrawal of American troops. This is a fallacy. Developing such a state would read much like starting from scratch. We have seen how long it has taken to gain the limited progress that we are now observing in Iraq, and it goes to say that a new beginning would require a similar prolonged commitment of American troops.



And this is precisely where a gap exists that I eagerly hope Senator Thompson exploits. Not all Americans are aghast at the idea that Americans may be needed in Iraq for an extended period of time. Moreover, some of these Americans that recognize the time commitment that is required for greatest success in Iraq are the ones most willing to participate actively in this commitment. For example, I am doing everything in my power to allow for my return in a more educated capacity to the region. I know that our presence in Iraq is going to be required for years to come. I am a fervent believer that a stable Iraq benefits the country itself and the global community as a whole. I am willing to sacrifice certain luxuries in life to be an active enabler of such an achievement.



So, here is to hoping that Senator Thompson details a stump speech that clearly states that he has a plan for Iraq. It is my hope that the Senator steps forward and declares unapologetically what many of us already recognize as an unmentioned pink elephant: Troops are going to be in Iraq for many years to come. We promised the citizens of Iraq a better life and we should not turn our backs on that promise regardless of the time and sacrifices it might require. Moreover, we promised the world that we would be the leading entity in developing a global climate less prone to terrorist activity. Let’s also make good on that promise.



I get the sense that Senator Thompson is an individual of great pride. He seems to embody the southern gentleman custom of holding to a handshake deal. Senator Thompson, as a soldier myself, I have one request: Let’s show the terrorists as well as our Iraqi brethren that we are not the nation sans backbone that they may take us for. Show them that we have made a commitment and we intend to fully follow through on it. In turn, this dedication to our obligations will ultimately lead to a safer world. People will recognize America for the leader that it intends to be.



I genuinely believe sustained travel down a path of commitment will make America the harbinger of peace that today’s world so thoroughly requires.

2005 Mosque Raid

The stories told at Educated Soldier have lately taken a positive tone in sentiment. This isn’t reflective of my two years experience in Iraq necessarily; in fact, there were many periods during my deployments that were very much void of positive elements. However, the vast majority of news coming from Iraq is negative. And since both negative and positive details exist in the country and I choose to report events that others withhold, I tend- in result – to publish these “happy-go-lucky” Iraq tales.



Tonight’s account is going to be a different case. I want to put each of my readers in my shoes during a very significant day during my Ramadi tour. The mission completed that day met every adjective available on the spectrum including both positive and negative connotations. It was both wildly successful in its completion but probably horribly misjudged in its authorization. It was done with the foremost consideration for collateral damage but resulted in one of the most destructive displays of American exploitation of force that I have borne witness. The mission was the scariest of my life for moments and also one of the most boring in its prolonged conclusion…



First, however, I want to display credit where it is just due. The inspiration for tonight’s story and, in fact, inspiration for most of my continued recollections belongs to the continued efforts of two embedded journalists that I have the utmost respect for: Michael Yon and Michael Totten. In both of their recent dispatches, they tackled the peculiarities faced by an American military that struggles between effectively killing an enemy while doing as little in the way of disturbing the warming general populace as possible.



In Mr. Yon’s last report, he observes mid-level officers as they work diligently from their tactical operations center and debate over what level and means of force to use in an attempt to destroy an enemy that has since fled to a permanent residence within their city’s limits. The options that are available to the military officials are interesting in and of themselves. To give you a taste without telling Mr. Yon’s entire account; one of the options available is an airplane-dropped, concrete-laden bomb; the first of its type that I have been made aware of. Just as fascinating is the thought process that is completed by the various soldiers in charge. They want to kill an enemy that has attempted to kill their own men. But they don’t want to do so at the expense of upsetting a civilian population that is slowly coming to understand the benefits of the unit’s presence in their city. Again, the report is located here and I highly recommend that you take the time to access it.



Mr. Totten’s latest transmission from Baghdad relates directly to the story that I am prepared to tell tonight. The unit is which he is embedded is attempting a night time raid; a mission that I, myself, have undertaken countless times. Mr. Totten describes the intricacies of such a raid exactly as I remember them. His unit then faces the exact issue that will be the heart of tonight’s Educated Soldier tale: a possibly hostile mosque. It is well worth your time exploring Mr. Totten’s own adventures; no one does a better job of detailing exactly how it is over there. He neither glorifies the violence nor exaggerates the serenity. He tells the true story of Iraq; a land conflicted by those who want to promote stability interlaced with a small but persistent existence of a group that wants to see nothing of the sort achieved. His stories are a salad bowl of continued boredom and brief instances of sheer terror. Such a mix existed in the Iraq that I came to know very well.





