Soldier's Home

Frustration and Hope on the Syrian Border

2008-08-22T10:43:21Z

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

Roughly 250 miles northwest of Baghdad, the border between Iraq’s Ninawa province and Syria is marked by nothing more than a single dirt berm. The mound is easy enough to walk, and in some places, drive a vehicle over. While the terrain is mostly flat, nighttime often brings a consuming darkness and electricity here is non-existent. Snaking through this terrain are countless dried-up canals, affording the area’s smugglers concealed routes through which their cross-border business is conducted with relative ease.

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

The One Thing Everyone Needs

Among IBP forces all along the border, the single common denominator is almost always the same: fuel is scarce. Out here, having enough fuel means being able to fill a vehicle to a quarter tank. Without fuel the IBP’s machine gun-mounted Chevy pickup trucks cannot patrol the border, or deliver supplies. Generators which could provide electricity for recharging radio batteries and spotlights sit idle. Major James Moses, head of a transition team responsible for the southern portion of Ninawa’s border, recounted with amusement seeing one border policeman mix small amounts of gas and kerosene to make diesel fuel.

“I don’t know how he knew what to do, and what amounts to mix, but he did it” Moses said. “These guys know how to make something out of nothing.”

Moses also pointed out that even if the border police were able to strengthen their numbers to fill in the unguarded gaps along the border, there wouldn’t be enough fuel to sustain the larger force.

Iraqi Colonel Abed Al Karem, head of a local IBP battalion, expressed hopelessness over his unit’s fuel shortages. The problem, he said, exists at the IBP’s higher levels, and is beyond his own control.

“Sometimes I just sit down and I think: why [do we have this problem], it’s only fuel,” he said. “Iraq is all fuel. It is the first nation of fuel. Here in Iraq the fuel is more than water.”

Fuel and power shortages affect not only the IBP, but also the civilian populace. As one drives along the border road at night, the differences are quickly evident. Across the berm in Syria, nearby villages appear as clusters of bright lights while on the Iraqi side only the occasional porch light powered by a generator is visible.

American commanders here said one reason the IBP lacks supplies is its distant proximity to Baghdad where the force is administered by the Ministry of Interior. They said other M.O.I. forces, such as the National Police and Iraqi Police, are first in line for money and gear.

“The further you are from centers of influence, the less you get,” said Lt. Col. Rainey, “Things are just very slow to trickle down. Until we get the resources to replace what we expend, it’s going to be a struggle”

Confronting Reliability

When Lt. Col. Wasmund arrived at the border this past January, he found a force unable to adequately train itself. Compounding his challenges was the realization some in the IBP, including officers and key leaders, were actually involved to some degree in smuggling operations.

“We were cruising along feeling like we were doing some good work, feeling like we were making progress,” Wasmund said. “We hadn’t heard any negative reports about our police yet. Then we got the first report from a detainee that, by name, some of our guys were corrupt. And it was like someone took a pin and just popped our little bubble. For about three days it felt like it was a funeral—it was so demoralizing. You’re looking ahead almost nine months before you are done doing this mission, and it’s futile. It just feels like it’s a waste.”

As the leader of a small team constantly working in close proximity and living at a Spartan combat outpost, Wasmund knew back in January that the success of his mission depended on reinventing how they approached advising the IBP. He described his assessment of the situation as existing in layers: the tasks of training, improving IBP logistics, and rooting out those border police deemed unreliable.

“We had to be careful not to generalize that because one leader is corrupt that the entire organization is corrupt,” he said. “Everybody wants to hang a label and it’s not that simple.”

Still, among the rank-and-file IBP soldiers, some of whom are thought to take bribes from smugglers to look the other way, Wasmund said their motives are understandable. The rudimentary conditions the IBP works under can easily foster discontent.

“If you’re not motivated, and you feel like you’re destined to fail, you’d be pretty vulnerable to take a bribe or get involved in opportunity for profit,” he said. “And if your income provides for 12 to 15 people, moonlighting would be tempting.”

Glimpses of the Future

Since their arrival in January, the border transition teams here in Ninawa cite progress with the IBP, although it’s often slow, frustrating, and requires long days and nights of traveling 180 miles of border.

Earlier this summer Lt. Col. Wasmund began what he calls the “IBP Leaders Academy,” a five-day course that brings about a dozen border police to the Americans' small combat outpost for training in all manner of soldiering. The idea here was to educate small unit leaders on how to train their own men upon returning to the border forts. Topics range to everything from weapons use, to searching enemy prisoners, to calling in casualty evaluations.

“These guys are seasoned fighters, but they’re not skilled trainers and leaders. [Under Saddam’s army] they did as they were told,” Wasmund said. “You make assumptions, and we found in the first few months our assumptions were really pretty bad. We overestimated their ability to do their mission.”

So far the transition team considers the class a success, though it is often dependent on the quality of Iraqi soldiers present, and their willingness to learn. The Iraqis are capable of making rudimentary mistakes like picking a machine gun up by its hot barrel just after the weapon’s been fired, or shying away from leading their comrades in simple physical training routines. Still, there is also an obvious dedication among most of these soldiers, and a general willingness to listen and learn—even if the process is a slow one.

Wasmund believes with time this model of training will trickle down to the individual border policemen, and the Americans will ensure this is happening rather then taking on the responsibility themselves. Still, it’s the wider institutional changes that may end up having the greatest influence on the IBP’s effectiveness. One cause for hope on this front came unexpectedly to Wasmund only a couple of weeks ago.

