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The biggest issue with the operation was the tactical incompetence of Captain Najib, the 4th Iraqi Company commander, who was everything Iraqis look for in an officer. He had a sense of entitlement and confidence, his manners were precise and his professionalism was keen, and he was feared by his men. The general Marine opinion of Captain Najib, however, was that he was an idiot in an Iraqi uniform.

The original plan for the operation was to have three squads move in
line from west to east. This way we would ensure the town was cleared systematically. According to the plan every few hundred meters the Iraqi squad leaders would check back with Najib and make sure everyone was in line. The intent of keeping the squads roughly in line was so one squad didn't get too far out in front of the others. If this were to occur, the danger of Iraqi friendly fire would increase dramatically.

Halfway through the town it was clear the squads were out of whack. Our squad was at least five hundred meters behind the center squad, and the southern squad was probably three hundred meters in front of the center squad. If we were attacked from any direction, we were in for disaster. Realizing the tactical dilemma we faced, I left my squad to find Najib and help him rectify the problem. He was nowhere to be found. I talked to
jundi
in the center squad and they directed me forward. Sure enough, five hundred meters in front of the center squad was Najib with a few soldiers scouting the area. Horvath and I approached Najib, who was sitting in the direct firing line of his center squad, oblivious to where his troops were in the town. Horvath picked up his pace and mumbled under his breath to me, “This fucker is going to have my boot in his ass.”

Horvath caught up to Najib and addressed him in broken Arabic. As Horvath berated Najib, Najib seemed to lose his ability to understand Horvath's broken Arabic and English. Iraqis sometimes have bad cases of “selective hearing.” Horvath gave up and stomped off. I figured I would take my shot with Najib. I tried the friendlier, helpful approach, thinking I could appeal to the Arab in Najib. “Najib, why are you in front of all the troops? If there is a firefight you will be shot. Do you even know that the squads are all misaligned?” Najib responded confidently, “I need to see the battlefield up ahead. My men will not shoot me, they know where I am. Plus, there are no insurgents in this area anyway.” From Najib's tone I knew he had resorted to a “fuck the Americans” attitude and I would have no luck in changing his mind. We were destined to clear Kaffijiyah in the least tactically sensible way.

Najib's poor tactical decisions throughout the day were dragging down our morale. Something good had to be coming our way, and indeed the good news came. We ran into a police colonel who worked in the area and could provide us with much-needed human intelligence. Najib called back to Colonel Abass to report the news.

Without giving details Najib told us we would be in the police colonel's home for a while until he had updates from Colonel Abass. We
apprehensively agreed and posted security on the police colonel's home. Remarkably it turned out that Abass and this man had a long history in the old Iraqi army.

Five minutes later an entourage of Iraqi Humvees came flying through the town. In true Iraqi fashion, Abass has decided to bring his entire personal security detachment to this man's house in the middle of our searching operation. He wanted to have tea, talk about the local area, and get an assessment of the situation in Kaffijiyah.

Colonel Abass and the police colonel conversed in Arabic for fifteen minutes before I lost interest and noticed a cute Iraqi boy, no older than five. He sprinted to me and spoke in perfect English, “Give me.” I responded in English, “You sure are direct, aren't you?” He snapped, “Mister, give me.” I ruminated. On the one hand, I did have some toys, but this kid was rude. On the other hand, if we could get in with this kid's police colonel father, we would have access to a lot of intelligence. I made my decision and threw the kid one of the toys I had in my drop pouch.

The little boy dived on the toy, ran into his house, and came dashing at light speed toward me to shout again, “Give me!” I played the kid's little game for a few more rounds, not able to resist the idea I could win his heart and mind. I snapped back to reality and realized I was being used. This kid had ratholed a pile of the things I had given him and was coming back for more. As long as the gravy train was in town, he was going to get more than his fair share.