On Sacred Grounds…






A hostile mosque… pictured to the right is “Saddam Mosque.” This facility exists in Ar Ramadi, Iraq. My unit, at the time I was there, was given the duty to serve the eastern half of the city. The Marines, whose command overrode all American jurisdictions in Al Anbar province, were tasked with the direct oversight of the western half of the city. Saddam Mosque’s location sat dead center of our own area of operations. It was in the middle of all confluences; north, south, east, and west. Running directly adjacent to this rather large mosque was the main thoroughfare of Ramadi. While the codename to this road is all too available on soldier-submitted YouTube videos, I am going to withhold such detail because of continued operational security.



This road traveled past the mosque and just west of its location was a large traffic circle. When the 1/503rd Infantry, of which I was assigned, first arrived in-city, this traffic circle was plagued by enemy activity. During our first sweep of the location, our unit’s engineers located no less than sixteen planted improvised explosive devices. After clearing these dangers, an almost immediate return to the area presented at least ten replaced explosives. During our initial time in Ramadi, this traffic circle was also home to many a fire fight. Ultimately, the dangers of this traffic circle would become case-in-point testament to the Ramadi turn-around; upon exiting the city after our year tour, nearly no danger ever presented itself at the traffic circle.



Before achieving these successes, however, much work had to be completed to set the foundation for such a turn-around. Much of this work focused on the ever present “elephant in the room,” the Saddam Mosque.



The Ramadi residents who were ready to embrace peace would often tell us that Saddam Mosque was a major tactical host for the enemy that we faced. Moreover, during most firefights, we were engaged directly from the Mosque itself. However, we were ever hesitant to enter such a sacred facility. This is the dilemma presented by counter insurgency warfare of the type now faced in Iraq. Americans are ever cognizant of the feelings and dignity of the surrounding populace. Our enemy worries less about such things.



The 1/503rd did everything short of actually entering the mosque in attempts to negate its effectiveness as an enemy stronghold. We observed it from surrounding facilities for weeks on end. We patrolled its local area often, both on foot and in humvees, in attempts to provoke the enemy. The hope was that they would be as unwise enough to leave the safety of the mosque and fight us in the streets. This rarely happened. The enemy had the upper hand and they were well aware of this tactical advantage.



Eventually, however, American forces in the city were augmented quite substantially by Iraqi forces. This new battlefield dynamic presented new options in dealing with the Saddam Mosque. After being harassed heavily by occupants of the mosque, it was decided that some attempt had to made to gain authorization to demilitarize this facility. Ultimately it worked like this: one day a platoon lieutenant tired of his men getting shot at from perpetrators in the mosque. He, therefore, implored the company commander to authorize entry into the building. The company commander then asked for the same authorization from the battalion commander. This level of authority wasn’t high enough to allow such action, so he- in turn- asked permission from the brigade commander, a “full-bird” Colonel. Even his power fell short of the necessary level to give the mission a go. So he contacted the Marine commander of all ground forces in Al Anbar. From my understanding, it was at this level that authorization was finally ceded for actions on the mosque.



However, unilateral American actions on such an establishment of Islamic importance would ultimately negate the successes being made in winning the city’s “hearts and minds.” It was decided, instead, that our Iraqi army and police brethren would lead the initial assault on the mosque. However, the gravity of such a mission warrants days of preparation, not hours. First, American soldiers had to patrol throughout the city and inform all the citizens that such an action on the mosque was being considered. We had to convince the populace that our intentions were totally noble and in the best interest of the safety of the city as a whole. Local television stations even warned the citizens that a vehicle restriction was being imposed on the day of the Saddam Mosque raid. Our psychological operations soldiers declared from the loudspeakers mounted atop their humvees that the mosque would be off-limits and that a mixed Iraqi / American force intended to clear the facility of enemy opposition. We were prepared to lose the element of surprise in return for gaining the goodwill of the more peaceful-minded people.



