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Death stalks US marines in heart of Iraq's rebel triangle
July 9th 2004
Toby Harnden in Ramadi meets men in the battalion suffering the highest casualty rate
FOR the "Magnificent Bastards" battalion of 2/4 US marines, stationed in the heart of Iraq's Sunni triangle, taking battle casualties is an almost daily occurrence. Off duty, life continues only in the shadow of elaborate rituals of death.
With 31 "KIA" - killed in action - and 178 wounded since their arrival less than four months ago, the unit of 1,100 men has suffered the highest attrition rate of any in Iraq.
The latest marine to die was Sgt Kenneth Conde, 23, killed instantly when a piece of shrapnel from a roadside bomb hit him just above the right eye.
At a memorial service held this week outside a palace once owned by Saddam Hussein that now serves as battalion headquarters, Sgt Conde's comrades gathered to pay tribute to a man who became a legend in their midst on April 6.
That day, when 12 marines were killed in the city of Ramadi, a bullet ripped through Sgt Conde's shoulder but he continued to lead his men and fight on for several hours afterwards. "He fought at times like a man possessed," recalled Lt Col Paul Kennedy, the battalion commander.
"He was one of the few, one of the proudest, one of the special marines we held above all others, an exemplar of our corps . . . he was so dearly loved and respected the full impact of his loss has not fully been felt."
After he was wounded, Sgt Conde joked that he was pleased the bullet had not spoilt the "Ride or Die" tattoo he had emblazoned across his back. In a videotaped account of the action, he barely mentioned being hit.
"We had a shootout with those guys, killed them," he said, describing a battle with insurgents armed with AK-47s and machineguns. "After about the first 30 minutes, I was shot from across street."
The battle lasted all day and Sgt Conde and his squad were in the thick of the action again the next morning. "After that it started getting easy," he concluded in his videotaped account. "That's it."
The devastating scale of casualties inflicted on enemy insurgents - approaching a thousand dead - is a measure of the superiority of American firepower.
But the battalion takes its own losses to heart. After the memorial service, marines filed past Sgt Conde's M-16 rifle, on which his dog tags and helmet had been placed. Some paused to weep quietly. Others bowed their heads in prayer or clasped the dead man's boots in silent contemplation.
For some marines, the memorial services have become too much. "I don't have time for it," said Sgt Damien Coan, 26, who became a platoon commander when a lieutenant died of his wounds after being shot in the face. "I prefer to deal with it when we get back to the States."
The deaths had affected his men in different ways, he said. "I do have one marine who's a little too aggressive," he said. "We have to put him on a leash a bit. If it was up to him, he'd probably shoot everybody in Ramadi."
Most tend to bottle up their emotions. "They spend a whole lot of energy keeping it in," said Maj Kevin Roberts, a combat stress officer at brigade headquarters.
"It helps them keep on the job but it may not be the most effective long-term coping mechanism."
After a death, marines are encouraged to write to the bereaved families.
"We tell them their sons were courageous and warriors," said Capt Kelly Royer, who has lost 21 men from his Echo Company.
He uses the danger of being killed, or of causing the death of a comrade, as a powerful motivator.
"Let's not put any more of our guys in body bags," he told a young marine sniper manning an observation post overlooking the entrance to Ramadi.
"If you see someone out there with binoculars, put a bullet in his head. Then you get to celebrate and high five and everything."
At the end of the memorial service, before the playing of Taps and the volleys of gunfire, the first sergeant of Weapons Company stepped forward to conduct a final roll call.
"Sgt Kenneth Conde," he boomed. No reply. "Sgt Conde." No reply. "Sgt Kenneth K Conde, killed in action, July 1 2004, Ramadi, Iraq."
'I am the president of Iraq, the real criminal is Bush' Defiant and finger-wagging, Saddam the deposed dictator faces justice at last
July 2nd 2004
By Toby Harnden in Baghdad
SADDAM HUSSEIN, by turns anxious and defiant, was taken before an Iraqi judge yesterday and charged with waging war on his people and his country's neighbours.
The 26-minute hearing in an American military base marked the start of a legal process that will put the deposed dictator on trial for his life, facing charges of mass murder.
The rattle of chains and handcuffs signalled the arrival of HVD-1 - High Value Detainee One, as he is known to the Americans. Then large wooden doors were thrown open and he was in the tiny courtroom, his period as a prisoner of war over. He was now an ordinary criminal defendant.
Wearing a grey pinstriped jacket, brown trousers and shiny black shoes, Saddam, 67, seemed cowed and uncertain as he looked at the young Iraqi judge, not yet 40. His eyes darted right and left then right again where Iraqi and American officials sat gazing intently at him. He seemed disorientated, as if he had no idea what he was about to face. He was slimmer and seemed healthier than the last time he had been seen, shaved and cleaned just after his December arrest. But he seemed deflated, almost humbled, at first before the old sparks began to return.
His beard, white in places, was neater than it had been when he was pulled from the hole he had been hiding in. There was a sheen to his hair. He pulled nervously at the thicket on his chin and put his finger to his brow.
When asked his name, he composed himself. "I am Saddam Hussein, president of Iraq." Throughout the hearing this was the title he clung to, although the judge kept telling him that he was an ordinary citizen.
"I am the president of the republic, so you should not strip me of my title to put me on trial," he said. The judge, who never lost his air of calm assurance, replied: "You are the ex-leader of Iraq and the ex-leader of the dissolved armed forces."
Saddam was appearing before the court at Camp Victory, the huge military base near Baghdad airport where he is believed to have been held since his capture. It has as its centrepiece his Al-Faw Palace, where he once lavishly entertained his guests. He arrived at the courtroom after changing from his blue prison uniform. An American official said the civilian clothes had been bought off the peg in Baghdad this week.
