101 Days With The 101st Airborne Division: The Sequel

LT Michael Behenna needs your help!

2009-08-02T18:02:00.000-07:00

Please read about LT Michael Behenna's plight at http://www.DefendMichael.com and show your support by signing the petition at the following link: http://www.petitiononline.com/MBehenna/petition.html
Thank you!

From Kim Larson-Cooney: Her son Caleb and the soldiers of the 1-327 in Bayji, and Caleb with an Iraqi soldier!

2008-07-19T14:11:00.000-07:00

From Connie Fondow: Her son Jonathan and Friends!

2008-07-01T19:18:00.000-07:00

From Hugo Rodriguez: A family photo that includes his son Dave, a Scout at PB Olson, and Dave's fiancee Robin!!!

2008-06-30T19:04:00.001-07:00

From Mitzi Sellers: The Many Moods of the Scouts of PB Olson!

2008-06-29T19:51:00.000-07:00

From Nicole Kidd--Her husband Alan, and Soldiers from the 1-327. And Nicole and Atiana.

2008-06-26T12:10:00.000-07:00

2008-06-20T09:46:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends of the 101st Airborne Division,
I am back in New York after spending about five months with the 101st Airborne Division's 1st Brigade in Iraq. The soldiers have several months to go, and I hope the rest of their deployment passes very quickly and safely.
In honor of the soldiers, I would like to invite all of you who know someone serving in Iraq to send me your pictures. They can be family photos, photos of the soldiers you miss so much, anything you would like to share. I will post as many of them as I can on this blog and my other blog: http://headsdownspiritsup.blogspot.com .
I can be reached at my e-mail address: shelbymonroe@gmail.com.
My thoughts are always with the soldiers and all of you who care about them.
Thank you all for keeping up with my stories and writing to tell me about your soldiers.
Take care,
Shelby
P.S. Below this message you will find four pictures that were sent to me from Andy in Slovakia. Andy and his friends are big fans of the 101st Airborne Division, and they have organized a group that engages in re-enactments of the 101st's activities. I think it's great that the 101st can count Andy and his group as friends and supporters.

From Slovakia!

2008-06-20T09:44:00.000-07:00

Bold Steel in Pictures

2008-04-28T02:38:00.000-07:00

2008-04-19T00:02:00.000-07:00

It's All About the Benjamins, Habibi

2008-04-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

April 18, 2008

One of the more significant developments in Iraq over the past year has been the evolution of the Awakening Council, or what is now known as the Concerned Local Citizens (CLC) or the Sons of Iraq (SOI), The Awakening Council began as a locally organized security force of volunteers in a village working under the supervision of the sheik in that village. These groups began popping up when citizens, led by the sheiks, decided to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem. Theoretically. In some cases, there may have been a genuine desire to put an end to insurgent-led violence, but in others, the newly formed groups took advantage of their position and created more problems, sometimes adding to the violence.
If a CLC group can be properly trained and managed, there are obvious benefits. Because the members are residents handpicked by the sheik in charge of the village, they should be invested in the wellbeing of that village. Many of these men are military-age males, an age group in need of gainful employment so as not to be tempted into less constructive pursuits. And often these men, even the sheiks, have been on the other side of the law, working against the Americans and their fellow Iraqis, so this is an opportunity to make a change. Or stay the same and get paid anyway. What started as a volunteer movement is now a salaried occupation. A CLC member earns $300 a month, U.S. dollars.
The soldiers of the Headquarters and Headquarters Battery (HHB) of the 2-320 (“Balls”) Battalion, have worked very closely with the CLC groups in the Balad area. Overall, the verdict is positive. Although it is impossible to predict how these groups would behave if our soldiers were not involved in their management, right now they are involved and the hope is that our positive influence will have a lasting effect.
The United States is providing the financial backing for each CLC group, which means we sign the paychecks. What this really means is the soldiers deliver stacks of crisp U.S. currency to the sheik in charge of his group, and he dispenses the money to his men. Recently, a sheik was suspected of mismanaging his men’s pay, after all, the system is easy to abuse. As a precaution, the soldiers participated in the payment process the following pay period.
Captain JonWayne Lindsey, together with the sheik of the village, dispensed payments to the sheik’s men. If word spread that the Americans were watching the payment process, sheiks from the neighboring villages would, hopefully, decide not to take any chances. Of course, if his men are manning the checkpoints like they are supposed to, a corrupt sheik might not get very far anyway.
Over one hundred-thirty men were part of this CLC organization, which meant the American soldiers dedicated almost a full day to helping secure the building where payments were handed out, overseeing the crowd of AK-47 toting Iraqis, and keeping track of the money and the people collecting it. The sheik made sure the soldiers had plenty of refreshments, and had a lunch of kebabs, chicken, salad and fresh bread brought in after about half of his workers had been paid.
The sun was setting by the time all of the money had been handed out. The sheik had also hired additional men without notifying the soldiers, putting them in the awkward position of not being able to pay everyone, and forcing them to organize a return trip in the near future to pay these new workers.
The day should have been over, but there was one more stop to make on CLC business. In another village, a sheik was working with the soldiers to set up his own CLC chapter. The soldiers were delivering a modest stack of bills to him, six thousand U.S. dollars, so he could begin buying supplies for his group: AK-47s, ammunition, and other materials necessary to help them do their job. Our soldiers were also providing concrete barriers, vests that would make the members more easily identifiable, and training in how to manage traffic, search vehicles and individuals.
The sheik was surrounded by a group of men when the money changed hands. Just as the Americans were demonstrating their faith in him by presenting him with this fairly ample sum, trusting that he would spend it on essential CLC equipment, the sheik seemed to be demonstrating his faith in his men by allowing them to be present when he accepted the money.
After the transaction was completed, the sheik asked the soldiers if they had time to talk about life in America. Lieutenant Mike Handlan relaxed his posture, not easy considering he was wearing his body armor and sitting in a small plastic chair, and invited the sheik to lead the conversation. He asked a series of questions: How many children are Americans allowed to have? Who files for a divorce, the husband or the wife? At what age is a child no longer his or her parents’ responsibility? A lively discussion followed. The advantages of having more than one wife were outlined. Possibly by the American soldiers.
Often what happens on the fringe of a mission is as interesting and in some ways as important as the mission itself. While Captain Lindsey, Lieutenant Handlan, and several soldiers from the HHB worked inside during the long CLC payday, Sergeant Ned Healy and Private First Class Andy Stallard monitored the traffic at the back of the building with two CLC members. Though they did not speak the same language, Ned and Andy learned about the Iraqi culture, and the Iraqis no doubt learned something about Americans. They laughed together, just as Lieutenant Handlan and the other soldiers laughed with the sheik and his men at the end of the long day.
The CLC may or may not be here to stay. Sergeant Jonathan Mudget, who was also present for the long payday, says the hope is that many of the CLC members will eventually join the Iraqi police force and help that layer of security become more evenly distributed throughout the province, which would mean the financial responsibility for those men would shift back to Iraq, back where it belongs.
For now, the soldiers are doing everything they can to support CLC efforts. Even if some CLC members were not model citizens before, it is possible that a steady income, a structured work schedule, and a positive relationship with the American soldiers will motivate them to take advantage of this opportunity. Every long day the soldiers have spent in Iraq will have been worth it if the Concerned Local Citizens, the Sons of Iraq, decide to live up to their name and really become part of the solution. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-04-18T23:56:00.000-07:00

2008-04-18T03:16:00.000-07:00

2008-04-04T04:57:00.000-07:00

Glass Half Empty

2008-04-04T04:56:00.000-07:00

April 3, 2008

Water is one thing our soldiers generally have plenty of. At Patrol Base(PB) Woodcock, located south of COB Speicher, there may not always be hot water for showers, or running water for toilets (I don’t want to talk about it), but there is bottled water which, as the temperatures begin to climb into the nineties and higher, is as important as a loaded weapon.
Living in a desert climate obviously presents challenges, but thanks in large part to the Tigris River, the Iraqi people have access to a steady water supply. Or they should. Sergeant Jose Torres and the soldiers of the 1st Battalion’s Charlie Company discovered the well had run dry for at least some of the people in their sector.
The convoy left PB Woodcock and rolled through the countryside in search of people to talk to. Near Woodcock, farmland is punctuated by small houses. Cows graze peacefully. Green fields are a welcomed surprise. Gradually, though, the palette loses its intensity, and rich greens and browns give way to the dust color that prevails in Iraq.
The trucks parked near a squat mud and straw hut, a modest dwelling, where there were signs of life, signs of a hard life. There was evidence of a water pump system, and an irrigation ditch, but any traces of water were contaminated and quickly vanishing into the parched ground. Within the walls of the hut lived a family of six, and another room sealed off from the living quarters contained sheep and goats noisily protesting their confinement, or maybe complaining that they had no lush fields to graze in.
Sergeant Torres sat on the floor of the living room with the family and listened while they talked. This may have been the first opportunity the family had been given to talk to the Americans, so they were making the most of it. Sergeant Torres wanted to know if there had been suspicious traffic in the area. According to the man of the house, the Iraqi Police were possibly the biggest threat to local security, which was of course discouraging news.
The conversation moved outside as Sergeant Torres examined the water pump, and the homeowner continued to talk as though afraid if he stopped the Americans would leave, and he didn’t want them to go. Sergeant Torres asked what the family did for water, and the man said he had to pay to have it delivered, an expense that must have been difficult to meet. His wife and children stood by the entrance to the house, and she held my hand and asked if we could stay for lunch, though it was hard to imagine there was enough food for the family, let alone a group of unexpected visitors.
We could not stay to lunch, but the soldiers removed cases of food and bottles of water from the trucks and carried them into the house.
The convoy moved on to another house in the area. This one seemed more thoroughly maintained, but a conversation with the owners indicated that water was a problem for them too, that they were paying to have it delivered also. This was not supposed to happen. Iraq was still working through a long list of problems, but people were not supposed to have to pay to have water delivered.
The Americans had worked hard to build water treatment plants throughout the country, so that Iraqis not only had water, but clean water. And in areas beyond the reach of treatment plants, the local government was still responsible for seeing that the people in these areas had water. The soldiers were frustrated by the lack of services being provided, and the people who were affected clearly had no power to change the situation.
A few days later, we visited one of the water treatment plants the Americans had been working to open in the area, and their frustrations only grew.
Crates of new parts lay in front of the water tanks, unopened. The contractor in charge of making the plant operational gestured to the crates and explained that he had ordered the best parts he could find. But the soldiers wanted to know why they were still in the crates. A fast-talking man in a suit stepped forward, and identified himself as an inspector sent by the city to make sure the system was safe and properly maintained. Again, the soldiers wanted to know why no work was being done, why everything was in the same state of disrepair it had been in when they last visited. The inspector said he couldn’t approve the project yet. But why did he need to approve it now, when it was just beginning, and not later, when there was actually water that could be tested?
It didn’t take an interpreter to know the inspector had expected some sort of pay off from the contractor by now, and was digging his heels in until he had been properly thanked for his time. To justify his continued presence at the meeting, he launched into a never-ending speech about the importance of completing one part of the process before beginning another, but nothing was beginning here except a migraine for everyone involved.
The soldiers were finally able to extract a promise that some kind of activity would be taking place the following Monday, but no one was holding his breath.
The soldiers at Patrol Base Woodcock are no strangers to adversity. When they arrived at the base in 2007, there was no running water, no heat, no showers. Now they have all three, most of the time. They know it is possible to adapt to one’s living conditions, but it is also possible to improve them. They are trying to help the Iraqi people improve their living conditions too, so they are less vulnerable, which is hard enough in the desert, but even harder when their opportunistic countrymen put a price on everything, including water. Only dust is free in Iraq. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-04-04T04:51:00.000-07:00

2008-03-22T01:08:00.000-07:00

Back with Bravo Company

2008-03-22T01:05:00.000-07:00

March 21, 2008

FOB (Forward Operating Base) Brassfield-Mora is a humble base near Samarra. Look closer, however, and you will see a base teaming with calendar-worthy hunks. Was that the Rock?!! No, just someone who looks like him. You are in Iraq, not on a Hollywood film set. You just happened to have stumbled onto a base with more than its share of ruggedly handsome soldiers.*
*†The above was the fulfillment of a contractual obligation to the soldiers of Bravo Company and does not necessarily reflect the views of this reporter, though no one was holding a gun to her head.
Bravo Company. During their last deployment, from 2005-2006, the 2nd Battalion’s Bravo Company filled the streets of Kirkuk with their particular brand of diplomacy and good humor, and is it any wonder there is a network named after them. Commanding Officer Captain Casey Welch knew there something special about his company, and graciously allowed this amateur reporter/librarian to go everywhere they went. Staff Sergeant Jeremy Stearns (think Cary Grant meets Clint Eastwood†) quickly dubbed the tagalong Miss Shelby, and all was right with the world, or as right as it can be in a land full of dust and insurgents.
Bravo Company is back in Iraq. Some of the faces have changed, but the approach is the same. This time the soldiers are working their charm on the people in the area outside of Samarra. And the charm is working.
Act Two of the Bravo Company Road Show introduces some new characters: the CLC (Concerned Local Citizens), also known as the Sons of Iraq. In Kirkuk, the soldiers spent a lot of time with the IPs (Iraqi Police), offering support and supervision while the IPs offered comic relief. Now it is the CLC’s turn to provide the laughs.
Sergeant John Paul Harper and other members of the Third Platoon headed out at 10:00 pm. Miss Shelby thought that seemed late, but she accepted the invitation to make the rounds with them and tried to look sharp.
One of the CLC’s primary responsibilities is to operate checkpoints, to monitor traffic coming and going through their community. It is a type of neighborhood watch, Iraqi-style, which means nosy old ladies have been replaced with military-age males carrying AK-47s.
A sheik is responsible for recruiting and directing CLC members, but the Americans do everything in their power to help these groups succeed. Sergeant Harper and the soldiers of Bravo Company spend almost as much time at the checkpoints as the CLC members themselves, making sure they are manned, and that the men have ammunition for their weapons.
There are two sheiks the Bravo Company soldiers have come to know quite well. Each is a leader of a CLC group. We’ll call them Sheik A and Sheik B. The road to sheikdom is not always easy to follow, but Sheik A calls himself a sheik, and he drives a Mercedes. He has the attitude of a gangster and wants the Americans to see him as important, someone they would do well to listen to. They listen to him, but they don’t trust him, and when he materializes out of the darkness, they roll their eyes because conversations with him are like quicksand.
Sheik B is better. He is not so high maintenance, and the soldiers take him more seriously. During another night patrol, members of the Second Platoon, led by Lieutenant Vinnie Annunziato and Staff Sergeant Jeremy Stearns, spoke with Sheik B about recent threats made against the CLC. His contacts had heard there were people planning to attack the CLC, possibly with one or more suicide bombers.
There have been attacks against CLC posts around the country, indicating this newly formed security force is an obstacle for some insurgents. And some CLC members are themselves former insurgents, so perhaps their old friends don’t like the new path they’ve chosen, if they have in fact changed.
In Iraq, “good” and “honest” are very relative terms. Good often means less bad. A good man may have many bad relatives, or vice versa, and all become guilty by association. Sheik A may be bad, but there are probably worse men driving fancy cars in Iraq, and just because he seems bad, doesn’t mean his men are too. Or maybe it does.
And Sheik B’s information turns out to be very difficult to verify, so it is hard to know if the threat is real, if he was being honest. Maybe the story was manufactured to get the American soldiers to spend even more time at the checkpoints. There is no denying the CLC members are much more vulnerable and exposed when the Americans are not there to help.
While Sheik B is conversing with the soldiers, his CLC crew takes advantage of the shift in his attention, and they reach for their cell phones, which are loaded up with music. Not for the first time, “Yeah,” by Usher, is pumped into the night air. It is nice to know the war does have a soundtrack and it includes some hip hop.
Some dancing follows.
When Sheik B realizes the checkpoint has turned into a series of outtakes from So You Think You Can Dance, he becomes disgusted and orders his men back to work.
Every layer of security in Iraq has some holes in it. Holes you could drive an MRAP through. The good news is we have plenty of MRAPs. As always, there are some hardworking Iraqis whom the American soldiers enjoy working with, and there are some who simply waste their time.
Working with the CLC means working alongside people who may until very recently have meant to do us or our Iraqi friends harm. Is it possible for bad guys to become good guys? The future of Iraq is contained in the answer to this question. For now, at least, some of the bad guys are pretending to be good guys, and this in itself is a full-time job. As long as we can keep them on the job, we can hope they will become so good at pretending to be good guys that they will actually be as good as the real good guys. And then our good guys will be able to ride off into the sunset, to the delight of their adoring fans. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-03-18T05:12:00.000-07:00