The preparation for the raid of Saddam Mosque constituted the positive elements of such a mission. Americans did everything in their abilities to inform all interested that we were only intruding on sacred grounds for the establishment of the better good of the community. The mission, itself, was ultimately successful in its initial actions. Our entire battalion stormed the grounds and the Iraqi ground soldiers led the way in entering the Mosque. American soldiers eventually entered and, in a city whose level of danger rarely allowed visitation from journalists, one of our soldiers gained his 15 minutes of fame when such a reporter documented his efforts crawling through the building’s ductwork, eventually locating a substantial cache of enemy weapons and materials.



However, in an endeavor to be totally forthcoming, my obligation causes me to tell the entire story. Eventual events of the day’s raid were much less positive in retrospect. To understand what happened next, one must be aware of the composition of the force that occupied the mosque after its initial raid.



On the grounds of the facility, were at least two companies worth of armored humvees. This is to say that there were upwards of forty vehicles all positioned surrounding the mosque, their 50-caliber machine guns and automatic grenade launchers prepared for action. My company was positioned on the roof of the mosque. Inside the facility were the Iraqi forces.



My company was receiving sporadic “harassing” fire from areas throughout the city. Harassing fire is the military’s way of describing what amounts to “pop shots.” However, this could be expected as we were occupying the most prominent figure in the Ramadi skyline, save for the hospital to our distant north. Our complacency was causing many of us to be less than cautious in our attempts to find cover. Many of our torsos, to upper enlisted members’ chagrins, were completely exposed to the entire city. We were a brave, sometimes strategically lazy, bunch.



Of the negative things that occurred that day, this was the first: While occupying the mosque, it was made absolutely clear throughout the city that it was expected for individuals to remain in their residencies. Occupying a sacred mosque and receiving continuous fire found all soldiers a bit edgy, despite our battle-tested demeanors. To the west of the mosque, around the area of the above-described traffic circle, much fire was being generated in our direction. We kept a watchful eye and, to our surprise, after time a large group of men, clad in black and wearing winter ski-masks made their presence known. For reasons still unknown, they decided to attempt to run across the street from the building we were receiving rounds to the opposing side of the thoroughfare. While they weren’t firing at the time we located them, the dynamics of war led all to believe that these were indeed enemy forces. There were plenty of reasons to arrive at such a conclusion: the black uniforms, the ski masks, the continuous gun shots that had preceded their daring dash. In retaliation, about a platoon of us from the mosque’s roof fired on these individuals. I fired on these individuals. To this day, I have little regret for participating in such actions. The fog of war was thick and there was little time or opportunity to stop these men and ask them whether they were friend or foe; circumstances had already dictated their guilt.



Time passed after this activity and soon we faced the second of the mission’s ultimately negative points. No vehicular traffic made its way in the vicinity of the mosque nearly the entire time that we were there. The Ramadi citizens had been warned against such excursions and they seemed to be complying. In a war laden with vehicular explosives, it wasn’t wrong for my unit to expect the worst from any car or truck that approached Saddam Mosque’s grounds. In time, however, one did. Again, from the west, a red hatchback raced toward our location. Our best efforts were made to get this vehicle to stop, but one may be able to imagine the difficulties in such a task given the environmental situation. Despite warning shots, this car continued to speed toward the mosque grounds and was on a collision course with any of the several military vehicles positioned around the mosque. A nearly automatic reaction occurred; the humvees on the ground began to fire. They all began to fire. Machine guns growled loudly and, sporadically, the unmistakable sound of the “Mark” 19 grenade launchers made their liveliness known. Nearly every member of my company on the roof took part in stopping the vehicle via the focused fire of our M-4 carbines. Again, I was as much a part of this action as any member of my unit.



Our company commander called for a cease fire from the roof. Ground commanders ordered their humvees to halt firing. The red hatchback sat idle on the road directly across from my own location on the roof. Oil poured from under the car and, sinisterly, crept in its liquidly fashion toward the opposite side of the road. It was sinister in the fact that the oil looked very much like blood. The car was no longer a threat. However, being that it was surmised to have been laden with explosives, my unit was in no hurry to get near it. In fact, it was deemed that there was little reason to approach the vehicle. Its occupants were presumed dead. While it was military custom to assist the wounded on the battlefield, whether friend or foe, this particular situation presented no such opportunity. Instead, it was decided that we had to ignite the explosives inside this vehicle without endangering soldiers by approaching it. The tool for such a mission was the AT-4; a sort of shoulder mounted bazooka type of weapon. From the roof of the mosque, a soldier friend of mine fired the AT-4 at the car with pin-point precision. The secondary explosions that occurred after the initial impact of the AT-4 round proved our initial assessment correct; the car was indeed heavy with explosives. In stopping the car with an exotic show of force, we ultimately saved the lives of many of our brethren on the ground.




