[USMC Chuter]

I operated with these guys quite a bit. They do a great job and deserve some recognition..

October 03, 2005

Tense moments during mission to destroy Iraqi insurgent bombs

By John Carlson
The Des Moines Register


RAMADI, Iraq — The soldiers, an hour away from their late-night trip into Ramadi, are told it might be a wild night.
“We have tips from town that three major areas are bad,” says 2nd Lt. Nick Jones, in a 10-minute pre-mission briefing. “Four IEDs may already be there. These are tips from locals, so you never know. Let’s go see what we can find, folks.”

Jones, 24, of Altoona, Iowa, is about to lead 25 other soldiers from the Iowa National Guard’s 224th Engineer Battalion into what may be the most dangerous territory in all of Iraq.

Their job is to move seven armored vehicles through the streets of Ramadi, locating improvised explosive devices — the homemade bombs planted by insurgents — that kill anybody who gets close. It is the insurgents’ most effective weapon. The bombs have killed or maimed hundreds of Americans and Iraqi civilians. The battalion, nearly 500 men and women stationed in Iraq since January, is assigned to find the devices. They’re the only ones in Ramadi who do it.

Nobody needs to explain the danger. Four soldiers from the battalion have been killed in action and another 21 have been awarded Purple Hearts.

The battalion is surrounded this night by patrols of Marines, moving through the city in Humvees and on foot in total darkness. The Marines job is to protect the battalion from attack, and to seek out and kill insurgents.

The mission might last two hours. Or six. It depends on how many IEDs are located and dealt with. And on how much resistance the soldiers from the Bravo Company’s First Platoon and the Marines meet.

Jones was correct in his pre-mission briefing. It would, indeed, be a wild night in Ramadi, involving gun battles, explosions and rattled nerves. Fairly typical.

Jones is in the “Buffalo,” a giant truck with an extendable arm that digs and attempts to remove IEDs from their holes. First Sgt. Scott Lewis, 30, is in the RG31 vehicle, an armored personnel carrier that’s more of a rolling bank vault. He communicates, sometimes frantically, with the other vehicles in the slow-moving convoy and the roving Marines.

With Lewis in the RG31, are Spc. Brian Schaer, 22, the vehicle driver; Spc. Stephen Troxel, 24, right front passenger seat, spotter and turret gunner; Spc. Jennifer Black, 30, the medic; and a civilian passenger.

The convoy is ordered to leave the camp at 10:15 p.m.

“We do this three days on, two days off,” Lewis says as the vehicles pull onto a Ramadi street. “It never gets routine. It’s dangerous if you think that way. I still get nervous.”

The radio cuts Lewis off. The Marines, already in the city, tell him they’re in a firefight.

“Three of our people are engaged,” the Marines tell Lewis. “Small arms fire. Two RPGs.”

Everybody groans. It’s horrible news. Small arms fire — including the most powerful machine guns — barely scratch the armor on these vehicles. Those inside can survive an IED hit. But a direct hit from an RPG can be deadly.

More radio chatter on the Marines’ firefight. Marines have more engaged insurgents. The battalion is told to hold position.

“God Almighty,” Lewis shouts. Seven vehicles from the 224th are stopped on the street, vulnerable to attack, not yet close to the Marines.

“Troxel, gun,” Lewis yells into the front seat.

Troxel jumps into the turret behind the 240-Bravo machine gun and scans the streets through the green glow of night-vision goggles. The streets are supposed to be empty — Ramadi has a 10 p.m. curfew — so anybody the troops see is a potential enemy.

Schaer watches the street, waiting for the order to go. It’s a tense 15 minutes.

Finally, The 224th was moving. Ramadi’s streets are full of holes and concrete chunks, there from earlier IED explosions. The craters make perfect hiding places for new IEDs. Spotlights are shined into them and on trash where explosives could be hidden. Problem is, trash is everywhere. Bottles, boxes, bags, old shoes, junk of every kind. The soldiers look hard for wires or detonating cord.

IEDs are typically set off by remote control. Often it’s a remote telephone base unit that initiates the blast. The insurgent waits until a target is over or near the hole where the explosive is buried. He then hits the paging button on the phone, detonating the bomb.

