Nelson and Casica.
AFTER FIRST STRIKE took back Sportster, Lieutenant Colonel Kunk turned his attention to other initiatives throughout the battalionas area of operations, including doing more community outreach, bolstering water and electricity capacity, establishing better relations with the locals, and helping to build government inst.i.tutions that had both power and credibility. Within Bravoas area, specifically, he saw the next priority as pushing out to terra incognita in the west and making overtures to the Quarguli sheikhs who lived along Route Malibu on the banks of the Euphrates.
Some sub-clans of the Quargulis, along with certain arms of the Janabis, were among the tribal groupings most deeply entrenched in the insurgency. But at least in official, daytime, face-to-face meetings, Kunk built a fast rapport with them. aThe Quarguli would guarantee my life the whole time I was there,a Kunk said. aI could move up and down Malibu freely. I was known as the Sheikh of Peace. I felt secure when I would go meet the Quarguli sheikhs.a Sheikhs, with ties to various factions of the insurgencies or organized crime, were similar to Mafia bosses. They may have had their hands in all sorts of shady dealings, but they were smart enough that it was difficult, if not impossible, to tie them directly to anything illegal. And, like syndicate kingpins, they invested great energy in maintaining a veneer of respectability. A particular sheikh might be an essential ally in keeping a specific stretch of road free of IEDs. But his underlings might have been just as active in funding an IED cell that focused on a different geography or in running guns the whole time he was talking to the Americans about a weapons turn-in program. The military had no choice but to work with the sheikhs even when they were of questionable character and loyalty.
It was from these and other sheikhs that Kunk got the idea of how he would take control of Caveman, the road about a mile or so to the northeast of Route Malibu and the Euphrates River, where Quarguli Village was located. Caveman was a gravel road split down the center by one of the larger ca.n.a.ls in the area. The ca.n.a.l was concrete-lined, sixty feet across and twenty feet deep. Since neither side of the road was paved, it was very easy to plant large, deeply buried IEDs there. The key value of Caveman, according to what the sheikhs told Kunk, was the bridges that spanned the ca.n.a.l, which made north-south travel easier.
aThe sheikhs would say, aHow dumb are you, Coalition?aa Kunk remembered. aaWhy donat you drop the bridges along the ca.n.a.l, then the insurgents canat move across them?a So that is what we did.a But before those bridges could be blown up or dismantled Caveman had to be cleared, and Caveman was a beast.
Others considered Caveman unimportant, because it ran parallel between Route Malibu and Mullah Fayyad Highway and perpendicular to Sportster, all of which were hard-topped roads and fairly well controlled by the Army. Throughout November, Bravo had done some sporadic patrolling of Caveman, but in early December it began dedicated clearance missions. The IEDs were so densely packed that the road was more of a minefield than a thoroughfare. Once, they found twenty-six IEDs in one three-mile stretch. But because the insurgents could re-seed the dirt-topped Caveman so easily the moment U.S. forces left, it had to be recleared every single time. aThe first time we went down there, we just turned around and came back,a remembered Goodwin. aNo intentions of setting TCPs up there or staying in any way. So why are we doing this?a The Caveman missions were likewise baffling to the soldiers. aBattalionas idea was aItas our piece of land, and we want to go down it,aa explained Chris Payne, Bravo 1st Platoonas 2nd Squad leader. aaWe will not be denied using a piece of land in our area.a Okay. Good job. But there was no tactical advantage to having that land. We werenat going to use it. We werenat going to keep it. We werenat patrolling anything on the road other than the road itself. There werenat any houses. There werenat any villages. It was just a dirt road.a In early December, 1st Platoon began another multiday rotation out at the traffic control points. First Squad, with Staff Sergeant Travis Nelson in charge, headed down to TCP2, which was on the intersection of Sportster and a smaller east-west ca.n.a.l road. There was a small structure on the northeast corner that was empty, but the men, at that time, were told not to occupy it. So, for three to five days at a time, the squad lived at the TCP itself, by the side of the road on a few cots protected by strands of concertina wire. When soldiers wanted to sleep, take refuge from the elements, or just come off of a combat footing even for a minute or two, they had to do so either on the cots or ina"or undera"their Humvees. They were supposed to keep their helmets and body armor on at all times, whether they were on guard or not. Even when they were off guard, there was nowhere for them to go that was safe. For twenty-four hours a day, uninterrupted for days on end, even when shaving or brushing their teeth, in the heat and the dust and the wind, they had to keep forty pounds of gear on. The men found it virtually impossible to do this without going crazy.
December 10 started off as a beautiful morning. Watt, Yribe, and others from 3rd Squad not pulling guard or patrolling out of TCP1 were playing Spades. Watt remembered turning his face to the sun and letting the not-yet-too-hot rays wash over him. aYou know,a he thought, awe have been here for a couple of months now. This might not be so bad after all.a Platoon Sergeant Phil Miller, who was at TCP3 with other men of 3rd Squad, began a mission to get some more concertina wire from Yusufiyah as well as a resupply of food and other necessities. He grabbed Lauzier and a couple of other soldiers for the trip north, and stopped to pick up another Humvee and three more soldiers from TCP2 around 10:30 a.m. Nelson and Sergeant Kenith Casica had just come off of several hours of guard duty. They were sitting on the cots in the open, central area. They had removed their helmets to brush their teeth and shave.
Private First Cla.s.s Jesse Spielman and Specialist David Babineau had relieved them, with Spielman in the Humveeas gun turret looking south and Babineau pulling guard on foot nearby, on the east side of the Humvee, the opposite side of Nelson and Casica. Every company has a guy like Babineau. The twenty-five-year-old had been a specialist for years and was happy to stay that way. He was a solid soldier, was well-liked, and had leadership potential. Every once in a while, he would catch the eye of a lieutenant or a senior NCO who would say, hey, Babs, whatas your deal? You wanna move up? We could send you to the promotion board, make you a sergeant? He would always say, no, thanks, sir, who needs the headache? Iam good where I am. The other members of the squad were manning the serpentines to the north and south.
Pulling up to TCP2, Miller asked Nelson and Casica what was new. They told him that the night before, they had received a tip about an attack. According to their informanta"a guy who had pa.s.sed along solid info in the pasta"four guys with guns and RPGs were going to roll up around noon in a black Opel sedan from the southeast.
aIf you say there is going to be an attack, why donat you have your s.h.i.t on?a Miller demanded.
Will do, one of them said, and asked Miller when he would be back. About an hour later, Miller responded. He figured he could finish his run to the FOB and still be back in plenty of time in case anything did happen. When he returned, he would pull the guys in close and be ready for anything. In the meantime, three 1st Squad soldiers loaded up one of TCP2as Humvees and left with Miller.