2008-03-18T05:10:00.000-07:00

2008-03-18T04:59:00.000-07:00

2008-03-07T21:49:00.000-08:00

2008-03-07T21:42:00.000-08:00

A Day Like Any Other

2008-03-07T21:40:00.000-08:00

March 8, 2008
Ask any soldier which movie best represents his deployment (s) in Iraq and, more often than not, he will say Groundhog Day. This war is not about fiery battles nearly so much as it is about repetition. Once in a while a day will be filled with excitement, but most days are filled only with the strange sensation of having done all of this before.
On a recent dismounted patrol with Lieutenant John Vickery and the Scouts of the 2nd Battalion’s Charlie Company, one of many Groundhog Day moments occurred. We were in Samarra, and Lieutenant Vickery was talking with residents of the city, trying to determine what was on their minds, how they felt about the city, their safety. During his last deployment, in 2005-2006, Lieutenant Vickery and the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade were in a different city, Kirkuk, but he was walking the streets and talking to people then too.
The Scouts went outside the city for another patrol the following day. Again, they left the safety of the MRAPs so they could talk to the people. Here, out in the open country, where they could not hide in a crowd, the residents were less inclined to talk, slower to warm up to the soldiers, if they warmed up at all. Nothing the soldiers hadn’t experienced before.
A few days later, I was out with the 2nd Battalion’s Delta Company. Further away from Samarra, the soldiers of Delta Company live at JSS (Joint Support Station) Love, and they too spend a lot of time talking to people. Again, our patrol took us into a sparsely populated area, with a handful of small farms and little else. Similar to the population in the farm country of Charlie Company’s sector, the people of this area seemed difficult to reach, as if being pulled in many directions and unable to find their way.
What was different this time was the proof that lay scattered across the wasted ground. Proof of an earlier far less civilized encounter. Proof that the farmland wasn’t just for farming anymore. What had once been a mud and straw hut was now a pile of rubble.
Increasingly, abandoned huts in these rural areas are being used as hiding places for insurgents, their weapons, and bomb-making materials. Delta Company soldiers and Iraqi soldiers successfully battled the insurgents at this location, and destroyed some of their hiding places.
For the people who live in the area, this must have been more activity than they were used to. But did the increased activity alter their routine here? Fear appeared to be keeping some closer to home. With nothing to do but tend the land and hope for quiet, the locals were probably also struggling to distinguish one day from the next.
Lieutenant Robert Baird and the soldiers of his Delta Company platoon tried to get a sense of how the residents in this remote place were feeling in the aftermath of the deadly gun battle. Living off the land, especially when the land is packed dust, is difficult in the best of times. When outside forces strike like a bolt of lightning it must seem like a bad joke. Indeed, some of the people Lieutenant Baird spoke with were not laughing. But what seemed like a significant battle to the soldiers may have been nothing compared to the daily battles each of these families faces.
Though some of the residents were standoffish, giving stock replies to Lieutenant Baird’s questions, others were more approachable. Maybe they felt lightning could not strike twice in the same place. Maybe they appreciated the attention, the novelty of being treated with respect and concern for their wellbeing. There is a difference, though, between being approachable and being helpful.
Several of the men the soldiers encountered were military-age males, which is one characteristic many of the bad guys share. These men may not be bad guys themselves, but they have probably considered how slim the rewards are for being good. They have probably thought about their survival and safety and realized how little control they have over either.
A teenage boy left the women of his family working among the rows of their crops when he saw the soldiers approaching. He cautiously made his way to the edge of the cultivated area where the soldiers stood. Lieutenant Baird tried to begin a conversation, but the boy was very ill at ease. He seemed reluctant to say anything, to answer the most basic questions. Maybe he knew something. Or maybe he had figured out that he was entering the hard years of his life, and he wasn’t ready for them. No more hiding behind adults. More was expected of him suddenly, from his people, perhaps from the insurgents who swept through the area, kicking up the dust, and now the Americans had to be added to the list too, people who did not even speak his language.
Lieutenant Baird could have made the boy’s life even more difficult than it already was. He could have continued to ask questions until the boy broke, or he could have raised his voice and tried to intimidate him into cooperating. Maybe that was how the boy expected to be treated because he had been treated that way, or worse, by someone who was there before us. But Lieutenant Baird gave him an out, and he took it. He let the boy know he didn’t have to talk to us if he didn’t want to, so the boy returned to the women in the field.
The boy walked away from the soldiers. Just like that.
What happened to the part where we ask a question, and he pretends he doesn’t understand, so we repeat the question, and he answers a different question, so we rephrase the question, and he repeats his answer to the question we didn’t ask, and he stares at us and we stare at him, and instead of feeling like we’ve learned something, we actually feel tired and as though maybe we forgot something we once knew, but we’ve chewed up some time and somehow that carries us forward. Weren’t we doing that anymore?
But Lieutenant Baird remembered something I had forgotten. This whole day could be repeated. Maybe the boy did walk away today, but tomorrow he might answer a question. He will realize he was given a choice, maybe for the first time, and he might feel more inclined to cooperate the next time. He might not answer the question we ask, but he will be ready to start something resembling a conversation.
Sometimes it is impossible to distinguish one patrol from another; they look and sound so much alike. It is almost as though a script is being circulated throughout Iraq that tells people how to talk to the Americans. This is fair. The Americans have a script of their own. What keeps it interesting are the little departures from what is expected: letting the boy walk away, or finding that rare individual willing to answer the question put to him. The only way to make it possible for those moments to occur is to try again tomorrow. And if tomorrow is just like today, the soldiers will not be surprised; they will simply try again the day after tomorrow. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-03-06T10:32:00.000-08:00

2008-03-06T10:29:00.000-08:00

2008-03-06T10:26:00.000-08:00

2008-03-06T10:23:00.000-08:00

2008-03-06T10:18:00.000-08:00

2008-02-22T08:59:00.000-08:00

Bringing Down the House in Samarra

2008-02-22T08:53:00.000-08:00

February 22, 2008

When the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade was deployed in 2005, most of the soldiers, including the 2nd Battalion’s Charlie Company, were stationed at FOB (Forward Operating Base) Warrior in Kirkuk. It wasn’t until they were deployed again in 2007 that most of these soldiers realized how good they had it in Kirkuk.
Charlie Company is in Samarra now, at Patrol Base (PB) Olson. PB Olson is located on the Tigris River, but that’s about all it has going for it. The main building on the base was once a casino, and though now there is the occasional card game in a quiet room near the medics’ aid station, today most of the gambling occurs when the soldiers leave the base and patrol the city.
Samarra is probably safer than it was even six months ago, but it is still risky to leave the safety of the trucks. Before I had a chance to figure out if PB Olson had anything resembling a women’s room, I was out with the 1st Platoon, watching where I stepped on the trash-strewn streets of Samarra.
Lieutenant Matt Bryant and Sergeant Dietrich Stallsworth were armed with weapons. And cash. This was one of those battles for the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people, and money talks.
Several homes in one Samarra neighborhood had been damaged by gunfire from Coalition Forces--air support trying to take down an insurgent after watching him install an IED. Lieutenant Bryant and Sergeant Stallsworth interviewed homeowners, who pointed out broken windows or damaged gates or walls or cars, and then tallied the cost of repairs and presented each homeowner with an amount that seemed ample. The general reaction was one of gratitude.
A second series of payments were made to people whose homes had been damaged by the National Police (NPs). The NPs are members of an Iraqi force sent from Baghdad to Samarra to supplement the local police force, and, thanks to sectarian differences and just a general abuse of power, the experiment has not worked very well.
After one of their policemen was killed, the NPs descended upon the area of the city where the murder occurred. They kicked in a lot of gates, confiscated a lot of AK-47s (which homeowners are allowed to own in Iraq), and scared a lot of innocent people. Our soldiers were anxious to try to repair at least some of the damage caused by the National Police before the situation grew worse.
Whether or not the residents of these neighborhoods expected to be compensated for the damage caused by the NPs, they seemed to appreciate the effort our soldiers were making to right the wrong. Because the damage was more widespread and the thefts associated with it more difficult to prove, it would be impossible to compensate everyone adequately. And yes, there were people who tried to receive payment for false claims. But Lieutenant Bryant and Sergeant Stallsworth tried to acknowledge as many legitimate claims as they could.
The National Police were punished for their misdeeds; some were fired. But it will be a long time before the people of Samarra regard them as a benevolent force.
Day Two at Patrol Base Olson (and no, there is no women’s room, but the men have let me share theirs) meant more patrols of the city. This time I went out with the Scouts of Charlie Company. Lieutenant John Vickery and his very entertaining team let me ride along in their MRAP (Mine-Resistant, Ambush-Protected) on a morning and an evening patrol.
During the morning patrol, we dismounted several times. Lieutenant Vickery took the opportunity to ask the residents of Samarra how they felt about the level of safety in the city, and what they thought about the development of a Concerned Local Citizen (CLC) group in their area. The CLC groups are a growing phenomenon in the country. Once known as the Awakening Council, now known as the Concerned Local Citizens, but perhaps becoming the Sons of Iraq, no matter what they are called, these groups are forming throughout the country, and are generally considered a good thing. Fingers crossed.
At one home, the women of the house were making bread outside. Round, flat bread that is a staple in Iraq. While Lieutenant Vickery talked to one of the women, I stared at the bread. The Iraqi people may be stingy with the information they are willing to give us, but they are very generous in other ways. As we left, one of the women who had been working steadily during the conversation presented me with two big rounds of bread, warm from the oven, and I felt as though it was my lucky day.
Most of the conversations went as Lieutenant Vickery imagined they would. People seemed to think the CLC was a good idea, that security provided by local citizens was preferable to whatever the National Police were providing. Everyone claimed to live in a good neighborhood free of insurgents.
Lieutenant Vickery said in the early months of the deployment any trip into the city would draw some kind of fire, but our morning patrol had gone smoothly, and our evening patrol, which consisted of driving up and down many of the city’s streets on the lookout for suspicious activity, was also without incident. Over time, these patrols have made a difference.
The guys in the truck joked with each other throughout the morning and the night, and it is fun to witness a level of camaraderie that is probably only achieved in a combat zone, or perhaps some retail environments. One of the soldiers, Sergeant Steve Oldaker, turned twenty-seven, and was treated to a pink belly at the end of the long day. Some soldiers will celebrate two birthdays in Iraq during this fifteen month deployment.
Patrol Base Olson is no Bellagio. The soldiers of the 2nd Battalion’s Charlie Company make do with very little. What was once a casino is now the home of a bunch of soldiers who show up each day and who play the hand they are dealt. They will stay in the game until it is time to go home, and if the bad guys are smart, they will fold long before that. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-02-21T22:21:00.000-08:00

