Hillah, Iraq.
We left before lunch to support an administrative mission to the local police station. The new El Salvadoran colonel went to meet the police chief. This required only one Special Forces and one Anglico vehicle for support, and I wanted to get out.
The short ride over was uneventful, and we parked in the shade to listen to Staff Sergeant’s new mix CD (heavy on the 80s). The crew consisted of only Staff Sergeant, me, and Sergeant. The topic of conversation was, of course, opinions on our redeployment home. There are generally at least two more theories than there are participants in a conversation, but each aired his thoughts in turn, and offered comments on the other’s. Going home is a topic that never gets exhausted.
Lunch came and went, and I was getting pretty hungry when one of the Iraqi police sergeants generously brought us out a tray of lunch. In my experience, typical Iraqi food is a tray of (I think) curried rice. If not curried, certainly spiced rice. On this bed of rice is a wealth of roast chicken and lamb, as well as cucumbers and tomatoes. He also brought a stack of flat bread.Now that is good eatin’. I like to tear off hunks of meat with the flat bread, then scoop up some rice to make a burrito like affair. Some of the Marines won’t eat local food. They don’t know what they are missing.We thanked the policeman profusely, and gave him almost all of our water and iced tea. Iraqis really like bottled water, particularly when it is frozen as we keep it for missions. We ate until we were full, chatting with the policemen that came out to talk to us.
When we were done, the asked if they might have the tray back. Iraqis rarely let anything go to waste.
We returned to Camp Charlie to find that our intelligence guys had learned that an insurgent group has been spreading a wealth of propaganda in a nearby town, encouraging local insurgency. The police chief of that town was suspected of conspiring with the insurgents against Coalition Forces. The Green Berets decided to pay him a call.
Our Marine colonel was excited as this was his first ‘real’ combat mission. Honestly, his duties are almost exclusively administrative, and I know it is tough for him to shuffle paper while his Marines are out on combat missions. I was happy for him to have a chance to go out to do some of the fun stuff for a change.
As we geared up, I realized how comfortable I have gotten with my role and my environment. When I first started, I had a backpack full of maps, pens, books on calling air strikes, backup batteries, spare flashlights, emergency food rations, Red Bulls, a magazine of nothing but tracers, and a wealth of other gear that over the months I realized I simply didn’t need. The colonel was loading himself down with stuff as I stood there with my rifle, my GPS, and a laser pointer in my pocket.
“You don’t have your maps?” the colonel asked.
“No sir,” I answered, “I just read them my grid and shine the light on the target.”
“What about your 9 line book?”
“Um…9 lines just confuse the issue, sir. I just shine the light on what I want blown up.”
We rolled into the middle of a busy town. The street lights were bright enough to wash out NODs, but not really bright enough to see in the shadows. And there are a lot of shadows on a city street.
The Green Berets went to meet with the local police, and we took up a security position outside the police station. Iraqis are a social people, and they tend to do most of their socializing after dark when the heat breaks. The streets were filled with adults and children, all engaged in activities: watching television, smoking and talking, shopping, riding bicycles, or just taking a stroll. All while I took a knee next to the humvee, hoping that nothing happened.
Kneeling while armed in a crowded street gives a unique perspective on urban combat. Next time you are out about town, take a good look around with the mindset that you are a legal but perhaps unwelcome foreign police force. Even a modest Iraqi city street offers plenty of spots to start trouble, and there was going to be a lot of bad news if trouble came to town. Even the curious onlookers can be suspicious.
Please don’t let anything happen please don’t let anything happen please don’t let anything happen please don’t let anything happen.
After one of the longest half hours in recent memory, during which thankfully nothing bad happened, we mounted up to return to Camp Charlie.The embassy was once again under threat of attack, and they tasked us to support them with our mortar. The medium mortar was set up, and began firing illumination rounds towards the embassy to aid the patrols around the embassy’s perimeter. The embassy is near the extreme range of the mortar, requiring the use of the maximum propellant charge. We sat up on the roof drinking (nonalcoholic) beer as the mortars arced overhead, then exploded thousands of meters away, shining brightly over the embassy. The firing was quite loud, and it occurred to us when the Mongols ripped off some automatic rifle fire after one mortar shot that we probably should have informed somebody that we were firing mortars.