An Iraqi border fort sitting less than 150 yards from Syria / Photo: David Botti

Meanwhile, members of Iraq’s border police (the IBP) wait, watch, and listen from their forts and outposts, some with little more than a flashlight, a few rifles, and handheld radios frequently turned off to conserve what little battery life remains.

Equipment shortages, lack of fuel, poor training, and the large swaths of terrain to cover have hampered the force’s effectiveness. And, the life out here is hard. Between the more livable forts spaced along the border, IBP soldiers can find themselves working for days at smaller outposts that can consist of only a small tent. Around them the desert stretches endlessly in all directions, with no one and nothing in sight.

Tasked with advising and training the nearly 3,000 members of Ninawa’s border force are three small groups of senior U.S. Army soldiers assigned to units known as border transition teams. Lead by Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Rainey, the soldiers have a 12-month mission to strengthen this force, while trying to ensure needed changes ultimately come from the Iraqis themselves. It’s a difficult balance for the Americans to find.

Threats to the Border

On a day-to-day basis, the two main threats to the Iraq-Syria border are the smuggling of various products, and the crossing of foreign fighters; though the degree to which these types of operations are intertwined is still murky. There is the possibility that the smugglers are simply trying to make a living the only way they know how, while foreign fighters arrive in Iraq with the aid of sympathetic residents living in border villages. Or, smugglers are aiding the fighters, using their knowledge of the terrain to facilitate movement.

The reality may also be some combination of the two, but while the IBP and Americans can quantify smuggling operations by goods confiscated (50,000 packs of cigarettes were confiscated in July), it’s difficult to track the foreign fighters.

“The IBP has never caught foreign fighters in the act [of coming through],” said Lieutenant Colonel Todd Wasmund, head of a transition team here. “It’s all been done through intelligence.”

These fighters never cross the border carrying weapons or other identifying equipment, choosing instead to blend in with the locals. It isn’t until they travel further into the country, that they join the various insurgent groups.

One result of this is the relatively low number of violent incidents, though they do occur. The border police have found themselves the targets of roadside bombs and small arms fire, as smugglers seek to harass and intimidate. It’s not uncommon to see IBP vehicles driving around with all their windows blown out from a bomb blast, though the resources to repair this damage are scant.

American commanders also cite the isolation of the border area as another reason for so few attacks, saying insurgents prefer to hit higher profile, more densely populated areas. Still, earlier this year a suicide bomber detonated himself steps from the border in the town of Rabiyah, one of two official points of entry from Syria. His targets: machines in place for biometrically scanning travelers to Iraq.

In some places Iraq's border with Syria is marked only by a sand berm, such as seen here / Photo: David Botti

Captain Williams and his interpreter question a resident living near their headquarters / Photo: David Botti

It is here that a vehicle may need to use its windshield wipers to clear dust off the front windows, where a soldier once joked he'd inhaled so much dirt he wasn't hungry anymore, and where salt lines quickly form on your arms and neck from sweating in 115 degree heat.

It is also here that just after midnight on July 25, American and Iraqi soldiers launched what commanders said was the largest air assault in Iraq over the past 11 months.  Units from the Second Brigade Combat Team, First Armored Division, lifted off in Blackhawk and Chinook helicopters only to land fifteen minutes later ready for the push into their first objectives under a nearly full moon.

The goal was to occupy a portion of southern Diyala described as a "seam" where insurgent forces have been able to operate with no presence of Iraqi or coalition forces.  The operation was part of a larger offensive throughout the province tasked with the goal of clearing the region of Al Qaeda and other anti-coalition groups. 

Iraqi government officials say 50,000 Iraqi troops are now engaged in the operation through the province.

"We're a holding force, not a strike force," said Lieutenant Colonel Rich Morales, commander of the U.S. Army battalion that landed along the "seam" on the morning of the 25th.  His task was to secure the area with American and Iraqi forces long enough to allow more Iraq Army soldiers to move in and establish permanent operations.