I focused my attention back on Colonel Abass, who had finished speaking with his old friend. The police colonel's parting words were that the insurgents in the Triad were in their last throes of survival and were depending on thievery and burglary to support their attacks on the Iraqi army and Marines. According to him they would be out of the area within months because the people were fed up. I knew one thing. I wasn't holding my breath for this guy's prediction to come true.
Insha'allah
(God willing) this guy is right!

Despite all the minor setbacks with Najib, the day clearing homes in Kaffijiyah was successful. No insurgents attacked, we received some solid intelligence from the local residents, and we found no caches or evidence of insurgents working in the area. It was time to get some chow. We helped Najib round up his men and headed to the battalion mobile command post (CP), which overlooked Kaffijiyah from a hill eight hundred meters away. Captain Chin and I started our walk to the CP when the Iraqi
ambulance came screaming in our direction. I thought to myself, what is wrong now?

The ambulance stopped right alongside us as the dust cloud following engulfed us, proving that being invisible is possible in Iraq. It was my medic buddies Hussein and Muhammad. Excited, they yelled at us to hop in the back. We obliged after a short calculation: we could either hitch a ride in the back of an Iraqi ambulance with no armor and no turret gunner and be driven by a couple of crazy Iraqis or we could walk a mile wearing over eighty pounds of gear, suffering in 125-degree heat. Sometimes comfort-based decisions are the way to go. We hopped in the back of the medical vehicle and grabbed onto whatever we could find as Hussein put the pedal to the metal.

Making Friends with Najib

After returning from the mission in one piece, I was ready to hit the rack. Sadly, Colonel Abass made a request to speak with the advisers who were embedded with Najib. He had correctly sensed problems during the Kaffijiyah mission between the embedded advisers and Najib and wanted to smooth over the situation. Abass had unique insights to share. He gave me, Horvath, and Chin a lesson on how to deal with Arab men. His lecture was directed mostly at Horvath, but we all gained insight from his wisdom.

“Gunny Horvath,” he began, “you are as stubborn as Captain Najib. I respect this quality in men and I believe it contributes to your success and pride as a military man, however—” Colonel Abass interrupted himself. “Captain Najib will be punished for not cooperating with you today on the battlefield. I am sorry for his actions. However, I want to lend you some advice. In our culture, you must give a little if you want to get anything. If two stubborn people meet, it always creates problems. For example, Arab people are similar to a taut string. At one end you have the reasonable people; on the other end you have the maniacs. They are both connected by this taut line. If the maniacs want something, the reasonable people must soften and give him some line and vice versa. Unfortunately this line is not strong. If one group pulls against the other, the line breaks and everything is broken.”

Abass continued his lecture. “Here's a more personal example. The U.S. Army Special Forces team that previously worked here were bossy. They were smart men, had excellent tactics, and trained my scouts well. But they were stern, demanding, and stubborn. On one mission they
asked me if they could take my scouts. I agreed with them that the mission was valuable, however, I would have none of it.” Abass got louder. “Why should I allow them to order my scouts around without consulting my advice and without respecting my stature as commander? We were not friends. I was merely their pawn. The Special Forces team was terrible with relations and I made them pay!”

At this point Colonel Abass was excited, but he began to calm down. “The next Special Forces team to come in was different,” he said. “Their tactics were terrible and their advice incompetent. However, they were my friends, drank tea with me, and consulted me on the best employment of my scouts. I would try to please them and I allowed them to employ my scouts in any matter they chose, even if I felt it was unwise. This is something Iraqis do. We take the extra step to please a friend. It is important to compromise and keep the string I spoke of from breaking.” Abass was wise. We decided to build our personal friendship and military relationship with Captain Najib and the other
jundi
.

Chapter 6

Vacationing with the Iraqi Army

August 2006

I
mprovised explosive devices, better known as IEDs, are the biggest threat in Iraq. The number of devices and tactics insurgents use to build and employ IEDs could fill a book. Breaking it down “Barney-style” (Marine term for synthesizing things so even the dumb purple dinosaur can understand it), these devices can be separated into three categories: pressure-plate IEDs (PPIEDs), command-wire IEDs (CWIEDs), and radio-controlled IEDs (RCIEDs) (see
photo 6
).