2008-02-21T22:19:00.000-08:00

2008-02-21T22:16:00.000-08:00

2008-02-21T22:13:00.000-08:00

2008-02-21T22:09:00.000-08:00

2008-02-21T22:04:00.000-08:00

2008-02-09T03:57:00.000-08:00

2008-02-09T03:53:00.000-08:00

The Battle for Bayji

2008-02-09T03:51:00.000-08:00

February 9, 2008

Walking the streets of Iraq is not always safe, and with the raw sewage and garbage that often litter the streets, it is not always easy either, but for our troops it is all in a day’s work. In an effort to build goodwill between the people of Bayji and the officials of the city, a foot patrol was organized. Among those on the ground were the Mayor of Bayji and other high-ranking city officials, Iraqi police and soldiers, and members of the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade’s 1st Battalion, including Lieutenant Colonel Pete Wilhelm, Sergeant Major James Bodecker, and Captain Tim Meadors.
Bayji is the home of the Bayji Oil Refinery (the BOR), the biggest oil refinery in Iraq, but this doesn’t translate to wealth for everyone, or even gas for everyone. The only thing that touches everyone in Bayji is corruption.
The Refinery is a blessing and a curse. If the clouds overhead suddenly began to rain money, most of us would scramble to collect our share. Some of us would push other people out of the way so we could take their share too. That is the effect the Refinery has had on many people in Bayji and beyond. The government should manage the flow of resources but how many government officials are going to be able to resist putting their hand in a pot so big? It would almost be bad business to turn away such easy money.
In spite of the fact that the Refinery is currently working at capacity, residents sometimes have difficulty obtaining gasoline and kerosene. Gas stations are often closed. An open gas station is easy to spot as the line of cars can extend as far as the eye can see. Black market gas is for sale on most main streets, sold in plastic jugs, often by enterprising boys—both the buyers and sellers on some level part of the corruption, the proceeds of these sales potentially fueling insurgent activities.
Each province in Iraq is allotted a specific amount of kerosene, but for some reason Bayji does not get enough to meet the demand of its residents, which increases during the winter months. Mr. A---, Chief of Operations at the BOR, has been frustrated by this inability to make kerosene available to those in need, and has requested an addition to the allotment for Bayji, the distribution of which will be handled by the Mayor, as if he doesn’t have enough to worry about.
The Mayor of Bayji has a fantastic head of hair and he carries a gun. It is strapped to his waist under his nicely tailored suit, and who can blame him. For our soldiers, part of their mission is to identify the good people and lend them our support, to identify the bad people and take away their power. The Mayor has to walk a fine line between the good and the bad. If he decided to go after the bad people, to capture those involved in any of the many rings of corruption, well, first he would have to figure out which of his police are among them, and then he would have to go into hiding or he would be killed.
For many of Bayji’s residents the desire to profit from the riches pouring out of the Refinery translates to fairly modest expectations. They are not terrorists, just people trying to get on with life. Presented with the opportunity to express their hopes for Bayji to the Mayor himself, citizens spoke out. They want the things we take for granted: a steady and dependable supply of electricity, water, and fuel. An outspoken woman employed at a girls’ school stressed the need for better security. Anyone not willing to turn a blind eye to insurgent activity is taking a risk, and often there is the sense that local police are doing nothing to help.
Everyone in Iraq has to decide whether he or she wants to be part of the problem or part of the solution. To complicate matters, there are so many problems in Iraq that it is certainly possible to be part of more than one. And there is a shortage of solutions.
By hitting the streets of Bayji, the officials of the city and the soldiers of the 101st Airborne Division hope to be part of the solution. As with so many of these goodwill missions, there is only so much the soldiers can do. The response to their presence is often mixed, but there were plenty of friendly faces in the crowd as they moved from one neighborhood to another. Maybe the citizens of Bayji are beginning to realize they must pick their battles, and it doesn’t make any sense to fight the people who are trying to help them. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-02-09T03:48:00.000-08:00

2008-02-09T03:45:00.000-08:00

2008-02-09T03:41:00.000-08:00

2008-01-25T05:28:00.000-08:00

Three Days with Delta Company

2008-01-25T05:27:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-01-25T05:25:00.002-08:00

2008-01-25T05:25:00.001-08:00

Day Two

Iraq is a country that raises many more questions than it answers, and nowhere is this more apparent than during a trip to any gas station. Lieutenant Michael Behenna and a squad from Delta Company set out to complete a status report on the gas stations of Asiriyah, a stone’s throw from FOB Summerall, and a short distance from the Bayji Oil Refinery. Where gas comes from.
Of the handful of stations we visited, only one was not out of gas, and the line of cars stretched down the road. Security is an issue whenever demand might exceed supply, so there were IPs and Iraqi soldiers managing the crowd. An individual approached Lieutenant Behenna and expressed his willingness to shoot Americans. He was quickly detained and searched, and then his car was located and searched, but he was released by the American soldiers because his only ammunition had been his words.
The gas station opened shortly after we arrived, and the line began to move. Why did this gas station have gas and not the others? Maybe the owner of the station knew the right people, or was one of the right people, or paid off the wrong people. And the stations without gas? What were they doing wrong? Or were they being punished for doing nothing wrong?
The industry is supposed to be government regulated. The price of gas is regulated, but Lieutenant Behenna found at least one station was charging more than the set price. When they had gas. Any of the stations could adjust their prices, and it would be very hard to catch them at it.
And then there is the black market gas. Trucks leave the Bayji Oil Refinery every day, and some of them disappear or are rerouted. Some of this gas appears in plastic jugs, sold on the side of the road in plain sight. Often the peddlers of this gas are just boys, and there are so many of them that it would be difficult to crack down on this part of the problem.
It is baffling that the one thing Iraqis have in abundance is the thing they have to wait in line for.

2008-01-25T05:23:00.000-08:00

2008-01-25T05:22:00.001-08:00

Day Three

Making friends, eliminating enemies—these are the activities that occupy much of the soldiers’ day. It becomes tempting to keep it simple, to view people as good or bad and nothing in between, but simple doesn’t work here in Iraq. The soldiers are often trapped in the land of in between.
A group of brothers had been detained, suspected of anti-Coalition activities. At least one of the brothers was reputed to be a very bad man. But one brother had apparently resisted this destructive path, and was considered good by the local police and other people of influence, who were willing to vouch for him.
So Delta Company’s Lieutenant Chris Tanner had the dubious honor of releasing the good brother back to the community. At least one of the IPs present at the Asiriyah Police Station for his release was very happy about this development. He also happened to be a member of the same tribe, and tribal loyalties run deeper than any loyalty the police might feel toward the American soldiers.
The same policeman who celebrated the one release tried to persuade Lieutenant Tanner that two more brothers were also innocent. These two had been accused of firing grenades at a convoy very near FOB Summerall, a crime our soldiers took very seriously. The evidence pointed to the brothers, but this did not satisfy the policeman, who continued to argue their innocence without any evidence, only his word.
When the police take up the defense of the people we believe are guilty, it becomes very difficult to know who is working with us and who is working against us. And the Asiriyah station has been one of the more cooperative police stations in the area, so it would be unfortunate if they could no longer be counted on.
Our soldiers leave the safety of the base every day, and most of the time they return safely. The drivers steer the cumbersome vehicles through areas not meant for heavy trucks, all the while watching out for suspicious objects or individuals. The gunners stand for hours, always scanning the perimeter. There is never a time outside the wire where the soldiers can let down their guard completely. And all of this effort is made on behalf of the Iraqi people What a difference it would make if the Iraqis stood up for the soldiers the way the soldiers stand up for them. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-01-25T05:19:00.000-08:00

2008-01-20T01:36:00.000-08:00

2008-01-20T01:32:00.000-08:00

Bravo By Day, Bravo By Night

2008-01-20T01:30:00.000-08:00

January 17, 2008
It’s hard to remember when the day went from routine, almost boring, to unpredictable, even exciting. It’s hard to remember when we went from chatting up the locals in town to staring at piles of dirt in the desert. I know we got back to the base at about 11:00 pm. I know I hadn’t peed since 8:30 am. I had eaten an Otis Spunkmeyer muffin around lunchtime, figuring that would hold me until dinner. But then dinner turned out to be goldfish crackers and the hard candy that is kept in the humvee to hand out to the local kids.
The Day
We left FOB (Forward Operating Base) Summerall, home of the 1st Battalion of the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade, at about 10:00 am. Captain Aaron Billingsley, commanding officer of the 1st Battalion’s Bravo Company, had a number of stops he wanted to make. First up: an Iraqi-manned checkpoint. Everyone who passes through has to show an identification card, which is checked against a list of bad people. Suspicious vehicles are searched. The checkpoint is as effective as the Iraqis who run it, which is why the American soldiers continue to make stops here. Or maybe they stop to visit with three puppies who live at the checkpoint in a small tent the soldiers set up for them.
Next we visited an area where snipers targeting the checkpoint we had just left were rumored to be located. Residents were questioned. Children gathered. A herd of sheep wandered past the parked humvees. Garbage and raw sewage had collected at the end of the street, and whenever the wind picked up conversation became difficult. More difficult. No one knew anything about any snipers; there were no bad people living among them.
Everyone began to seem as though he or she knew something but had made the choice to remain silent, not just in this neighborhood, but wherever the soldiers got out of their trucks in this country. The people may have been afraid or maybe they were working with the enemy; either way, the silence worked against us.
We got back in the trucks, and I was hungry but didn’t want to eat my muffin with the smell of waste still hanging in the air. We made our way to another neighborhood, this time to scout out locations for a future Iraqi police station. One house seemed perfectly situated, but the woman who owned the property said she wasn’t interested in selling it. She said her husband had died and she wanted to hold onto the property for her children and as a way to remember him. It’s possible she was telling the truth, but one of our interpreters said she didn’t want to sell the property to the Americans because that would get her killed.
The day was not shaping up to be one rich in rewards, but the sun was still high in the sky. We pulled into a large vacant field where a CLC (Concerned Local Citizen) guard perched on a ridge with his AK-47. The field seemed free of waste, so I pulled out my muffin, which had been crushed under the weight of my protective vest, and tried get the majority of the crumbs into my mouth. We had not been there long when the sound of an explosion turned our heads. Over the radio, the soldiers were notified that two men were seen fleeing a distant location. The timing made it look like they might be responsible for the round fired in our direction.
The convoy sped off in pursuit of the men. We arrived in an area that was mostly desert, and mostly deserted. A truck containing two men approached us, and it was immediately stopped, the men searched. There was nothing to tie them to the attempted attack, but they were detained for the time being. Meanwhile, there was activity in a small cluster of mud houses nearby, so some of the soldiers were dispatched to investigate.
At a glance, the dry, dusty landscape revealed nothing but old irrigation ditches, occasionally marked by tire tracks. There appeared to be no means of sustaining life, and yet there was life. There were people in at least some of the mud huts scattered randomly along the makeshift roads, and there was traffic. Most of the country is desert, and increasingly the desert is becoming an area of interest to the soldiers, an area where things can be hidden, an area so vast, a needle in a haystack doesn’t begin to describe it.
Undaunted, the soldiers began searching outlying huts, mounds of dirt, dug out ruts, and their efforts began to pay off. A triggering device, two lengths of pipe and a few sandbags--equipment that could be used to set off rockets--rested on top of the sand as if recently abandoned.
Outside an empty hut, our interpreter, George, stumbled upon two IEDs made out of oil cans. As if possessed with a magical talent, George discovered three large bags of explosive materials, possibly wired to explode, in a second hut. And later he sniffed out what appeared to be a mine in a defunct well.
We came upon another CLC guard, presiding over an expanse of dirt much like the first one, and shortly thereafter other CLC members arrived in a small white pick-up truck. Originally organized by local sheiks as an additional layer of security for their communities, CLC groups are now under contract with the United States, but still managed by the sheiks who have taken it upon themselves to curb the violence, theoretically.
As with any other group in charge of security in an area where the stakes are high, there is room for corruption. But the men who got out of the truck seemed friendly and happy to talk with us. They got back in their truck to manage traffic while our search continued, and as soon as they were out of sight, we heard an explosion. It seemed certain their truck had been hit.
Braced for the worst, we piled into our vehicles and raced toward the little white truck. Miraculously, they were okay. Standing by the truck smiling, they gestured toward the damage. Large holes had been punched in the door, but amazingly the shrapnel had gone no further. Did they have any idea how lucky they were?
A remote control device was retrieved from the dirt, which meant someone had been there to set off the IED; someone had targeted the CLC truck. The triggerman was nowhere in sight, but a couple of vehicles were heading out of the area, so we loaded up again and went to stop them. Hitting speeds perhaps not recommended for armored vehicles in a desert landscape, at one point our humvee lurched forward and everything went black for a second. We recovered and managed to catch the vehicles before they reached the main road, but once again, the soldiers could find nothing to connect the people in either car to the IED that hit the truck.
It was difficult to keep track of what had happened where. Every pile of dirt looked the same. Footsteps and tire tracks, like the men responsible for the explosives, could vanish in the wind. But at least we had uncovered some of the tools of their dark trade before they had done any damage.

2008-01-20T01:27:00.000-08:00

2008-01-20T01:24:00.000-08:00

2008-01-20T01:20:00.000-08:00

The Night
Aaron had called in the discoveries made in the desert. Any explosive material is usually detonated by the EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) team in the area where it is found. Under the circumstances, Aaron thought the mud huts, which were obviously used for making or storing bombs and nothing else, should be destroyed also. He made his recommendation to the 1st Battalion headquarters, and we sat patiently in the trucks awaiting their response. Everyone was hungry but it did no good to dwell on it because we knew we had a long night ahead of us.
The EOD team was being sent out with a convoy from Delta Company, and if any or all of the huts were to be destroyed, that meant waiting for F-16s too, which would drop the bombs.
Finally the EOD team arrived, and sent out a robot to investigate the IEDs made out of oil cans. Once the team had confirmed that they were in fact IEDs, they proceeded to the next step, the fun part: the explosion. We had a front row seat, and there is something satisfying about a controlled blast.
Meanwhile, we were losing daylight and patience. The fate of the huts was debated. The EOD team made its way to the building that contained the bags of wired explosives. The men back at the Battalion explained over the radio that while they thought it made sense to blow up the handful of empty huts, the Brigade thought it might be better to wait. Oblivious to this discussion, the robot went about his business of inspection. The EOD team thought rather than setting off this batch of explosives, it would be better to just blow up the hut, so that was one more vote for dropping bombs. All the while, we sat in the trucks as if at a drive-in movie that had plenty of action but also many frustrating lulls. And no refreshments except hard candy and goldfish crackers.
The F-16s had been summoned, but had not arrived yet, so the EOD team went to take care of the mine George had found. With all of their housekeeping done, all that was left to do was watch a bomb drop.
Hours had managed to pass since Aaron first reported the situation to the Battalion. The trucks huddled in the darkness, full of cranky soldiers who had run out of cigarettes and snacks, and a reporter who was glad she hadn’t drunk a lot of water during the day. Finally, the air above our heads pounded with the sound of the F-16s.
The F-16s had been given the location of the hut to be bombed, but in the darkness, in an area where everything looks like everything else, they couldn’t find it. We watched and waited, the soldiers flashing every sort of light they had in the direction of the hut, but nothing was working. The driver of my vehicle, Mike Fuemmeler, couldn’t take it anymore, and got out of the humvee, ran to the hut, and threw two chem-lites (small, glowing sticks) on the roof of the building. Moments later, the F-16s signaled that they had spotted the target. Everyone following the action rolled their eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.
We had been granted permission to bomb a second hut, the one where the two IEDs had been found, so it appeared the evening would be ending with a bang, and then another bang. After several minutes, the first bomb made contact, and it resulted in a nice explosion, but not as big as we had hoped or expected. We left the viewing area and drove down to the site expecting to see a pile of rubble where the hut had been. But somehow only part of the hut had destroyed, so we went back to the viewing area and waited for the sequel.
The second explosion was louder, more convincing, and did enough damage that we didn’t have to worry about the hut or the explosives it contained anymore. The second hut proved somewhat challenging to the F-16s too. One bomb landed on the ground behind the hut, but the second reached its target, and we enjoyed another satisfying explosion. Nevertheless, the show had gone on long enough, and we were anxious to get home.
It had been a day longer than most. But the soldiers don’t receive a special medal for working fourteen hours plus. They don’t get time and a half. And they don’t get to sleep in the next day like I did. Most days are not so eventful or so long, but it is gratifying to see the soldiers’ persistence pay off. Maybe the people they spoke with throughout the day did nothing but delay their progress, but when faced with the desolate desert landscape, the soldiers of Bravo Company dug their heels in and found things when it looked like there was nothing to find. The show we were treated to at the end of the night was a Bravo Company production. With a little help from an interpreter named George. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-01-20T01:19:00.000-08:00

