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Abdulredha and I hopped out of our Humvees and walked up to the staff sergeant I assumed was in charge of the operation. “Staff sergeant, how's it going?” I asked. “I'm Lieutenant Gray and this is Lieutenant Abdulredha. What's going on? You guys need our help?” He responded, “Sir, we actually could use your help. We called EOD and they aren't going to be here for at least three hours. The lieutenant and some of the Marines moved toward the small village to our east [Abu Hyatt] to search for the triggerman and any evidence. The problem is we cannot get comms with them. Can you go out there and see how they are doing?” I replied, “Roger, no problem. We'll be in contact via radio. If something goes wrong we will pop a green cluster.” I looked over to Abdulredha, who understood English pretty well, and asked, “Fitihemita?” (Did you understand him?) He laughed and responded in English, “Of course, Jamal. I am wannabe American, you know!”

“Doc,” I ordered, “make a path toward the village to our east and don't hit any IEDs.” Doc immediately punched the Humvee across the desert toward the edge of a small hill that overlooked Abu Hyatt. The Iraqis followed. We approached the top of a ridge to get a better view of the small village. Abdulredha and I jumped out of our vehicles and met at the hood of his Humvee. He pointed. “Jamal, I see the Marines. Look about five hundred meters toward the river.” I followed his directions. “Roger, I see them.” Before I could even ask Abdulredha what he wanted to do next, he was in his Humvee burning a path through the desert to the Marine location.

We linked up with the Marines searching local homes. I approached the lieutenant in charge. “Dude, how's it going?” He replied, “We are good to go—no worries. We could use your
jundi
though. This woman came out of her home and pointed us in the direction of this home directly in front of us. I had my Marines go in there and check it out. They found weapons, washing machine timers, hollowed out 155-mm artillery shells, a book on the physics of electronics, and a bunch of copper wire. If that ain't fishy, then I don't know what is.” Astonished, I responded, “No kidding? What do you need the Iraqis for? You need them to ask the homeowner what's up or something?” The lieutenant replied, “Yep, exactly.” Abdulredha, who had overheard our conversation, said, “Roger, Jamal, I am already sending soldiers to check it out.”

I approached the
jundi
and asked, “Shaku maku wiya il biet?” (What's up with the house?) Abdulredha came to explain the situation. “The women
of the home said all of the men were gone for the day and that she didn't know how this stuff arrived in her home,” he said. “She said it is the male's property and that she has nothing to do with it. This is an insurgent home, I know that.” I replied, “Roger, well, we will cause more problems by detaining the lady. I guess all we can do is confiscate the illegal material and be on our way.” I jumped in my Humvee and waited for the Iraqis to wrap up their business.

Abdulredha radioed over the Iraqi radio net to Martin, relaying the message they were ready to move. Martin, in uncharacteristically honest form, looked at me and said, “You need to look in the Iraqi Humvee before we leave. They took that woman's antique shotgun. I think they are trying to steal it.” I knew Martin was not being honest for honesty's sake, since he was the shadiest bastard in Iraq. I also knew that Martin did not get along with Abdulredha and that this might be a false alarm. Nevertheless, I investigated.

I looked in the back of the Iraqi Humvee, which had the woman's shotgun, a legal weapon for Iraqis to have in their home. I approached Abdulredha, disappointed, and asked, “Why did you guys take this weapon? These people are authorized one weapon and this one obviously isn't meant to kill people.” Abdulredha grinned and said, “Jamal, the lady already has an AK-47, so we took this shotgun.” I laughed. “Listen, this is an antique shotgun that would have a hard time killing a bird. You can take it if you want, but I'll tell you this, you had better be able to justify this to Colonel Abass when we get back to the camp. If you don't think you can justify this with Colonel Abass, I recommend you return the lady's antique.”

Abdulredha knew he had been caught red-handed engaging in some Ali Babba activities and decided to choose the path of righteousness. He ordered one of the
jundi
to return the antique weapon to the lady. He smiled at me. “Jamal, you know what that thing is worth in Baghdad? Big money, man, big money.” I replied, “Well, I think you did the right thing. Good work.”