Not long after Miller pulled out, a handful of kids walked through the TCP. This was a twice-daily event, as the TCP was on their route to school. Casica, as he always did, pa.s.sed out candy and pencils as they walked by. He would give high fives and banter with them in intermediate Arabic and they would respond in broken English.
At almost 11:00 a.m. exactly, Spielman noticed a man wearing track-suit bottoms and a white b.u.t.ton-down shirt walking along the ca.n.a.l road from the west. They had all seen him around here before. He had given them some info in the past and head always been friendly, so he did not arouse much suspicion. As the man approached, Casica walked over and, as was his way, even seemed glad to see him. Nelson stayed sitting on a field stool, smoking a cigarette, looking in the other direction. Casica started talking to the man, in a mixture of Arabic and English.
aHey, man, whatas up?a he asked. aHow are you doing? Where you going? You getting a taxi? Meeting someone?a The whole time, all the man said was aLa, la, la,a the Arabic word for aNo.a Spielman began to think this guy was acting funny after all. But before that thought could take hold, and just as Casica began to tell the man that he couldnat just hang out here, the man pulled a 9mm pistol from his waistband. Taking aim quickly, he shot Casica in the neck. Casica dropped, with a thud, an instantly inert ma.s.s. Nelson did not even have time to react. The man pointed the pistol at the back of Nelsonas head and pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed through the base of Nelsonas skull. His body barely moved, except to slump.
The man turned to Babineau and fired three or four shots, trying to find an angle around the Humvee that separated them. Babineau ducked behind the driver-side wheel well of the Humvee, trying to get as much steel between him and the bullets as possible. As Babineau dove for the tire, Spielman cranked the Humveeas turret around toward the gunman. When the gunman saw the truckas M240B machine gun swinging his way, he aimed up at Spielman and squeezed off three or four more shots. Spielman ducked in the turret as some shots pinged off the gunas shield and some zipped overhead. While down, he flipped the safety off on the machine gun. Sensing the man had stopped shooting for a moment, Spielman popped up, leveled his gun, and fired a three-round burst. From his eyes up, the manas head exploded into a pink cloud as the 7.62mm bullets blasted his skull apart. His body fell to the ground, brains and blood spilling to the dirt.
Babineau popped back up and Spielman was already on the radio, calling to TCP1 and Yusufiyah declaring, aThis is TCP2. We have two men down. We need immediate medevac.a Most of the guys playing cards at TCP1 heard whoever was on the radio yelling, aTCP2 has casualties, TCP2 has casualties!a but they were confused. They hadnat heard any shots or explosions, so at first they couldnat fathom it.
aCasualties?a Yribe thought. aThey had been putting up some concertina wire there, so maybe somebody cut their hand?a n.o.body was in all that big of a hurry until a second, clearly more emotional and urgent call was relayed only a few seconds later. aTCP2 has two soldiers down, two soldiers shot. They need help. Now!a Yribe, Britt, Watt, and another soldier grabbed their gear and piled into a Humvee. Since 1st Platoonas medic, Doc Sharpness, was on the FOB run with Miller, Yribe reminded Watt, coolly and quickly, to grab his first aid bag. Up at Yusufiyah, Miller was finishing up loading his Humvee when someone ran out of the TOC to say that there had been casualties at TCP2. Miller and Lauzier and the rest of that contingent dropped everything, unhooked their equipment trailer, and sped back down Sportster.
Yribe, driving down from TCP1, made the three-quarter-mile trip in under a minute. He hit the brakes hard, the wheels kicking up sand and rock. He got out of the truck and the first thing he saw was Nelson, on his stool, a cigarette burning in his hand. aIf the squad leader is sitting down and having a smoke, it canat be that bad,a he thought. But then he noticed a ma.s.sive b.u.mp on Nelsonas forehead. He turned around and saw a nearly headless local and, nearby, Casica, facedown, a black pool of blood welling underneath him. He looked around at the others. Everybody seemed dazed and was moving slowly. Spielman was still in the turret; Babineau was over with Casica; and Specialist James Gregory and a couple of others, who were at the other end of the traffic control point when the shooting occurred, were standing nearby.
aGregory, what is going on?a Yribe asked. Gregory was pointing, trying to explain: one neck wound, one head wound, local national shooter, handgun. Watt got out of the Humvee, looked around, and dropped his first aid bag. He didnat even know where to start.
Yribe ran over to Casica and turned him over. Casicaas wound was gurgling blood. Yribe picked him up, body armor and all, and threw him on the hood of the Humvee. Watt tried to pressure-dress Nelsonas wound, but he could not even find it on the first pat-down; he started giving him CPR. Britt was still in the pa.s.senger seat of the Humvee. He was on the radio, but Yribe needed help.
aBritt! Sir!a he yelled. aYou have to get out! We have got to move!a Yribe yelled. This seemed to jolt everyone into action. Britt got out of the truck and helped to cut away Casicaas gear as others trundled Nelson into the backseat of the Humvee. Private First Cla.s.s Steven Green, who had been in the truck from Yusufiyah, got on the hood to hold down Casica as Yribe drove back down toward TCP1. In the back, Watt tried to give Nelson CPR, but he was not responding.
Yribeas and Milleras Humvees converged at TCP1. They both pulled aside TCP1 and men poured out of the trucks. Doc Sharpness got on top of the Humvee hood and began putting a C-collar and respirator bag on Casica. Soldiers from TCP1 were out front, wanting to get a look, trying to help. Miller got on the radio to Yusufiyah and tried to call in a medevac helicopter.
aNegativea came the response. aIt will be faster to drive the casualties to Yusufiyah and medevac from here.a Miller took over the driveras seat and Yribe moved to the back, where Watt was still trying to get a response from Nelson. Miller peeled out, hurtling down the road at fifty miles an hour with three men on the hood as Sharpness worked on Casica, trying to get an IV started, and Green tried to hold the dying man steady. Green was talking to Casica, and listening for a heartbeat. He looked at Casicaas arm. It was tattooed with his daughteras name. Green, as he was shouting at Casica, drooled on him a bit. He worried about that, wiped it off, and then thought it was a weird thing to be worried about.
In the back, Watt and Yribe traded turns giving Nelson CPR, but they suspected Old Man River was already gone. The bulge on Nelsonas forehead was growing and no one could find an exit wound. His eyes were rolled back and glazed over. He was making gurgling noises, but they could not tell if they were respirations or death rattles. Yribe began punching Nelson as hard as he could in the groin, to get some sort of pain response, any reaction at all. Nothing. The Humvee pulled into Yusufiyah around 11:15 a.m. and multiple medics were waiting. People crowded around. The medics began working on both men, but neither had any vital signs when they arrived. Casicaas mouth and throat were filled with blood. The chief medic still ordered them both intubated, hooked up to IVs, and administered with CPR. n.o.body wanted to let them go and, hoping for a miracle, they worked long beyond the point it was clear they were dead. The medevac helicopter landed a few minutes before the chief medic p.r.o.nounced them deceased at 11:35. Miller had to be physically pried off of and pulled away from Nelson as they loaded the body bags into the helicopter.