2008-01-11T07:30:00.000-08:00

2008-01-11T07:27:00.000-08:00

2008-01-11T07:22:00.000-08:00

Say "Ah," Siniyah

2008-01-11T07:19:00.000-08:00

January 11, 2008

In Siniyah, a town just outside of Bayji, Iraq, there stands a large, new, two-story building--a clinic, complete with examination rooms, a pharmacy, and even a dentist’s office with two exam rooms. Most of the time the building sits locked and empty. The dentist’s x-ray machine and chairs are covered in dust. Built by the Army’s Corps of Engineers, the clinic has not been embraced the way it would be in most American communities. There is a theory that the citizens of Siniyah are reluctant to use the building because it was built by Americans, and a shortage of doctors creates additional challenges.
Siniyah is a troublesome place. The corruption that surrounds the Bayji Oil Refinery spills over into Siniyah, where there are enough bad people to keep the good people in line. It is possible this is why the clinic is not thriving. But at some point, the residents must realize a clinic is a clinic. And in Iraq life is hard enough when one is well; it can’t possibly be easy when one is sick.
In order to put a friendlier face on the Corps of Engineers’ well-intended project, the soldiers from the 1st Battalion of the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade have begun holding free healthcare days with the help of the Iraqi Army (IA) and the Iraqi Police (IP). Our medics and the IA medics come together to serve the people of Siniyah with the hope that every patient treated will become an advocate for the clinic.
The first free clinic day brought in over three hundred patients, more than the medics expected, more than they were prepared for. They were very pleased by the turnout and applied everything they learned from that experience to the second free day, which occurred on January 5.
A lot of work goes into coordinating such an event. The 1st Battalion’s Bravo Company, led by Captain Aaron Billingsley, and the Military Transition Team (MiTT), led by Major Oscar Pintado, worked together to make sure they were prepared for a big crowd. Thousands of dollars worth of medicine and supplies were transported to the clinic, along with stuffed animals for the kids, and all of the medics from the area’s IA Battalions were called in. They led the way in terms of treating patients and building goodwill, with our soldiers acting in a supporting role. The IPs helped with security, which included crowd control, and screening each patient before he or she entered the building.
The clinic is located near the markets, and though it was a damp and chilly day, Market Street was busy, fruit and vegetable stands, butcher shops, and other businesses were ready for the day, perhaps benefitting from, maybe even anticipating, the crowd that had turned out to see the medics.
From 10:00 am until about 2:00 pm, a steady stream of patients flowed through the waiting area and then to private examination rooms, and then back out to the lobby where prescriptions were filled if necessary. No one had to wait long once inside, and by the end of the four hours most of the medicine and all of the stuffed animals had been dispensed.
It was hard to judge how the people of Siniyah felt about this massive effort organized on their behalf. Obviously, sick people are not happy people. The patients with minor ailments, aches and pains or colds, probably benefitted simply by receiving the attention of people who cared. A lot of children passed through the building, some sick, some just there waiting with their parents, and they must have been impressed by the scale of the operation, the novelty of the day.
There were limits to the amount of care the medics could provide. An older man needed insulin, and that is something the medics cannot supply. A mother brought in her baby, who had a skin condition which caused the skin to die faster than it could be shed, resulting in painful patches of dead skin pulling at the healthy skin underneath. Treatment would be very expensive and ongoing, and is not something the medics are in a position to provide.
So much of the work the soldiers do is one step in a much longer process. What they do today may result in something positive happening tomorrow, but the wait is usually much longer. They are not often rewarded for their good deeds, not that they expect to be. In the case of the clinic, the best reward for the soldiers would be to see it up and running on its own, to be able to stop by unannounced and find the gates unlocked, the rooms busy enough that the dust isn’t allowed to settle. The soldiers are trying to improve the quality of life in Siniyah and other villages all over Iraq, but it is up to the Iraqis ultimately to decide whether or not they want to take care of themselves. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2008-01-11T07:16:00.000-08:00

2008-01-11T07:13:00.000-08:00

2008-01-11T07:09:00.000-08:00

An Alpha Company Christmas

2007-12-26T05:52:00.000-08:00

December 26, 2007

In the days leading up to Christmas here at Speicher, the Halliburton elves had done their best to introduce the holiday spirit to the base. At the DFAC (dining facility), cutouts of Santa decorated the walls. Plastic turkeys left over from a Thanksgiving display were coated with fake snow and added to a winter scene. On the bus, the radio played Christmas music between country hits. But it was easy to forget Christmas was approaching, easy to look at it as just another day.
The soldiers of STB’s (Special Troops Battalion) Alpha Company didn’t want to let Christmas pass unnoticed, so they took it outside the wire, and used the holiday as an excuse to give out candy, toys, and a variety of other gifts and useful items to families in the area.
At 8:30 Christmas morning, the soldiers gathered near their humvees, where Lieutenant Tom Ryder, wearing a Santa cap, delivered the briefing. Reading down a list of activity from the last twenty-four hours, it seemed as though LT Ryder was letting us know who had been naughty and who had been nice. In a sense, he was. His list focused more on the naughty, though-- the insurgents and their most recent bad behavior.
We loaded into the trucks. In my truck were three sergeants: Bill Ferguson, Adam Johnson, and Matthew Schultz; and specialist Anthony Jerbasi. The higher ranking enlisted men had turned out in greater numbers for this mission so lower ranking soldiers could have the day off. Also along for the ride was the company commander, Captain John Cunningham.
Before we could dispense any Christmas cheer, our convoy was redirected to an area where an IED had been discovered. Together with another convoy, the Alpha Company soldiers monitored the area until the IED was detonated by soldiers in a controlled blast, and it was safe to move on.
The convoy pulled up between two modest, mud and straw homes, and we waited for curious faces to appear. Slowly, cautiously, the occupants emerged, until it became clear our visit was friendly, and the children hurried to see what the soldiers had for them. They were given beanie babies and soccer balls, candy and other snacks, and it was fun to witness their happy confusion. At our next series of stops, the kids seemed more prepared for our arrival, and wasted no time getting to the Santas in camouflage. Somehow the same kids managed to appear at more than one house and made off with more than their share of the goods. Some seemed impossible to satisfy.
An Iraqi interpreter, Billy, had accompanied us on our rounds, but he spent most of his time assisting CPT Cunningham, who wanted to take the opportunity to speak with the senior family members. That meant the rest of the soldiers had to try their best to interact with the rest of the men, women, and children with only a handful of Arabic words and some makeshift sign language. Sometimes an Iraqi would volunteer a word in English, and everyone would nod with relief.
The last stop was more like the first. The kids were friendly but shy, and delighted to be the recipients of this unexpected windfall. A female dog and her puppy also benefitted from the visit, receiving beef jerky and crackers, and a great deal of attention from soldiers who obviously missed their pets at home.
With every box and bag empty, the soldiers of Alpha Company returned to the base. They had completed their mission and perhaps been caught up, however briefly, in the holiday spirit.
It will take more than beanie babies, soccer balls, and bags of candy to gain the support and trust of the Iraqi people, but maybe they will remember these small acts of kindness and they will think about working with us, or at least choose not to help those working against us. Watching the Iraqi mothers and fathers watch the soldiers kicking the soccer ball around with their kids, it seemed like this might be possible. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2007-12-25T23:37:00.000-08:00

2007-12-25T23:35:00.000-08:00

2007-12-25T23:29:00.000-08:00

2007-12-25T23:26:00.000-08:00

2007-12-19T20:58:00.000-08:00

Back In Iraq

2007-12-19T20:51:00.000-08:00

December 20, 2007

I never expected to find myself in Iraq again, but when I heard the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade was going back, I decided to join them. Again. This time they are spread out over several bases, large and small, from Bayji to Balad. I am in Tikrit at COB (Contingency Operating Base) Speicher, and I hope to see as much of this area as possible, and visit as many bases as possible, over the next several months.
It is impossible not to compare the conditions here in Tikrit to those of Kirkuk, where I stayed with the 1st Brigade last year. On the base, life is not so different. Speicher is bigger, with three dining facilities, two PXs, and, like FOB Warrior in Kirkuk, Speicher is also home to a handful of fast food restaurants including Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, and Subway. There is a bus that circles the base every thirty minutes, and many soldiers will be very tired of this bumpy ride a year from now, which is when they are scheduled to go home. They have been here since September, this being a fifteen month deployment. I know they felt twelve months was a long time to be away from their families last year, so this deployment will be that much more difficult.
The Salahuddin province, which includes Tikrit, Bayji and Samarra is different from Kirkuk, both in population and temperament. In Kirkuk, the Kurdish segment of the population was generally welcoming, and it was possible to feel quite safe in their neighborhoods. There is no such welcoming group here. Already the 1st Brigade has suffered several losses, already this is shaping up to be a more dangerous deployment than the last, a fact which cannot be lost on family and friends waiting back at home. Christmas in Clarksville will no doubt be bittersweet.
There are periods of calm here. The sound of progress is usually no sound at all, but sometimes an explosion is something to feel good about. After a few days of getting settled here, which meant a lot of walking around lost and a few desperate bus rides, I was able to go outside the wire (off the base) with members of the Special Troops Battalion (STB). Their mission was to escort an Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team to Patrol Base Woodcock, a smaller base south of Speicher, where an assortment of munitions had been collected.
The trip to Woodcock took almost two hours. In my humvee, Sergeant Joseph Caldwell chatted with the gunner, Sandoval, and the driver, a female soldier named Garrison. I took in the sights. Our interpreter, Henry, seemed lost in his own thoughts. Caldwell, who was in charge of the mission, pointed out noteworthy spots along the way. We passed Tikrit University, and I wondered about the students. What were their hopes and dreams? Were they optimistic about the future of Iraq?
Closer to Woodcock, Garrison’s reflexes were tested. A cow wandered into the road, and she had to swerve to miss it. Not easy in a humvee.
We made it to our destination, and the EOD team examined the weapons that had been gathered. The flies had gathered too. I made a note to myself that the bathroom facilities must be crude, and thought I might stick to daytrips when it came to Woodcock.
Swatting the flies away, we gazed down at a few rockets, and then a large bag of anti-aircraft rounds was brought forward for inspection. In the light of day, in our hands and not the enemy’s, the materials did not seem so dangerous. But of course they were. The team carefully loaded the rockets and rounds into their specially designed vehicle, and the convoy accompanied them to an open field where they blew it all up. There is something satisfying about an explosion. An explosion we have orchestrated.
Whether the situation here has improved or not is difficult to judge. Weapons are still being discovered, with luck before they are used against us or innocent Iraqi people. We have more soldiers working out of smaller bases like Woodcock this time around, which brings them closer to the people and makes forging positive relationships much easier. And the better we understand each other, the better we will be able to help each other.
The trip back to Speicher was uneventful, no close calls with cows, no explosions of the unwelcome kind. It was the kind of trip you hope all of the soldiers outside the wire have all the time.
There are soldiers who are here for the first time, and soldiers who have been here two or three times already. It would be great if the people of Iraq got a taste of progress, of peace, and decided to settle for nothing less. It would be great if our soldiers could spend next Christmas at home. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-09-06T00:53:00.000-07:00

How I Spent My Summer Vacation September 2, 2006

2006-09-06T00:37:00.000-07:00

How I Spent My Summer Vacation
September 2, 2006

Not many people choose Iraq for a vacation destination. In fact, I may be the first. Everybody thought I was crazy, but after spending over four months with the 101st Airborne Division in Kirkuk, I think I may have stumbled onto the best vacation package ever.
Most journalists who report from Iraq either work out of Baghdad or make brief stops in various hotspots throughout the country in search of a particular story. They may see a lot of action, but they only report on a fraction of the actual events that take place in this country every day. Most journalists do not have the luxury of staying in one place and letting the stories find them, but I did. By spending most of my time in Kirkuk, I got to know many soldiers and many Iraqis, and I am pretty sure I got to see a side of the war most journalists ignore and most Americans, as a result, are completely unaware of.
I had planned to spend 101 days with the 101st Airborne Division, but I decided to extend my stay because I wanted to see what the final weeks of a deployment were like. Many of the soldiers were scheduled to fly home this week and already many have been told they will have to wait a few more days. I have spent most of my time over these last weeks with Bravo Company and I know how anxious the guys are to get home. These yearlong deployments are very difficult for them and their families. The soldiers are used to waiting, used to last minute schedule changes, but they are clearly disappointed that their return home has been delayed.
I am looking forward to going home too, but I have had such a good time with the soldiers here, who have been so accommodating of me, that I am reluctant to say goodbye to them. They have taught me a lot about how to handle a tremendous amount of pressure and responsibility, and they have made me laugh. A lot.
These months have been full of surprises. The biggest surprise was seeing just how warm and generous the Iraqi people are. It is easy to imagine this is a country full of terrorists, but now that I have walked many of the streets of Kirkuk, and been inside many homes, I know otherwise. There are insurgents here, and terrorist cells, but there are good people too. And even the bad people will offer you a glass of chai.
It should come as no surprise that our soldiers have been doing their best here, and brought about many improvements to the city and its people, but what is surprising is that all of this good work rarely makes our national news. We frequently complain about the shortage of role models in the United States, but we have plenty, and many of them are here in Iraq. It is difficult to predict the future of Iraq, and of Kirkuk. All of our soldiers hard work—improving the infrastructure of the city, trying to eliminate corruption, training Iraqi Forces, not to mention building schools and soccer fields, water treatment plants and hospitals—which is taking place throughout the country, may not be enough to bring about a lasting change here. The Iraqi people will have to become more involved if this is to occur. But our soldiers have, as they like to say in the Army, set the Iraqis up for success.
After September 11th, a lot of young men and women joined the Army out of a sense of duty and loyalty to their country. They have served the United States well, often better than we know. Quite a few of these soldiers will be getting out over the next several months and trying to work their way back into the civilian world. This is good news for the civilian world. Having watched these men and women go to work day after day—no weekends off, no five o’clock quitting time—I worry that the many skills they demonstrate here cannot be summed up adequately in a 1-2 page resume. Historically, a soldier may have been regarded as a warrior, but the soldiers of today have to be so much more. They are diplomats and teachers, managers and urban planners. And they are warriors.
I could never have been a soldier. I lack discipline, I hate to get up early, and I complain too much. But I have a great deal of respect for our soldiers, partly because they do what I cannot. Now that I have seen firsthand just how difficult a soldier’s life is, I will pay them more consideration. I think we have learned from the past that it is important to support our troops, but this means more than just putting a yellow ribbon magnet on our cars. As soldiers return from Iraq, some for good, and some only home until their next deployment, we have to make sure there is a place for them. I have met a few I would put in the White House, if they were old enough. Until that time, I hope we as Americans will serve our soldiers as well as they have served us and the people of Iraq. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-08-27T03:56:00.000-07:00