The former tyrant may have glimpsed a Humvee and a camouflaged outpost nearby. But the only uniforms he saw were Iraqi. Five members of the Iraqi correctional service stood to attention on each side of the path as he was guided from a van reinforced with Kevlar armour.
If he had paused to look at the Arabic inscription above his head he would have seen: "In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate." Two Apache attack helicopters circled overhead.
Saddam and the 11 other prisoners charged after him, including Ali Hassan al-Majid, better known as "Chemical Ali", had been measured and clothes bought that would make them look like ordinary Iraqis, neither humiliatingly humble nor redolent of their former riches.
Many of the other defendants looked like demobbed soldiers wearing baggy trousers and ill-fitting jackets. But Saddam carried himself with a certain dignity and seemed to regain his presence as the hearing proceeded.
Having been asked his identity, he tried to turn the tables on the judge. "I have introduced myself to you but you have not introduced yourself to me," he said. "So who are you?" The judge's face was broadcast on television but reporters were asked not to reveal his identity for fear of reprisals.
"I am a judge of the criminal courts of Iraq," he said carefully. Saddam, hitting his stride, replied: "So you repress Iraqis under the orders of the coalition?" Despite his solitary confinement, he clearly knew that President George W Bush was fighting for re-election in November.
"I do not want to make you feel uneasy," he told the judge. "But you know that this is all theatre by Bush to help him with his campaign. The real criminal is Bush."
The judge cut him off and refused to rise to the bait when Saddam branded him a stooge.
"Then the Americans want to try Saddam Hussein by using an Iraqi judge?" Saddam said sarcastically. The judge replied: "You stand before the Iraqi justice system."
Again and again the judge tried to bring Saddam back to the proceedings. After informing him of his right to a lawyer and to remain silent, he began reading the seven preliminary charges.
They were being brought, the judge said, under Iraqi order 125 and article 406/1/A of the penal code. If Saddam, who trained as a lawyer, recognised that this article provided for the death penalty, it did not register on his face.
However, he did note that he had introduced order 125
himself and said that meant it could not apply to him.
The judge responded: "The presidency is a position but you are a citizen. Your immunity has been lifted."
This was only an initial hearing that could lead to an indictment on charges of genocide and crimes against humanity. But Saddam was not going to leave the stage without saying his piece.
"The truth is a relative issue as far as I am concerned," he said. "I hope you can remember you are a judge in the name of the people."
Asked if he wanted the state to pay for legal representation, he smiled and said: "Why would I not have the resources to pay for the lawyers myself? The Americans say I have millions in banks in Geneva." He stared ahead as he was confronted with accusations about the brutal suppression of Shia and Kurdish revolts after the 1991 Gulf war, massacres of Kurds and the slaughter of religious leaders in 1974 even before he took office.
When he was told he had ordered the gassing of thousands of Kurds at Halabja in 1988, he adopted a mocking tone and referred to himself in the third person.
"I heard about that in the media as well," he said. "During the reign of the President Saddam Hussein it was said poison gas was used there."
The charge that he had illegally invaded Kuwait in August 1990 prompted an outburst. "I can't believe you, as an Iraqi, would say that was a crime. I was president when we invaded Kuwait. I was looking out for Iraqi interests against those mad dogs who had tried to turn Iraqi women into 10-dinar prostitutes."
The judge warned Saddam that "to call someone a dog is a grievous insult in the Muslim world" and was forbidden in his court. Although Saddam was much less defiant than Slobodan Milosevic, the former Serbian leader, has been during his long-running war crimes trial at The Hague, he showed that he would argue later that the case was being improperly brought.
His twin-track approach, it seemed, would be that he was immune from prosecution because he was the "continuing" leader of Iraq and that the proceedings were politically motivated and therefore illegal.
Beside the courthouse, where hearings were held recently for American soldiers accused of abusing prisoners at Abu Ghraib jail, is a carp-filled lake into which Saddam's son Uday was said to have thrown people from his helicopter.
A British officer based at Camp Victory said: "I am told there are plans to dredge it for body parts. Two soldiers went swimming in it once and they were apparently in hospital for several days afterwards."
Now the base is the home to one of the most successful Burger King franchises in the world and a PX store for soldiers that sells T-shirts celebrating Operation Iraqi Freedom and depicting soldiers wielding cans of "Whup Ass".
But the soldiers were withdrawn from the area around the courtroom as Saddam arrived. When Saddam's time to depart came, he appeared disappointed that his time back in the public eye was over, for the time being at least.
After he had left, the other defendants were taken before the judge in turn to hear their preliminary charges.
Abid Hamid Mahmoud al-Tikriti, Saddam's former private secretary, listened to his rights, then declared: "These rights are excellent. I would like as my lawyer Malik Dohan al-Hassan."
There were titters from Iraqi officials in court as the judge informed him that this would not be possible. "He is the justice minister," he said.
"Chemical Ali" looked hunched and ill when he appeared. "I am so poor I don't own any houses in Iraq," he said. As he left the room, he added: "I am pleased. I thought the charges would be worse."
An early step to freedom: Deadline moved forward to beat suicide bombers June 29th 2004
By Toby Harnden in Baghdad
SECRECY, obsessive security and a sombre undercurrent marked the closed-door ceremony in Baghdad which ended the US-led occupation of Iraq two days early.
Plans for Paul Bremer, the head of the Coalition Provisional Authority, to depart prematurely had been discussed more than a fortnight earlier and categorically denied by his spokesman, Dan Senor, after they were leaked to The Daily Telegraph.
But the final decision to bring "game day" forward to prevent the transfer of power from being marred by a wave of suicide bombings was taken late on Sunday afternoon.
It was at first kept to a circle of just half a dozen officials.
A small group of reporters was given only 45 minutes notice to muster by 9am at the Green Zone coalition headquarters for an unspecified "event".