At a meeting he attended between leaders of the border police, the Iraqi Police, and the Iraqi Army, Wasmund watched as the men took turns criticizing their counterparts for the quality of their forces and operations. Such conversations are often the norm all over Iraq, but then Wasmund noticed a curious thing: each leader seemed to become more driven to outdo the other, vehemently defending the quality of their men.

It was this simple act of peer pressure, Wasmund thought, that could force commanders to push their men further in training.

“They don’t want to come back to meetings and always be the guy who’s not doing his job,” he said. “What’s neat about that is now it’s not me holding my commander accountable, it’s Iraqis holding other Iraqis accountable…when Iraqis are in charge of Iraqis that starts to go down the road of governance. They’re starting to make decisions for themselves about what’s right and what’s wrong.”

A Young Commander's Uneasy Assurances

2008-08-18T11:41:01Z

Lt. Brian McDonald on patrol in the Diyala province / Photo: David Botti

When the Iraq war started, Brian McDonald, then a sophomore in college, sat in his grandparents’ living room watching television footage of the invasion, and knew he would someday end up in the war then unfolding before his eyes. Earlier this month, a little more than five years later, the now Lieutenant McDonald sat with a local school teacher in the Iraqi village his infantry company arrived at by helicopter just days before.

The purpose of 25-year-old McDonald’s visit was to both gather intelligence on enemy activity in a rural area of the Diyala province, and survey what essential services the U.S. Army could provide to this village of mud brick and aging concrete homes. For McDonald, balancing these priorities could only be achieved through meetings such as this late-afternoon gathering that began as his platoon entered the school teacher’s home, searched it, and positioned themselves in a defensive perimeter outside.

These types of encounters frequently occur all over Iraq, as young commanders, both enlisted and officers, find themselves shifting more and more from the kinetic fights of the past five years, to countless nuanced dialogues with civilians in their areas of operation.

McDonald began the conversation, which took place inside a bare room in the teacher’s home, with a short speech said with such ease and clarity it was obvious he’d said similar words before.

“Everyone needs to cooperate with the law,” he said after taking off his helmet and settling into a white plastic chair. “We’re here to get projects done, and get rid of weapons caches. That’s our goal, that’s our mission, and we don’t plan on leaving here until we do.”

As is frequently the case in similar circumstances throughout Iraq, speaking with coalition forces can be dangerous for an Iraqi, and on this day the situation was no different for the school teacher.

“I haven’t seen anything with my eyes,” he told McDonald. “There are just rumors that here the terrorists control more than the sheiks.”

The Americans knew the residents of this area had legitimate cause to be nervous. Prior U.S. Army operations into the region were comparatively short, and resulted in the arrests of Iraqis suspected of aiding the insurgency. Now, citizens like the school teacher had no assurances that if they gave the Army intelligence, the soldiers would remain to ensure they were protected from retribution by hostile forces.

McDonald later observed that perhaps his greatest asset during the opening moments of these types of conversations is the ability of his Iraq-born translator to observe the mannerisms of a subject that may be imperceptible to the non-Arabic speaker. While the person may appear to the American as welcoming and hospitable, the translator can usually tell whether there is there is a nervousness or anger in the speaker’s voice.

On this day, McDonald’s translator, known by the pseudonym “M.D.,” affirmed that the school teacher was indeed uneasy with the American presence in his house—despite the fact he served the soldiers tea and homemade pastries. McDonald attempted to calm the teacher’s fears:

“I’m a person who doesn’t lie,” he said. “I understand that you’re nervous because we’re walking up here with all of these [weapons]. You can trust me 100 percent. I don’t want you to feel like we’re pressuring you for info. But understand it’s good for the village to provide this [intelligence] to get information. This is why we give you an open invitation to come to us for anything you need.”

The American soldiers had reason to believe there were in fact enemy forces in the immediate area. Roadside bombs were disabling Army vehicles on a daily basis, and, more telling, soldiers encountered what became referred to as the “bomb house.”

Days before, McDonald and his fellow soldiers had spent nearly a day-and-a-half living out of an abandoned building in the vicinity of the teacher’s home. It wasn’t until a soldier happened to notice wires running from the building’s foundation towards a nearby road, that it was discovered the entire house was packed with explosives ready for detonation. Had the explosives gone off, over 100 soldiers could have been injured or killed.

About midway through the conversation, McDonald turned to the subject of the bomb house.

“If you’re honest with us, we’ll be honest with you. Did you see the explosion?” he asked, referring to the controlled detonation of the house by Army ordinance experts.

“Everyone heard it,” said the teacher.

“Something that big [as a mined house] cannot exist without people learning about it.”

“We were just told that the house was being used by families that were displaced.”

“Understand the big picture of that house,” McDonald said. “In each room was some explosive device. There was copper wiring running across to the main road. This isn’t a very big town, people talk. I’m from a small town I know. Think about that and think about the good things for this town. Think real hard about what you want.”

As McDonald later discussed the encounter, he spoke about the difficulty of putting residents like the school teacher in such a dangerous position. Even with the best of intentions, he could never completely ensure the teacher would be safe from harm. At the same time, gathering intelligence from area residents was vital to the greater mission of clearing the region of any remaining enemy forces.

“I feel kind of hypocritical sometimes when I tell them, ‘hey look you don’t have to worry you can live your day-to-day life,’” said McDonald, who’s been an active-duty Army officer for nearly 30 months. “I know in a way I’m kind of telling him to do something that’s impossible. It’s impossible for him not to worry even if I’m watching his house all of the time. There’s going to be that one time when we’re not going to be there because we’re going to be somewhere else. It’s kind of tough.”