Walking the Beat with Charlie Company August 26, 2006

2006-08-26T23:40:00.000-07:00

Walking the Beat with Charlie Company
August 26, 2006

For the past several weeks, I have spent Friday or Saturday with the 101st Airborne Division’s Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion. Charlie Company has had a busy year. More raids, more sniper attacks, more shoot-outs have occurred in Charlie Company’s sector than in any other sector of the city of Kirkuk. With the end of their deployment drawing near, it would be understandable for the soldiers of Charlie Company to play it safe and stay in their trucks, but they are better than that. They continue to walk the beat, and that means I do too. Great.
Dismounted foot patrols in 120 plus degree heat are not much fun. Add heavy body armor, chilly stares, streams of sewage and garbage, and the only question that remains is why? Why endure so many levels of discomfort? While this does just seem to be part of the job description of a soldier, a foot patrol does have a purpose. Soldiers talk to local residents and shopkeepers and give them a chance to voice their concerns. They do not often seize this opportunity, however. Sometimes they complain—usually about the fuel shortage— but most of the time they tell the soldiers everything is fine. The soldiers know better. They know having raided countless houses, including some in the neighborhoods we walk, that there is trouble brewing behind many of the gates that line these streets. Having witnessed several raids, I know the targets our soldiers are after look no different than the people who give us the silent treatment during these patrols.
Is it possible to break the silence? After almost a year, it seems if people wanted to talk they would have by now. Maybe by saying everything is fine, they hope to make it so. Or maybe locals have resigned themselves to accepting certain realities that we would consider unacceptable. For instance, there is no city-wide waste removal system, so most residents simply throw their garbage into the nearest vacant lot or anywhere outside the walls of their property. There is no city-wide sewage system, so streams of human waste run from houses into channels in the street. Add these together and the smell can be difficult to endure and equally difficult to escape. But, because this is how it has always been, it is probably hard to imagine any other way.
Acts of violence, both targeted and random, have also become an accepted reality for many, or so it would seem. An innocent man may live next door to a terrorist, and know it, but consider it safer to remain silent than to share this information with soldiers. And though our soldiers want to make Kirkuk safe and secure, the residents of the city do not know these men who arrive in convoys of armored Humvees and always carry weapons. For this reason, many patrols are conducted jointly with Iraqi Police, but again the residents do not necessarily trust the police, so they stick to their story. Everything is fine.
If the soldiers could spend more time with the Iraqis they meet briefly while on patrol, it is likely they would win these people over. I have walked with many decent and affable soldiers from Charlie Company: John Vickery, Nathan Ryan, Donald Tarver, Josh Orban, Matt Somma, Daren Garis and Chris Miller, and the list goes on. They are easy to like. But just as the Iraqis feel it would be dangerous to let their guard down, so do the soldiers. They cannot leave their weapons and body armor in the trucks. They cannot stay in one place for too long. In some areas where there is limited cover from an attack, or where an attack is more likely to occur, they take extra precautions. A traffic circle was filled with a cloud of yellow smoke to obscure the soldiers from view. An open field was no place to linger.
War is generally thought of as a series of attacks and counterattacks, active and ever-changing, but here in Kirkuk it is sometimes anything but. Sometimes it is simply more of the same. The soldiers know the streets of the city better than they will ever know the people who live on them, and maybe this is how it has to be in a time of war. But maybe the Iraqis are watching even if they are not talking. Maybe they see the effort the soldiers are making to improve the situation in Kirkuk, and maybe they will try to do their part to help when they are ready to accept that everything is not fine. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-08-26T23:26:00.000-07:00

A Bravo Company Goodbye August 26, 2006

2006-08-26T07:12:00.000-07:00

A Bravo Company Goodbye
August 26, 2006

Thousands of soldiers have spent a year away from their families and their friends in order to work on improving the situation for the people of Iraq. A year is a long time for a young soldier to be away from home. Many have spent as much or more time away from their wives and children as they have with them. And many soldiers have spent more time than they ever could have imagined with a network of Iraqi Forces during this yearlong deployment. Here in Kirkuk, where violence is not the order of the day every day, perhaps the soldiers have been luckier than they realize in the way they have been allowed to spend their time.
Sure, there is corruption on many levels throughout Iraq, and Kirkuk has its share of corrupt individuals in most of the offices and departments the soldiers deal with regularly. But there are good guys here too, and the men of the 101st Airborne Division’s Bravo Company, 1st Brigade, 2nd Battalion, have become their trusted and valued friends.
At the Arafa Police Station, where the soldiers have been served dinner and countless glasses of chai, there are good cops who see the soldiers almost every day, who trade jokes with them, and who rely on the soldiers in a way they cannot rely on members of their own police force. They are drawn to the soldiers and ask to have their picture taken with them. They know the soldiers appreciate their hard work, even if their countrymen do not.
Bravo Company also makes regular stops at the Emergency Response Unit (ERU) to make sure the cops are wearing their body armor and managing their weapons properly, and to listen to their concerns and make sure they have what they need to do their job. Once again, a handful of cops have risen to the surface and developed an attachment to the soldiers. Three policemen who flock to Sergeant Darren McQueen whenever he appears at ERU were conspicuously absent when he made the rounds recently. It looked like they were gone for the day when suddenly voices were heard coming from the jail cell on the premises. “Queen, Queen,” they called sadly. Darren walked up to a long, narrow window, and behind the bars were his IP friends, spending the day in jail because they had been late to work. He scolded them and made them laugh, and I am sure this was the highlight of their day.
It must be difficult to try to live and work with integrity at a time when integrity has no value. As important as it is for our soldiers to have allies among the Iraqi Forces, it may be even more critical for this noble and hardworking minority to have our support. They see our soldiers as their brothers in arms. They have met a new group of American soldiers every year since the war began, and I am sure they have worked well with all of them, but I cannot imagine they have ever had as much fun while doing their job as they have with their Bravo brothers. It will be very difficult for them to say goodbye to these soldiers.
It will not be as difficult for the soldiers to say goodbye; they cannot wait to get back to the United States. But they cannot just hop on a plane. There is work to be done to pave the way for their replacements, the 25th Infantry Division. For security reasons, the soldiers have not broadcast the exact date of their departure. Their Iraqi friends know they will be leaving soon, but they do not know how soon. The Bravo Company guys will bring the guys from the 25th out on patrols, and they will introduce them to the Iraqi Police, and they will all drink chai together, and they will share a laugh or two because the Bravo soldiers are funny and so are the cops. But there will be a certain amount of sadness in the air because the Iraqi Police know they have been in very good hands for the past year.
Bravo Company has also been in good hands. No convoy is complete without an interpreter, and there are several whom the soldiers have worked closely with and come to trust. A good interpreter is as important as any weapon in this war because so much of the soldiers’ work here involves words. The interpreters help the soldiers learn some basic Arabic and Kurdish phrases. And the soldiers teach the interpreters how to swear in English. Everybody wins. After a year of hanging on an interpreter’s every word, and vice versa, saying goodbye will not be so easy.
In addition to the working relationships that must come to an end, there are many relationships that have sprung up just because the soldiers are nice guys who make friends easily. There are children who have come to know many of the soldiers from their routine patrols through their neighborhoods. There is a little girl named Banaz who has been visited by the same group of soldiers many times over the past month. When they met her, she was shy and suffering from a bad burn. Now she lights up when she sees them, and her skin has almost completely healed. The kids know how it works. They know the soldiers cannot stay forever, but they will have a hard time accepting the fact that they will never see these guys again. How can I be so sure of this? Like the kids, I have had the privilege of getting to know the soldiers of Bravo Company, and I know how hard it will be for me to say goodbye to them. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-08-20T23:32:00.000-07:00

Allies and Flies August 19, 2006

2006-08-19T03:36:00.000-07:00

Allies and Flies
August 19, 2006

The war being fought in Kirkuk is a fairly quiet war. There may be the occasional explosion, or a burst of gunfire, but most days are filled with the sound of soldiers talking: to Iraqi Forces, to Iraqis in positions of power, and to Iraqis with no power, at least not outwardly. What do they talk about? You name it—soccer, the weather, volcanoes, poverty, college, wild boar hunting, television, good guys, bad guys. The purpose of every conversation is to build relationships, gather information, and collect intelligence. Intelligence comes from a variety of sources, and good intelligence makes it possible to catch bad guys, or to prevent bad things from happening.
Local leaders can be vital allies or flies in the ointment. The soldiers of the 101st Airborne Division serving in Kirkuk are well-acquainted with both allies and flies. A muktar, the man who oversees a neighborhood or community, should be a useful resource. He knows the people of his community; he knows who is content and who might be trouble. But what if the muktar himself is trouble?
The 2nd Battalion’s Bravo Company has a shifty muktar in their sector. We’ll call him Muktar T. He will serve the soldiers chai and chat pleasantly. And they will drink the chai because it would be rude not to, but they will not enjoy the conversation. The muktar might volunteer information about alleged bad guys in the neighborhood, but his information will be vague or out-of-date. Or he might feign ignorance about the activities of his people. Instead of having a useful friend who could provide a shortcut to peace, the soldiers have only an annoying buzzing in their ear. One more problem. One less solution.
A police chief should be another of our valued friends. Which brings us to one of Kirkuk’s police chiefs—Colonel E. Colonel E is a major fly. Lieutenant Erik Wright has met with Muktar T many times and with Colonel E many more. These meetings are a study in contrasts. On Erik’s side is integrity, decency, diplomacy. On the other side is trickery, dishonesty, and sometimes just plain stupidity.
One of the goals in Iraq has been to equip the Iraqi forces with protective gear. The Iraqi Police have been issued body armor, and they are supposed to wear it while out on patrol or on guard duty. They do not want to wear their vests. It does not matter that the IP are frequently targeted by insurgents. The vests make them hot and uncomfortable, and they would rather take their chances. Captain Casey Welch decided desperate times called for desperate measures. He had all of the televisions removed from the offices at the police station and placed in the custody of Colonel E, whose television was also removed, as he was ultimately responsible for enforcing the body armor policy. On a recent visit to Colonel E, Lieutenant Wright noticed the Colonel’s TV was back. He was watching cartoons. Erik asked if Captain Welch had lifted the TV ban. Colonel E said yes, two days ago. Before the day was out, Erik confirmed what he had suspected. The ban had not been lifted. Colonel E had lied to his face. Ridiculous? Yes. No one said Iraq wasn’t ridiculous.
It is hard to identify the enemy in the war in Iraq because he dresses in civilian clothes, or worse—he uses a uniform to disguise himself as one of the good guys. It is equally difficult to distinguish the good guys because they would prefer to remain anonymous. There are some good guys who are brave enough to wear the uniform of the Iraqi Police or Army and serve as an example for others to follow. Our soldiers value all of the people willing to work with us, and when they talk we listen.
Bravo Company recently conducted a raid on an apartment complex in Kirkuk. Acting on intelligence gathered from numerous sources, the soldiers worked together with Iraqi Forces from the Emergency Services Unit (ESU) to pick up several individuals suspected of working against us, against the Iraqis who want stability in their country. The soldiers enjoy a raid. Who can blame them? It is far easier to remove a bad guy from the street than to sit across the room from one and try to carry on a polite conversation.
The raid took place in the early morning hours. Carefully choreographed, the plan involved several teams fanning out among the darkened buildings, running through lots covered with garbage, breathing air that really shouldn’t be breathed, and finally storming apartments and apprehending suspects. Only one on the list of suspects could not be found. The rest were rounded up and brought to ESU for questioning.
For every insurgent or terrorist who is arrested, the level of security in Kirkuk increases. For every corrupt individual in a position of power, the level of security decreases. Bravo Company is working on a new list of suspects, and there will be some familiar faces on it. Flies do tend to thrive in Iraq, but they can be dealt with. Together with our Iraqi friends, the soldiers of Bravo Company have worked to rid Kirkuk of as many pests as possible, and they will continue to talk to people, to add to their list of allies, to eliminate more flies. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-08-17T02:37:00.000-07:00