A U.S. soldier stands guard while Iraqi soldiers search a house in southern Diyala / Photo: David Botti

This area has seen little sustained U.S. presence over the course of the war.  Soldiers and residents often referenced two past American operations that were quick, violent, and sometimes resulted in arrests of family and acquaintances.  The residents were, as Morales expected, nervous and weary of another U.S. presence.  At the same time, the small populations of scattered villages and towns meant to American commanders that nearly everyone must have at least some knowledge of whatever insurgent activity was occurring.

"At best their level of involvement is being complicit," Morales said on the eve of the operation.  Two days later, as his soldiers began sweeping the countryside for weapons caches and anti-coalition forces, and as the number of Army vehicles disabled by roadside bombs increased at an alarming rate, Morales took a cue from author Joseph Conrad when he characterized his area of operations in another way: the heart of darkness.

For soldiers of Alpha Company 1-35, lead by Captain Jamal Williams, the greatest adversity on the morning of the 25th was not a well organized defense by insurgent forces, but the desert sun that rose after a full morning of searching farm houses and digging in.  The incoming supply convoy was delayed and soldiers were running out of water.  Body bags full of water bottles had been dropped by helicopters, but were so far from the soldiers' fighting positions that many returned from fetching the bottles on the verge of collapsing.  The company medics began administering IV's, and one end of the small mud hut set up as the command post became crowded with soldiers laying down with needles in their arms.

Captain Williams let his men take it easy on this first day, and a helicopter re-supply was scheduled for nighttime.  Soon the soldiers were rested, hydrated, and a majority had settled into a small stone building and its surrounding courtyard roughly thirty feet from the mud hut headquarters.

Alpha Company's closest neighbors were not the Iraqi civilians they'd come to question and eventually administer to, but nearly twenty malnourished cows drinking from a nearby rusted water tank, whose excrement littered the ground where the soldiers walked.  Beyond these animals, lived the residents of two small compounds of more mud huts and bare yards where laundry hung, and long disabled farm equipment sat rusting.  There were children of all ages, women dressed in black abayas, and one old man.  But, to quote Army terminology, there were no military-age males to be seen.

Each Army unit participating in this operation found the same lack of men in each of their own areas.  This was one of the first tips to commanders that things in this seemingly quiet and isolated stretch of desert were not all they may seem.

Two days after arriving, Williams took a small patrol of American and Iraqi soldiers to the home of the old man.  The soldier's had been there on the previous day, but Williams was taking his interaction with the locals at a slow pace.  Initially, he'd told the residents why the U.S. Army was in the area, and inquired as to where all the young men were.  The old man said they would be back, that they'd gone to get water and machine parts.

For this second visit, the introductions having already been made, Williams again planned to try and gather intel on the makeup of these small villages.  The patrol walked the 50 yards from the company headquarters to the old man's house, and entered the courtyard as soldiers fanned out to once again secure the area.  Williams' interpreter called for the old man who appeared in the yard wearing a light brown robe, and greeted the soldiers with a half-smile and a throaty "salaam alaikum."

A resident in Alpha Company's area of operations listens to questions from Captain Williams / Photo: David Botti

Williams once again asked the man if there was anything the family needed.  Water, said the man—the well water was not good.  And, electricity was only a rare occurrence.  Other than that the family was fine. 

Then the issue of anti-coalition forces in the area was raised.  Captain Williams received no straight answer.

"I'm an old man trying to give you hospitality," said the man.   "But I will be honest, if they come and see I am talking with Americans they'll have no mercy."

"It's your home, I understand that," said Williams.  "I don't want you to do anything that would endanger your family."

The report between the soldier and the resident was amicable and respectful.  Children peered from doorways, or stood between the soldiers looking up and following the conversation.  Williams had taken his helmet off, a sign of respect most soldiers show when speaking with someone in their home.  The man answered Williams' questions without hesitation, gesturing with one hand as he talked.