Diyala Offensive Part Two: The Ghosts in the Canals

2008-08-06T20:06:07Z

Lt. McDonald (r) and Capt. Wagner search "spider holes" along a canal. Photo: David Botti

A paradox of the latest joint-American and Iraqi offensive into the rural plains of southern Diyala province launched nearly two weeks ago was that even though one could see for miles in every direction, the enemy was nowhere to been seen. Still, their presence was felt every day.

"It's like trying to push through water," said Staff Sergeant Brian Keller, one of Bravo Company's platoon sergeants. "You push straight ahead, and it just comes back at you from the sides."

By the end of the offensive's first week the U.S. Army lost more than thirty vehicles to roadside bombs, nearly a third of which hit the assault's first convoys to the area (note: embed rules prohibit the use of exact numbers for vehicle losses). Each day, as news of the bombings came in over the radio at Bravo Company 1-6's patrol base, soldiers tried to piece together what was happening in their small area of operations: how long had these explosives been in the area? Were they planted months or years ago? Was some unknown group currently planting fresh mines in the middle of the night just a few hundred yards from American patrol bases?

Ask two different soldiers and you'd get two different answers, but the fact remained that no matter when the bombs were set, they were going off at an alarming rate. And, if the bombs were new, commanders understood there was really only one area to focus on to prevent further infiltrations: the canals.

Crisscrossing the dried-up fields around U.S. Army positions, the canals once supplied a steady supply of water to the area. Today they are no more than endless trenches, some nearly 30-feet deep and 30-feet wide–perfect for concealing an enemy's movement through a land with few trees and no hills.

Every the soldiers of Bravo Company lugged jugs of gasoline and incendiary grenades to the canals, burning miles of the dry reeds that lined and hid the floors of these canals. As the canals burned and soldiers fanned further across the countryside, another sign of the enemy's presence revealed itself: small stores of weapons hidden in natural holes made in the terrain's dried mud. There were mortar and artillery shells, rocket propelled grenades, assault rifles, machine gun ammunition, and anti-personnel mines.

Still, the enemy continued to hide, and the roadside bombs continued to explode. Soldiers were treated for concussions and internal bleeding. "We have a full spectrum of tools to use from lethal to non-lethal right now," Captain Russell Wagner said of his unit's eventual focus of befriending local villagers, rather than combating roadside bombs. "But, none of that can happen until we get this security situation under control. There's a thousand different ways we can use the lessons we've learned in the last five years of war, but [these bombings] have got to stop. We're not a bunch of farmers; we're in control of our own destiny."

Wagner ordered daily patrols such as the one lead by Bravo's second platoon commander Lieutenant Brian McDonald on a recent morning through a canal near the company's headquarters. The mission, as usual, was twofold: burn any vegetation in the canals to prevent hiding spots for the enemy, and search for weapons caches similar to those found on previous days.

Moments before second platoon arrived at the designated canal, a report was transmitted over the company radio from another Bravo Company element on patrol that day. The soldiers had just come upon the dead bodies of three sheep, killed by an anti-personnel mine. The animal closest to the blast was nearly cut in half.

Meanwhile second platoon made its way along the canal's ridges at a methodical pace. Every few steps they prodded the earth for hidden holes with the toes of their boots. They kicked rocks and tossed away brush. Trailing behind those soldiers was another team sprinkling gas into the canal and tossing an incendiary grenade that shot out white hot sparks setting the vegetation on fire.

Eventually a soldier noticed a thick metal cable hanging into the canal. At one end, a metal sheet anchored the cable, and beside it one could see the faint outline of crude stairs dug into the canal wall. "Looks like someone's been playing around down here," said Lieutenant McDonald.

The cable looked like it had snapped at one end, but it was still strong and securely fixed to the anchor. It was, a number of soldiers agreed, probably used to hoist a bicycle or motorcycle in and out of the canal–a means of transportation for the enemy that would allow him to get around unseen from the ground level.

"You could drive a car through here, or even a truck, and we'd never see it," said Captain Wagner, who accompanied the patrol that day.

It was another small clue found in the Diyala countryside that someone was out there moving around in secret, and quite possibly, planting bombs and ferrying munitions.

Reflecting on the enemy's reluctance to attack U.S. forces through the use of small arms fire, most soldiers deemed this a cowardly act. Captain Wagner, and his immediate superior Lieutenant Colonel Rich Morales both used the phrase "all the dumb ones are dead," to describe the nature of this more nuanced and carefully planned flight.

As the two-week-mark of the operation approaches, there has yet to be an extended firefight between U.S. forces and the enemy presumably still traversing the area via canals. This is a far cry from the extended violence coalition forces have encountered throughout the preceding years of the Iraq war.

The nature of this current operation prompted two officers attached to Bravo Company to raise the same question on two separate occasions. Major Kyle Hadlock, and Iraqi Captain Amir T., wondered if, on their own small stretch of the Diyala province, they were actually witnessing the last large-scale offensive of the war.

Lt. Brian McDonald looks on as brush growing in a canal sets fire. Photo: David Botti

Diyala Offensive Part One: 'A Whole Lot of Gray'

2008-08-04T15:13:19Z

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

The vast and desolate countryside of Iraq's southern Diyala province, midway between Baghdad and the Iranian border, can be an eerie place when the idling engines of U.S. Army vehicles are shut off, when the radios are silent, and the soldiers pause in conversation. All one hears is the hot wind blowing across a terrain so dry that the dust clouds can make you feel like you're about to suffocate. If the wind is still, there is no sound at all. The flat terrain of crumbling dirt and occasional spots of sickly vegetation stretches to what seems an infinite distance. The only signs of life are clusters of mud-brick dwellings, the occasional modern home, and packs of farm animals led by a shepherd to some far off grazing spot.