2006-08-15T07:52:00.000-07:00

That's So Bravo! August 13,2006

2006-08-13T08:32:00.000-07:00

That’s So Bravo!
August 13, 2006

For the soldiers of the 101st Airborne Division, who are nearing the end of their deployment here in Iraq, one day is not so different from another. At this point, nothing is new. Many faces are familiar. The soldiers of the 2nd Battalion’s Bravo Company continue to carry out missions with the same diligence, the same attention to detail as always, but they know what they can expect to find at every stop along the way. For the soldiers, a day in Kirkuk can be pretty mundane. For the reporter riding along with them, however, it is always entertaining.
I do not know how many missions and patrols I went on with Bravo Company this week. The days ran together; missions that began late one night ended early the next morning. There was talk of giving me a weapon because I was always around. It made sense to put me to work. Being around the same group of guys all the time gave me a better idea of the nature of their work, which can be very frustrating and tiresome, and a better idea of how they manage to rise above all of this. It takes a sense of humor and a lot of heart, which is the definition of Bravo Company.
One of the ongoing struggles in Kirkuk involves gas lines. Gas is in short supply, and lines at the gas stations are frequently blocks long. The Iraqi police watch over these lines, but occasionally they become overwhelmed, or just tired of being yelled at, so they call in Coalition Forces to help settle things down, making the soldiers feel a bit like bouncers. Highly trained bouncers. On one such call to an unruly line of motorists, the job was as simple as telling people where they could and could not park. And then waiting to make sure they moved their cars. Though the people in the gas lines are impatient, they are generally harmless. But a large crowd combined with a group of soldiers presents a tempting target to a terrorist or insurgent, so Sergeants Eric Caudill and Gary Cunningham pulled security, which meant keeping a careful watch over the area, and joking around with the kids who surrounded them. I don’t know if a soldier’s training involves interacting with kids, but these guys are good at it. They have seen some of the kids many times before, and a rapport has developed that is probably unique to this setting, which in itself is just plain weird. The kids have picked up English from the soldiers and television, and they sound a little bit like extras from The Sopranos.
Another day brought another mission, this time a cordon and knock led by Iraqi Forces (and which required convening with them at 3:00 A.M. for final preparations). I was placed under the watchful eye of Sergeant Darren McQueen. With several Red Bulls under his belt, Darren had more energy than most during this early morning mission. In addition to carrying out his regular duties and keeping me safe, he also wanted to pet a cow before the day was done. The cows fled.
A cordon and knock mission is usually, well, boring. Except for Darren’s cow chase, this one was no different. The mission proceeded smoothly enough, Iraqi Forces working their way from block to block, marking each searched house with a yellow ribbon. Our soldiers thought perhaps the yellow ribbons were meant for them, and maybe in some way they were. The Iraqis did most of the work with the American soldiers playing a supporting role, and a minor one at that, making it possible to envision a day when our help might no longer be necessary.
This week with Bravo Company had everything, but, more than anything, it had comedy. A shift leader at the Arafa Police Station, one the Bravo Company soldiers work with regularly, had been after the soldiers to come for dinner one night. A kind offer, but he may not have known what he was getting himself into. We arrived at the station on the appointed night to find several Iraqi policemen transforming the office into a dining room. About ten soldiers piled into the room, relieving themselves of their body armor and anxiously awaiting their meal. Large bowls of soup, a rice dish called biryani, salad and bread were placed around the table. Clearly, our host understood the appetite of the American soldier. Yes, there were contests to see who could eat the most. And though chai is customarily served after a meal, these soldiers were not content to wait. Sergeant Mike Jones poured, and the tray of tiny glasses went down the table full, then back empty many times. Sergeant Robert Turner drank chai as though his life depended on it. Our Iraqi friends laughed at the savage display, but hopefully they understood all of this fun was thanks to them and their generosity.
In addition to the tedious nature of the gas station visit, the orderly nature of the cordon and search mission, and the slightly chaotic nature of the dinner at the police station, there were missions that involved far fewer players, but which were no less significant. Two of these missions involved one little girl named Banaz, who had been badly burned by a pot of boiling water and needed medical attention. Reluctant to take her to the hospital, her mother brought the situation to the attention of the soldiers, who were in the area on patrol. The soldiers returned with Medic David Jette, and, as always, I tagged along.
The burns covered a large part of the little girl’s chest and left arm, and a portion of her face. She was in a lot of pain and needed treatment before infection set in. David very methodically began to clean the affected area, gently wiping away dead skin, while Banaz did her best to stand up to the pain. Every time she cried out, the soldiers’ sympathy and respect for her grew. After dressing the wound, David gave instructions on how to care for it until we returned.
Two days later, we went back to see how Banaz was doing. David carefully removed the bandages and repeated the process of cleaning the area of the burn, which already showed signs of healing. Once again, Banaz impressed us with her bravery. Sergeants Mike Jones and Jeremy Stearns took turns holding her hand, and Lieutenant Erik Wright took pictures of the poignant scene. We gave Banaz presents, and she hugged the soldiers. It is hard to imagine how it would feel to be in her shoes, suddenly the focus of so much attention and affection from men in uniform, loaded down with body armor. I am sure Banaz will always have a place in her heart for these guys, just as they will always have a place in theirs for her.
Sometimes it seems as though Kirkuk is all right. When nothing explodes for a few days, when Iraqi Forces work alongside ours, when we break bread and share a laugh or a tear with our Iraqi friends, it is possible to imagine a kind of calm could settle here. The soldiers of Bravo Company do everything in their power to give peace a chance, even as they count the days until they can go home. Often their job requires a certain amount of firmness as they train Iraqi Forces to function independently and bring security to the city. But there is a lot more to these guys than meets the eye. The children of Iraq see a side of the soldiers that doesn’t often make it onto the evening news. Though the soldiers will insist they are tough guys, the kids know better. A little girl named Banaz knows what I am talking about. She knows Bravo. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-08-06T06:29:00.000-07:00

The Cost of Doing Business August 6, 2006

2006-08-05T06:30:00.000-07:00

The Cost of Doing Business
August 6, 2006

The city of Kirkuk is considered relatively safe. Like any other city, it has its good neighborhoods and its bad neighborhoods. Unfortunately, insurgent or terrorist-led violence can turn any neighborhood bad in a matter of seconds.
The soldiers of the 101st Airborne Division’s Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, know their sector well. They have traveled its streets on foot and in Humvees for almost a year now. The soldiers know which Iraqi Police (IP) they trust. They know which muktars they would like to bust. In Arafa, a section of the city that falls under the watch of Bravo Company’s 2nd Platoon, the soldiers even have a favorite market, located right across the street from the Arafa Police Station. The market is closed now.
One night, on a routine patrol with Bravo’s 2nd Platoon, our convoy responded to a report of gunshots being fired. Our patrol was being conducted jointly with members of the IP, who received the call and led the way to the possible crime scene. Our soldiers know how the IP like to drive, usually fast and recklessly, and they know the shortcuts leading from one part of the city to another. It only took seconds for them to notice the IP were taking a longer route, a route that led us past the soldiers’ favorite market, and they were driving rather slowly. Sergeant Ned Healy, often in charge of keeping Miss Shelby safe, commented on the amount of people gathered in the area. Crowds collect in marketplaces throughout the city, and usually they conduct their business and make it home safely, but crowds always seem vulnerable. Soldiers are always told to spread out on foot patrols. Too many people in one place can present too tempting a target.
When we arrived at the site where the shots had been reported, there was nothing going on. Moments later, a car bomb exploded in front of the 2nd Platoon’s favorite market. Car bombs, also known as VBIEDs (Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Devices), have become a popular weapon and can do a great deal of damage. We rushed back to the market area, the soldiers dreading what they might find. The storefronts had been destroyed, along with three cars in the vicinity. The husk of the car that had been turned into a bomb sat on the sidewalk in front of the shops. A gravely wounded motorist was treated but later died, and another civilian was killed at the scene. The soldiers were heartsick. This had been their neighborhood.
While they worked to secure the area, the soldiers also scrambled to find the owner of their favorite store. He was located, and Sergeant Brian Blake, our patrol leader, along with the other concerned soldiers, was clearly relieved to see that he had survived. His head was bandaged, and he had lost his shoes, but he wanted to make his way through the broken glass, the twisted pieces of metal and unidentifiable debris, to survey the damage to his store and retrieve the money from the cash register. The soldiers offered to go in for him, not wanting him to risk further injury, but he insisted, so they borrowed some shoes from an Iraqi policeman and helped him make his way through the wreckage.
It is possible to view the aftermath of an explosion, whether caused by an IED or a VBIED, with a certain amount of detachment. There is so much about these attacks that does not make sense. There is too much to absorb. But when the soldiers from Bravo Company saw what remained of their market, they were affected almost as if they had been caught in the explosion. Brian, Ned, gunner Joe Morton, and our driver Chris Myers began speculating. They could not help but wonder if the bomb had been meant for them, or if they had drawn attention to the market by being regular customers. They wondered if the IP had been involved, had deliberately led them through that area earlier.
After we arrived back at the base, the soldiers were anxious to replay the events of the night, hoping to make some sense of what had happened. Lieutenant Erik Wright led the discussion, and everybody weighed in. The soldiers have responded to enough explosions now that they know where they need to be and what they need to do. But because this explosion had hit so close to home, they could not accept that they had done all they could. They wanted to turn back the clock and prevent the explosion from ever happening.
It is impossible to undo what has been done. It is impossible to understand how random and devastating acts of violence could ever be justified. The VBIED at the marketplace could have been much worse, though not for the victims who died that day or their families. As much as the soldiers would love to prevent every explosion that takes place in the city, they cannot be everywhere, and they have learned that maybe it is best not to be anywhere too often. The soldiers of Bravo Company’s 2nd Platoon have added the image of their favorite market destroyed to the countless images of destruction that every soldier carries in his head. And their patrols have grown more complicated, as they try to avoid following the same route twice, and wonder where to take their business now. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-08-03T05:55:00.000-07:00

Juggling with Balls July 29, 2006

2006-07-29T06:08:00.000-07:00

Juggling with Balls
July 29, 2006

The 101st Airborne Division’s 2-320 Field Artillery Battalion, also known as “Balls,” may not get to go on cool missions, but they cover a lot of territory in and around Kirkuk. The soldiers of Balls are responsible for crucial elements of Northern Iraq’s infrastructure, from the Northern Oil Company to power plants all over the region. They work with Iraqi security forces to protect and restore production of these energy resources. Forty percent of Iraq’s oil comes from this region and when production is down, the impact is felt all over the world. We must not discount the importance of Balls.
Much of what the soldiers of 2-320 do is routine, as much as anything in Iraq can be considered routine. We paid a visit to the Mulla Abdullah Power Plant, where Lieutenant Adam Reuter met with the chief of the Electrical Power Systems Security (EPSS), and they discussed the issues of the day. In the Kirkuk region, citizens have electricity for 8-10 hours a day. Supply cannot keep up with demand, and the battle to restore lines and towers is ongoing. As with most organizations involved in the rebuilding of Iraq, EPSS officers are reluctant to act without American assistance, to make decisions without our guidance. This reluctance to embrace and assert their independence delays progress.
The chief of the power plant’s security team was obviously hard-working and dedicated. He had taken it upon himself to devise security plans for all of the area power plants, which sat in a stack on his desk. But this level of commitment is unusual, and it is difficult for one reasonable man to motivate the less industrious, especially when they are tasting freedom for the first time. It is understandable that he would look to his American friends for support.
Also on the agenda at the power plant was a first aid class led by Medic Vernon Prewitt. As the light faded outside, Prewitt instructed a group of security officers in the treatment of wounds. These officers are not targeted by insurgents in the way Iraqi Police and Army forces are, but anyone working to improve conditions in Iraq is somewhat vulnerable.
A second trip off the base, this time with Captain Adam Cmerek and other members of the battalion, revealed another set of power-related issues. Our convoy was headed for Riyadh, a problematic area near Hawijah, when we took a side trip to investigate a fire on the oil pipeline running through the area. The fire was visible from miles away, dark billowing smoke drifting across the horizon. Iraqi soldiers on guard duty had no theories about how the fire had started.
The Iraqi Army (IA) presents its own set of challenges. In some regions, the Iraqi soldiers share our goals. In other areas, sometimes just down the road, there is little common ground. Many of the Iraqi soldiers serving Riyadh wear the uniform and collect a paycheck, but have no sense of duty to the people of Iraq. For the American soldiers who work day after day to improve living conditions in Iraq, this is extremely frustrating. It is frustrating as a bystander to see our soldiers, who radiate a sense of duty and who represent us so well, dismissed by members of the IA who have no clear goals of their own except to undermine our efforts.
We visited an IA battalion headquarters where an IED had gone off. That it had been planted within the boundaries of IA property, presumably guarded by Iraqi soldiers, was an indication that this had been an inside job. Why? Iraq is a country that raises more questions than it answers.
On day three with Balls, the power struggles continued. Sergeant Franklin Taylor led a convoy to Dubiz, a town north of Kirkuk, to meet with members of the Oil Security Forces, who guard the country’s most important resource. As we approached our destination, a group of Iraqi police officers flagged us down. Obviously distraught, they explained through our interpreter that an officer had been killed. They were guarding a gas station when a large group of Iraqi soldiers tried to force their way to the front of the line. Shots were fired, and an Iraqi police officer was killed. His body lay in the bed of their truck, covered with a blanket.
The gas situation is baffling. Production is down, partly because since the war began oil refineries have been forced to close and have not re-opened; meanwhile, demand has increased. Still, it is hard to understand how a region frequently referred to as “oil-rich” could be suffering from a fuel shortage.
The soldiers of 2-320 work with several groups to protect Iraq’s resources. Our goal is to distribute power democratically. The EPSS and OSF officers support our mission, but hesitate to take charge. The Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police are unpredictable and, as a result, unreliable. In theory, they are on the same side, and in theory they are on our side. They want power but not the responsibility that comes with it. They want us to leave, but they appear incapable of cooperating with each other, thereby forcing us to stay.
The future of Iraq is not in our hands. It is not in the hands of insurgents, or corrupt officers or soldiers. The future of Iraq is in the hands of the Iraqi people who have yet to take responsibility for their part in the rebuilding of their country. The soldiers of the 2-320 Field Artillery Battalion are helping to show them the way. Our soldiers provide an excellent example of democracy in action, but it is up to the Iraqis to become more active themselves. The ball is in their court.
shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-07-22T22:13:00.000-07:00