PPIEDs are any IED initiated by the victim. The classic example is the homemade land mine. Imagine you are walking through a rice paddy in Vietnam and step on a metal or plastic object stuffed with C-4 explosives by the local villager. The next thing you know your leg is flying through the sky and you are collapsing to the ground. This is a type of PPIED. A more complicated example of the type found in Iraq might be a couple strips of thin metal separated by Styrofoam wafers on each end. These metal strips connect to four 155-mm artillery shells buried on the side of the road. The idea is to have a vehicle roll over the metal strips. The pressure from the weight of the tires then causes the metal strips to touch, completing the electric circuit and setting off the artillery shells. This makes a bad day for the Marines or Iraqi army.

Insurgents love PPIEDs because they are “fire and forget”—drop it, leave, and hope Allah will find the right victim. Tactically, though, insurgents have two drawbacks they must consider: accidentally killing the local populace and emplacement. The PPIED is not discriminating. Because whoever
happens to drive over the top of a triggering device ignites a PPIED, an insurgent may end up blowing up his uncle, his sister, or his neighbor who is cruising down the street. Insurgents place these IEDs on military-only roads or place them on the civilian roads after curfew hours, when no civilian traffic should be traveling.

But this placement presents a conundrum to the insurgent: How can he emplace the IED on a military-only road if he will be searched if he is seen on this road? Also, if he instead decides to place the IED after curfew hours on a civilian road, he will be searched because he is driving after curfew. All of this makes emplacement appear impossible. It is not, as evidenced by the countless dead Marines and
jundi
who have died from PPIEDs.

The simplest of IEDs are the CWIEDs. If you think back to the Wile E. Coyote cartoons, you already know about CWIEDs. Remember how Wile E. Coyote would set up a bunch of TNT on the road and trace his wire back to a hidden spot where it would be connected to a large ignition switch that said “ACME” on it? When the roadrunner, his target, was in his kill zone, Wile E. Coyote would push down on the igniter box. Unfortunately for the coyote, something would invariably be screwed up with his CWIED; he would get fried and the roadrunner would run off.

Insurgents do the exact same thing as Wile E. Coyote, but their CWIEDs work. First, they place a large amount of explosives: 155-mm artillery shells, four-hundred-pound propane tanks filled with PE-4, satchel charges, metal barrels stuffed with rusty nails and shrapnel, and so on. Second, they trace a copper wire back to their hidden ignition point. This hidden area could be an old sheepherder's tent, a civilian's house, or a stack of rocks. The third step in the CWIED phase is to wait for an unlucky convoy to enter the kill zone and then count, wahid, ithnien, thlathe (one, two, three)—boom!

Owing to their simplicity and ultralow technology (which limits our ability to defeat them with expensive technology), command wires are an insurgent favorite. The added bonus of CWIEDs for insurgents is that they eliminate the issue of accidentally blowing up their neighbors. Yet there are drawbacks to CWIEDs. Insurgents have to sit and wait for a target, which takes time and manpower, not to mention that sitting in the searing heat for hours on end is no fun. Also, CWIEDs are difficult to hide—concealing two thousand meters of copper wire is not easy!

The final category of IED is the RCIED, also an insurgent favorite, consisting of explosives connected to a modified electronic receiving device. Examples of RCIEDs receiving devices include Sanyo base stations,
cell phones, and Motorola radios. These devices can be programmed to detonate explosives at the insurgent's desired time. The RCIED is the lazy man's IED. Imagine an insurgent sitting on his patio smoking his hookah pipe. When he sees a convoy passing a few miles away, he dials a special code on his cell phone and detonates the IED, goes back into his house, collects a five hundred dollar check from Al Qaeda, and takes a nap as if nothing ever happened. The chances of the Marines finding this guy? Zero.