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

"Team ISF"

2008-07-22T18:02:26Z

A soldier from Charlie Company on patrol. Photo: David Botti

After spending time with a platoon of soldiers in Charlie Company 2-30, it’s clear that one of the main aspects of U.S. policy in Iraq, to train Iraqi security forces, may ultimately be affected not by generals and diplomats, but by how well a twenty-something soldier gets along with his or her Iraqi counterpart.

This particular platoon is nicknamed “Team ISF”–the “ISF” standing for Iraqi Security Forces, with whom the soldiers are tasked with running joint operations in the Beladiat area of eastern Baghdad. Unlike the rest of Charlie Company living in the relative comfort of a nearby forward operating base, Team ISF resides in two medium-sized rooms of an Iraqi National Police headquarters.

Charlie Company saw a good deal of fighting in late March when Iraqi Army incursions into Basra and Sadr City lead to an intense round of violence that the soldiers here called “March Madness.”

“We really had to take a deep breath,” First Sergeant Brian Disque said of the time when the violence died down. “It was like turning off a switch. It stopped, it just stopped.”

Today things are relatively quiet in Team ISF’s area of operations. They’ve got the Internet, a few phones, bunk beds, and air conditioning but otherwise live a spartan existence packed in close enough that the option for privacy is totally absent.

An open roof looks down to an indoor courtyard just outside the soldiers’ living quarters. Here, all through the day, a mix of Iraqi National Police and U.S. soldiers come and go. There are few extended conversations between the two groups. Still, the occasional joking around and conversations conducted with a mix of sign language, broken-English, and broken-Arabic, showed there is little overt tension on either side.

“[The relationship] is pretty good,” said Team ISF staff sergeant Mario Garcia. “The guys who stay here permanently are on good terms with the Iraqis. Some of them, not everybody. For example, you know how Iraqis kiss each other, we started doing that no problem. I mean, I do.”

Garcia looked over to Sergeant Eric Chan sitting next to him, and smiled.

“Yeah, I’m not really in to doing that kind of thing,” Chan said.

First Sergeant Disque, who splits his time between the police station and Charlie Company’s main headquarters, spoke candidly about his first impressions of the National Police. Plain and simple, for about two to three months, he didn’t trust them. But then heavy fighting began, and sentiments changed.

“Once these guys started getting shot and getting hit, I knew they were with us,” Disque said.

The main face of the National Police for these soldiers is Sergeant Major Ali Mahdi, a former Iraqi Army special forces soldier who found himself out of a job once Saddam fell. He’s a tall, imposing man who speaks with a powerful staccato voice. When he’s talking business he rarely smiles, A small bald spot at the back of his head was caused by shrapnel when a roadside bomb exploded near him two years ago.

And then there is the other side of Mahdi: the amused expression he has when he comes around the soldiers’ room asking for a few cans of energy drinks. Or, the affable way he sits with the soldiers and smiles at their conversations – even though he doesn’t know what they’re saying.

For Garcia, Team ISF’s partnership with the National Police is an evolving process that’s seen the Iraqis gradually taking the lead more and more.

“I see a big improvement with the guys on how they work and how they conduct patrols and all of that,” he said. “They can go on patrols alone and have no problem. Every raid I’ve been on with those guys they do just fine. The only problem is some of these guys will bunch up too close together.”

Team ISF soldiers watch for trucks capable of launching IRAM's. Photo: David Botti

A common mission for Team ISF is one that occurred on a recent Friday as they traveled to a main highway interchange to post warning signs.

The signs tell drivers of large trucks not to slow down, or they could risk being shot at by security forces. The fear is that trucks slowing down may be carrying IRAM’s (Improvised Rocket Assisted Mortars). These are said to be the remaining militia members’ new weapon of choice, and are often launched from trucks customized to act as a launching platform for the rockets. Those firing the rockets will often park the truck, light the rockets, and disappear from the scene just as the rockets fire.

As his soldiers hammered the signs into the ground, and inspected passing vehicles, Disque pointed to a nearby overpass where just months before militia members were launching RPG attacks against the soldiers. It was, the first sergeant said, one of the most dangerous spots in the platoon’s area of operations. Today the threat of small arms fire is no longer a primary concern, but he’s still very much weary of IED’s. It’s because of this that only when he’s driving that Disque said he feels the most on edge.

In fact, going on patrol with these soldiers you’ll often see them pause and inspect a suspicious rock or piece of garbage worrying it may mask an IED.

“[The militias] adapt, we adapt,” Disque said. “It’s like a never ending whack-a-mole.”

Team ISF soldiers erect a sign warning drivers to slow down / Photo: David Botti

Video: A Nighttime Raid in Eastern Baghdad

2008-07-21T21:36:22Z

This video shows a recent nighttime raid made by Charlie Company 2-30’s platoon of soldiers partnered with the Iraqi National Police. The platoon, nicknamed Team ISF (Iraqi Security Forces), was tasked with entering two target houses in the Beladiat area of Baghdad, and arresting all military-aged males.

The soldiers and policeman were after a militia team suspected of firing rockets into the Green Zone, and of operating as a sniper team in 2007 that killed an American soldier.