2006-07-22T22:09:00.000-07:00

Herding Cats in Hawijah July 22, 2006

2006-07-22T04:12:00.000-07:00

Herding Cats in Hawijah
July 22, 2006

The problem of Hawijah has not gone away. There are quiet days where nothing explodes, but a quiet day always seem to be a preamble to a more typical day, which usually includes an IED discovery or a blast of rock and roll on the base followed by a few rounds fired into the night. I spent another week at FOB (Forward Operating Base) McHenry to get e better sense of what the problem was and how it might be solved. As luck would have it, the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade had studied the problem and come up with a possible solution. They called it Operation Gaugamela. For two days Hawijah was cordoned off, the flow of traffic stopped, and every house and shop was searched.
Three days before the Operation was launched, villages on the outskirts of Hawijah were cordoned and searched. These missions got underway before sunrise. Monday, we got started at 4:15 AM. Tuesday’s mission began at 3:00 AM. The good news is these missions were finished by midday. The bad news is they finished me for the rest of the day.
Though they met with little resistance, the soldiers’ efforts were not often rewarded. Remote villages contain remote hiding places and tight-knit groups of people. The highlight came on Tuesday, when three men on a list of suspects were found together in a house. There had been a death in the family, so in addition to these three, there were seven other male relatives present who were also detained. Their wrists were secured with heavy-duty plastic ties, and they were led to a vehicle while the cows and chickens watched.
On Thursday, Operation Gaugamela commenced. Additional support had been brought down from Kirkuk and included American soldiers, Iraqi soldiers and police, dogs and their handlers, and equipment. The roads running into and out of Hawijah were secured. Helicopters circled overhead, providing security and eyes in the sky. My Humvee was driven by Sergeant Bobby Brooks, co-piloted by Sergeant Jamey Stolp, and Specialist Kyle Tripp was the gunner. With two very long days ahead of us, I was lucky to be in the company of these thoughtful gentlemen. My convoy included the commander of the 1st Battalion, Colonel Marc Hutson, who communicated over the radio with company leaders throughout the Operation.
Individuals who were somehow suspect, either because they did not have proper identification, or because they were not where they were supposed to be, or just because they behaved in a suspicious manner, were brought to collection points. We watched one group of detainees gathered beside a cinder block wall. They sat under the sun awaiting their fate. Nearby, a donkey poked through the garbage that was scattered among the grass. We passed by the collection point again later in the day, and the group of detainees had grown. The donkey had been replaced by five cows.
Convoys rolled through every neighborhood. Soldiers, both American and Iraqi, walked the streets and entered each house. The sun burned very brightly, and both soldiers and search dogs struggled to combat the heat. There were soldiers on standby in the event of attacks on Coalition Forces, but for the most part, the searches proceeded without incident.
Any protests were conducted silently, or when we were not there to listen. One of the main streets was lined with carts of produce: tomatoes, watermelon, eggplants. With the town in lockdown, there was no business, and in frustration carts had been emptied onto the street. Local merchants stared expressionless at the passing Humvees. In residential areas, citizens waited stoically for the search teams to come and go. Weapons are permitted in the households of Hawijah, but for the purposes of this mission, guns were confiscated. In the middle of the second day, an Iraqi Police truck drove by our convoy, its bed loaded down with AK-47s.
Day Two also brought two discoveries. A weapons cache was found in the courtyard of a home in an otherwise peaceful-looking neighborhood. Another cache was uncovered in a shop on a street lined with many shops. The first cache included explosives, ammunition and many other devices used by insurgents. The EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) team was brought in to inspect the materials, and because some were deemed unsafe to move, they were detonated on the scene. Area residents were notified over a loudspeaker that an explosion was impending, and they were advised to stay in their homes. We moved our vehicles a safe distance from the site and minutes later heard a loud boom, followed by a billowing cloud of smoke.
The second cache included materials used in the assembly of car bombs, and these were also detonated where they were found, resulting in another very loud explosion and a sky filled with smoke. These explosions send a message to insurgents and to those who live in their company. As with many other towns and cities in Iraq, Hawijah has its share of law-abiding citizens. But for years now Hawijah has been home to networks of insurgents and terrorists, and the source of people and weapons used against citizens and Coalition Forces in neighboring areas, like Kirkuk.
Over time, each phase of the Operation became routine, even mundane. Detainees were herded into trucks. Long lines of cars were stopped at checkpoints where they waited for hours until they were told to move forward or turn around. Soldiers patrolled the streets on foot or in vehicles for hours. Soldiers sat in idling Humvees. For hours. Over the radio, progress and delays were reported. At one point, thirty people who had been gathered for further screening suddenly took off over a foot bridge and were in the process of being recaptured. From the air, this was described as, “Pretty much like herding cats,” to which Colonel Hutson replied, “Understand herding cats.” If there was ever an apt description for all of this, that was it.
Iraqi Police also required herding. Tired from the long days, their numbers began to shrink. Everybody was tired. A Humvee is not as comfortable as even the cheapest car, and spending twelve hours in one is a kind of torture. The second day was longer than the first. Kyle, the gunner, had been on his feet, his head and shoulders poking out of the turret, throughout, except for a few short periods where Bobby and Jamey gave him a break. They all made sure I was okay, and I tried to pretend I was, even though I could not wait to get out of the truck and into a shower.
In the end, it is hard to say if the Hawijah problem was solved. Perhaps it was reduced. In the coming days, it will be interesting to see if there is a backlash. The nature of the opposition is such that it does not retain a particular shape. It shifts and changes. Even if weapons are discovered, bad guys sometimes get away. Or new bad guys are sent in as replacements with new weapons. The operation did meet with some success, but our soldiers will continue to watch and wait. The soldiers at FOB McHenry know all about watching and waiting, and they are better than most at herding cats. shelbymonroe@gmail.com

2006-07-16T05:54:00.000-07:00

2006-07-16T05:49:00.000-07:00

2006-07-16T05:43:00.000-07:00

2006-07-16T05:31:00.000-07:00

Let's Hear It for Bravo Company! July 15, 2006

2006-07-15T00:43:00.000-07:00

Let’s Hear It for Bravo Company!
July 15, 2006

Lean, muscular, ruggedly handsome, sculpted. These are just some of the words the soldiers of the 101st Airborne Division’s Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Brigade, use to describe themselves. But these guys are more than just a collection of pretty faces (“pretty” was also on their list). They know their way around Kirkuk, and they know how to show a girl a good time. Sergeant Jeremy Stearns, a nice Southern gentleman from Alabama, introduced me as Miss Shelby, and for the five days I spent with them, the Bravo boys called me Miss Shelby.
I had spent a day with Bravo Company’s 1st Platoon a few weeks ago. An IED had exploded behind our convoy, and we were very lucky. The explosives were powerful enough to do serious damage even to our heavily armored Humvees, but we had escaped unharmed. The triggerman was caught with the cell phone he used to set off the explosives, and his arrest led to others. What could have been a tragedy turned into a victory. Nevertheless, the guys thought somehow my presence attracted IEDs, so when I showed up to go out on patrol with them again, they called me an IED magnet and pretended they were scared to ride with me. I think they were pretending.
The soldiers of the 101st have been here in Kirkuk for ten months now. The soldiers of Bravo Company lived in the city for five months before moving to the base, so they are very familiar with the neighborhoods and streets of their sector. Much of what they do now is routine. Each of Bravo Company’s three platoons conducts patrols, both mounted and dismounted, and many patrols are conducted with the Iraqi Police (IP), so they usually begin with a trip to one of the local police stations.
The Iraqi Police are not driven by a sense of urgency. Often, a stop at a police station involves more than the exchange of information about events and issues. There is plenty of time for that. But when an officer enters the room with a tray full of small clear glasses, everyone knows it is chai time. There is no fighting it. Chai is fairly strong tea served with about a half inch of sugar at the bottom of each glass. Some of the soldiers have learned to embrace the chai ritual. Others will be happy if they never see another glass of chai. Either way, it is fun to watch a man in uniform and full body armor, weapon at his side, balancing a dainty cup and saucer on his knee. With luck, by the time the chai is cleared away, the IP are ready to accompany our soldiers on patrol.
The soldiers work closely with the Iraqi Police for several reasons. The IP are responsible for the city, for the citizens of Kirkuk. How well they handle this responsibility affects the degree to which our soldiers’ involvement is required. The IP are funny, exasperating, and dangerous. In spite of our efforts to break them of old habits, to teach them new methods, there is still a limit to how much one person can control another’s behavior. Our soldiers can remind the IP not to beat up detainees, but when left to their own devices, the IP sometimes get a few punches in anyway. There are some dedicated officers, but generally the IP do not inspire confidence.
Lieutenant Erik Wright sat down with the police chief at a newly formed police station, the Emergency Response Unit (ERU), who tried to shift the burden to us, implying the soldiers were not doing enough. LT Wright tried to explain that the IP needed to take the lead, that our goal and theirs should be to minimize the necessity of an American military presence. It is difficult to persuade the Iraqis to take responsibility for themselves and each other. They have not had this level of control over their lives before.
At another ERU meeting, Captain Jon Simrak was forced to ask why they had conducted a raid without involving more highly trained members of Iraqi law enforcement, and without notifying us. The chief explained that they had received a tip that had to be acted on immediately, and the raid resulted in the arrest of three men who were in possession of materials used to make IEDs. It was hard to argue with success, and it would seem the IP had shown the sort of initiative we were looking for. But there are proper procedures, and if they are not observed in every situation, it will not be long before they are forgotten altogether. Once this point was made, it was possible to appreciate the results of the raid.
Sergeants Mike Jones and Jeremy Stearns inventoried the items taken during the raid, each of which served some function in an IED. When they had organized the wires, the timing devices, the explosive material, the batteries, I said, “It doesn’t look like much.” Jeremy replied, “It doesn’t take much.” It doesn’t take much to commit a random act of brutal violence, but just as it doesn’t take much to do the wrong thing, it doesn’t take much to do the right thing either. While Captain Simrak and Sergeants Jones and Stearns interrogated the three men who had been captured during the raid, I sat in another room with the man who had provided the police with the tip. It was nice to sit beside someone who had probably saved lives by doing the right thing. The soldiers thanked him before they left the room, and I thanked him too. Then we watched Iraqi television.
Many patrols involve getting out and talking to people. With the help of interpreters, the soldiers try to get a sense of how the Iraqis are feeling about life in Kirkuk right now. The reactions are mixed. Some see only new difficulties. Others see great opportunities. A muktar who had been forced to leave his home, only to have it and the rest of his village destroyed by order of Saddam Hussein, is building a new home, creating a new village, and he is eager to embrace democracy. He offered Sergeant Timothy Malmin a piece of land. He offered me a piece of land too, and I thought about moving in, but I didn’t see any plans for a pool.
Spending five days with Bravo Company, going out on one morning patrol and one night patrol each day, opened up the city to me and gave me a better understanding of a day in the life of a soldier. We walked through neighborhoods where people were running their shops, working on their homes. Children followed us, and the soldiers joked around with them. The soldiers are good at shifting gears. Sergeant Mike Bartlett was put in charge of my safety on one patrol, and I asked him if he had any kids. He told me he had four sons. At one point he had a group of boys gathered around him, and I wondered how it felt to be so far away from his own kids and so hemmed in by these Iraqi children. We stopped at a shop and Mike bought sodas for our group. Further down the road, PFC Regalado, the Medic, tried to pet a sheep.
On a night patrol with Sergeant Brian Blake and other members of the 2nd Platoon, once again the city seemed like a friendly place. The soldiers helped the IP enforce the 11:00 PM curfew, and then our convoy continued to patrol the streets, Sergeant Blake hoping to find some action. A Kurdish wedding party materialized in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. It was after midnight and the women wore sequined dresses and danced to music played over speakers set up outside. They welcomed us, and as soon as the ladies realized there was a female with the soldiers they grabbed my arm and began to pull me into the dancing circle. I tried to hide behind Sergeant Darren McQueen, but a soldier will always enjoy watching a reporter humiliate herself, and he let the ladies take me. We probably could have stayed the night and been served breakfast the next morning, but it was time to return to the base.
There is never a day without drama in Kirkuk. There are IEDs being put together or blown apart every day. It turned out I was not an IED magnet, but one did go off in Bravo Company’s sector, injuring one Iraqi police officer. Later in the week a car bomb went off in the same area, this time killing two Iraqi police officers. In spite of the differences that exist between the IP and our soldiers, these incidents are sobering because these were probably good cops, and we are on the same side.
There is never a day without comedy in Kirkuk, often provided by the IP, who, perhaps knowing they are targets, decide to make the best of a bad situation. There are good cops and there are bad cops. There are insurgents, and there are people who turn in insurgents. The soldiers in Bravo Company move among all of these people, and they maintain their sense of humor and their sense of professionalism with all of them. Iraq is a complicated country, and Kirkuk is a complicated city.
With their movie star good looks (their words), Bravo Company can handle comedy and drama, not to mention adventure. They have been here a long time, and they have seen a lot of all three. They show up every day ready to perform, and they have many fans among the Iraqi people as well as their fans at home who miss them. They will be going home soon, and they deserve a standing ovation for the job they have done here. Miss Shelby will lead the applause.
shelbymonroe@gmail.com