The captain again asked about the absence of young men in the village, as he had on the previous visit.

"Do you know how many sheep these men have to take care of?" the old man said.  "The only people who left, left to get parts for their machines."

The man's answer was the same as on the previous day, and indeed, similar to many answers other nearby villagers would give the soldiers in the coming days: the absence of these young men was simply work related, and had nothing to do with anti-coalition activities.

Walking back to his headquarters at the end of the patrol, Williams discussed whether or not the old man was telling the truth.  He knew the man knew something, but it would take time and a foundation of trust before truly useful information was gained.

"There's a very little bit of black, a very little bit of white, and a whole lot of gray," he said.

A U.S. soldier on patrol in southern Diyala / Photo: David Botti

Bravo Battery soldiers during down time. Photo: David Botti

Their role is not as infantryman per se, but each day they conduct patrols on foot or in humvees.  With their Howitzers miles away in storage, Bravo Battery's mission is to protect the citizens of their neighborhood.  The reality here, however, is far more complex than that single mission statement seems to dictate.

The battery's area of operations is Baghdad's Karadah neighborhood, a peninsula whose three sides are bordered by the Tigris River.  To the west sits the International Zone, or Green Zone.  To the north are the still restive streets of Sadr City where commanders here say militia leaders often left for the quiet streets of Karadah during periods of intense fighting with the Americans.

Karadah itself is normally considered one of the safer areas of Baghdad.  Since March, when Bravo Battery moved into Karadah (they arrived in Iraq this past December), the unit has managed to escape much of the intense fighting that often comes to mind when Baghdad is mentioned.  

"If Karadah ever goes to hell, then something's definitely wrong in Baghdad," said Sergeant Nicholas Otto, a Third Platoon team leader, on the area's reputation for stability.

With my first embed complete and my second about to begin in earnest, I’ve begun to notice similarities in the way people here view the situation in Baghdad.  Everyone, from privates to captains, from journalists to civilians, seems to be experiencing a collective sigh of relief. 

You’ll often hear mention of the fighting from mid-March through May.  Soldiers I’ve talked to shake their heads and tell countless stories from that period, as if it were another time and another war.  The field artillerymen of Bravo Battery 5-25 spoke of standing on the roof of their headquarters and watching rockets stream toward the Green Zone.  They recounted rocket attacks on their own battalion headquarters that became so frequent, they would shrug their shoulders and continue with conversations when the alarm for “incoming” sounded. 

Today I met my new unit: Charlie Company 2-30, an infantry company based out of Fort Polk, Louisiana.  Their area of operations is a roughly 10-square-kilometer chunk of eastern Baghdad, whose western limits border the tamed, but still dangerous, neighborhood of Sadr City.  The company is clearly used to intensive combat operations.  It was infantrymen from this unit who headed to the area when attacks became so fierce that combat engineers refused to continue with construction of the wall built to isolate Sadr City.  I was told of main supply routes so densely populated with roadside bombs that simply bringing basic supplies to combat outposts required considerable planning. The company first sergeant plans on nominating nearly an entire rifle squad for the Army commendation medal based their actions during a single incident. 

But today these events are the stuff of war stories told around the table.  The mood is hopeful and thankful.  Many soldiers seem to hold a great sense of pride that through the thickest of fighting they held on, and have now broken through to the other side: relative peace. 

They refer to the various militias historically operating around Baghdad as now being unorganized groups of thugs.  The formidable enemy tactics they once encountered are no more.   

Still, threats remain.  There are constant patrols to discover firing positions of rockets, or the facilities that manufacture them.  There is the rush to build-up various neighborhoods so disenfranchised residents don’t turn to criminal activities.  And, there is the belief some hold that the militias are simply laying low for the time being. 

No matter what the future holds, or what the present reality truly is, the fact remains that for soldiers operating in Baghdad the worst seems to be over.  A few stable months have allowed infantry units such as Charlie Company to move from (to use military-speak) “kinetic” to “non-kinetic” operations. 