For Team ISF, this type of raid was nothing new (in fact, they assisted in a similar mission the next night). Because they’re partnered with the Iraqi National Police, and live in a police compound closer to the civilian population, the soldiers often find themselves tasked to execute these joint actions.

First Sergeant Brian Disque, who accompanied the soldiers on the raid, said having to arrest all military-age males in the target houses was the least preferable option. Most of the time, he said, an informant will go along on the raid and point out the suspects during the operation. This time, however, because the informant refused to go along with the soldiers, Disque’s men were forced to bring all possible suspects back to police headquarters. Once there, photographs of the suspects were taken and showed to the informant.

From the two target houses the raid netted 11 men who spent the night in a small jail cell on the floor above Team ISF’s living quarters. The next day all but two of the arrested men were freed, given a bottle of water, and escorted to the police compound’s gate where they were to make the short walk home.

In the Words of an Iraqi National Policeman

2008-07-21T16:26:01Z

Ali Mahdi. Photo: David Botti

National Police commander Ali Mahdi leads a platoon of his men partnered with American soldiers from the Army’s 10th Mountain Division. The two groups of men live at a spartan police headquarters in the Beladiat section of Baghdad, an area that borders Sadr City to the east. Before the Americans came to Iraq, Mahdi was a special forces soldier in Saddam Hussein’s army. After the regime fell, Mahdi joined Iraq’s National Police in 2005 and has worked with American forces ever since. I spoke last week with Mahdi through the aid of an interpreter.

Are there still militia members in the National Police?

A little bit, yes. Not just in the National Police, but in the Iraqi Army too. Iraq is many things: Sunni, Shiite, Kurdish, and Christian. Everyone sticks together and looks out for themselves. The National Police and Iraqi Army are involved in all of the big operations in Iraq, so everyone knows the Iraqi intelligence agencies are watching them. If I'm working for the National Police, and I'm a terrorist, I know these agencies are watching me. So, I quit and go home.

I'm going to give you an example to help you understand: you are militia, I am militia, and he is militia. [Mahdi points to our translator] Two of us are arrested for being in the militia and you stay free—and, nobody knows about you. Iran is supporting you with guns, money, everything. Iran supports the militia too. When you know we've been arrested do you stay in the same place, or do you leave?

You'd leave because we'd tell the police about you and all of these things. Maybe I am [militia] in Sadr City. There the neighbors know I am in the militia. They'd make a call from the tip card the Americans give out and turn me in. So, instead I would move from Sadr City to another neighborhood where no one would know me.

There is militia, there's still a lot of terrorists, bombs, and everything. They're hiding now because they know that the Americans, the National Police, and the Iraqi Army are all looking for them.

Maybe in the future the Americans, together with the National Police, will arrest all of those sons of ***.

How well do you find yourself working with the American soldiers you’re partnered with?

I have 22 National Police [under my command]. We have a bond with the Americans that is sealed with blood. The American soldiers do the right thing. The American soldiers freed us from Saddam. The American soldiers want to free us from the militias that come from Iran. We'll all take this same right road together, and never go back.

The American soldiers come from very far away to give us security, and make [the Iraqis] happy people. So I'm going to give them my soul for that. The Americans leave their children and their wives to make my country secure. I will give my soul to you [as an American]. If someone tried to kill you, I'd be the first one to stand up and protect you.

If National Police and American soldiers are walking together and one of them is injured or killed, it will be a national policeman. Why? Because this is my country.

I want you to give a message for all of the families, and all of the Americans: the National Police are with the Americans together on one road for the freedom of Iraq.

If the National Police are doing something the wrong way, the Americans soldiers tell them how to do it the correct way. The Americans show them how to be on the correct path.

Will there be a time when you won't need the Americans here anymore?

We don't want the American soldiers to leave right now. Not until Iraq has all new buildings, new technology, new cars—until it's rebuilt. Then we'd tell the Americans to go home, and civilians like you can walk in the streets [of Iraq].

In the future we want it so that the American soldiers don't need body armor, or helmets, or humvees. They can throw the gun away and we can walk together in the street—have fun and have beer.

I don't want them to leave Iraq like it is now, it would break my heart.

When Obama Comes Marching Over

2008-07-19T15:55:21Z

SPC Jeff Cole, 21, takes a break at a small outpost in eastern Baghdad / Photo: David Botti

As Senator Barack Obama arrived in Kabul, Afghanistan today to meet with military commanders and U.S. troops, anticipation is brewing in the media and among campaign watchers for his expected arrival here in Iraq.

But for U.S. Army soldiers at a small outpost in the Beladiat section of eastern Baghdad, hardly anyone even knew he was coming. Until three weeks ago they were without Internet access. Two months ago, back at their main base, a deadly rocket attack knocked all of the flat screen TVs off the mess hall walls, leaving them with no television. And even if they do have a moment to check on the status of the presidential campaigns, no one here gives it much of a thought.

"When I'm not doing anything for the Army, I'm trying to sleep," said twenty-year-old PFC Cory Kenfield, who pointed out he's been deployed in Iraq for most of the campaign season.

In fact, by the time these soldiers return home (the newest rumor is January or February), the United States may already have a new president – and a new policy on Iraq.

Until then it’s business as usual.

Over the past few nights the soldiers have been involved in two raids on suspected militia members. They’ve installed a new air conditioner for their spartan living quarters. They’ve found themselves disciplined by their platoon sergeant, and made plans for an upcoming re-supply.

The biggest news on this particular day seemed to be that a coffee shop opened back at their main base to replace the one damaged by a deadly rocket attack in April.

