Three Days with Delta Company
January 25, 2008
Day One
In Iraq, a day outside the wire is a day where anything can happen. This, together with the dust, is always hanging in the air. So it is a bit of a letdown when nothing happens, when the soldiers return to the base with the same number of rounds they left with. Of course, you have to be very careful what you wish for, but the soldiers are trained for combat. Thrust as they are now into the role of diplomat, they may be making friends, but soldiers don’t often get to experience the satisfaction that comes from eliminating enemies, and they would probably rather be safe than popular.
The focus of my first trip out with the 101st Airborne Division’s First Battalion’s Delta Company was an enemy who needed to be eliminated. Lieutenant Jon Brinks had the name and address of an IED (Improvised Explosive Device) maker in Mesra. IEDs are the reason getting from Point A to Point B is the scariest part of the day for many soldiers.
Alas, when we arrived at the address the soldiers had been given, there were no men at the house, and the women and children fled as soon as our convoy pulled into the dirt road that dead-ended at a defunct water treatment plant. The only person left on the property was a young mentally impaired boy, naked below the waist, who balanced on the rear bumper of a pick-up truck and communicated in a language only he could understand.
A search of the house produced nothing more incriminating than a picture of Saddam Hussein, which suggested this guy was definitely not a friend of ours, but there was no hard evidence of criminal activity in the house or adjacent buildings, or in the water treatment plant. One of the soldiers asked the medic to find a pair of pants for the boy, and he dressed him before we left to question the neighbors.
With frustration, we moved on to the second task of the day, a visit to the Mesra Police Station where we would pick up some IPs (Iraqi Police) to join us on a patrol of the market area.
The atmosphere at the station suggested either there was no crime in Mesra or the police had given up trying to fight it. Of the ten or twelve men present, half were on the roof of a second building standing guard. A plate of raw meat perched nearby signaled lunch was next on their list of things to do.
Lieutenant Brinks entered the station and it became clear no chai would be served. The word had come down from Bayji that the Mesra station would be closing, a surprising and disturbing development. Jon assured the IPs he would look into the matter, that the station was important and must be kept open.
Two IPs joined us for our patrol. The humvees rumbled slowly down the street. Dismounted soldiers pulled security, and Lieutenant Brinks talked with local shopkeepers while his interpreter did some shopping. The streets were quiet, and several shopkeepers locked their stalls and headed home, whether because they always closed at this hour or because they didn’t want to talk to us, who knows.
During the patrol, a police truck appeared and made several passes through the area. Providing additional security? The lone IP in the truck did not smile at us or wave a hand in a show of support. Maybe he was there to remind the locals who was in charge when the humvees were not around.
We returned to FOB (Forward Operating Base) Summerall with the same number of rounds, probably the same number of enemies, possibly a few new friends, but most importantly, we arrived back at the base with the same number of soldiers.
Day One
In Iraq, a day outside the wire is a day where anything can happen. This, together with the dust, is always hanging in the air. So it is a bit of a letdown when nothing happens, when the soldiers return to the base with the same number of rounds they left with. Of course, you have to be very careful what you wish for, but the soldiers are trained for combat. Thrust as they are now into the role of diplomat, they may be making friends, but soldiers don’t often get to experience the satisfaction that comes from eliminating enemies, and they would probably rather be safe than popular.
The focus of my first trip out with the 101st Airborne Division’s First Battalion’s Delta Company was an enemy who needed to be eliminated. Lieutenant Jon Brinks had the name and address of an IED (Improvised Explosive Device) maker in Mesra. IEDs are the reason getting from Point A to Point B is the scariest part of the day for many soldiers.
Alas, when we arrived at the address the soldiers had been given, there were no men at the house, and the women and children fled as soon as our convoy pulled into the dirt road that dead-ended at a defunct water treatment plant. The only person left on the property was a young mentally impaired boy, naked below the waist, who balanced on the rear bumper of a pick-up truck and communicated in a language only he could understand.
A search of the house produced nothing more incriminating than a picture of Saddam Hussein, which suggested this guy was definitely not a friend of ours, but there was no hard evidence of criminal activity in the house or adjacent buildings, or in the water treatment plant. One of the soldiers asked the medic to find a pair of pants for the boy, and he dressed him before we left to question the neighbors.
With frustration, we moved on to the second task of the day, a visit to the Mesra Police Station where we would pick up some IPs (Iraqi Police) to join us on a patrol of the market area.
The atmosphere at the station suggested either there was no crime in Mesra or the police had given up trying to fight it. Of the ten or twelve men present, half were on the roof of a second building standing guard. A plate of raw meat perched nearby signaled lunch was next on their list of things to do.
Lieutenant Brinks entered the station and it became clear no chai would be served. The word had come down from Bayji that the Mesra station would be closing, a surprising and disturbing development. Jon assured the IPs he would look into the matter, that the station was important and must be kept open.
Two IPs joined us for our patrol. The humvees rumbled slowly down the street. Dismounted soldiers pulled security, and Lieutenant Brinks talked with local shopkeepers while his interpreter did some shopping. The streets were quiet, and several shopkeepers locked their stalls and headed home, whether because they always closed at this hour or because they didn’t want to talk to us, who knows.
During the patrol, a police truck appeared and made several passes through the area. Providing additional security? The lone IP in the truck did not smile at us or wave a hand in a show of support. Maybe he was there to remind the locals who was in charge when the humvees were not around.
We returned to FOB (Forward Operating Base) Summerall with the same number of rounds, probably the same number of enemies, possibly a few new friends, but most importantly, we arrived back at the base with the same number of soldiers.
posted by Shelby Monroe at 5:27 AM
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