Conclusion




The ultimate goal of this story was to show the many intricacies that present themselves when Americans are faced with such a dilemma. This event occurred in 2005 and, presumably, occurrences of American force such as this one are becoming rarer. Ramadi, at the time, was on some days composed of war-zone activity and on others, peaceful community building. Coalition actions, these days, seem to be more constituted around the latter.



The preparations made for the raid on Saddam Mosque were perfect counter-insurgency tactics. We had to gain the will of the people. If all is told, had the citizens been totally against such a raid, one would not have been performed. We truly attempted to adhere to the desires of the people. However, the mission wasn’t without its hitches. Should we have forgone the destruction of the enemy that initially ran across the street in an effort to lessen the negative connotations that are associated with such American actions while on the grounds of a holy site? Possibly. Was the use of fire power on the vehicle-borne explosive overly aggressive? This could also be possibly true. However, judgment calls are made in the matter of seconds and retrospective thoughts last a lifetime. The livelihood and safety of soldiers demands that we rely on the judgment calls and deny our own susceptibility to submit to the possibility of negative hindsight.



The conflict that is continuing in Iraq is one neither constituted by black nor white. Everything occurs in shades of gray and the hostility and events generated by Saddam Mosque stand as testament to that fact. Our soldiers are facing opportunities of split second decisions that result in life or death and reverberate throughout an entire’s nation’s infrastructure. I implore you to remember these details when you consider the contributions that are being made daily in Iraq.






The Saddam Mosque picture was originally posted on Wikipedia. Its use is authorized by its existence as a commonly owned item. If this image belongs to you and you would like it removed, please contact whiskey_boarder@hotmail.com

A Soldier's Hero

Recently, the publications from Educated Soldier have found their way to various sites throughout the internet. The result of the republishing of the tales originally found here has been the generation of a great many debates concerning the dynamics of the current circumstances in Iraq. Such results have been greatly personally satisfying.


In my current state, as a student in America, I often feel that there is little left for me to offer in a struggle that I fully believe in. My academic pursuits, should they be completed, would situate me in such a position to return to the Middle East in some role to truly make a difference. This is my ultimate goal and it is one that I am committed to unconditionally. However, it is this current period of time; suspended between extended tours in Iraq and an eventual return, that often causes me unrest. So it has been a boon of great fortune that I have been able to hold this venue. I have found Educated Soldier to be my current niche of contribution.



Discussion about the Iraq War is vitally important. This is a principle that I fully buy into. On many other forums, I have made it very clear that I have sources of apprehension that cause me greater fear than a determined enemy in the Middle East. Two of these fears are domestic in nature. First, I fear that the American populace will eventually grow less tolerant toward an on-going conflict in the Middle East because of the perceived monetary burden that is being developed by the conflict and parlayed on the country or because of some moral disagreement with prolonged fighting. Worse yet is the possibility of a future apathetic United States; this scares me more thoroughly than all else. As long as interested parties are continuing to debate the merits and failures of the war, I stand firm in my optimism that eventual goals can be presented and achieved. However, when the public interest wanes and government officials have fewer critics to scrutinize their decisions, the war in Iraq is going to become a lost cause. I fervently believe that success can still be had and that slow achievements are, in fact, leading to that ultimate success. For this reason, an apathetic America is a frightening thing.



Is such an uninterested America an implausible occurrence? I think not. Consider: This is a country mesmerized by the follies of the Paris Hiltons and Lindsay Lohans of Hollywood. David Beckham is more often front-page news than is the occurrence of American deaths in the Middle East. Our sports heroes (see Vick, Michael, et al) are failing us and we continually divert our attention from news of utter importance to interesting, but relatively innocent, hi-jinks of an out-of-control celebrity community. Because American interest manifest itself in such ways, I don’t think that I am totally lost in suggesting that, one day, all major interest in Iraq may fade; our collective short attention span caught by any of a list of other sources of “entertainment.” So when I can direct my experiences in Iraq in such a way to stimulate continued discourse on the subject, I well with absolute pride.