Once at the rendezvous, we were informed that Mr Bremer was conducting a final press conference.
As we were ferried in armoured Land Cruisers to the quarters of Iyad Allawi, the new interim Iraqi prime minister, it began to become clear that something more was afoot.
Confirmation came when a security man ordered us to "act civilised because he is a head of state" - an apparent reference to the new Iraqi president - and another official disclosed that Iraq's chief justice would be present with "documents".
Minutes later, after having our mobile phones impounded in a vain effort to prevent the news leaking out, we were ushered into Mr Allawi's office.
Beaming at us from across the bare room, decorated only by some imitation flowers and a kitschy painting of three horses, was Mr Allawi himself.
Clad in a pinstripe suit, he bore a slightly disturbing resemblance to Tony Soprano, the New Jersey Mob boss from the eponymous television series.
On a gaudy yellow sofa beside Mr Allawi was Mr Bremer, wearing his trademark desert combat boots and dark suit with cufflinks and silk handkerchief. Next to them was David Richmond, Mr Bremer's British deputy, and President Ghazi Yawer, resplendent in his Arab robes.
Mr Allawi had not even had time to clear his desk. Alongside the stapler and paper clips were two packets of Panadol painkillers (one extra strong) and a news print-out headed: "Bush pleads for unity over Iraq".
At the top of his pile of incoming letters was one from Mr Bremer stating that "MFI [Multinational Forces Iraq] stands ready to assist in whatever way the IIG [Iraqi interim government] might choose".
Once the brief formalities had begun, Mr Bremer was the only man smiling, partly no doubt from a sense of relief but maybe also from the knowledge that he would soon be on a much-needed holiday at home in Vermont.
Mr Allawi, sobered if not quite awed by the enormous responsibility thrust upon him, spoke slowly and deliberately.
"The first thing is to ensure the safety of our people," he said. "The security of our country now lies in our hands."
During questions, Mr Allawi's translator, who appeared slightly overawed by the occasion, paused to search for the right word after the prime minister had spoken.
"Violence" called out Christiane Amanpour, CNN's star correspondent, who had earlier announced she was "very upset" with the on-the-hoof press arrangements.
The transfer document had already been signed by Mr Bremer but it was at 10.26am when it was handed to Mr Allawi that sovereignty technically passed to his government.
The cameras whirred as the photographers were given the "money shot" they had been promised.
The document, from which Mr Bremer read aloud, said: "The Coalition Provisional Authority will cease to exist on June 28 at which point the occupation will end and the Iraqi interim government will resume and exercise full sovereign authority on behalf of the Iraqi people."
Mr Bremer grinned and announced that he was the "ex-administrator" of Iraq.
He declared that the mass graves highlighting the genocide of Saddam Hussein over the years justified in themselves the project to overthrow him and occupy his country.
This was far from the public celebration Mr Bremer would have wanted.
But in the end simply getting the formalities over without an assassination attempt or scores of Iraqis being blown to pieces by suicide bombers seemed to be enough.
"It's sad that it had to be this way but that is the reality of the situation," said one coalition official.
There were brief hugs between Mr Bremer and the Iraqi leaders to whom he had relinquished the baton before he headed by Chinook helicopter to Baghdad International airport.
There he boarded a C-130 transport plane bound for an undisclosed location en route to Washington.
American officials with memories of Richard Nixon's defiant wave after he resigned as president in 1974 and the evacuation of Saigon the following year are perennially nervous about farewells from the doors of military aircraft.
Recognising this, Mr Bremer waved briefly then paused and pointed at Barham Salih, Iraq's deputy prime minister with responsibility for security, who had escorted him across the tarmac.
"It's all yours," he seemed to be saying. And with that he turned and was gone. Crucial day still to come for the new democracy
June 29th 2004
By Toby Harnden in Baghdad
:
BAGHDAD'S Green Zone, the fortified enclave which was the seat of the American-led occupation, was renamed the International Zone yesterday as sovereignty, on paper at least, was passed to the Iraqis.
But changing the name will in itself do little to alter either the reality or the minds of ordinary Iraqis. Last night the zone, which has been strengthened by miles of extra concrete barriers and barbed wire in recent weeks, was still being guarded by American soldiers.
For many Iraqis it became a symbol both of the remoteness of the occupiers and their inability to quell an increasingly violent insurgency.
Saddam Hussein's Republican Palace is no longer the headquarters of the American-led Coalition Provisional Authority. But, despite pleas from President Ghazi Yawer, the new head of state, it will remain in American hands for the foreseeable future as part of the largest embassy in the world.
About 140,000 American, British and other soldiers will continue to be stationed in Iraq in the guise of a new "multi-national force". Security decisions, while now a subject of close consultation with the interim government, will, in the final analysis, rest in foreign hands.
The word "historic" was perhaps bandied around too often during yesterday's hastily arranged events. But it would be a mistake to dismiss the handover as merely a symbolic occasion or the installation of a puppet regime.
Rather, the transfer of sovereignty represented an important step towards the full freedom and democracy that was prematurely trumpeted by the victors when Saddam's statue was toppled in Firdous Square 15 months ago.
The most crucial date for Iraq is not June 30, 2004, the pre-empted handover day, but Jan 31, 2005, by which the country's transitional administrative law decreed that elections should be held. If the vote passes off successfully then real grounds for optimism will have been established.
Departing coalition officials have indicated that the elections will be held come what may. "Elections can contribute to security," a senior official said. "It is a mistake to say we can't have elections without 100 per cent security.
"The longest-running democracy in Latin America is Colombia, which is not a society with an absence of violence."
He added that even if election day was marred by a wave of bombing then "we could re-run parts of the election" later. The crucial thing was that turnout should be high and that the Iraqis had confidence that the result was genuine.
After that, a new constitution is due to be drafted by Aug 15 next year followed two months later by a referendum on that document and, just before Christmas 2005, by a general election under that constitution.