Once Nelson and Casica were p.r.o.nounced dead, 1st Platoon was yanked back to FOB Yusufiyah for a Critical Incident Debrief, a standard post-casualty session. A Combat Stress team from FOB Mahmudiyah, headed by psychiatric nurse pract.i.tioner Lieutenant Colonel Karen Marrs, traveled to Yusufiyah to conduct the group therapy meeting.
aThe focus of the intervention,a in cases like this, explained an Army memo, ais returning the soldier to duty using nonclinical, simple techniques in a safe environment. The goal is to prevent the soldier from a.s.suming the sick role, so no psychiatric diagnosis is given and interventions are aimed at rea.s.suring the soldier that s/he is capable of fulfilling his/her mission.a The men, overall, were skeptical that Critical Incident Debriefs did any good. Lauzier likened them to a mechanic who fixes a flat tire when itas really the engine he should be looking at. aAll they would do is hand out Ambien,a said another soldier. aGo sleep it off? Well, guess what? I got to wake up here tomorrow with the same s.h.i.t.a First Platoon was back on the TCPs that night. aThey wanted to go,a said Miller. aThey wanted to show the enemy that you cannot knock us down.a Miller made Yribe, the senior sergeant in the platoon, 1st Squadas new squad leader. Upon the squadas return to the TCP, the gunmanas body was still there. Often family members would retrieve a corpse, but since this man had just shot U.S. soldiers, that wasnat likely. And the Iraqi medics, local hospital staff, or other parties who picked up bodies in cases like this didnat arrive until at least the next day. Yribe carried him off to the trash pit, his brains spilling onto the street, where dogs feasted on them in the middle of the night. As some of the men kicked the body in frustration, Green noticed that the dead manas teeth were loose. He reached down, pulled several out, and put them in his pocket.
In the aftermath of the shooting, there was speculation about the gunmanas motives. Some were convinced that it was a revenge killing for the woman Yribe had shot three weeks before, as it was so unlike any other kind of attack theyad seen to that point. But the gunman, since he was missing most of his head, was never identified. Other soldiers were just as convinced that revenge wasnat the reason. Yribeas shooting happened at TCP3, they said. Why wouldnat the shooter have targeted that TCP, or why wouldnat he have targeted 3rd Squad, or even Yribe, more specifically? These soldiers contended that this guy was p.i.s.sed off for any number of unknowable reasons, saw an opportunity to capitalize on a weakness, and took advantage of it.
Regardless, the platoon was galvanized by the feeling of Iraqi betrayal. aThat was the point where I just didnat care about Hadjis anymore,a revealed one 1st Platoon soldier. aAs far as I was concerned, any military-aged male in Iraq, they could all die. I just wanted to kill as many of those motherf.u.c.kers as I possibly could.a For many, the shooting proved that no Iraqi could be trusted. If there had been a philosophical dispute in parts of 1st Platoona"some thought the Iraqis were worth helping, others thought they were all the enemya"the deaths of Nelson and Casica strongly bolstered the confrontationalistsa claims. aThatas when things started to turn,a observed Staff Sergeant Chris Payne, 2nd Squadas leader.
Just a few days after Nelsonas and Casicaas deaths, Green and some parts of 1st Platoon were up at Mahmudiyah and Lieutenant Colonel Kunk and Sergeant Major Edwards walked by. Edwards corrected some element of Greenas bearing, and Green mouthed off.
aWhyare you in such a bad mood, Green?a Kunk asked. aYouare talking to a sergeant major here.a aWhy do you think Iam in a bad mood?a Green sneered, noting that Casicaas blood was still stippling his boots. Kunk told him that he had to pick himself up and drive on as good soldiers must.
aI just want to get out there and get some revenge on those motherf.u.c.kers,a Green responded. aThey all deserve to die.a aG.o.dd.a.m.n it, thatas not true,a Kunk responded testily. aNinety to ninety-five percent of the Iraqi people are good people and they want the same thing that we have in the United States: democracy. Yes, there are five percent of them that might be bad, and those are the terrorists. Those are the bad guys that weare going after.a af.u.c.k the Hadjis,a Green declared.
aCalling them that is like calling me a n.i.g.g.e.r,a said Edwards. aThis sounds like you hate a whole race of people.a aThatas about it right there,a Green said. aYou just about summed it up.a The officer who conducted the AR 15-6 investigation of the December 10 shooting concluded, aThe deaths of Sergeant Casica and Staff Sergeant Nelson could not have been prevented either by their actions or the actions of the other two soldiers at TCP2.a He acknowledged that there was a degree of complacency at the TCP that day. The men were not wearing their helmets and the shooter got too close without being searched, but the investigator did not find that either fact cost the men their lives. He noted that Casica was shot in the throat and Nelson at the base of the skull, neither of which is covered by a helmet. Likewise, he found Casicaas trust unfortunate but not culpable and resisted second-guessing it. aIn order to maintain positive relations within the local population,a he wrote, ait is necessary for soldiers to, on occasion, when they feel it prudent, lessen their readiness posture. In this case, Sergeant Casica approaching the a.s.sailant with his M4 oriented toward him (possibly the only measure which would have prevented this incident) would have been wholly inappropriate.a Brigade commander Colonel Todd Ebel rejected this conclusion. On the cover sheet of the report, he scribbled, aI determine that SSG Nelson and SGT Casica were killed because each failed to maintain discipline at the TCP. aWhile hard to accept, I believe these soldiersa deaths were preventablea. Each failed to follow instructions and it cost them their lives.a Kunk concurred with this sentiment completely, and did not resist telling the men of every rank, on numerous occasions, that Nelson and Casica were responsible for their own deaths. The blame that Ebel and Kunk placed on the dead incensed the men of 1st Platoon. aThe real fault, the real blame, belongs to the chain of command for not securing that house and giving soldiers proper cover,a declared Watt. aThe real blame belongs to them for not putting up HEs...o...b..skets around that checkpoint, for not providing someplace where you can take off your helmet for five minutes in seventy-two hours. Kunk and the chain of command cannot face the fact that they failed us, so they pushed 100 percent of the blame onto the soldier.a Any argument that anyone made to Kunk that there were other factors at play was met with a fusillade of abuse about making excuses, being a whiner, or not coming to terms with the reality of the situation.