Offensive missions still occur, especially depending on the neighborhood, though they’ve become the exception rather than the norm. 

Despite these promising developments, few here seem at all ready to begin letting their guard down.

When word came down the chain of command that Third Platoon was taking an evening patrol to Salam's house, a handful of soldiers knew they'd be skipping the Army dinner about to be served.

I'd seen Salam once before, during my first few minutes with Bravo Battery as I was introduced around the headquarters' main office. Salam sat in front of a computer wearing a collared shirt and khakis.   He turned halfway around to wave, gave a genuine smile, then turned back to his business.

The business, it turned out, was getting paid by the U.S. Army.

Salam is the founder and leader of his neighborhood's Sons of Iraq, a type of local policing force usually organized by prominent members of a community. Rank-and-file members generally receive $300-per-month directly from the U.S. military.  Sons of Iraq units are showing up all over country, which the American commanders say has lead to a significant reduction in violence throughout areas of conflict. 

Despite these success stories, there are critics at all levels who doubt the long-term effectiveness of such units.  Speaking to a Los Angeles Times reporter in May, a U.S. Army platoon leader characterized the Sons of Iraq leader in his own area of operations:

"Most of them kind of operate like dons in their areas," said 2nd Lt. Forrest Pierce, a platoon leader with the 3rd Squadron, 7th Cavalry Regiment. They shake down local businessmen for protection money, seize rivals for links to the insurgency and are always angling for more men, more territory and more power.

Soldiers in Bravo Battery's third platoon, however, seem to trust their own local Sons of Iraq head.  

"I think he's a pretty good guy with good intentions," said Private First Class Anthony Spears.  "He's just trying to help out his neighborhood."

As the sun began to set over Baghdad, Third Platoon mounted their armored humvees and set out for the 10 minute drive to Salam 's house, a nondescript white-faced building in the Riyadh section of Karadah. 

That night, as during other recent nights all over the city, the mood was quiet and relaxed as residents mingled outside their homes and businesses.  The humvees arrived at a small Sons of Iraq checkpoint, and to the left stood Salam in front of his home ready to great the soldiers.  He motioned us inside.

"They know the way already," he said, pointing to one of the soldiers.  

We passed through an entranceway which, I'd learn later, bore the marks of an unsuccessful bomb attack against Salam carried out earlier this year.

A Sons of Iraq checkpoint in Karadah. Photo: David Botti

As a visitor to this near-weekly meeting of Salam and Third Platoon's soldiers, it was difficult to gage the dynamic among them.  Four soldiers, along with their Iraqi interpreter, settled into the room as if it were their own.  They pulled off flak jackets and helmets and flopped onto the empty couches.  They treated Salam as they might a favorite uncle, and he in turn offered cigarettes, Pepsi, and Jordanian energy drinks.

Yesterday's Third Platoon patrol took us to the same National Police headquarters in the Kamshara area as the day before.  Later in the morning a joint patrol was planned to clear the main road of rocks and debris.  The purpose here is to remove any type of concealment for explosives planted along the route.

Along with Third Platoon came Bravo Battery's commander Captain Christopher Kliewer, a red-haired Oklahoman who watched as the acting-platoon leader, Staff Sergeant Eddie Ruiz, sat down with the National Police captain.

The meeting between leaders was amicable enough. Ruiz ran down the usual checklist of supplies the Army could provide and, just as the day before, discussed the morale of his colleague's men. 

As the meeting came to a close the room's door swung open and a policeman entered somewhat excited.  There had been a carjacking on a highway nearby.  There was no other information.  The policeman left.

The National Police captain sighed and seemed disinterested considering the violence that occurred less than 500 yards away.  It wasn't in his district, he told the Americans through their military translator.  He would need a direct order from his commanding officer to send men those few hundred yards to assist in the necessary police work.  Otherwise, if one of these policemen were hurt doing so, he'd be in considerable trouble.

