We followed the remainder of the patrol across Boardwalk to ensure squad integrity. After examining the house and finding nothing except a family fast asleep, we continued east into the sleepy palm groves to search for stray command wires. The insurgents typically plant the IEDs on Route Boardwalk and string the copper command wires into the palm groves to maximize the concealment of the wires. By moving into the palm groves and walking parallel to Route Boardwalk, we would hopefully run into these command wires before the insurgents were able to use them to blow up a convoy the following day.
We stumbled across barren agricultural fields and moved eastward toward the lush palm groves that nestled against the Euphrates. As we bumbled along, each of us tried to look less idiotic than the other. I have always considered myself a coordinated person, however, throw eighty pounds of combat gear on your back, look through a P.S.-14 monocular night vision goggle, try to walk across mogul-like terrain for a few hundred meters, and see what happens. It’s a humbling experience.
We approached the palm groves. Moving into the groves in the thick of night reminded me of classic war scenes from the jungles of Vietnam. While we did not need a machete to get through the thicket, it was damn close. I called for Jaffer through Martin’s UHF radio, “Jaffer, let’s talk about how we are going to move through these palm groves.” Jaffer showed up and gave me his plan. His basic idea was for everyone to get in a line and start walking parallel to Route Boardwalk through the dense palm grove forests and the four-foot reed patches up ahead. This plan would cause him to lose control of his squad. We hacked on his plan and came up with something that was not perfect but could work.
The intent of sleuthing through the palm groves in the middle of the night was to run across copper command wires. After five minutes of falling on my face, untangling my gear from reeds, and ensuring I was not in the sights of an Iraqi Army AK-47, I realized that finding these damned command wires was going to have to take a back seat. It was hard enough seeing a foot in front of our faces, let alone being able to see a thin copper fishing wire on the ground. We made a collective decision to return to the WTF.
We returned to the WTF after four hours of trudging in treacherous terrain. Then we gathered everyone around for a quick debrief, which is SOP (standard operating procedure) for the Marines. I began my brief comments, which lasted all of three minutes. Jaffer responded, smiling gleefully, “Jamal, you are my brother, these jundi and these Marines are your brothers. Why do you make them suffer through a debrief?” I gazed into the empty faces of the forty-year-old Iraqi army soldiers on the patrol with us, many of whom had lived harder lives than I could even imagine. I replied, “Jaffer you’re right. I’m sorry. Everyone get some rest. Great job today.”
Insurgent Snipers Attack
After three hours of dreamless sleep, I awoke to the sound of roaring generator engines and the sight of an Iraqi civilian snooping outside the building. Instinctively I reached for my M-4. I notified Doc, who I found was tracking on the same man. Before we could figure out what to do next, Martin, who was sleeping outside on his cot, addressed the man, “Hey, what are you doing over here?” The man, who was scared out of his mind, timidly responded, “I am sorry, mister. I am in charge of the generators here and need to change the power circuits. Please do not hurt me. Captain Mawfood said it was fine for me come here.” We calmed down the man and had him sit with us for a breakfast of MARES. The last thing we wanted was for the residents of the facility to fear our presence and cease to carry out their jobs at the WTF. I could only imagine how angry the locals would get if their primary source of clean water were to be halted.
I was to be the lead adviser on the next patrol and my crew was stellar. I would have my trusty comrades Sergeant Kelley, Espi, Private First Class Lynch, and Moody on my team. Kelley was the best of the best. He was an eight-year veteran Marine infantryman, a grizzled combat veteran, and had been on countless patrols in Haditha. If there was anyone I wanted to patrol alongside in Haditha, it would be Kelley. His partner in crime was Espi. Espi and Kelley both reminded me of John Wayne toilet paper—rough, tough, and didn’t take any shit. It was a great reassurance to have these Marines on patrol with me.
We pushed the patrol in column formation outside the WTF main gate at 1000 hours. We headed across Boardwalk and into the same palm groves we had attacked the night before. As I left the gate Samir, the jundi operating the P.C. machine gun on the main entrance, said, “Targa bil salama” (Return in peace). I exited through the gate and replied, “Insha’allah.”
Fortunately we didn’t have Jaffer along for the patrol. In my mind this cut the probability of my dying enormously. Instead our patrol leader was Hussein, a forty-five-year-old Iraqi, with twenty-five years in the Iraqi army as an infantryman and special operations soldier. Hussein was as close to being a logical person as Iraqi people can get.
Hussein and I agreed on a basic patrol plan. It was sophisticated enough to accomplish the mission, but simple enough to ensure everyone’s survival. We would sweep south through the palm groves for two kilometers and move west across Boardwalk into the villages. From that point we would push north back to the WTF through the villages, look for suspicious material, and ask the locals for information. While moving through the palm groves, we would split into two groups, one of four and one of six. Sergeant Kelley’s group of four would trail closest to the Euphrates, looking for car batteries, generators, and triggermen who could be initiating IEDs. My group of six would travel along the western edge of the palm groves searching for the copper command wires along the ground.
We gingerly traversed the palm groves. As we commenced the movement south, I became furious. Daylight had revealed that if we had shifted our patrol from last night another hundred meters west, we could have completely dodged the reeds, jungle thicket, and mud pits that had caused us so much anguish. My resentment wore off quickly as I realized it was an amazing day to be in Iraq. The sun was shining, the temperature was hovering around seventy degrees, and we were on a long walk (okay, a combat patrol, but close enough). We came across farmers tilling their lands, sheepherders attending to their flocks, and kids playing games. I stopped to talk with everyone who would listen.
Suddenly the ignition of a single AK-47 round screamed in my ears. A symphony of gunfire followed. “Holy shit, how many fuckin’ dudes are shooting at us?” I muttered to myself. My primal sensory abilities rose to a level I had never experienced. It was exhilarating. This shit was for real.
In the midst of the chaos it took me a moment to realize what was happening. It was likely that one sniper round had been fired in our direction and the remainder of the rounds were from the infamous “Iraqi fire blossom,” a colloquial term for the phenomenon that occurs when Iraqi army soldiers are attacked. When under fire every jundi in the immediate vicinity starts firing all their rounds in all directions. The event creates a cloud of firepower that resembles a blooming flower. In many cases the biggest danger in Iraq is not the insurgents but the Iraqi fire blossom.
I took cover when the fire started and began to scan through my rifle scope for the attacker. I was staring into a palm grove thicket and could barely see thirty feet in front of me. Revenge was not probable, and it seemed the gunfight was over. I radioed to Sergeant Kelley, “We are gonna take cover here and lay down covering fire; you guys push south and try to flank this bastard.” Kelley was excited to get in the action, as he knew we were in a perfect formation to catch the insurgents for once. He radioed back, “Roger, we are pushing south. Make sure the Iraqis don’t shoot our asses.” I replied, “Good to go. For your information, it sounded as though the fire was close range, maybe two hundred meters away. Don’t push farther than five hundred meters if you can help it.”