He lectured the men of 1st Platoon directly, booming, aWhen are you going to face up to why Staff Sergeant Nelson and Sergeant Casica are dead? Because they werenat doing the right things, the harder right. Leaders were not enforcing standards and discipline.a The more Kunk pounded this message home, the more the soldiers resented it. aIf you are the battalion commander, you donat have to tell every last Joe, aThe reason that your team leader and your squad leader died is because they were pieces of s.h.i.t,aa observed Yribe. aAnd thatas what we were getting from him.a Nelson and Casicaas memorial was held a few days after their deaths. During the memorial, Green spoke simply but movingly about both men: aStaff Sergeant Nelson, Old Man River, was a fine leader with an outstanding career behind him. We all knew no matter how much he yelled, or how many packs of cigarettes he took from us, or how many times he smoked us, that he would do anything for any of us,a he said. aSergeant Casica was probably the kindest man in Bravo Company and one of the best people I have ever known.a A lieutenant from another company who attended the memorial wrote in his journal, aI could see the pain of the loss on every soldieras face in Bulldog Company. Their commander, CPT Goodwin, looked worn, wounded, emotionally tired. The service was the same as the others. The toughest part is the roll call. The gunfire from the salute caught me even though I was antic.i.p.ating it. The platoon sergeant, SSG Miller, broke down as people started to go up to the tributes of the two. As I was watching all of the soldiers begin to file up to the tribute by twos, 1LT Britt, the platoon leader of the two soldiers, moved to the back corner of the maintenance bay behind me. His eyes were already welled up before he tried to move out of sight. I felt very sorry for him. I imagine itas a huge burden that you will carry around for the rest of your life. Heas the one whoas responsible for those men, in good times and bad. I walked back to him and shook his hand. I stood there for a moment and just looked at him. He looked back, tears running down his face. I wanted to say something but I couldnat, I just didnat know what to say. I gripped his hand tightly and nodded my head in consolation.a Already displeased with Milleras performance and convinced these deaths were more evidence of lax leadership, Lieutenant Colonel Kunk had written Captain Goodwin a performance warning the day after the shooting, and now he and Sergeant Major Edwards decided to remove Miller. They had already talked about reinstating Sergeant First Cla.s.s Rob Gallagher, the previous platoon sergeant who was currently on a MiTT team in Lutufiyah, and now they decided to act. Miller heard about the move from a back channel as Kunk and Edwards drove to Yusufiyah to fire him, and he was furious. He felt he was being unfairly punished for the deaths of Nelson and Casica. No matter how often you tell a grown adult squad leader and a grown adult team leader to put on their helmets, he maintained, they are ultimately going to make their own decisions. He didnat see what more he could have done. He went to the potato bays and began packing his stuff. Lieutenant Britt stopped by and asked what was going on.
aIam out of here, man,a Miller said. aThey are coming to get me.a Word spread, and 1st Platoon rallied. The squad leaders and Lieutenant Britt asked to talk to Kunk. They lobbied for Miller to stay. Britt spoke with Kunk and acknowledged that he, and Miller, and all of 1st Platoon, were having some trouble, but he a.s.sured Kunk that they could turn things around and that Miller was the right man for the job. Kunk relented and gave Britt some more time to get Miller and the rest of his platoon squared away. Britt returned to tell Miller that he and the squad leaders had been successful. Miller was staying. But, Britt said, they were on a short leash and they needed to work some things out. Battalion thought that 1st Platoonas standards were low.
aShaving, uniforms, discipline. We need to improve those things,a Britt said, aor they are going to make this change.a
12.
aIt Is f.u.c.king Pointlessa
ISOLATED PHYSICALLY AND with limited links to the outside world, Bravo soldiers frequently had no knowledge of how their efforts were fitting into the broader strategy of the war, let alone what that strategy might be. Indeed, the very notion of strategy, and whether Americaas strategy was sound, was simply not a concern for many of them. All that mattered was what was happening in and around the ground they were occupying.
News of anything occurring beyond the FOB, the traffic control points, and the JS Bridge was hard to come by, and even major events about Iraq making headlines around the world seemed to have little impact on their lives. In the two and a half months since their arrival, for example, Iraq had ratified its const.i.tution, the trial of Saddam Hussein had gotten under way, and Democratic congressman from Pennsylvania John Murtha had begun calling for a U.S. troop withdrawal from Iraq. None of these got much notice from men on the ground. Far more important to them was staying alive until the next morning and whether there would be hot food for dinner that night.
One exception to the companyas odd remove from national affairs was its activities in support of Iraqas December 15 nationwide parliamentary elections. Polling-day safety became a priority for American forces throughout Iraq, and, hoping to entice Sunnis (who had largely boycotted a round of elections in January), U.S. commanders put particular emphasis on safeguarding Sunni areas such as Yusufiyah.
Shortly after coming off of a full day of patrolling on December 13, Eric Lauzier was ordered to take a 3rd Squad fire team out for an overnight ambush at a site where mortars had been launched at Yusufiyah several times before. He protested, because his squad was supposed to be off. They had just put in an eighteen-hour day. His guys hadnat slept that day. They needed some rack time, he insisted.
Arguing was futile. He was ordered to move out. So he and five other men walked about three or four miles into the bush and settled into their overwatch positions, on the inclined banks of a ca.n.a.l. Winter nights in Iraq can get cold, with temperatures plunging to the 40s, and the guys were freezing. Soldiers got an hour or two of sleep when they could, but most of them were up at any given time pulling 360-degree security. When the sun rose, they expected to stay in position and, if they made no contact, theyad return after nightfall. About 4:00 p.m., they got a radio call. Their mission was changing.
aUh, you know weare in an ambush right now, over?a Lauzier asked. Roger, came the response. Scratch that mission. Do the new one. They were now to walk another five miles to do a battle damage a.s.sessment on some mortars that an element of 2nd Brigade had fired. Lauzier was p.i.s.sed. Things come up, yes, but to be forced to abort an ambush for a nonessential mission, to have n.o.body else to send, is either bad planning or bad priorities. They got the grid coordinates, popped up from their hiding position, and started walking. The coordinates were off, however, so they spent another several hours crisscrossing the fields trying to find the impact site. They were starting to run low on water. Trying to keep his menas morale up, Lauzier told them that when they got back, he guaranteed they would get some hot chow and several hours of uninterrupted rack. He would make sure n.o.body messed with them. They were doing a h.e.l.l of a job, he told them, and theyad be rewarded for sucking it up and driving on.