After hearing of Obama's intended arrival, some said they simply didn't care about politics. Others, like 21-year-old Specialist Jeff Cole, didn't see how it would affect their day-to-day lives as a platoon of infantryman partnered with a unit of Iraqi National Police.

"It's good for his campaign, but it doesn't really matter for us," he said.

Cole, like most of his other comrades, followed up his answer with a question of his own: “where’s Obama going to be in Iraq?” If Obama's visit were to have any impact on the troops, the soldiers all agreed, it would depend on where in Iraq he goes.

"He'll probably go to the Green Zone and say he hung out with the troops. When really all he'd be doing is hanging out with mechanics and colonels," PFC Cory Kenfield said of the general absence of infantry troops in the Green Zone.

"If he actually comes out here with us, I'll just laugh," chimed in eighteen-year-old PFC Daniel Mullineaux, as he grabbed a water bottle from a refrigerator that barely cools.

Sergeant Eric Chan joked that the only reason he’d go see Obama speak was if the speech were actually given in the comparatively posh and safe Green Zone, far away from the garbage-strewn lots, half-built houses, and perpetually barking packs of stray dogs that comprise the platoon’s area of operations. Chan, a wiry 25-year-old veteran of Afghanistan on his first tour in Iraq, saw Obama’s visit as being more meaningful for the folks back home.

“To the people in the States I think it's a good thing to see a possible future president come out here,” Chan said. “It's good for future leaders to see what's going on – to see what they're not used to. It's like, being a leader you’ve got to step up, and he's stepping up.”

Further up Charlie Company’s chain of command, First Sergeant Brian Disque also saw Obama’s visit as being primarily a opportunity for the candidate to educate himself.

“When I hear certain peoples’ interpretations of what’s going on in Iraq, it concerns me,” Disque said.

The first sergeant figured once Obama gets to Iraq, and sees the types of progress being made here, the senator may have to take back some of his criticisms of the war – a move Disque thinks could make him look like a flip-flopper.

Even though this December’s election will be the first in which he’s eligible to vote, 18-year-old PFC Steve Machell will pass on voting this time around. He said none of the candidates are worth voting for, and the hype surrounding Obama’s visit was unfounded.

“People are making a big deal out of it, but I know tons of guys that have been over here,” he said. “It’s not a big deal for someone to be here. The important thing is mainly just making it through.”

No matter where Obama ends up in Iraq, or what he actually says, none of the soldiers saw the visit as something to give more than a passing thought. Sergeant Mario Garcia, who was born and raised in Ecuador, said because of that country’s own political problems he’s developed a mistrust of all politicians.

Then the 25-year-old paused for a moment.

“I guess it's good for Obama to see how much progress is in Iraq right now,” Garcia said quietly. “Maybe he'll say: 'alright it's time to get these guys outta here.'”

Summer '03 to Summer '08

2008-07-16T23:02:53Z

For the next several weeks I'll be blogging as an embed with various U.S. military units operating in Iraq (posts will come as Internet is available). As you may know from reading this blog, I was a Marine in Iraq during the 2003 invasion and left later that summer as my battalion rotated home. I haven't been back to the country until earlier this week when I landed in Baghdad in the belly of a C-130 cargo plane, this time as a reporter.

The moment the back ramp of the aircraft opened and a hot wind blew across the dusty tarmac, I was prepared to begin comparing today's Iraq to my own experiences in the country five years earlier. The truth is, however, that after five years this is essentially a different country and a different war. The differences are so obvious that they hardly seem worth mentioning, and I'll need time to fully comprehend that I've returned to a country I never thought I'd set foot in again.

A Marine patrol at sunset in An Nasiriyah, August 2003 / Photo: David Botti

Before a few days ago, my time in Iraq existed as a defining moment of my life--a time now frozen in photographs and memories that are already beginning to fade. I do remember, however, how I once viewed those soldiers and marines entering the country as I prepared to leave. I pitied them in some respects. They'd missed the historic events of the invasion, and were now left to "clean up" what little there was left to do. Of course, I couldn't have been more wrong.

Now I've come to Iraq again at a time when many here point to the relative calm that's come over the country. A recent graphic in The New York Times illustrated how the statistics break down over the years. The number of U.S. troops killed, for example, fell from 126 in May 2007 to 19 in May 2008.

I've been in Baghdad for two days and have yet to hear a burst of gunfire, or the explosion from a rocket. The large-scale violence I was expecting suddenly seems to have disappeared -- albeit perhaps only for a temporary time. After all, I left the city of An Nasiriyah in the middle of the night five years ago, sitting on a pile of camouflage netting in the back of an open truck. I entered Baghdad early this morning in a convoy of armored "Rhino" buses.

Perhaps that's one comparison worth noting from the start.

An Introduction to Bravo Battery

2008-07-16T18:08:58Z

Bravo Battery soldiers during downtime. Photo: David Botti

I've begun my embedding with Third Platoon, Bravo Battery 5-25 FA, 4th Brigade Combat Team of the 10th Mountain Division, a field artillery unit out of Fort Polk, Louisiana. Downtown Baghdad these days is no place for the U.S. Army to set up a line of 105mm Howitzers, so Bravo Battery is now designated as a "maneuver" unit.

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.

The soldiers live in a JSS (Joint Security Station), a company-sized headquarters based within a Baghdad neighborhood to facilitate mutual access between the U.S. Army and the population it's tasked with protecting. Also based here are representatives of the Iraqi National Police and the Army MP's who train them, the idea being U.S. and Iraqi forces are now working hand-in-hand—with the latter taking the lead.