It remains to be seen whether yesterday's step will ultimately help to take Iraq towards peace and stability. "It may well be that several things we have laid the foundations for will bear fruit and the Iraqis will be given credit for them," a senior coalition official said. "If that happens, I will be more than happy."
An American coalition official said that even the disbandment of the Iraqi army might turn out to have been the right thing to do despite the received wisdom that, with the de-Ba'athification policy, it was Paul Bremer's biggest mistake.
"If the long term bears out the benefits that motivated the policy - eliminating one of the tools of oppression, assisting them in creating a professional military that respects human rights and civilian leadership - it may come to be seen as courageous and far-sighted.
"This is true of many of the visions we had for Iraq. They were motivated by an honest desire to do what is best for the Iraqis, expending political capital for long-term benefits.
"History will decide if the long-term benefits ever accrue to the Iraqis and if the interim suffering was worth the benefit. Anyone who claims to know the answer to either question is wrong."
From some officials there has been a frank admission of mistakes made and opportunities missed in addition to pride in certain achievements.
"We'd have got further in restoring and refurbishing Iraq's infrastructure had it not been for the security problem," said David Richmond, Britain's special representative and Mr Bremer's right-hand man. "The security situation was worse than most people predicted. It would have been better if we'd been able to emerge with a clear political programme at an earlier stage than we were."
Many accept that the post-war reconstruction plan was at best inadequate and that the coalition was too slow in getting results early on.
"If we'd hit the ground running with the necessary money, people and some solid plans backed by intelligence then we'd have been able to use our honeymoon period much better," said one British official. "We've found it very difficult to recover from both of those."
The fate of Iyad Allawi, the new prime minister, rests principally on whether he, in partnership with the multi-national force, can defeat or at least contain the insurgency.
Iraq's army and police are militarily very weak but they have a legitimacy the coalition forces never had. Early successes could cement the interim government's position. Of course, as the various strands of the insurgency will understand, the opposite is also true.
Among exhausted coalition officials yesterday there was a sense of subdued introspection but also cautious hope that their efforts have not been wasted.
Fighting the Mahdi with Iron Deuce Platoon
May 17th 2004
By Toby Harnden in Sadr City
SOMETHING about Sadr City was not quite right. An hour earlier, there had been the usual throngs of barefoot children running out from between the piles of rotting garbage and pools of sewage to wave at American soldiers.
But as the four Humvees and two Bradley fighting vehicles of the Iron Deuce platoon of Warrior Company rumbled out from Camp Eagle towards the centre of the slum, the main streets were empty apart from a tethered donkey and a few
wandering goats.
Small knots of men peered out from alleyways. A lone figure appeared from a rooftop and then vanished. “It’s kind of quiet around here,” said Specialist Daniel Brown, driving Humvee Alpha Three Six. Just 21, he had already seen more action in the past six weeks than many infantrymen do in two decades.
Sergeant Michael Williams and Staff Sergeant Robert Miltenberger surveyed the scene through the sights of their M-16 rifles.“Staff Sergeant, if anything happens and I get hit, my bandages are in my left cargo pocket,” said Sgt Williams, 30, a tobacco-chewing father of four and self-proclaimed “grunt from Texas”. ”Okay,” said Staff Sgt Miltenberger, at 38 one of the oldest men in the platoon. “I though for a moment you wanted me to tell your wife you loved her.”
From the Humvee behind, a loudspeaker began to blare out a message in Arabic prepared by the “psyops” –psychological operations – team. “To all Iraqis, peace be upon you…Help us make your proud community safer and turn in your functional weapons for cash.”
Many soldiers were skeptical about the “weapons buy-back” programme was worthwhile. With $200 being offered for an AK-47 – around four times the local value – the danger was that the Mahdi Army might give in guns simply to get money to buy more. Led by Moqtada Sadr, a 31-year-old fiery Islamist cleric, the Mahdi Army is engaged in a deadly fight for control of Sadr City, named after his father, a revered religious figure. The younger Sadr enjoys only minority support – perhaps 10 or 20 per cent - but a Mahdi reign of terror in the area has helped stifle opposition.
Home to an estimated 2.5 million impoverished Shia, Sadr City, was formerly called Saddam City, a calculated insult from Saddam Hussein, whose dictatorship had systematically oppressed Iraq’s majority Shia population. After a year of relative calm, Sadr’s men killed eight soldiers from the 2nd Battalion of the US Army’s 5th Cavalry Regiment after mounting an ambush on April 4th, the day the mechanised infantry unit took responsibility for the area. Hundreds of Mahdi men died.
Apart from publicising the weapons buyback scheme, the aim of the afternoon patrol was to visit the Tatheeb police station to assess the morale of Iraqi police officers, most of whom deserted their posts on April 4th, and monitor Mahdi activity in their neighbourhood.
With the six vehicles parked in defensive positions outside the police station, Lieutenant Dave Swanson, the 25-year-old West Point graduate commanding the Iron Deuce platoon, went inside to talk to the chief of police. Removing his helmet to reveal a completely bald pate, Lt Swanson began to discuss the problem of policemen failing to turn up for work. “I don’t quit my job and they’re shooting at me too,” he explained through an interpreter. As he spoke a shot rang out from the south, quickly followed by two more. “AK”, he said. “First one sounded like a misfire.” Ordering two soldiers onto the roof, he calmly continued his conversation.
Minutes later, there was a much louder bang as a Rocket Propelled Grenade was fired at the vehicles outside. It was followed by the throaty rattle of an RPK light machine-gun from the south and then more AK-47s, this time from the east. “Looks like we’re about to have us a little shoot out,” said Lt Swanson.