A few hours later, they found the place. There was nothing there except a few large smears of blood, like someone had been dragged, and a child-sized b.l.o.o.d.y flip-flop. Now Lauzier was p.i.s.sed and disgusted. He called it in.
aHey, you wanna know what you hit? You f.u.c.king blew up a kid. Good job, over.a Night fell as they humped the several miles back to the FOB. Third Squad had just started to unload their equipment when Miller called Lauzier over.
aSorry to dump this on you, but you need to go out and patrol Fat Boy overnight,a Miller said.
aWhat do you mean apatrol Fat Boy overnighta?a Lauzier asked.
aI need you to go out with two Humvees, and drive up and down the road.a aDrive up and down the road?a aYeah.a aIn two trucks?a aYup.a aJust us, driving up and down the road, all night.a aYes, thatas what Iam saying.a aThat is f.u.c.king r.e.t.a.r.ded.a aI know. I tried to tell them that, but thatas the mission.a aBulls.h.i.t. No. Weare not doing it. Get someone else.a aThere is no one else. Everybody else is out. aCause of the elections, doing the same stuff.a aSo our mission is to drive up and down Fat Boy drawing out IEDsa"with no medic and no QRF and no air supporta"so they donat bomb the civilians tomorrow? Our mission is to get blown up?a aYup, pretty much.a aBut my guys havenat slept. They havenat eaten. I promised them.a aDude, Iam sorry, but you know how it is.a Lauzier could not bear going back to his men and telling them what they had to do after he had promised them they would get a break. He knew what got soldiers through the nights, the hard times, the exhaustion, or the stone-cold conviction that the commanders either were incompetent or didnat give a d.a.m.n about them. What got them through the night was the next moderately pleasant experience: the next hot meal, the next time they could sleep for five or six hours, the next time they could just be left alone, for just an hour or two with an iPod, a movie on the laptop, or a book. He had just dangled that in front of them, and now he was going to s.n.a.t.c.h it away. He went back to look at them, exhausted, dirty, hollow-eyed. They knew bad news was coming, and he delivered it. They all sat silent for several seconds as the mission sank in.
af.u.c.k it,a said Private First Cla.s.s Chris Barnes, raising his hand. aLetas do it. This sounds like a great f.u.c.king idea. Who wants to get blown up?a They started laughing. Watt, Barker, Cortez, and Private First Cla.s.s Shane Hoeck all raised their hands. They did not give a d.a.m.n anymore. It was all so absurd to them, that they were going to drive up and down a road for the next eight hours as bomb magnets. The only thing that they could do was laugh. aHooray! Weare going out to get blown up!a they sang. aWhoas on board? Hey, who wants to come get blown up? Woohoo! Yeah, dude, I am ready to go f.u.c.king die! We are all going to f.u.c.king die!a Lauzier, at that moment, was prouder of them than he ever had been, and he loved them more than he ever thought possible.
The six men went out, and until well past sunrise they zipped up and down Fat Boy, dozens of times. They did not, in fact, get blown up, although one of the trucks did hit a dog, which scared the h.e.l.l out of them. Once they returned to the FOB, fifty-six hours since their last downtime, their mission was still not over. They had to turn around and escort Captain Goodwin for ten more hours to all the polling locations so he could shake the hands of voters and meet with local officials. By late afternoon of the third day, there was no one who could drive the Humvee longer than a minute or two without falling asleep. The man in the pa.s.senger seat had to hit the driver in the arm every twenty or thirty seconds. As they walked back into the FOB, dirty, delirious, strung out, and aching for sleep, First Sergeant Andrew Laskoski took a hard look at them and asked, aDid you men shave today?a On that election day, about 70 percent of Iraqas eligible voters, including a broad turnout from Sunnis, went to the polls on a generally peaceful day. The Sunnisa strong partic.i.p.ation indicated that rifts between the native Sunni tribes and Zarqawias Al Qaeda in Iraq (AQI), which had started small, were widening. To Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, cooperation with the U.S. and Iraqi governments, or voting in the elections, was intolerable. But the Sunni sheikhs were becoming disillusioned by the barbarity of Zarqawias extreme and violent policies, and they had begun to explore other alliances, including with the Americans and the Iraqi government. Al Qaeda, some Arab papers said, was starting to get expelled from Sunni strongholds in Anbar. This trend would very slowly build nationwide throughout the rest of the winter and the following year. Zarqawi would find himself in far smaller regions to operate with far fewer allies. But while the west and north of Iraq led the turning away from Zarqawi, the Triangle of Death remained a holdout area of support.
Al Qaedaas senior leadership was concerned about this rift and thought Zarqawias heavy hand was threatening the entire movement in the country. In December, a senior Al Qaeda leader sent Zarqawi a blunt and rebuke-filled letter. It exhorted Zarqawi to spend more time on winning over the people and to be more compa.s.sionate and tolerant of other Muslims, even those with whom he disagreed. A month after the elections, in a move widely interpreted as an attempt by Al Qaeda to combat the impression that it was an anti-Iraqi hyperviolent nihilistic band of exterminators, it actively sought allies among Iraqi insurgent groups and declared itself subservient to this coalition of its own making, which it called the Mujahideen Shura Council (MSC). Along with the creation of this new group was a purported shift away from wanton attacks on civilians. AQI stopped taking credit for some of the most violent strikes against Shiaites. Even so, many of the most prominent native insurgencies, such as the Islamic Army in Iraq, Ansar Al-Sunnah, and the Mujahideen Army, refused to join, leaving the MSC open to the charge that it was really just AQI by another name.
On December 19, Bravoas 2nd Platoon was operating in two different sectors. Platoon Sergeant Jeremy Gebhardt had one squad up in Mahmudiyah, a.s.sisting with the much-loathed gravel runs from Camp Striker to FOB Mahmudiyah. Platoon Leader Jerry Eidson and the rest of the platoon were chasing the J-Lens. Upon Eidsonas return to Yusufiyah, he was sent out to Mahmudiyah to pick up Gebhardt. Gebhardt had only two trucks. He had hopped a larger convoy out there, but because higher command was enforcing a regulation they didnat enforce, for example, on election night, and enforced only selectivelya"that all convoys must be at least three vehiclesa"he was now stuck. Cursing the inefficiency of it all, Eidson grabbed eight volunteers to form a three-vehicle task force and headed out to retrieve their platoon mates.
