Five years ago, on September 11, 2001, terrorists blew things up in New York City and Washington, D.C. At Camp Ali terrorists decided to celebrate the five-year anniversary by sending a 107-mm rocket screaming over the MiTT camp. It landed thirty-five meters north of us. Luckily it was a dud or it could have killed our entire team in one shot. Death was a reality we faced in combat. We had been lucky thus far to have experienced relatively few casualties in the Iraqi battalion. But in September we headed into our biggest operation yet, and I was certain that at the end of the operation someone would be dead or missing a body part. Surviving the operation would be a serious relief.
We began the operations briefs. Even by Iraqi standards the preliminary Iraqi order had failed. Don’t get me wrong, the content was solid. The briefer communicated his ideas and everyone understood how we would accomplish the mission. Even so, the Iraqis made a rookie mistake in formulating the plan. They assumed they could fit 222 individuals into the Haditha FOB, a space designated for a maximum of 100. The Iraqis may enjoy the idea of being stacked on top of one another, but I didn’t want an Iraqi sleeping on top of me.
Captain McShane did not endorse their plan either. “What about the idea of using peoples’ homes as patrol bases?” he asked. “We can switch every day or so.” Although such an idea would certainly infuriate the locals, we thought it was better than stacking 222 bodies in a shoebox. But McShane’s ideas did not persuade the Iraqis. Captain Hasen said, “We are Iraqis; we do not want to invade another Iraqi’s home. The Americans may be willing to do this, but we refuse to do this!” Hasen’s critique was correct, but he did not offer any alternative solutions. McShane, visibly frustrated, fired at the Iraqis, “We must do this. You have presented no solutions—we are doing it our way now!”
McShane’s plan angered every Iraqi in the room. Unfortunately Iraqis are not Marines. Marines will come to the position of attention, salute, and carry out the mission their commander gives them, even if the commander is a dope. Iraqis will do no such thing. McShane, who was used to being in command, still had not grasped the difference between commanding and advising. There are two things Americans should never do with Iraqis in public: Never tell them they are wrong and never command them to do something. Both of these infractions shred an Iraqi’s pride and honor, effectively murdering him in the eyes of society. An equivalent offense in our culture would be to get on a bus, call the first black person you saw a “nigger,” and tell him to sit in the back of the bus. These things do not sit well.
The Iraqis had a point. McShane’s counterproposal was an untenable option. It would rightfully cause Anbar Sunnis to view Americans as occupiers and was sure to create even more insurgents in the region. In addition, setting up patrol bases in local homes would expose us to VBIED and grenade attacks. It would not work.
The upcoming operation was causing tempers and emotions to fly sky high, not only between the MiTT and the IA but also among the MiTT members. During our nightly MiTT meeting Lieutenant Adams asked Staff Sergeant Haislip to get batteries for all the Humvees. Haislip responded, “That ain’t my job.” Adams, a prior-enlisted Marine for twelve years, responded in the way he knows best. “Haislip, I didn’t ask you if it is your job. Just fuckin’ do it!” On Haislip’s behalf Staff Sergeant Donaldson said, “Lieutenant Adams, aren’t batteries your issue as the supply officer? Why aren’t you taking care of that?” Adams was seething. He said, “Stay in your fuckin’ lane, intelligence boy. How about you figure out what the hell is going on in the area of operations and let me figure out how to get the batteries?” The team was on the brink of mutiny. The boss jumped in, but his yelling only heightened the frustration. “Everyone shut up and quit fuckin’ bitching! No more talking.” These people cannot handle the stress of planning the mission, I thought, God help us when we move to the execution phase of the mission.
The Mission Begins
The day came to kick off Operation Nimer (Tiger). All the soldiers from our battalion would be in the operation, along with elements from 3rd Iraqi Battalion in Hit and 1st Iraqi Battalion in Rawah. With a mere 222 jundi involved, the Marines thought it would be routine. But no matter how routine an operation might be for Marines, nothing is routine for Iraqis.
As is typical in Iraqi operations, of the 222 jundi involved, only 80 would actually see combat; the rest would sit back in the COC at the Haditha FOB. I will never understand why Iraqi communications and coordination can be so poor when they keep a vast majority of their troops in the command center to alleviate these problems. I guess the answer is simple. The more Iraqis you have involved in planning and coordination, the more arguing and disagreement you will receive and thus the worse performance you will have.
The basic operations plan was to flood the Triad cities with Iraqi soldiers conducting heavy combat operations. The hope was that this offensive would keep the insurgents occupied just long enough so that 2nd Battalion, 3rd Marines (2/3) would be able to transition into the area to replace the outbound Marines from 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marines (3/3). Insurgents historically time their attacks when new Marine units RIP (relief in place) into the area of operations. They correctly assume that the new Marine battalion will be slow in adjusting to the environment and the stress of combat. Our goal was to keep our fresh marines, 2/3, from being blown up by IEDs, shot at by small-arms fire, or mutilated by RPG explosions.
In preparation for battle we assembled an enormous convoy with supplies, soldiers, weapons, and a bunch of bad attitudes. The first stop on the convoy would be the Haditha FOB. There we would coordinate with the 3/3 Marines on how this operation was going to work. We had a vague plan, but we needed to iron out the details. We had traveled with the jundi before in enormous convoys with upward of thirty vehicles, but we had never traveled through the narrow, IED-infested streets of Haditha with a convoy larger than six vehicles. This mission would require navigating ten vehicles through the city (see photo 14).
On pins and needles we zigzagged through the one-lane streets of Haditha. We hauled ass through the main marketplace, ensuring that no insurgents had any time to stage an attack or toss a grenade into one of the Leylands full of jundi and gear. Miraculously we arrived in one piece at the austere Haditha FOB.
Although the Haditha FOB is perhaps the size of a football field, it has living conditions that would make a caveman cringe: bullet-ridden walls, collapsed roofs from mortar damage, trash and barbed wire strewn about, shattered glass and shrapnel along the ground, and more sandbags than someone could count in a lifetime. Haditha is one of the most dangerous places in Iraq, if not the entire world.
Pulling up to the FOB with ten vehicles was not an impossible task; however, pulling up to the FOB with ten vehicles operated by Iraqi drivers was. After multiple vehicle wrecks and collisions, the chaos began to subside and we got our orders. Our convoy would be broken into two elements, one staying at the FOB and the other heading to the Water Treatment Facility (WTF), our proposed combat patrol base. The WTF element would include me, Doc McGinnis, Major Gaines, and Staff Sergeant Chesnutt from the MiTT; Martin and Moody would be our terps. We also would have six infantry Marines from 3/3 who operated exclusively in Haditha. The final piece of the pie would be a crapload of motivated jundi with four Leylands full of gear to accomplish their mission. “Let’s move out,” Major Gaines ordered. We started the convoy out the east gate toward the center of town. The motivation level was striking. Everyone was gung-ho for combat.