Living conditions for the soldiers here are modest, but by no means uncomfortable. There are bunk beds, air conditioners, free weights, and plenty of electrical plugs for the laptops nearly every soldier has. Many are already veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan, deployments which prepared them for the long days and nights of their fifteen-month combat tour here in Baghdad. They tell me that 5-25 was one of the last units assigned a fifteen-month tour before the Army switched deployment lengths to 12 months.

The headquarters of Bravo Battery. Photo: David Botti

In terms of morale, generally troops are in good spirits. There's the usual complaining among the rank-and-file, but as the old saying goes, "If a grunt isn't complaining, then there's something wrong."

Before they came to Iraq, many of Third Platoon's soldiers expected they'd encounter fierce fire fights and constant IED (Improvised Explosive Device) explosions. Veterans of earlier Iraq deployments figured they'd find a similar situation the second time around.

Despite the many complexities Bravo Battery faces in mentoring the various security forces throughout Karadah, for an average soldier the lack of action during these past eight months can be a mixed blessing.

"As much as I want to go home and see my family, and I'm glad we haven't had any guys killed, I'm starting to loose motivation," said Specialist Thomas Dorris.

"Yeah, man," chimed in PFC Brandin Patton. "It's just the same thing day after day."

Early Reflections on Baghdad Today

2008-07-16T08:19:33Z

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.

Dinner With the Sons of Iraq

2008-07-15T11:17:10Z

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.

Sergeant Jeffery Breen started teasing Salam's son, Hassan. Another sergeant lay down on a couch and propped himself up on an elbow. On the television a music video satellite channel played.

There was, primarily of course, the business of policing Riyadh that needed attending to. Acting-platoon leader Staff Sergeant Eddie Ruiz sat across from his host and began discussing the neighborhood.

Salam was not shy about asking for what he needed in the way of neighborhood improvements. Later in the night, as we walked along Riyadh's main streets, Salam pointed to crumbling cement at the edge of the road, in places just barely recognizable as a sidewalk.

"You see the sidewalk?" he said to Ruiz as they continued to walk.

"We put in paperwork on it–should be all set," Ruiz replied.

After the soldiers settled in to await dinner, Salam told of how he took the job of organizing his own Sons of Iraq. Earlier this year, he volunteered after others in the neighborhood refused to become involved for fear retribution by the Jaysh al-Mahdi, or JAM, Muqtada al-Sadr's militia unit.

Men from around Riyadh came to Salam's home to give their height, weight, and fill out paperwork for membership into the Son of Iraq. He stressed that he either knew each man, or was able to ask after him to ensure there was no infiltration by the nearby militias.

In general, the Sons of Iraq are associated with Sunnis, but Salam refused to answer the question of whether he was a Sunni or Shiite.

"I hate this question," he said. "First of all, I am human. And people respect me because I refuse to answer this question. All of the time people try to ask this, and try to know this, and I say to them 'you, shut up.'" (In this instance Salam smiled and let my own version of the question slide because I was a newcomer.)

Salam speaks with the soldiers before dinner. Photo: David Botti

The Sons of Iraq checkpoint built directly in front of Salam's home is one of five positioned throughout key areas of the Riyadh neighborhood. Most consist of a single cement barrier, a few coils of razor wire, and some sort of covering. According to Salam, he's only able to supply weapons to about 20 percent of his force–though he said he can count on neighborhood residents to join any potential fight with their own personal weapons.

The eventual plan is for members of the Sons of Iraq to transition into Iraqi security forces, using the Sons of Iraq itself as an initial training ground. Still, there are skeptics who doubt this reintegration can properly take effect. Matt Sherman, a recent civilian adviser to the U.S. Army in Baghdad, wrote in a New York Times op-ed last April:

The [Iraqi] government doesn't have the bureaucratic efficiency to handle such a large influx of people easily. Aside from those problems, we'd need to come up with a way of deciding which men are qualified for security duty — a screening method to marginalize hard-liners and co-opt less ideologically driven members.

One possible "next stop" for Sons of Iraq members is membership into Iraq's National Police force. These two groups are already operating in the same neighborhoods with checkpoints often less than a few blocks distance from each other.

During the night Salam, who is technically under their jurisdiction, offered two perspectives on the National Police. One the hand he couldn't prevent the National Police from entering his neighborhood. After all, he said, they are representatives of the government.

On the other hand, he spoke candidly about his opinions on the nature of the force. He perceived their attitude as lazy and unprofessional.

"I try to keep a good relationship and distance between us and the National Police," Salam said. "So, the cooperation is good sometimes. But I try to keep distance between us because I'm afraid my Sons of Iraq will go with them and maybe adopt the same behavior. They don't have any loyalty for their country or their duty."

If Salam's word sound harsh, they are nothing out of the ordinary here in Karadah. Each security force from the Iraqi Police, to the National Police, to the Sons of Iraq has expressed some kind of bitterness towards each other.

As we began eating, the talk once again turned away from politics and back to the friendly banter that seemed to come naturally among the men.

"When I'm done with the Army, I'm gonna come back and join up with these guys," said Sergeant Breen as he sat next to Salam.

Salam smiled and shook Breen's shoulder. "He'll be my first sergeant and I'll be the colonel."

Salam's sons watch as SGT Ruiz finishes dinner. Photo: David Botti

After clearing their plates of kabob, croquets, bread, and watermelon, the soldiers began packing up doggy bags for the majority of Third Platoon still waiting outside with the humvees.