We returned to the main convoy body, which was still sitting on Route Bronze. I arranged to bypass the 2/3 convoy and we continued on our mission to Baghdadi. A mile from Baghdadi, Abdulredha stopped the convoy and ordered his
jundi
to search the bridge ahead for IEDs. The Iraqi
jundi
-bots got out of their Humvee and screened the path. Ayad, one of the searchers, sprinted back to the convoy, flailing his arms in all directions. He had found an IED. “I looked in one of the old IED craters and saw copper
wire coming out of it,” he explained. “I didn't stay to check for details, but I'm sure there is an IED there.” We immediately cordoned off the area and set up security. We all knew we would be here for a while, waiting for EOD to come to our position and clear the IED.

I started transmitting my EOD nine-line. “Checkpoint twelve, line one: 151300 Zulu, line two: grid, thirty-eight Sierra—” I could not transmit another word because my jaw had dropped. An American convoy was heading right for the IED Ayad had located. The
jundi
in the front Humvee were all out of their Humvees waving frantically to get the Marines to stop before they crossed the bridge. I quickly switched frequencies to contact the convoy that was about to run over an IED. I was too late. By the time I contacted the convoy commander, their Humvees were already past the kill zone of the IED. Even so, the IED never detonated. Either the convoy coming our way knew something we didn't or they had Allah on their side.

I addressed the Marine convoy commander, who stopped to chat. “You guys know there is a suspected IED on that bridge and your convoy just drove over the top of it, right?” The lieutenant convoy commander replied, “Hey man, EOD took care of that IED last night. I was here when they did the controlled detonation. It looks like they didn't pick up all the wires in the detonation pit, hence the reason the
jundi
thought there was an IED in there.” I was speechless. EOD had already screwed us over, and this was just another addition to my long list of EOD complaints. I replied to the lieutenant in a sarcastic tone, “So what you're telling me is we have been sitting here for an hour, calling in the nine-line, setting up the cordon, setting up security and making traffic wait, because EOD is too lazy to pick up the wires?” He responded bluntly, “Yep, pretty much.” I couldn't help but laugh. “Well, shit, at least we're all alive, right? Oohrah. Be safe, dude.”

Our Iraqi-led convoy finally made it to the Baghdadi Iraqi army compound. We were greeted by Nuts, Lieutenant Adams, and Captain McShane, who had spent the past four days in Baghdadi helping 3rd Iraqi Company prepare for their move to Camp Ali. Nuts chided us. “Hey, thanks for leaving us down here to help the
jundi
organize their mountains of trash,” he said. “We really appreciate it, guys. I hope you all die tomorrow.” McShane replied, “Yeah, it pretty much sucked down here, but what can you do? Let's get this convoy rearranged and get the hell back to Camp Ali!”

We followed up on McShane's suggestion and approached the problem of forming a new convoy with all of the equipment, personnel, and Humvees from 3rd Iraqi Company. The situation was daunting. Somehow
Abdulredha and I needed to organize sixteen vehicles in some sort of convoy order. And all of this had to be completed inside the Baghdadi FOB, which was about the size of a baseball field. Faced with the complex problem, I realized why being an adviser could be a great job. I walked up to Abdulredha and asked, “You got a plan for getting this convoy together? If you need any help, just let me know. I don't want to get in your way.” Wanting to impress me, Abdulredha replied, “Watch me make this happen. This is a difficult operation for the Marines, but an easy operation for the Iraqi army.”

Abdulredha came through on his claim. Somehow he was able to put together the finest piece of Iraqi army planning I have ever witnessed. Within an hour the convoy was on Route Bronze heading north to Camp Ali. If this excellent performance by the Iraqi army could not convince the boss they were ready to do independent operations, then nothing would. The sooner the MiTT worked itself out of a job, the sooner America could quit wasting time and resources in Iraq.

Chapter 17

The Combat Operations Center Is Launched and the Mission Changes

Late October–Early November 2006

O
ur lives changed for the rest of our deployment. The Iraqis had shown an ability to conduct successful independent convoy operations, so we shifted our focus from training the Iraqis on the intricacies of combat operations to training them on higher-level functions like centralized command and control. To this end the first Iraqi problem we planned to address was the defunct Iraqi Combat Operations Center.