Outside, the psyops team had been handing out leaflets about the weapon buyback to children who were taking them across the street to their parents. The adults were tearing them up the leaflets and throwing them on the ground. About eight children had been gathered around a Humvee when the first Mahdi shots were fired.
Staff Sgt Miltenberger, stationed on the roof, yelled down into the station courtyard that he could see a gunman firing from around a corner. “Well, as soon as he comes round the corner, you pick him off.” The NCO opened fire to the south. “Get him,” shouted Lt Swanson. “Shoot him Milt.” Fire was now coming in from three sides, leaving only the entrance to the police station clear. “Get everybody in here,” ordered Lt Swanson, detailing Sergeant 1st Class Eric Ivey, 29, the platoon sergeant, to assign each man a position.
A full-scale gun battle was now raging with the machine gunners from all six vehicles outside laying down a carpet of fire. The rattle of the RPK ceased suddenly. “I was just informed the Bradley took that RPK out,” said Sgt Ivey. Out in the street, a wailing chant was being broadcast. “Is that a call to worship?” Lt Swanson asked the police chief. It was too early for that. Instead, someone at the mosque was beckoning people to battle.
More and more Mahdi men were flocking to the area. “See if we can draw them to us and take them out,” said Lt Swanson to Sgt Ivey. “Then we’ll roll out.” The three-man psyops team had driven out in an unarmoured Humvee. Lieutenant Peter East, 27, normally the night battle commander from the base Tactical Operations Centre, came into the police station. This was his first combat patrol. “I got an RPG near me, about 15 to 20 feet away,” he said. “That was pretty sweet. This is what I wanted to see.”
With most of his 24 soldiers and the three psyops soldiers inside the police station there was no sign of the assault abating. “White One, White Four,” said Sgt Ivey to Lt Swanson, now on the roof. “What do you want to do?” Taking the fight to the enemy in the six vehicles was impossible because of the vulnerability of the psyops Humvee. Remaining at the police station would only further endanger the platoon and the Iraqi police. An RPG slammed into one of the Humvees, bouncing off the armour. It was time to leave, Lt Swanson decided.
There was a swift discussion about which route to take. Each road had been assigned a code name and there were two basic choices – head through the safer, southern sector via Florida and Arrows, the long way back, or head north through the eye of the storm and straight to base.
“Let’s head down Copper,” said Lt Swanson, plumping for the most direct route. “We’ve got to just shoot through and hope nothing hits us.” The heavily-armoured Bradleys were to take the front and rear.
If a Humvee was hit and taken out of action, the Bradleys were to draw up beside them to shield them from fire while any casualties were pulled out. By this time an AK-47 had opened up opposite the police station. With the crews of the Bradleys laying down suppressing fire, the soldiers from the Humvees ran out of the police station and clambered back into their vehicles. “Let’s get your asses out of here,” shouted Lt Swanson.
Sgt Ivey, taking up the rear, spotted a man with an Ak-47 creeping down an alley beside the police station. “He had blue jeans and a shirt on,” he recalled afterwards. “He got two shots off but they went over my head. I put four in his chest and he just fell backwards.” Another gunman appeared from the alley opposite. “I just held the trigger and squeezed off a few rounds. I think I got him in the leg.”
A third gunman appeared from the alley where the first had been shot. “I could hear the rounds bouncing off the vehicles and landing at my feet,” said Sgt Ivey. “I just grabbed my guys and we dove into the back of a Bradley.” As the six-vehicle convoy moved off towards route Copper, the Mahdi fire intensified. In Humvee Alpha Three Six, in the middle of the group, Sgt Williams let out a battle cry. “Yeehaah,” he screamed as he aimed his M-16. “Come on! Get some!”
As the vehicles sped up Copper, the shooting subsided and the crowds swarmed onto the streets. At the intersection with route Bravo an old refrigerator and the metal frame of a car had been put down to block the road. Specialist Brown braked and pulled the Humvee to the right as the convoy threaded its way through.
An old man dressed in a white robe beckoned the vehicles up the street towards a burning barricade of tyres and rubbish. A common Mahdi tactic is to use barricades to slow down or trap vehicles and then mount an ambush. Lt Swanson ordered a u-turn.
Alpha Three Six swung around. “Let’s do it baby, let’s do it!” whooped Sgt Williams as an RPG whooshed past from behind the barricade. “Hell, yes! Come on! I wasn’t feeling very loved. I hadn’t got shot at in a while.”
Sgt Jacob Kramer, 29, on the 7.62mm machine gun mounted on top, shot at each muzzle flash from the buildings to the right. Lt East, in the lead Humvee, spotted a gunman running towards his vehicle from a side street. “He was carrying one of the few AKs I’ve seen with a
shoulder stock,” he said afterwards. “I fired three shots and hit him almost dead centre. “His whole body hunched over and he fell forward. There was a dark reddish spot spreading across his chest. The way the bullets are made, if you hit someone there it’s a pretty fair assumption he’s going to be dead.”
The patrol headed south and back to the longer route home to base. Alpha Three Six plunged through a deep trench filled with effluent, sending it spraying up into the vehicle and onto the street. Speeding along, the convoy passed a clothes shop dedicated to the Brazilian
footballer Ronaldo and a barber’s called “Georg Michael”. By the playground US soldiers call Disneyland, some children waved. One boy raised him arms to simulate firing a shot.
As the convoy arrived back at Camp Eagle there was relief there had been no casualties but also excitement. “You missed the fun,” shouted one soldier at another on guard duty and then laughed. “He’s going to be all bent out of shape.”
An estimated seven or eight Mahdi Army members were killed in the afternoon firefight. While the Mahdi had been unsuccessful this time, the swiftness with which they attacked and then set up barricades to block off escape routes indicated a growing tactical sophistication.
That evening, Lt Swanson led a six-vehicle Bradley patrol that claimed 12 more Mahdi lives with no American casualties.