With that being said, I want to thank everyone who has read my accounts, commented here and elsewhere and has, in general, cared. I think a continued effort by all parties- those that have been in-county, those who have not, those who support the war, and those who oppose – can ultimately result in a situation and game-plan that we can all agree upon and work through. This, ultimately, is my grand goal. And it is also what motivates me to continue to write…






Baptism by Fire






My most recent posts have been fairly thought-invoking affairs. Tonight, in the celebratory mood caused by Iraq’s successful futbol run in the Asian Games, I want to delve into something different and sentimental in a positive sense. I have a story in my head that has been developing for some time. It involves my initiation to war. It is also a story that generated a deep bond between a fellow soldier and me. This friendship is one that I still consider among my strongest despite the recent lack of communication between the associated parties. However, the story is a bit blurry – many details escape me. Some of the details are removed not because of the blur of time, but because I was not privy to them as the events unfolded. As time passed, I learned more about the particulars. However, there is still much that needs to be filled in. If you have the ability to flesh out this story, please contact me and do so; this is worthy made-for-Hollywood stuff. And, to all of those that look up to every individual that dons a uniform, understand this is a story of the types of individuals that we, the ground ponders, direct all admiration. This is, indeed, a story of…





My Heroes





My unit rolled into Iraq with the very lead elements of the entire invading force. Stepping back, however, one looks in retrospect and chokes on the use of the word “invading.” I rode in a humvee occupied by three men. As the most junior soldier, I was primarily the driver. Seated to my right was my team chief and, manning the gun, was another soldier. We had a solid team. None of the three of us were apart in age by more than a few years. We had the same interests; in fact, we were primarily interested in what most boys our age liked: girls, booze, music, and girls and booze. I genuinely believe that our team almost always enjoyed the company amongst each other. As progressing time grinded on other teams and led to nearly inevitable in-fighting, we prided ourselves in our ability to ignore such burdens. Looking back, I think that we were too naive to waste energy in such a fruitless occupation as argument. Besides we were too busy playing “Pictionary” and constantly debating what we would do with a million dollars and… often, we would play this peculiar game that spontaneously occurred amongst bored-stricken soldiers and it worked like this:



One player would suggest a terrible situation. Say, for example, the named hypothetical activity might be something akin to undergoing physical pain of some sort while being forced to observe pornographic actions enacted between grotesque beings. The other participants in the game would then bid with fictitious money until one player named the lowest terms that they would be willing to accept in remittance for participating in the supposed situation. In turn, the remaining players could forever then suggest that Steve, for example, “would undergo physical pain, while watching grotesque porno for only $1,000!” Such were the fun times of the “invading” soldiers.



A notable memory is when my humvee “invaded” the Fertile Crescent. One should remember that, for the past six months, my unit had been living in Kuwait in an area that was surrounded by the endless sands of the desert environment. Traveling through southern Iraq, the topography was no different; flat, sandy, desolate. We traveled through such conditions for a couple of days with nary an actionable event of note to register. Then, without warning, we crested a hill and, in the distance, the sand gave way to lush green grass and sporadic groves of trees. While not parched or striving for vegetation for the same reasons, I can imagine the excitement that overtook nomadic desert-travelers of the past when stumbling upon this location. Typically, one doesn’t take into account how thoroughly they associate livelihood with vegetation often. Even when it's gone, one hardly misses it. However, after being without the presence of environments composed of the color green for a long period and then suddenly having such an atmosphere sprung is nearly an indescribable phenomenon…



It was, perhaps, prior to our peaceful “invasion” of the Fertile Crescent or just upon arriving at its very edges that my baptism by fire occurred.



While I was a member of a “reconnaissance” unit, it was not very often that we conducted reconnaissance on much of anything. This was generally because we were one of the few units in the Third Infantry Division that had absolutely no armored support. We were equipped with humvees only. Moreover, the use of humvees was a bit new to us as well because, in training back at Fort Stewart, we typically inserted via helicopter and proceeded to “hump” our equipment in traveling to our objectives. So, in lieu of such reconnaissance, we often provided security for more vulnerable trailing elements; for example, certain higher headquarters vehicles. In turn, the leading elements through southern Iraq were often Armored Battalions or the well-equipped Cavalry Squadron.