In addition to a change in the advising agenda, the MiTT attitude changed. From here on out, if work needed to be done, the Iraqis would be doing it. If a problem required initiative to solve, the Iraqis would deal with it. In addition to a shift in attitude, half of the team was pulled away to focus on advising 3rd Iraqi Company, which had moved to Camp Ali a few days earlier. Meanwhile the rest of the MiTT, including me, would be in charge of maintaining and developing the Iraqi COC. From this point forward, our only chance to get outside the wire would be if a quick reaction force were needed. I was bummed I would not be heading outside the wire as often to take part in the action, but I thought I could serve the Iraqis better by staying back in the COC and working with their staff officers to facilitate better command and control. If it all worked out, the Iraqis would be running everything and we would go home.

After a week of sleepless nights, we finally got the Iraqi COC into operation. Its setup was not complicated. In one corner there was a desk for a MiTT watch officer, who advised the Iraqi watch officer on COC operations, and in the other corner was a desk for an Iraqi watch officer, who
monitored all combat operations for the battalion. But the new COC was a complete shit show. Nothing worked, communications were abysmal, and the Iraqi officers were not happy about actually having to perform watch officer duties. The Iraqi leadership was accustomed to their cushy jobs. They essentially did nothing except collect a paycheck, chain smoke, and order Iraqi soldiers to do all the work.

An attack on an Iraqi foot patrol in South Dam Village illustrated how poorly the system worked. Upon hearing news of the attack, the entire MiTT converged on the Iraqi COC to see how they could help. Captain Mohammed, the Iraqi watch officer at the time, was on his two-hour lunch break. Fighting the urge to take control of the situation, I talked to Abit, the radio clerk. “Abit, you need to get Captain Mohammed to the COC. We are not gonna do his job for him.” Mohammed responded on his radio. “Abit, just have the Marines take care of the situation—I'm on break.” I grabbed the radio from Abit's hand and said, “Mohammed, inta mejnoon? Ta'al il harakat, hessey. Il doriya yehtajek!” (Mohammed, are you crazy? Come to the COC, now. The patrol needs you!) Surprised that I had grabbed the radio or understood what he told Abit, he promptly replied in broken English, “Okay, okay, no problem. Now I come COC. No problem, Jamal. No problem.” By the time Mohammed made it back to the COC, the patrol that had been attacked and needed help had already returned to Camp Ali. Way to go, Mohammed.

If Mohammed's ineptitude wasn't enough, Lieutenant Kusay, the 3rd Iraqi Company commander, piled on the problems. He walked into the COC around 1300 to talk about his upcoming patrol operations with Lieutenant Le Gette, who was advising him. Acting as an interpreter for Le Gette, I asked Kusay, “Brother, can you tell me what is going on right now with the Iraqi patrol schedule? I don't even see a schedule posted anywhere.” Kusay explained, “Jamal, our patrol plan is working out so well right now we don't even need a schedule.” Le Gette and I laughed.

I knew a patrol was outside the wire and I wanted to test Kusay's knowledge of his own operations. I asked, “Kusay, when is your next patrol leaving?” He confidently replied, “A patrol should be leaving in thirty minutes.” I snapped, “Kusay, there is a patrol outside as we speak, how can there be another patrol leaving in thirty minutes? You don't have enough men to run simultaneous patrols.” Captain Mohammed, feeling the urge to help defend Kusay, chimed in. “Jamal, I am not sure about what is going on at the moment, but Kusay is the company commander and knows his
operations very well.” Le Gette and I gave up. I said, “Kusay, Mohammed, I'm glad you guys are on top of it.”

We followed up with a question about the future of patrolling efforts. Le Gette explained his basic plan to run three patrols every twenty-four hours to keep the insurgents on their toes. Kusay bagged on the proposal. “I think we only need to do one patrol.” Le Gette snapped in return, “But that would leave the insurgents twenty hours a day to conduct operations?” Kusay replied, “Yes, that is true, but my
jundi
will get very tired if they do three patrols a day.”

Le Gette was stuck. He wanted to let the Iraqis run the show, but we also had to worry about our safety and the safety of other Marines in the area. If he let Kusay do his one-patrol-a-day plan, the insurgents would place IEDs all along the routes frequented by the Marines from 2/3. If an IED were to kill the Marines along our assigned routes, their blood would be on our hands. He was stuck in a catch-22. If it became the Iraqi's initiative, they would gladly go back to their lazy ways and let him do all the work, and if he let the Iraqis take control, it would put Marines in danger. Le Gette opted to compromise and insisted that they do at least two patrols a day.