The next day, the men of Iron Deuce were gathered at a cigarette factory that had been designated for guns to be handed back. Seven hours into their duty a grand total of two AK-47s and one vintage Russian machine gun had been received.
There had been little pause to reflect on the enemy dead. “It’s an odd feeling to kill someone,” said Lt East, from Connecticut. “It’s not sadness. I’m not happy about it. It’s just a strange feeling knowing you’ve done that.” Sgt Williams was angry at the way the Mahdi fought. “They’re fighting us like cowards,” he said. “We’re out there trying to help them and they’re shooting us, using children as shields.”
For Specialist Brown, from Dallas, the war in Sadr City is primarily about protecting his platoon. “None of it bothers me really, he said. “I’m just out there doing what I have to stay alive – keep all of us alive – and go home.”
Hoping for the worst
May 15th 2004 – The Spectator
Toby Harnden talks to an anti-war journalist who wants to see more Iraqis die - so that Bush will be thrown out in November
There was something pitiful about the US army's attempts to show off Abu Ghraib to reporters here. Like package tourists, we were shepherded past smiling young soldiers wishing us 'good morning sir, ma'am' to a hastily-constructed new visitors' centre and then a pristine hospital where we were met by a surgeon called Good and a Lieutenant Colonel Proper.
Outside, hundreds of inmates swarmed towards our air-conditioned bus as we were briefed on how well Saddam Hussein's former prison is now being run after the publication of the rather, er, regrettable holiday snaps taken by the first lot of Americans to run the place.
In the interrogation centre, Colonel Foster Payne explained that the eyebolts on the floor were used to restrain inmates only in exceptional circumstances and it was important to realise that Abu Ghraib was an 'intelligence-lucrative' environment.
Our chief tour guide was Major General Geoffrey Miller, Abu Ghraib commander and formerly the top guard-dog at Guantanamo Bay, aka 'Gitmo', the extended Caribbean vacation destination for many of those captured on battlefields in Afghanistan. Unfortunately, or appropriately, he looks like a brutal parade sergeant from one of those 1980s Vietnam films, and talks like one too. 'There's two types of people in this world, ' he drawled at us. 'Texans and those who want to be Texans.'
In the newly painted block 1-A, one of the five women - of 3,200 inmates - wailed and accused her guards of inserting a pen inside her. Miller, through gritted teeth, urged us to clear out. 'You're violating our requests now, ' he barked.
'We've asked you to move on.' Moving on is not going to be easy for any of us. The New Yorker's Seymour Hersh, the reporter who broke the story of the My Lai massacre in Vietnam, is drip-feeding us with new images each week.
There seems to be no story about torture - real, imagined or invented - in Iraq that won't be covered exhaustively and breathlessly. We know more about Specialist Lynndie England, the West Virginian with the dog lead, than we ever wanted to. A month ago, no one would have listened to the female detainee's abuse claim; now, few would not believe her.
But what do the abominations perpetrated at Abu Ghraib really tell us about Iraq and the faltering American-led project to plant the seeds of democracy here? And why are so many people who were against the war, or are incapable of viewing any American action as anything other than evil or stupid, greeting each fresh revelation with an almost indecent glee?
The other day, while taking a break by the Al-Hamra Hotel pool, fringed with the usual cast of tattooed defence contractors, I was accosted by an American magazine journalist of serious accomplishment and impeccable liberal credentials.
She had been disturbed by my argument that Iraqis were better off than they had been under Saddam and I was now - there was no choice about this - going to have to justify my bizarre and dangerous views. I'll spare you most of the details because you know the script - no WMD, no 'imminent threat' (though the point was to deal with Saddam before such a threat could emerge), a diversion from the hunt for bin Laden, enraging the Arab world. Etcetera.
But then she came to the point. Not only had she 'known' the Iraq war would fail but she considered it essential that it did so because this would ensure that the 'evil' George W. Bush would no longer be running her country. Her editors back on the East Coast were giggling, she said, over what a disaster Iraq had turned out to be.
'Lots of us talk about how awful it would be if this worked out.' Startled by her candour, I asked whether thousands more dead Iraqis would be a good thing.
She nodded and mumbled something about Bush needing to go. By this logic, I ventured, another September 11 on, say, September 11 would be perfect for pushing up John Kerry's poll numbers. 'Well, that's different - that would be Americans, ' she said, haltingly. 'I guess I'm a bit of an isolationist.' That's one way of putting it.
The moral degeneracy of these sentiments didn't really hit me until later when I dined at the home of Abu Salah, a father of six who took over as the Daily Telegraph's chief driver in Baghdad when his predecessor was killed a year ago. It was a - sadly - rare opportunity to speak to ordinary Iraqis in a social setting.
As the lights went out for the third time that evening, we discussed what life after Saddam was like. It was possible to talk freely now, said his sister Jenan, but the Americans had not yet brought either peace or democracy. Two months ago, the family had been forced to raise $40,000 for the release of her abducted brother-in-law.
She had decided not to apply for a job at the new American Embassy because of the dangers. 'My friend worked as a translator for the Coalition, ' she said. 'One night her car was ambushed by the resistance and they killed her with a bullet to the head.'
This week, a neighbour's three-year-old daughter had been kidnapped. All Jenan longed for was stability.
Iraq is so dangerous now that hardly any television journalists venture out of the AlHamra or the Palestine Hotel, where lager and post-barbecue spliffs help relieve the tension of being in a war zone. There are insurance problems and the brooding, exSAS bodyguards forbid any excursions.
The dirty little secret is that the endless 'stand-ups' you see on your screens are based on no reporting at all. Those of us who work for newspapers grow our Shia beards or, in the case of the women and the occasional John Simpson wannabe, wear hijabs and trust in fate, our relative anonymity and the skill and bravery of Abu Salah and his kind to get us to Najaf and Fallujah without being summarily executed.