However, one night, something upset this order of battle and we found ourselves pushed pretty far ahead. The element just forward of us had reported pretty significant contact. It was nighttime and this was, without a doubt, the closest I had come to enemy fire. In fact, at the time, I was convinced that the war would be over before I knew it. I was also falsely convinced that modern war was only fought amongst Special Operations ground units and Air Forces. I would learn differently a few miles up the road.



The lead unit was in enough contact to warrant supplementation. This is where my own unit came in. We drove directly into a firefight and it was a phenomenon that, oddly, I will neither ever forget nor ever be able to remember clearly. This dynamic remains because of the adrenaline rush that occurred that caused me to undergo a physical experience that I can only relate to athletes who have ever been in the “zone.” One understands the environment surrounding them but is; ultimately, separate from that environment and a concentrated mental focusing develops.



The ultimate result of the night’s battle was an eventual withdrawal by, not only us, but by the unit that we were supporting. In our place stormed a battalion of tanks. I do remember clearly maneuvering my vehicle out of the area of skirmish and being bypassed by Abrams tanks whose occupants were physically out of their armored tanks, loudly growling in anticipation of slaughter. In an Airborne Division, excitement is generated by the parachute-drop of troops. In Mechanized Divisions, such as the Third Infantry, pride is taken in our mechanical superiority. These tankers were vicious combatants and absolutely loved to take the fight to the enemy.



After the tanks cleared out and little was left of the enemy, I became witness to my first combat air attack. As a team of forward observers, it was often our job to call in artillery or close-air-support (airplanes). Airplanes were going to be used to finish off any remaining enemy on this night but we would not be the ones directing the action. At this point, this particular scuffle had battled on for some time and a heavy congregation of military officials had assembled. Such an occurrence was a perfect opportunity for an established officer to conduct such an air attack from the ground. While we wanted to do our job, I think that my team ultimately understood. Besides, the first taste of war had left us a bit weary and we were satisfied to simply watch the artful display put on by an Air Force that I am forever grateful.





However, the participants in this battle failed to impress me in comparison to the grittiest bunch of individuals that I would come to meet the following day.





After the battle had subsided, we assembled our vehicles in a coherent, secure cluster and attempted to achieve some remnants of rest. Upon waking the next morning, our unit was given a follow-on mission. We were to return to the battlegrounds of last night in order to retrieve some remaining American combatants



Consider this statement: there were remaining, living American combatants on the battlefield.



During our mission that day, we would have additional occupants in each of our humvees. These were the teammates of the men that we were journeying in an endeavor to retrieve. Little of the mission was making sense at this point. However, we dutifully traveled towards the area of the previous night’s battle.



Upon arriving there, a real genuine mess was to be seen. Not only were the sporadic concrete buildings that once stood throughout the area decimated, but enemy pick-up trucks continued to smolder. This was my first evidence of an authentic battleground. Moreover, at some point it had rained. Being on the edge of the Fertile Crescent, the soil here was composed of dirt instead of sand. Currently the ground was neither but, instead, mud. And, if I remember correctly, I recall seeing one of the few armored vehicles we lost in the battle absolutely buried in heavy, brown muck.



Still, we had a curious mission to conduct. At some point, the guest in our vehicle commanded us to stop. When we did, and after he exited the vehicle, the most amazing event that I have ever been witness to occurred. He and members of his unit who had ridden in accompanying humvees scoured the battlefield, and as they did, they recovered fellow soldiers. And these soldiers were most definitely alive and mostly uninjured.



Let me express the gravity of this situation: these were men that, apparently, had been on the ground throughout the night. They maintained safety despite being present during a firefight conducted between American humvees and enemy gun-trucks. Afterwards, they remained on the ground and survived a prolonged onslaught conducted by massive American tanks. To add further devastation, they remained on the battlefield as airplanes dropped substantial bombs and an extended amount of ordinance throughout their area of operation.



And, apparently, this is exactly what these toughest of men had planned to do. Moreover, they instigated the entire fight and their efforts led to the eradication of a large number of enemy combatants. These soldier/heroes may not have physically destroyed their opposition themselves, but their presence was a force-multiplier on an unheard of scale. With only their feet, rifles and radios to depend on, they caused havoc unlike any that I have since been presence to. This is why, to this day, I refer to my unit as “reconnaissance” in quotations; how dare I devalue the term when others are embodying it in such ways?