Eidson was in the lead truck when the convoy left Yusufiyah just after 9:00 p.m., Specialist Noah Galloway drove, and Private First Cla.s.s Ryan Davis was in the gun. They left the wire and turned the corner, heading north on Fat Boy. A minute or two down this road, they hit a tripwire-triggered IED that struck the truckas front-right quadrant, tossing it like a matchbox onto its right side and into a ca.n.a.l. The bright blast kicked up a cloud of dirt, dust, and debris that blocked out the night-vision goggles of the drivers of the two trailing vehicles, so they gunned their engines to get past the kill zone. The occupants of one of the trucks thought they saw the taillights of the lead Humvee ahead, so they kept rolling, trying to catch up to it, until they realized they were mistaken. They started calling Eidson on the radio, but there was no response.
aHey,a said one of the soldiers, awe need to turn around, we need to go back.a When Eidson came to, sideways in a truck filled with water, he asked if everybody was all right. Davis said he was fine, just that his leg hurt. Galloway did not respond.
aNoah, Noah, are you okay?a No response. Eidson could not open his door, so he followed Davis out of the gunneras hatch, jumped out, and landed in chest-deep water. He made his way back over to Galloway, who was mangled. His limbs were going in the wrong direction, and he was not responding to Eidsonas yells and slaps. But he was breathing and he had a pulse. Eidson pulled himself out of the ditch and stood in the middle of the road. He had no weapon or helmet, his other trucks were gone, Davis was limping around, and Galloway was unconscious. He did not notice that his arm was broken and the bone was sticking out of his flesh until he tried to pick up the shredded remnants of Gallowayas helmet. It was at that moment that Eidson expected to die.
Insurgents frequently followed an IED strike with small-arms fire, so they should be opening fire any second, Eidson thought. He was scared, terrified of death. He waited a beat or two for the shots to come, but they didnat. And then a few more seconds. Still not really believing that he was getting this reprieve, he headed back to check on Galloway. He jumped back into the ca.n.a.l, a.s.sessed Gallowayas condition, evaluated his weight versus the steepness of the ca.n.a.l banks, and concluded there was no way he could pull him out.
He heard two trucks coming from the north and he signaled with his flashlight. His men had arrived.
Tearful and sh.e.l.l-shocked, Eidson approached Staff Sergeant Les Fuller and said, aWe have to get Noah out.a Fuller, a devout Christian who tried never to swear, looked down, saw what had become of the Humvee and Galloway, and exclaimed, aOh, f.u.c.k!a The entire engine block and driver-side door had been blown off. Fuller and another soldier jumped down and started trying to pull Galloway out of the seat. Fuller grabbed him by the body armor while the other soldier hugged his torso. Fuller noticed that Gallowayas left leg was pinned under the seat. He grabbed it to try to free it, and the leg twisted loose in his hand. They decided that Galloway would be easier to pull out if they took off his body armor. But as Fuller grabbed Gallowayas left arm to pull it through his body armoras armhole, that limb came off in his hands as well.
Eidson was now thinking clearly enough that he was doing platoon leader math. He had nine guys and two operating trucks. He had one critical case stuck in a Humvee with two severed limbs who needed to be extracted from a ten-foot-deep ditch with muddy, slippery, steep-angled walls. He needed at least two men on the guns to pull security. Two men, including himself, were too badly hurt to help with the rescue. That left four men to try to lift Galloway out of the ditch, practically straight up. It was not going to happen. He called up to FOB Yusufiyah requesting more manpower. Goodwin told him there was no one at the FOB to send. There was no Quick Reaction Force, there were no extra men on the entire base whatsoever, and the medevac was not responding yet. Goodwin told Eidson that he had to get himself to the FOB.
aThere is no way we can do that with Galloway,a Eidson responded.
aYou have to,a said Goodwin. aThere is no onea"repeat, no onea"who can come get you.a Luckily, a convoy of U.S. and Iraqi platoons happened to be pa.s.sing by. They stopped and formed a chain of about a dozen Americans and Iraqis to yank Galloway from his seat. They reloaded everybody into the Humvees to catch the medevac that was now en route to Yusufiyah.*
It was not lost on anyone: The casualties just kept mounting. Every week or two, they were losing someone, or multiple peoplea"frequently leadersa"to injuries or death. The average was about one a week. Lieutenant Ben Britt was the only platoon leader left in Bravo Company, and while he hid it from the lower-enlisted soldiers, Eidsonas injury shook Britt badly.
aI just know Iam next,a he told Yribe and Lauzier that night. aItas bad juju to be a lieutenant,a he said. aMy number is up.a They told him that you canat talk like that, but they viewed Brittas pessimism as a significant change. He had always been the one to tell the most depressed, fatalistic, negative soldiers to always look at the oddsa"even in a war zone, he would often counsel them, the numbers are always with you. Far more people come back than ever get killed, and it almost always is the other guy who gets it.
The feeling that death was certain was becoming pervasive throughout the platoon, and it was spreading like a panic. More and more men started to believe that they simply werenat coming home. Some of the men say drinking in the ranks was becoming fairly common around late December. It is difficult to judge just how pervasive the drinking was, but it was common enough that just about everyone in 1st Platoon under the position of squad leader acknowledged that it was happening, even if they denied taking part. More than a few soldiers were sneaking drinks to cope with the stress, to take the edge off, to fall asleep, to calm their nerves.
Booze was always on offer in Iraq, even in the Triangle of Death. There were plenty of IAs or interpreters who were happy to procure bottles of whiskey or gin or even pills or hash for any soldier who wanted them. A lot of Iraqis were users themselves, often on the job. In addition to their drinking and smoking habits, IA soldiers were also enthusiastic consumers of p.o.r.nography. Anyone who thinks that Iraq is a Muslim puritan stronghold where n.o.body drinks or does drugs is sorely mistaken. Many Iraqis enjoy a stiff drink (or several), and it is not outlandish to speculate that part of the reason Iraqi society ultimately rejected Al Qaeda was because they were simply not going to live by its teetotaler code.
While many men within 1st Platoon were having trouble adjusting to the casualties the unit incurred, the incessant operations tempo, and the constant threat of violence, Private First Cla.s.s Steven Green was reacting particularly badly. He had always been a loudmouth, a malcontent, a racist, and a misogynist. He was fond of quoting a line by Nathan Bedford Forrest, Confederate general and first Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan: aTo me, war means fighting, and fighting means killing.a But the day Nelson and Casica died he had snapped. That was when he gave up even pretending to support any notion of peacekeeping, society-building, or being nice to Iraqis. From then on out, all he cared about was killing them. This was well known, and not something he attempted to hide, even from superiors.
That, in itself, was not necessarily exceptional. Many of the men by this point hated Iraqis and many would offhandedly opine that the whole country needed to be leveled, or the only good Iraqi was a dead Iraqi. But only Green talked about killing Iraqis all the time, incessantly, obsessively. Only Green talked about wanting to capture Hadjis, flay them, and hang them from telephone wires. Only he talked about burning them alive so they had to smell their own flesh cooking. Everybody was frustrated that the enemy was cowardly, but Green had a harder time accepting that this was simply the nature of this war: U.S. soldiers had to behave more honorably than the enemy. Why, he sincerely wanted to know, did Americans have to restrain themselves when the insurgents did not?