At that moment the same national policeman entered the room and reported a civilian was killed in the attack.  A minor commotion ensued as both the National Police captain and the Army translator both tried to question the bearer of news, who seemed uniformed on anything but the most general of details.  

He eventually left and the room settled once more.

The National Police captain continued, saying the Iraqi Police were responsible for that area, and that they do nothing but checkpoints without patrolling their area. The captain recounted one incident where Iraqi Police simply stood by as gunman opened fire on a group of civilians.

Some background: The National Police and the Iraqi Police constitute two of the six armed security forces operating in the Kadarah neighborhood, the other four being the U.S. Army, the Iraqi Army, the neighborhood-based Sons of Iraq, and the Kurdish security detail for Iraq's president Jalal Talibani, who lives in western Karadah.

Soldiers here explained the difference between the Iraqi Police and the National Police as being akin to local and state police in the United States.  While the Iraqi Police are strictly assigned to neighborhood, the National Police are assigned throughout the country.

Checkpoints manned by these various groups can be as close as a few blocks away. There is little or no communication between these checkpoints directly, Captain Kliewer said, but so far this hasn't presented any significant problems.

If you could go on Iraqi television and tell the country one thing what would it be?

I'd try to emphasize that we're trying to help them.  I think it's mixed: some people know we're here to help them, others don't.  I'd ask for their cooperation, since it seems like half cooperate and half don't.  It's just like in the U.S. where it's how your parents raise you.  If their parents don't like us they won't.  And if their parents like us they will.

-PFC Scott Glover, 22, Stockbridge, GA

SGT Otto. Photo: David Botti

Can't we all just get along?  That's the easiest way to sum it up.

-SGT Nicholas Otto, 23, Milwaukee, WI

That's a hard one.  I'd say, hey, if you want to make your country better, you've got to get involved in the whole thing.  I can't tell 'em that they're all going to start trusting each other.  All I can say is just for them to get involved.  That's the whole reason we're here.

-PFC Brandin Delion, 19, Riverside, CA

A Tuesday morning patrol for Third Platoon brought them to what's considered one of the less friendly sections of Karadah.   The buildings are thought to house members of the Jaysh al-Mahdi, or JAM, Muqtada al-Sadr's militia unit.  There haven't been any overt problems in the area recently, Staff Sergeant Eddie Ruiz, the acting-platoon leader said—it's the countless repair shops, warehouses, and metal shops that cause concern.  

As Sergeant Jeffery Breen put it after we dismounted the humvees and began to hop-step over large puddles of oily water: "they can build anything they want here."  The worry is that what could be built here is some sort of explosive device that would eventually be used against U.S. soldiers.

On the previous night's patrol through another of Karadah's districts, the soldiers freely shook hands and joked with neighborhood residents.  Tuesday morning in the JAM area, however, the soldiers were largely greeted without emotion, or with what seemed to be a carefully feigned disinterest in their presence.  

Sitting in chairs outside their shops, or walking alongside the patrol as they go about their daily business, the people watched Third Platoon's humvees rumble by.  Overhead electrical wires sagged.  The soldiers explained these low-hanging wires are one of the reasons they can't use the much touted MRAP (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected) vehicles, which are considered the military's new line of defense against roadside bombs and explosives.  Here the MRAP's are too tall and would easily catch onto the wires and pull the electrical polls down.

Despite the weary looks of the neighborhood residents, Third Platoon remained in good spirits.  Squad leader Sergeant Jeffery Breen even managed to elicit a tight smile from a shop owner when he borrowed the man's hose and pretended to wash the shop's driveway.

Third Platoon soldiers on patrol. Photo: David Botti

A white Kia sedan screeched to a stop, as one of the humvees turned onto a main street full of early morning traffic.  The driver continued to stare straight ahead, as a soldier lifted his hand to stop the rest of the traffic.