Upon retrieving these men, they eagerly recuperated. I remember seeing many of them relying on oxygen machines to help promote their recovery from pure exhaustion. I have forever engrained in my memory an image of a group of these men, sitting on a small dirt crest, ragged looking. They were weary-eyed and dogged. I guarantee, however, that after a brief refreshing pause to boost their reserves, these men continued to participate in the action in methods much more productive than any of my own.





Friendship Forged of Fire





Years later I would find myself in South Korea. I was in the 1/503rd Infantry Battalion and I was the new guy. For some reason, on this particular night, the entire unit was outside of their barracks, spread throughout the garrison area, in uniform, but hardly under any discernible sort of control. Street lights had little effect and I vividly recall all faces being concealed in shadow.



A unit member caught sight of the combat patch that I, at that time, wore on my right shoulder. This was a time before combat was a given for all soldiers and I was sort of a pariah because of my own experiences. Upon seeing that I had served in Iraq, everyone seemed to have questions. Upon receiving one of these queries that night, I began to recall my tales as a “Recon” soldier when I was interrupted by the loudest reverberation of footsteps I can ever remember hearing.



Rumbling towards me was this fireball of a human being. This guy had shoulders as broad as a linebacker’s and hips inhumanly narrower in proportion. This being was physically constructed to cause massive damage on anything that he found needing such treatment. Upon looking at this man, I would have assessed him as being six foot three and well over 240 pounds; I doubt any of that was fat.


And, to my greatest chagrin, this guy was bee-lining directly for me:



“What the f*ck do you know about recon?!”



This wasn’t a question that was meant to be answered. As the growling individual appeared closer, I recognized that, despite his size, he wasn’t much older than me.



“What the f*ck do you know about being in Iraq two weeks before the war stated?!”



I swear to this day that this man had caused me more fear in two questions that I had developed in a year in Iraq. This guy was an animal. Despite this, I managed a meager reply…



“Well… uh… Sergeant. I was in the Second Brigade Reconnaissance Team…”



My auditory stumbling wasn’t working and my mind raced to find an escape from this confrontation. For some reason, an event that hadn’t been recalled in many moons began to falter from my clenched throat…



“I mean, we rescued these dudes… You wouldn’t believe it, Sergeant- they came out of the ground. They buried themselves, survived some of the worst-“



I was cut off while beginning to recount the events described above.



Sergeant “Joe’s” mood and demeanor quickly changed. As oppressive as he had seemed just a prior second, he had now morphed into a gigantic appreciative Viking-looking individual. He hesitated in surprise and then, with genuine appreciation, continued.



“Objective “Lions?” You were there? That was you?”



Somehow my limited participation in the battle described above was enough to pass muster with this most amazing human being. Sergeant Joe had been in the unit that we had recovered that long past morning in Iraq. While he wasn’t one of the soldiers who had participated in that particular mission, he was one of the soldiers from that same unit. From his recounting, they had worked for Joint Special Operations Command and, in my assessment, completed some of the most wild, hair-raising missions of the early part of the war.



Sergeant Joe and I would go on to become great friends. He never questioned my past war experience again. He should have; my contributions were absolutely limited in comparison to his own. However, for some reason, he took a liking to me. I always looked up to Joe and eventually stood beside him during countless battles in Ar Ramadi. Joe, and people like Joe, is this soldier’s hero…





Epilogue:





I believe that the unit of focus above was the 18th Airborne Corps’s Long Range Reconnaissance and Surveillance (LRRS) unit. This unit, I believe, is badged F. Company, 51st Infantry. I also believe that they fall under the auspices of the 519th Military Intelligence Battalion. If anyone has further information concerning this mission or these men, please come forward. Enough time has passed to adequately suggest that parading these feats for their extreme heroics will not compromise anyone’s security.



While tonight’s tale may not raise any important questions and may also fail in helping readers understand the current dynamic, I would hope that it goes a long way in promoting the realization of the great sacrifices that have been made and are continuing to be made. Sergeant Joe would do it all again. So would I. I would genuinely hope that the soldiers are given the opportunity to decide when they have grown weary of fighting and not have an American population do so on their behalf.