But what we can accomplish is limited.
Into this journalistic vacuum it is all too easy for the prejudices of the press corps - tourists looking through telescopes - to flow more freely than ever and the resulting reports to be distorted and incomplete. After the horrifying videotape slaughter of Nick Berg, there will be even greater reluctance among Westerners to leave their fortified hotels and compounds.
Whatever we thought about the war before it was launched, it is imperative that the forces of Arab nationalism and Islamism that now threaten to destroy Iraq are defeated. If America fails in Iraq it will be all of us in the West, not just Bush, who will suffer. But those who would be most in peril, of course, would be the Iraqis, who deserve better than to have their country treated as an electoral playground by the American Left or Right. To wish otherwise is as sick as the grins on the faces of the Abu Ghraib torturers.
Victory is ours, say returning Fallujans
May 3rd 2004
By Toby Harnden in Fallujah
THE lifting of the siege of Fallujah by US marines proves that Iraqis can defeat the might of America, defiant residents of the battle-torn rebel stronghold said yesterday.
Hundreds of Fallujans flooded back into the devastated city after fleeing the American bombardment during the 25-day siege. Many found their homes destroyed and their mosques scarred by shells and bullets.
But most said the destruction caused by daily battles between insurgents and US forces and the hundreds of Iraqi casualties were a price worth paying.
"This victory here will be a symbol not only for the Iraqi resistance but the whole Islamic world," said Juma Maloud al-A'ani, 68, a retired headmaster. "We killed many Americans and stopped them from entering our city for a month."
The triumphant mood in Fallujah was tempered by raw anger and deep suspicion of Westerners. Masked insurgents with rifles strapped to their backs patrolled the streets.
There was no visible presence of the new "Fallujah Brigade", a 1,000-strong Iraqi force formed with American agreement to police the Sunni city, 30 miles west of Baghdad, where tribal loyalties have long held sway.
At the Al-Hadra mosque, a large middle-aged man in traditional Arab dress threatened reporters. "Yalla, yalla. Get out, get out," he shouted in Arabic and English. "All of you are spies. If you value your lives, then leave now."
The minaret of the Abdel Rahman al-Mudalal mosque on the outskirts of the city had suffered two direct hits from rockets fired by a Cobra attack helicopter.
Sheikh Assam Abdullah, imam of the mosque, said American soldiers had tried to drown out the muezzin's call to prayer by playing loud disco music.
"During the bombing we were broadcasting 'Allah Akbar' or 'God is great', and the Americans thought we were encouraging people to fight. All we wanted was peace in our city.
"On the fourth day of the siege the mosque was attacked by bullets. On the 10th day, the helicopter gunships blasted the minaret. Then we left. This is a holy place. It should be sacred, like one of your churches."
Mr al-A'ani said he had once taught Maj Gen Jassem Mohammed Saleh, the former officer in Saddam Hussein's Republican Guard who put himself forward as the leader of the Fallujah Brigade.
Gen Saleh is a prominent member of the Mohammedi clan, part of the Duleimi tribe which is dominant in the region. "They are very good people. They have a history of rising up and fighting the British in the 1920s. He is a courageous man and friend of the people," said Mr al-A'ani.
While the local people support Gen Saleh, his stock is not so high in Washington and US officers said he was unlikely to be confirmed as the commander.
Ali Ghani, 24, a member of the Iraqi Civil Defence Corps working alongside American soldiers on the main checkpoint into the city, said he did not support the insurgents but would be powerless to force them to give up weapons.
"We will not be able to convince them. They fight to defend the city but I defend the city in a political way. By working with the Americans, I will ensure they leave sooner."
His was a rare moderate voice. Members of the Abdel Qassin family were incensed to find the upstairs of their house completely burnt out after a missile strike.
"We will not accept any filthy dollars in compensation from the Americans," said Farouk Abdel Qassin, 41. "The name of Fallujah will rise from the ashes of this house. The Americans tried to burn us in our beds but they could not destroy our dignity and this time the victory is ours."
Fallujah will be your Stalingrad, Americans told
April 26th 2004
By Toby Harnden in Fallujah
ON the dusty road to the Jordanian Hospital on the edge of besieged Fallujah a skull and crossbones flew defiantly from the bonnet of a US military Humvee yesterday as preparations were made for a renewed offensive.
America's senior general described the city as a "huge rats' nest", while Col John Coleman, a US marine commander in Fallujah, suggested that it was a "centre of gravity" in the war against terrorism.
"As Fallujah goes, so goes central Iraq," he said. "As central Iraq goes, so goes the nation."
The US marines have taken heavy casualties in Fallujah since Saddam Hussein was toppled last year and the Sunni city, a Saddam Hussein stronghold to which foreign fighters have flocked, is seen as Iraq's main battleground.
But for Amar Abbas, a 35-year-old electrical engineer, Fallujah is simply home. He fled with many members of his extended family when the fighting in the city erupted and took refuge in the nearby village of Na'amiya. At the weekend, his relatives said, an American missile strike there killed a dozen people and injured many more. Mr Abbas lay in a temporary hospital yesterday preparing for an operation to remove shrapnel from his jaw.
Opposite him was his son Othman, eight, whose face had been horribly disfigured and left hand rendered useless by the blast.
"We thought we would be safe in Na'amiya," said Mr Abbas. "We were sleeping outside on the ground when the planes and helicopters came. It was 2 am. My son wanted to become a surgeon, but now that can never be. They even prevented us evacuating the wounded. It was hours before we could get Othman out."
The only words his son had spoken since he was so badly injured, he said, were "I hate the Americans". As Othman stared blankly at the ceiling, his father said he wanted the Americans to pay for what they had done.
"Fallujah will be their Stalingrad. The Euphrates will be a river of their blood. Now the resistance is spreading all over Iraq and everyone is coming to Fallujah to help us. It will not be conquered."