At the prodding of Staff Sergeant Miller, Green went to see Lieutenant Colonel Marrs from the Combat Stress team, who was visiting from FOB Mahmudiyah on December 21. The intake evaluation form she filled out while talking to him that day is a horror show of ailments and dysfunctions. In the entry marked aChief Complaint,a she quoted him: aIt is f.u.c.king pointless.a Green told Marrs he was a victim of mental and physical childhood abuse by his mother and brother, he was an adolescent drug and alcohol abuser who drank every day between 8th and 10th grade, and he had been arrested several times. He told Marrs he had been suffering from symptoms of instability, extreme moods, and angry outbursts, including punching walls, ever since the deaths of MacKenzie and Munger. (Her notations indicate he said their deaths happened about a month before, but it was actually seven weeks.) Green told Marrs he was experiencing all of the following: sadness, difficulty falling asleep, nightmares involving violence and the death of his friends, anxiety, worry, increased heart rate, tightness in his chest, shortness of breath, feelings of helplessness, being easily startled, being quick to anger, and thoughts that he would not make it out of combat alive.
In her own observations, Marrs noted that Green had abnormal eye contact, including staring, and that his mood was angry. Green told Marrs he was having suicidal and homicidal ideations, especially thoughts about killing Iraqi civilians. On his one-page intake sheet, Marrs noted his wanting to kill Iraqis four separate times. One entry states, aInterests: None other than killing Iraqis.a She diagnosed him with Combat and Operational Stress Reaction (COSR), an Army term to describe typical and transient reactions to the stresses of warfare. COSR is not a condition recognized by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders-IV, the bible of the psychiatry profession, something the Army is well aware of, since it doesnat even consider COSR an ailment. As one Army journal article puts it, aThose with COSR are not referred to as apatients,a but are described as having anormal reactions to an abnormal event.aa Thus believing Greenas psychological state to be normal, Marrs prescribed him a small course of Seroquel, an antipsychotic drug that also treats insomnia, and recommended that he follow up with another visit (though she didnat specify when), and she sent him back to his unit.
aI told her, aMy main preoccupation in life is wanting to kill Iraqis, whoever they are, wherever they are,aa Green recalled. aShe said, aOkay, hereas these pills that will help you sleep, and weall probably be around.a I donat think she thought I was serious, even though I was going out of my way to be like, aLook, Iam serious about this.aa According to Goodwin, Marrs reported back to him that Green aneeded a little bit more counseling.a Goodwin, like most of Greenas superiors, thought Greenas problems were manageable anger issues that could be dealt with, he said, athrough time, through grief counseling, if necessary, medication, through Combat Stress, and supervision.a When Staff Sergeant Bob Davis, a Combat Stress technician with a reserve unit out of Boston, arrived in January 2006 as part of the team to relieve Marrsas team, she told them about Green. aShe warned us that, given his experiences and the things that heas done, he might be someone wead want to follow up with.a Despite this warning, they would not see Green until March 20, 2006.
While Sergeant First Cla.s.s Phil Blaisdell and his 3rd Platoon suffered countless frustrations with Iraqis who would lie and stonewall, he always tried to put himself in their shoes, and he tried to get his men to think that way too. One day, a local told him that the traffic control points were particularly onerous in the mornings because people were trying to get to work in Baghdad. He had never thought of that before, that people were commuting. But from then on, he tried to get the checkpoints open by 6:00 a.m. to handle what he quickly noticed was, yes, a morning rush north. On particularly hot days, when the backups were long, head have his men hand out bottles of water to the waiting cars. He tried to talk to the people and explain to them what was going on to the best of his ability. Whenever he was at the JSB, he would run up and down Malibu as much as possible, talking to the Quarguli sheikhs, trying to solve their problems, even if they were small ones. If the roads were closed but they had a harvest of apples they wanted to get to Baghdad, they would call Blaisdell. aIad say, aOkay, but I got to search the cars, though. Is that okay?a Theyad be like, aThatas fine.a We worked together on s.h.i.t. It made all the difference in the world.a Getting his guys to not give in to hate no matter how frustrated they were, or how badly some of their friends got hurt, was by far his biggest challenge. aSoldiers can turn negative in a heartbeat,a he remarked. aaf.u.c.k this! f.u.c.k these people!a People would get mad that they were not telling us information. But you know what? If I was them, I wouldnat tell an American anything either!a He tried to make his men understand that the main reason Iraqis were uncooperative was that they were scared to death for their own lives and they did not believe that the United States was capable of protecting them. When a squad of Americans rolled up at a house and asked for info, and if an insurgent then got nabbed, every single other insurgent in town knew who had squealed, and there would be reprisals. Blaisdell started getting informants to text him, or to drop notes out of car windows at TCPs, rather than risk talking to him in person. He told his men not to tear apart peopleas houses, not because he was a softy but because Iraqis are not stupid: they knew houses were getting searched regularly now, so the ones who happened to be insurgents pretty much stopped hiding incriminating materials in their homes months ago. This was another reason he told his men to be careful when they found a cache of weapons in someoneas yard. Some Iraqis had started framing neighbors they had grudges against. And then, once that started happening, others figured out that by saying they had been framed, they could still stash guns in their own backyard. See? It was all a mind game, he explained, and it was dizzying. But the worst mistake you could make was to think that the Iraqis were not several steps ahead of you.
Blaisdell had the same lack of patience for soldiers slapping people around. aThereas a twelve-, thirteen-year-old kid in the house, and if I saw a soldier slap the father around, Iad ask that soldier, aHey, what would you do if some guy came in your home and slapped your dad around?a Head always say, aIad f.u.c.king kill him.a Okay, so what makes you any different than that kid right there? And you know what heas going to do now? Heas going to go plant an IED. And it might not be you that gets killed. But some other soldier is dead because you had to be a tough guy.a Second Platoonas Sergeant First Cla.s.s Jeremy Gebhardt was quieter than Blaisdell and did not have quite the local politician in him that his counterpart did. He did not glad-hand the locals as much, but he believed in and worked on some of the larger infrastructure missions, such as getting schools reopened and water treatment plants up and running. But he, like Blaisdell, considered managing the att.i.tudes and morals of his men to be the biggest part of his job. Anytime he heard complaints about the Iraqisa"or about superior officers, for that mattera"he snuffed it out quick.
aYou need to shut the f.u.c.k up and focus,a he would say.
* Galloway survived but lost both his left limbs, and Eidson, the third Bravo leader to be injured in less than three months, was sent back to the States, where he underwent several surgeries that restored function to his arm.
13.
Britt and Lopez.