A short patrol began with Salam walking alongside the soldiers. He chain smoked, walked with a casual stride, and shook hands with nearly every resident he comes across. If he were campaigning for political office, the votes were almost assured to come pouring in.

He then showed me where a dual bomb attacked killed nearly 40 people and wounded dozens more in 2006. One of the damaged buildings has just reopened as a shop. Another remained vacant and in disrepair. Judging by the amount of activity and general goodwill on this stretch of the neighborhood's main street, it was hard to imagine a bomb so destructive ever went off here.

Salam was confident the relative calm that's come over Baghdad would remain for the near future – but, as to whether militias out to do the city harm were gone for good was a different matter.

"They're still here," he said. "They're hiding. They're waiting and watching."

The entranceway to Salam's house still bears marks of a bomb blast. Photo: David Botti

A Carjacking Along District Lines

2008-07-15T11:15:52Z

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.

A National Police checkpoint in Karadah. Photo: David Botti

Sergeant Cork, a third platoon team leader suddenly entered the room. A passenger in the targeted car had made his way from the highway to the police headquarters. Blood was pouring from the man's gunshot wounds. The platoon medic, 20-year-old Private First Class Eric Bradley, was treating him on the sidewalk. The driver of the car, Cork confirmed, was killed.

With the wounded man now in his district, the National Police captain agreed to take him to the hospital. We arrived outside to see the man lead to a waiting police pickup truck. He was shirtless. A bandage was tied around his shoulder and another he held to his bleeding chin.

Walking back to his humvee Kliewer expressed frustration over the National Police captain's unwillingness to send men to the scene of the crime.

"In the Army, if we needed to go into another unit's AO [Area of Operations] we'd do it no problem," he said. "You just open up a line of communication and take it from there."

Making things more complicated is a perceived lagging behind of the Iraqi Police's effectiveness in basic police work. According to Kliewer, their view of the job is bureaucratic: they're there to simply sit in the office and take reports.

If the situation sounds complex and difficult to deal with from the U.S. Army's mentoring point of view, it is. But soldiers here don't necessarily measure success in this situation according to degrees of rivalries. Minor disagreements are far more desirable than past situations.

"A year ago these guys wouldn't trust each other because they worried about their forces being infiltrated by militias and other types of bad guys," Kliewer said. "Now they complain about the traffic situations."

Kliewer likened the relationships between the various security forces as similar to the type of rivalries between the Army and the Marine Corps, or other branches of service. The problem is there, he said, but it's manageable–and it's a far greater improvement over what's occurred during the past few years throughout the neighborhood.

Question of the Day: Iraqi TV

2008-07-15T11:14:29Z

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

PFC Dolinar. Photo: David Botti

We're not trying to hurt you guys. We're just trying to make your lives better. Of all the Iraqis I've met most are pretty good. There's only a few bad ones. We're not just here for the fun of it, but while we are here we can help them out.

-PFC Adam Dolinar, 19, Akron, OH

SPC Bogner. Photo: David Botti

Why is everyone fighting over religion still? And why are we here?

-SPC Michael Bogner, 26, Buffalo, NY

PFC Bryan. Photo: David Botti

Know that most of us guys are good. If you see something out there let us know, and we'll take care of it.

-PFC Seth Bryan, 20, El Paso TX

It makes no sense to bomb us, we're trying to help you. The quicker you let us get things done, the quicker we leave.

-SPC Thomas Dorris, 21, Madison, WI

Another Visit to a National Police Station

2008-07-15T11:13:02Z

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.

Meanwhile Sergeant Ruiz and the platoon translator were stopping at nearly every block to speak with someone on the street. As Ruiz approached, the residents seemed to already know the drill. He nodded his head respectfully towards them, and they nodded back. They shook hands with both Ruiz and his translator, and listened attentively as he began to speak.

It usually took around five minutes for Ruiz to get the same answer he's always gotten in this neighborhood: Everything is fine. There's no trouble, and no bad guys.

The next stop on the patrol was a visit to the nearby National Police station, a rundown three-story building with broken windows. Protecting the building's front were white cement barriers bearing three identical stencils of red flowers with hearts drawn as the petals. Ruiz took the squad leaders inside to coordinate with a National Police captain over logistics for his various checkpoints.

Both leaders pulled out their notebooks and begin writing down notes of their conversation.

"What's happened in the area the past two days. Any incidents?" Ruiz asked the captain.

The captain's foot accidentally toed an empty can of energy drink lying next to his foot. His t-shirt and trousers were both colored with the grey and white of urban camouflage. A substantial gut hung over his belt, and he leaned on the desk looking tired and slightly agitated.

"Nothing. Nothing's happened," the captain said.

"Have your men been getting water at the checkpoints?" asked Ruiz. "How's morale?"

After a long dialog between the interpreter and the captain, the former turned to Ruiz and said there weren't enough men in that local police force. Those already manning the checkpoints were getting tired for lack of relief on their guard schedules.

"Well, how come they haven't hired more people?" Ruiz asked.

The interpreter continued: since the police force was cleared of corrupt officers and militia members, the selection process for trustworthy officers was taking longer. But the men can handle it, the interpreter assured. Last year many policemen were engaged in a large battle outside of Baghdad, and for them Karadah is an easy neighborhood to police.

Sergeant Breen, who remained quiet throughout the conversation, leaned forward slightly in his chair and nodded his head toward the police captain.

"Just 'cause it's easy for them," Breen said, "doesn't mean they can take it easy."