The official estimate of civilian deaths in Fallujah since US forces entered the city three weeks ago is 271.
The trigger for the offensive came when four defence contractors were killed and their charred bodies were dragged through the streets and hung from a bridge.
Two of the Iraqi dead were unidentified and buried in makeshift graves in the grounds of the hospital. "One body was brought here in a blanket by American troops," said Major Moneeb Zurikat, the hospital's security officer.
"They dumped it at the gate and shouted, 'Now you can bury your Muslim brother'. What can I say? There is nothing to say about this."
With the Pentagon determined to break the will of the insurgents and avenge the lives of the many Americans they have killed, a peaceful resolution with the diehard Iraqi fighters is unlikely.
Another US soldier was killed in Baghdad yesterday and a US Coast Guard officer died of wounds sustained on Saturday in an audacious suicide attack on a Gulf oil facility. Two American sailors died and oil exports stopped for at least two days.
With the expertise of the insurgents improving all the time and the defiance in Fallujah acting as an inspiration nationally, commanders believe that only an American victory in the city can break the will of their enemies.
At the checkpoint outside the hospital an American military policeman shrugged when asked about the dead and injured of Na'amiya.
"We received some mortar and small arms fire from there and so we said, 'to hell with it' and just went in.
"We were supposed to wait until today, but we got pissed off and decided to draw a line. We pretty much took out anyone who was in there being stupid."
'I killed the Italian who owned this rifle. God willing I'll use it to finish off the Americans'
April 20th 2004
By Toby Harnden in Najaf
CLAD in a black turban and nursing a Beretta AR-70 rifle, the Mahdi militiaman known as Dhaib al-Sahrah, or Desert Fox, pledged undying allegiance to his leader.
"A year ago, I killed the Italian soldier who owned this rifle," he said, guarding the entrance to the headquarters of Moqtada al-Sadr, the firebrand Shia demagogue who has led his militia, the Mahdi army, in a bloody uprising against coalition forces around Najaf.
"If God is willing, I shall use it to finish off the Americans in Iraq. They may have their advanced technology but we have our faith and it is written that they shall die here. They are paid to fight but we have God's truth on our side."
A former Iraqi special forces soldier who deserted rather than fight for Saddam Hussein in the 1991 Gulf war, he gazed across from the Street of the Prophet at the gold dome of Najaf's shrine of Imam Ali, the Prophet Mohammed's son-in-law, and smiled confidently.
The Shia holy city, described by one American colonel as Iraq's equivalent of the Vatican, has 2,500 troops from the US 1st Armoured Division camped on its outskirts.
For the time being, Najaf is in the grip of the Mahdi army even though the majority of its people owe primary allegiance to the more moderate Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Husseini al-Sistani, a highly respected Shia cleric.
Approaching the neighbouring town of Kufa, I was held up at gunpoint with my translator and driver. We were ordered out of our car and driven to the local Sadr office in a battered Toyota truck loaded with rocket-propelled grenades.
"We have caught one," said the senior militiaman, reporting back by walkie-talkie. "He says he is British." Later, when a passport confirmed my nationality, the translator was told: "He is lucky. If he was American, I would kill him." A two-hour interrogation ended with a grudging all clear and The Daily Telegraph team was allowed to proceed to Najaf with an armed Mahdi escort.
During the 100-mile drive from Baghdad, not a single coalition checkpoint had been encountered. On the outskirts of the Iraqi capital, a roadside bomb, in military parlance an Improvised Explosives Device, had exploded 100 yards ahead as an American patrol vehicle passed.
"Just ran over a fing IED," said a US soldier jumping from a Humvee in a vain search for the insurgent who had activated the device. "Didn't see anyone running off, did you?"
Abu Amir, the senior Mahdi interrogator, said he expected the rising in Najaf to spread and link up with anti-coalition rebels in Baghdad and even Sunni extremists in Fallujah in the north.
"Iraq is under occupation and all of us, Sunni, Shia and Kurd, should join together to achieve victory," he said. "If the Americans enter Najaf there will be blood running in the streets like never before. Moqtada al-Sadr's demands are to release all Mahdi prisoners, to pull out US forces from the area, to put Saddam Hussein on trial and to give back authority to the Iraqis."
The stand-off outside Najaf has continued but there have been indications that a compromise may be found. Only the first demand seems overly optimistic.
Sadr has even hinted he might be prepared to disband his militia, a well-armed but rag-tag band of fighters, many from the Baghdad slums of Sadr City, named after the cleric's father, who was murdered by Saddam five years ago.
On the outskirts of Kufa yesterday there was the rattle of gunfire as the Mahdi army engaged coalition troops, including Spanish soldiers who had just been told they would soon be going home. By the time darkness fell, the militia had seized an American Humvee. Less than 100 yards down the Street of the Prophet from Sadr's headquarters are the offices of Ayatollah Sistani, who has pointedly refused to meet the young pretender. He is working behind the scenes to avoid further bloodshed and keep US forces out of Najaf.
"We want more than fake slogans," said the owner of a watch shop next to the Sistani offices, looking with disdain at the armed hotheads chanting outside. "Sadr is taking advantage of the situation. Sistani has sent religious men to tell him to calm things down."
Sadr loyalists, whose anger takes its roots from the oppression of the Shia under Saddam, see President George W Bush as a tyrant in the Ba'athist dictator's mould. "We thank Allah and not the Americans for the fall of Saddam," said Abu Amir. "Saddam was the pupil but America is the master. He prepared the way for the Bush occupation."
Most ordinary Shia, however, simply yearn for stability. "It is a tragic situation," said Ali Ahmed, a pilgrim who had walked more than 30 miles to Najaf for the holy day. "We don't care even if a Jew will rule us. The important thing is to have a leader who is accepted by all and is good to us."
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