TWO DAYS AFTER Eidson and Galloway got hit by an IED, Britt was still in a melancholy mood.
aI just have a feeling that Iam not going to make it back from here,a he said.
aSir, you canat think like that,a Yribe responded. aIt just doesnat seem like Iam going to be able to make it back with all the people that are dying.a aIf itas your time, itas your time,a Yribe said. aThereas nothing anybody can do about it.a One of the dayas major missions was another clearance of Caveman. Bravo First Sergeant Andrew Laskoski, Britt, and a mixture of 1st Platoonas 3rd and 1st Squads were a.s.signed to accompany an Iron Claw team. In the medic area of FOB Yusufiyah, there was a dry erase board where all the medics were supposed to write their whereabouts. Since he knew they were going on Caveman that day, Specialist Collin Sharpness wrote, aGetting Blown Up.a They started around 8:00 a.m. Following Iron Clawas big rigs as they slowly inched west on the north side of Caveman, the men walked behind, looking for IED triggerman hides or caches along the side of the road, walking cloverleaf patterns for five hours straight in the drenching heat. The Humvees, each with a driver and a gunner pulling security, followed behind them. Around 1:30 p.m.a"whoosh!a"an RPG screamed past them and narrowly missed one of the Iron Claw vehicles. A few soldiers tracked the flight path across the ca.n.a.l, over the south side of the road, to where they saw an a.s.sembly of some type, a tube from which it looked like the RPG had been fired remotely. As Lieutenant Britt and the Iron Claw lieutenant were discussing their next move, three mortar rounds landed nearby in quick succession, one hitting the right rear quadrant of the lead Iron Claw vehicle, disabling it. The Iron Claw lieutenant said his crew needed to go back to Yusufiyah for repairs before they could do any more clearing.
Everybody started turning around as Britt called the situation up to the TOC. The Iron Claw convoy was long gone, and the Bravo vehicles were almost back at TCP4 when Goodwin told Britt to go get the mount. But that wasnat feasible, Britt responded, because it was on the other side of the ca.n.a.l. Go get it, said Goodwin. That is a no-go, said Britt, it is on the other side of the second road as well, and that road had not been cleared. Britt asked if it was okay for them to backtrack all the way from the beginning and clear the south side of Caveman up to the mount. They had already been out there six hours, Goodwin calculated, and one Iron Claw vehicle was now damaged. To get more clearance vehicles out there could take well past nightfall. Goodwin refused. Find the closest bridge, get in there, get the thing, and get out, Goodwin said.
aI donat care if you have to swim across the f.u.c.king ca.n.a.l,a he insisted, abut you will get me that tube.a aYes, sir,a Britt responded.
The men saw a small footbridge about two hundred yards northwest of the spot where they first turned around. Britt a.s.sembled a team of about eight men, including Laskoski and Yribe. Theyad have to walk across the bridge, track back southeast another three hundred and fifty yards, pick up the mount, and return. They headed out. Just as they crossed the ca.n.a.l, they saw a blue Kia Bongo, a kind of small, high-cab pickup truck that is ubiquitous in Iraq, driving toward them from the southeast on the south side of Caveman. The soldiers wanted the Bongo to stop well in advance of where the RPG mount was, so they started yelling and making hand gestures to stop. The Bongo would not stop. Now it was approaching the RPGas kill area. Laskoski ordered one of the soldiers to fire a warning shot. He did, but the Bongo still didnat stop. The soldier fired another. With the truck about to enter the area, and still defying the warning shots, Laskoski ordered the men to open fire on the truck. They sprayed it with dozens of bullets, yet it continued to drive all the way through the RPG tubeas area, while under fire, until it rolled to a stop fifty yards past it.
Laskoski said, aWeare going to have some dead bodies in that truck.a The group headed down to check it out. Astonishingly, there were no dead bodies, just an older man in the pa.s.senger seat, with a gunshot wound to his right calf, and a younger man, the driver, who was completely unscathed. The older guy was some sort of Quarguli sheikh, carrying an ID card that Kunk had distributed to local grandees.
Britt said, aAll right, letas go get this thing.a Laskoski and some other soldiers hung back to deal with the men in the Bongo, while Britt, Yribe, and Sergeant Roman Diaz headed out to get the RPG tube. Thirty-three-year-old Specialist William Lopez-Feliciano from Quebradillas, Puerto Rico, who had arrived at Bravo only three weeks earlier, was standing there, tentative, not knowing which way to go. They were already fifty or sixty yards on their way, but Yribe turned back and yelled, aYo, Lopez, letas go,a and he scrambled to catch up.
The four men walked closely together. They were bunching up, which wasnat safe. Yribe was up front, but Britt, with several feet of antenna sticking out of his backpack, was almost on top of him.
Yribe turned around and said to all of them, aHey, back off me. Get separated.a He turned around again, and said to Britt, aBack off me, sir.a Britt fell in behind Yribe and Diaz, with Lopez bringing up the rear.
Then everything went black. A deeply buried IED with several hundreds pounds of explosives exploded directly under where Britt and Lopez were standing. The blast was so ma.s.sive that soldiers heard the explosion in Lutufiyah ten miles away. Britt was thrown fifty feet into the air, cartwheeling alike a rag doll,a remembered one soldier. Within a second or two, his body had plummeted back to Earth and into the ca.n.a.l. The blast ripped Lopez into two pieces, bisecting him at the waist. The pressure wave sucked the earplugs out of Yribeas ears and covered him and Diaz in dirt, smoke, and human tissue. The bomb was so big that all four of them should have been dead, but something about how the IED was set focused almost all of its energy straight up rather than out. Diaz and Yribe were relatively unharmed, but they didnat know that yet. At first they were just trying to figure out if they were still alive.
When Yribe shook himself awake, he couldnat tell how long he had been out. It must have been only a couple of seconds. Diaz was on one knee, right behind him.
He grabbed Diaz and yelled, aAre you okay?a Diaz said yes. They started to run back west where Laskoski was heading toward them. Laskoski gripped Yribe by the vest, but Yribe couldnat make out what he was saying. Yribe was trying to talk, but his mouth was full of dirt, so he started spitting it out, right into Laskoskias face.
Finally, he started to understand Laskoski: aYou gotta get ahold of yourself, you gotta get composure.a aComposure,a Yribe thought. aHow can I get composure when I donat even know what is going on?a By then, the dust was starting to settle. Diaz and Yribe patted each other down for injuries. Diaz had a faceful of superficial shrapnel wounds, and something had hit or twisted Yribeas gut hard enough that head ripped his abdomenas muscle wall. But they were both okay. Laskoski told two soldiers to fire into some treetops about a hundred yards away, since that seemed like the most likely trigger spot. They called in the IED hit to Bravoas TOC (Tactical Operations Center). Looking around, the men tried to figure out if there was another blast coming or if insurgents were going to follow with a small-arms attack. But it was quiet, completely still. After such violence, it was amazing how quickly mundanity rea.s.serted itself.