“It’s knowing what you’re looking for,” Lewis tells a guest riding in the RG31. “Knowing and being lucky.”

“Buffalo arm is out” says a voice over the radio. It’s Jones in the Buffalo. The soldiers have spotted a possible IED hiding place — a crater hole filled with dirt. Lewis called the Marines to tell them the arm is working, digging. They need to be aware that an explosion is possible.

“Buffalo’s sitting right where that one blew up across from us,” Troxel says, back in his spotter position in the front seat, mentioning an explosion here the other day.

Nothing found. They move down the street. Same thing. Buffalo arm, Lewis tells the Marines, some of whom are shadowing the battalion, some still engaging insurgents. There’s word that the earlier RPG sighting might have been wrong. Good news, if it’s true.

There’s nothing to do but wait and watch while the Buffalo digs. Troxel looks through his night-vision goggles and spots a Marine sniper at a nearby building. Schaer watches a parked car and scans nearby buildings.

Black talks to a visitor about her little girls back in Iowa. Laney is 4 and Madison is 5. Madison just started kindergarten. Her mother was riding in an RG31 in Ramadi when Madison went to her first day of school.

It’s quiet again on the street. No movement. Absolutely dark, except for the Buffalo lights shining on the arm claw that’s starting to dig.

There’s a massive explosion, then a shower of sparks and shrapnel. “Is everybody all right?” Lewis yells on the radio to Jones in the Buffalo.

“Yeah,” Jones answers from the Buffalo. “All OK.”

There’s no way to know if it was a contact explosion or set by remote from an insurgent watching the Buffalo work.

“They want to hurt the Buffalo,” Lewis says. “(If) it’s out of commission, we’re done for the night.”

Not this time. The Buffalo sustains no damage. The search moves on down the street. Marines are moving on foot and in Humvees. The radio reports more small arms fire a couple blocks away. The Buffalo finds an old blast crater filled with dirt. More digging.

“Two men walking south on Cinema (a Ramadi street designation) moving a push cart to the west,” the Marines tell Lewis. Then there’s more talk of another firefight.

“God,” Lewis says. “We haven’t even reached the bad places yet.”

The column of vehicles is stopped for probably the fourth time, waiting at 11:20 p.m., while the Buffalo arm came out and started down.

Another huge expolsion, the shock felt through the 3-inch thick armor of the RG31, maybe 75 yards away, a half-second flash-roar.

“Are you OK?” Lewis yells into the radio.

No answer.

“Green chem light,” Troxel says, watching a flowing green stick fly out of the Buffalo.

It’s a way to communicate “all soldiers OK.” Somebody in the Buffalo tossed out a glowing green chemical stick to get the word to Black, the medic, telling her there were no injuries.

The Buffalo arm is damaged by the blast, described by soldiers who had done this nearly a year as “more impressive than most.” But no Buffalo, no more mission. The vehicles turn around and head back toward Camp Ramadi.

They move maybe a block and the Marines shout over the radio they’re in a gunfight with insurgents.

“Everybody sit tight,” Lewis tells the platoon over the radio. “Troxel gun. We’re in a hornet’s nest. We’re right in the middle of it. Everybody stay put.”

The Marines send an ominous message. They’ve lost contact with a “dismounted” squad, meaning the men were on foot and couldn’t be reached by radio. More chatter from the Marines.

Then it was over. The Marines recover their men. The insurgents were either killed or they ran for it.

“Clear to roll,” they tell Lewis.

“Let’s boogie,” Lewis tells the Ironhawk soldiers over his radio.

“You know, every time we find one of those IEDs I feel like we saved somebody’s life,” Black says on the ride back.

They reach their base at the camp at midnight.

“That first one that blew,” Jones says, “was buried in a hole with some dirt over it. It made like a 4-foot deep crater. The second one was in like a box. I said to move the arm just a little bit and, bang. That was it. I’m thinking it was probably three artillery shells. Oh, well. It happens. We’re done for the night.”

“I’m going to bed,” Troxel says. “Tired, you know?”

All these young soldiers need the rest. Tomorrow night, they’ll have to do it all again.