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Hawijah? July 8, 2006

2006-07-08T02:33:00.000-07:00

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Hawijah?
July 8, 2006

Not far from Kirkuk is the town of Hawijah. Hawijah gives the appearance of a more peaceful existence. It is an area of farmland, full of greenery in spite of months without rain. Rows of sunflowers border plots of land. The sheep have fields to graze in, unlike the sheep in Kirkuk that have to settle for whatever food can be found in the garbage that litters the streets. It is possible to imagine a life of tranquil simplicity among the irrigated fields and flowers, but nothing is simple in Iraq. Though more soldiers serve in Kirkuk, more soldiers have died in Hawijah.
Kirkuk contains a large Kurdish population, whose goals generally do not run counter to ours. The Arab population of Hawijah is another story. Having thrived under Saddam Hussein’s regime, they have not welcomed their changed circumstances. Major Victor Vasquez describes Kirkuk as similar to the Chicago of the 1920s, and Hawijah is the Wild West. Ultimately it is about power in both places—who has it, who wants it, and how will it be used. According to Major Kelly Kendrick, the majority of attacks against our soldiers in Hawijah are perpetrated by people who are resistant to our presence, but who are not part of an organized terrorist network. We are trying to take away power from those who abuse it, and they do not want to go down without a fight.
To the soldier on patrol, an IED is an IED, and whether or not the people who target us consider themselves members of an organized effort or not, they are all capable of brutal acts. When a convoy drives through downtown Hawijah, thoughts turn to grenades. The slow pace of the traffic through the narrow streets becomes nerve-wracking. Although the local population conducts business as usual, it would be unwise for the soldiers to stop and talk, making it difficult to change perceptions, let alone build relationships.
The soldiers who serve the Hawijah area live on FOB (Forward Operating Base) McHenry. Much smaller than FOB Warrior in Kirkuk, McHenry is also short on niceties. But even without the fast food restaurants, the pool, and all of the distractions available to soldiers at Warrior, the guys at McHenry make do. One morning I came across Captain Henry Bell, who was manning a beverage station for a ten kilometer run. I said I hadn’t realized such an event was taking place, and he pointed to three young soldiers vanishing on the horizon--the participants. On a base where there is less separating the soldiers from the drama of war, where they have attended more memorial services in a year than some of us will in a lifetime, any attempt at innocent fun must be appreciated.
Just as the base in Kirkuk has a warning system, so does McHenry, which was explained to me by Sergeant Major David Allard. When the base is being fired upon, country music is played over the loudspeaker system. When there is outgoing fire, rock and roll is played. Controlled blasts are introduced by classical music. I thought this was a nice way to handle the unpleasantness, and I thought Sergeant Major Allard was exceptionally friendly. I learned he was injured in an attack on a patrol just a few hours after our conversation. Thankfully, his injuries were minor, but seeing how quickly a life can be altered was unsettling. Later that night, I was almost bounced out of my cot by some unbelievably loud rock and roll, followed by a series of equally loud booms that vibrated through the floor of the tent. But at least it wasn’t country.
Even the flies are meaner in Hawijah. So why not leave? Or why not bomb the place then leave? Our soldiers are the kind of people who, given lemons, will make lemonade. By working to improve the infrastructure of Hawijah and the surrounding villages, the hope is that people will be moved to live more constructively and peacefully. A top priority is the establishment of water treatment plants throughout the area, which will, for the first time, supply residents with safe drinking water.
We visited a water treatment plant in the village of Zab. The facility seemed to be unmanned except for a young boy who opened the gate for us. There was supposed to be an engineer waiting for Captain Eric Canaday and his team from Bravo Company, 1-327 Battalion, 1st Brigade of the 101st Airborne Division, but, as often happens here in Iraq, some people take a more relaxed approach to work. This leisurely attitude can be frustrating to the soldiers, for whom these trips require more than just hopping in a car. And they have lived up to their end by initiating the project and helping to get the necessary equipment, so it is not unreasonable for them to expect the Iraqis to step in and do their part. But the team simply made plans to return another day. The Army has taught them a lot about waiting and patience.
Captain Canaday and his team also made a stop in Shmayt, a nearby village where a clean-up program had been implemented. The mayor of the village supervised payment of the participants in the program, who ranged from young boys to older men. The purpose of the program is not only to rid the area of garbage, which is often dumped on the streets and sidewalks, but to provide the residents with a productive way to pass the time, so they do not head down a more destructive path.
After the payments were dispersed, some of us sampled the local falafel. Having struggled with DFAC (dining facility) food for weeks now, I was looking forward to a freshly prepared sandwich. I took my first bite, and, before I had a chance to enjoy it, the Medic with our convoy rushed over and said he would give me a broad spectrum antibiotic as soon as we got back to the base. I appreciated his concern, but for the next few hours I worried that I might turn into an IED in the Humvee. I am happy to report the day was IED-free.
Team C, 402nd Civil Affairs Battalion, 1st Brigade of the 101st Airborne Division, led by Captain Henry Bell and a team of Reservists, including Specialists Joseph Slisz and Eric Clark, is also involved in much of the development taking place in and around Hawijah. They helped establish a Project Coordination Center (PCC) in the village of Moltaka, where local engineers will be available to guide the construction of roads, buildings and other elements essential to the region’s continued growth and prosperity.
Mayor Abu Seif hosted a lunch in celebration of the grand opening of the PCC. The lunch was attended by those instrumental in getting the PCC off the ground, and key members of the community. Americans sat with Iraqis on the carpeted floor and waited patiently for the meal to be served. People reveal something of their true nature during a meal which, in Iraq, is a shared experience. Dishes are placed at regular intervals and it is best just to dive in. The Iraqi policeman sitting to my right made sure all of the dishes were within my reach, and, had I been braver, I could have feasted that day, but I did not want to push my luck. At one point the friendly officer produced his gun, thinking I might like to hold it. I was flattered, and it did have a nice heft to it, but I carefully returned the gun to him. I did not want to be the reporter who ruined a lovely celebration by accidentally shooting someone. When the dishes were cleared away, the host presented the 1st Brigade’s Commander, Colonel Gray, and several officers, including Captain Bell, with traditional headdresses, which they were urged to try on.
As always, it is nearly impossible to reduce a week in Iraq to one thousand words or less (maybe more). There are some recurring themes, though. Our soldiers will always meet a challenge head-on, and Hawijah is a challenge. They are often put in the position of having to overcome resistance on some level, but they persevere. There are Iraqi citizens who understand the value of what is being offered them, and those with an eye to the future of their country welcome our help and appreciate our soldiers.
slm101st@yahoo.com

2006-07-08T02:29:00.000-07:00

2006-07-07T19:44:00.000-07:00

Charles in Charge June 30, 2006

2006-07-07T19:40:00.000-07:00

Charles in Charge
by Shelby Monroe
June 30, 2006
I recently spent several days with Charlie Company, from the 1st Brigade, 2nd Battalion, of the 101st Airborne Division. Made up of three platoons, Charlie Company stays very busy. Busy can mean exciting, and busy can mean boring. I got a little of both.
There are missions taking place throughout the day and night. Sergeant Todd Landen, who looked after me, and who assembled some extra heavy body armor for me, asked if I would be interested in going along on a late night Cordon and Search mission, which is a targeted search based on intelligence received about specific individuals. The Company had information about a man who appeared to be the leader of a terrorist cell, and it was time to pick him up. First, the suspect’s house was put under surveillance. When it was determined that he was at home, we were notified, and our convoy, together with Iraqi forces, secured the area and approached the house.
It was after midnight, and the neighborhood seemed calm. The suspect’s house was quiet. The Iraqi forces went in first, and our soldiers followed. The suspect was quickly removed from the house, which was then searched while the remaining family members were questioned. The suspect was taken out of sight of his family for questioning, partly because to be arrested in front of one’s family brings great shame upon a man in the Iraqi culture. Measures are taken whenever possible to accomplish the mission, but otherwise minimize the impact of the work the soldier has to do. The house was searched thoroughly, but care was taken not to cause any damage.
A picture the soldiers had of the suspect made it possible to positively identify him; there was also a very similar picture on display in his living room. He did not look like a man responsible for orchestrating acts of terrorism. His family did not look any different from any other Iraqi family. It is hard to know how much they knew of his violent business. There were young children who were obviously as distraught as the adults in the house, but who probably did not understand any of what was going on.
After it was clear that the suspect was not going to confess to anything, and after any potentially revealing material or equipment was collected from the house, it was time to transport him to the detention center back at the base. He rode in the back of the Humvee with me. With the language barrier, there was no point trying to speak to him, and because he was blindfolded, there was no point trying to give him a dirty look, but it was strange to sit beside someone who was probably responsible for killing or wounding innocent people, including our soldiers. I looked at the soldiers in the Humvee--SFC Landen, SPC Eric Shaw, and SGT Iain Bean-- and wondered how it must feel to be so close to the enemy. They treated him decently, humanely, but he did not think of them as human beings, only targets. For them and for the rest of us, including the many Iraqis who would like to live peacefully, it was a victory to get him off the street.
Much of what the soldiers in Charlie Company do is routine. Every day there are patrols of the city. Some of these patrols begin by driving convoys around neighborhoods throughout the city and end with a dismounted foot patrol, where some of the soldiers walk the streets as the convoy trails slowly behinds. These patrols usually include Iraqi forces. The more they are given the chance to lead, the better it is for everyone.
No matter who is leading, these patrols grow old quickly. There is no avoiding the heat. On foot or in the Humvee, it is always over one hundred degrees, and the body armor only makes it hotter and therefore harder. The soldiers are used to working in these conditions, and they sweat more quietly than I do. During one foot patrol that seemed to stretch into days, I walked with Sergeant Chad Kuck, who actually enjoys these walks. A resident in one neighborhood said she thought there was a bomb concealed in the garbage, which was strewn everywhere. Chad made a point of examining the area with the hope, he said, that she would remember she had been taken seriously and not hesitate to approach future teams on patrol.
There was no bomb in the garbage that day, but there is always the possibility of an enemy attack. The soldiers know they are targets and they do not like the feeling. They must always be poised to respond. On another patrol, a boy kicked his soccer ball to one of the soldiers, who kicked it back. It probably would have done both of them some good if they could have kicked the ball around longer, but a sniper could take advantage of a situation like that.
One of the Humvees was hit by a sniper on yet another patrol. We had stopped to check out a suspicious looking vehicle, and the sniper saw his opportunity. A soldier had predicted this would happen, so it was hard to be surprised when it did. The bullet bounced off the metal of the turret, and the soldiers immediately tried to pinpoint the direction the shot had come from. A few buildings were clustered in the general area, so the convoy moved in and searched for the gunman. He was not found, but the soldiers will continue to try to draw him out. It may be business for him, but it is personal for them.
I wanted to walk a mile in a soldier’s shoes, and I did not do exactly that. I did not carry the twenty or so extra pounds of gear and a weapon, and I did not try to hide my dismay at the grimness of the task. But I have walked more than a few miles alongside these guys, and I know I could not do what they do, day after day. A good day on patrol is a day when nothing happens, or when a bad guy gets caught. A bad day is when our soldiers are punished for their good deeds. The best day will be the day the bad guys realize they cannot beat the good guys. I hope the good guys do not have to walk too many more miles before that day arrives. slm101st@yahoo.com

2006-07-07T19:36:00.000-07:00

A Balancing Act June 24, 2006

2006-06-24T03:58:00.000-07:00

A Balancing Act
June 24, 2006
The relationship between the Iraqi soldiers and the American soldiers is obviously an important one if our efforts in Iraq are to succeed. It may seem impossible to imagine two such different groups coming together in a civilized manner. After all, they have been on opposite sides in the not so distant past. But nothing brings people together like common goals and common enemies.
All over Iraq, insurgents are targeting Coalition Forces and any Iraqi individuals or groups working with us, including the IA (Iraqi Army). In Kirkuk, the 101st Airborne Division has assembled groups of soldiers from different companies into Military Transition Teams, MiTT for short. I spent two days with the MiTT guys from the 2nd Battalion, who are helping to prepare the IA to take over as the military authority of the city, and the Medics, who are training Iraqi soldiers to respond to emergency medical situations. All of these guys have at least one IED (improvised explosive device) story, and shortly after we headed out to the IA military base, I had one too.
One of the Medics, Specialist Josh Goldberg, said he didn’t like the road we were driving on because it had seen its share of IEDs. Moments later, we heard a boom about one hundred meters behind our convoy. I watched a cloud of smoke rise from the site of the explosion, and Josh admitted he had a way of talking about things that seemed to make them happen. I asked him to talk less about IEDs and more about getting me a date.
Our convoy stopped to secure the area and monitor the situation, and the IP (Iraqi Police) and IA arrived moments later. The vehicles in our convoy had emerged unscathed, but a civilian had not been so lucky. The explosion had shattered the windows of his car and caused him to crash into an oncoming taxi. Shrapnel from the IED had punched a small hole in his skull and cut open his leg. The Medics, SPC Josh Goldberg, FSG Steve Smith and SSG Roger Copeland, grabbed their supplies and rushed to assist him. The extent of his pain and the depth of his suffering were overwhelming. Steve did his best to bandage the leg wound while Copeland and Josh treated the wound to his head. They did everything they could to stabilize the man and lessen his pain, completely focused on their patient, in spite of the fact that the scene was now crawling with police and curious onlookers. When the ambulance arrived, they made sure the ambulance crew knew the extent of his injuries and understood how to continue treatment. The taxi driver wandered the scene shaken but unharmed physically. Like us, he had been lucky, but it is hard to feel lucky after seeing another life destroyed.
The ambulance left, and a team trained in the investigation of explosive devices arrived, so we continued on our way to the IA base. The day had begun badly, but quickly improved when we arrived at our destination. I followed Josh and Steve into a room where they held classes in emergency first aid with a group of Iraqi soldiers. Some of the Iraqis had reached the point where they could teach the lessons to the next group of soldiers, and they had begun without us, which Steve found very encouraging. Josh had taken to heart my suggestion that he help find me a date, and throughout the morning’s lessons he pointed out men whom, regardless of the language barrier, he thought I might like to get to know.
There was obviously a bond between our Medics and the men they were training. They traded a lot of jokes. Sometimes the interpreter translated wisecracks back and forth. Sometimes gestures were enough. That soldiers can laugh together is a sign of camaraderie and caring. After the day’s lessons were completed, Steve asked the Iraqi soldiers who had led the classes if they had any questions or comments. The leader of the group, Thaer, put his hand on his heart and said he was very glad none of our soldiers had been injured by the IED. His concern was touching. Every explosion reminds the American and Iraqi soldiers why they are working together. Steve placed his hand over his heart, and it was clear he would have felt the same had their positions been reversed.
The trip to the IA military base the next day was IED-free, thankfully, although that morning a series of car bombs had exploded in the city, most targeting Iraqi forces. I spent the day following Captain Chris Walsh around the base. Not only is Chris in charge of the men on his MiTT team, each of whom oversees a particular area of the IA’s development, but he must also keep track of the actions and concerns of their Iraqi counterparts. Chris wanted to know how the IA was responding to the spike in violence, and when he put the question to the man in charge, Colonel Malek, an interesting exchange began. Colonel Malek wanted to shift the responsibility to the IP, and Chris wanted some assurance that, regardless of who might be to blame, steps would be taken to curb future attacks. Chris didn’t back down. Colonel Malek ran out of excuses.
The discussion brought up issues that illustrate the complexity of the job facing Chris and his team. Chris is twenty-seven. Some members of his team are older, some younger, and I would give them the keys to my country any day, but they cannot do all the work, and they cannot just hand out orders. Iraqi men are proud. Trying to give them direction must be done in a way that will not be interpreted as handing out criticism. A certain amount of restraint and subtlety is required in any interaction in order for it to be constructive. Chris exhibited both in every conversation concerning the IA and its continued growth and success. And, when the circumstances allowed, he made his Iraqi friends laugh. An Iraqi woman said they loved Chris. She obviously understood English well enough to know Chris truly cared about her country and its people.
It is easy to discount the importance of laughter. When a roomful of people are laughing it might seem as though serious matters are being neglected, but the soldiers here in Iraq, both American and Iraqi, know exactly how serious the situation is, and they know they must strike a balance. They have reached a point where they understand each other well enough to trade jokes, and it is good to lighten the mood occasionally, because it will grow heavy again soon enough.
We learned the civilian motorist the Medics had worked so hard to save had died at the hospital. We learned his children had witnessed the explosion. The presence of the Medics must have been a comfort to the man. And the triggerman responsible for detonating the IED had been caught at the scene, but the victim’s family and friends will have to live with their loss nevertheless.
Soldiers often say, “It could be worse.” Many soldiers have seen worse, or not been as lucky as we were. It is discouraging anytime an IED hits a target, but the soldiers will only work harder in response. The Medics and the MiTT team could rebuild New Orleans and still have time for lunch. They are capable and determined and funny, a powerful combination. They provide an excellent example of leadership and cooperation, which the Iraqi soldiers must find refreshing, even if it means shouldering more responsibility than they did in the past. It could be worse here in Iraq, but the sight of our soldiers working so closely with Iraqi soldiers, building relationships that transcend language barriers and cultural differences, makes it clear that it will be better. slm101st@yahoo.com