Blog-ah: David Hardt From Iraq

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The setup

The morning started off with a raid, nothing abnormal, but what came later in the day made for entertainment and creativity from the local national population.

As we rapped things up at the objective and prepped to make our way back to the FOB, over the radio came what seemed to put a dagger in the day’s operation. “Roger, we have a frago; the Apaches see men taking weapons into yesterday’s objective.” Staff Sgt. Rine looked back at us and said, “Hey, did you all hear that?” Everyone in the troop compartment was half asleep but quickly snapped to it. The looks on the squad members’ faces explained everything — frustrated. Our squad knew the building the best because we did the initial breach and clearing, so we knew the layout. This time, though, it was going to be different.
Bret, our driver, started accelerating toward the objective. I looked at the RWS screen, and I noticed that there weren’t many people out. That didn’t shock me; every time we drive around in the city they scatter. Bret put on the brakes, and everyone prepped for the dismount. The ramp dropped, and we came running out with guns ready. There was an eerie silence, and then it was like someone had scored a touchdown. An angry mob of local nationals waited for us — at least 100 deep and growing. “Holy s@#%, what the f@#% is going on?” I looked to my right, and I heard more chanting. “They’re on both sides. Oh good.” Staff Sgt. Rine and Alpha Team locked down the group that was growing in the dark alley; the mass of people started getting louder. Our team was on the street where the group had now started throwing things in the street. Some were on their knees screaming and crying; others pounded their fists in the air. I noticed a guy in the front who was making an effort to get everyone on the same page. “Zein. Zein.” He yelled. They started to pump their fists all at the same time, saying something about Americans are the devil. Sgt. Smith, Lance and I had our weapons raised. I started to aim; I thought, “Who am I going to take out first?” I started scanning the back row, simply because if I was going to throw a grenade I would do it from the back. Everyone chanted and raised their fists at the same time. “Anytime it should be coming,” I said confidently to Sgt. Smith. He replied, “Yep, be ready.”

Things were quickly getting ugly, but I just scanned the mass of people screaming and yelling. My eyes were zipping side to side; my heart rate, amazingly, had slowed. I was breathing like I was running at a comfortable pace. I knew that if I was going to take the shot that counted, I had to have my breath slowed. As I scanned the crowd of people, I heard a familiar voice; it was 1st Sgt. Ward talking on his radio. He walked beside me as I intently scanned and stopped. With a grin on his dirty, sweaty face, he said, “Good times, huh?” I glanced at him. “This could get really ugly if these f@#%&*s massed on us.” He shook his head in confidence and put his hand on my shoulder. “We are good; everything will work out.” I replied back, “I hope so because when that first grenade goes flying it is going to be ugly, not for us, but for them across the street.” He nodded his head in agreement and walked on making his way through another mass of people in the tunnel. His disposition was calm, but his eyes gave the truth. We needed to get this under control, and we did.

It seemed like something out of a movie it was so surreal. I had never been in a situation like this. As I quickly glanced around my surroundings, I noticed that every man had his weapon up and his face was rock solid concentrating not letting an action go unnoticed. The call came to make way upstairs. Staff Sgt. Rine yelled back over the rumbling crowd and music playing, “Let’s go.” We made our way down the dark alley where the other mass was doing some kind of dance or prayer. “Shotgun breach,” someone yelled loudly. I repeated it so those out on the sidewalk could hear and not be startled. Bang. Bang. The door came open, and the squad made its way up the stairway. I followed and went to the radio room as instructed in the brief in the truck. We flowed into the room and made sure there was no one in the room. “Radio room clear,” I said loudly over the speaker noise. I turned around and made my way to the back of the room and found the radio and started unplugging cords. It seemed like the knob I had hit just made the noise louder, so I hit the system to the ground, and it went silent.

The next phase was to clear the same place we had cleared the other day. We started going in the rooms, and we found nothing that we hadn’t found the day before. There was one thing oddly different though. When we did our search the other day we didn’t really thrash the place, but oddly enough the whole place was in shambles. Broken glass, ripped posters and even a room that had bloody shirts on the ground. Something wasn’t right about this whole thing, but I didn’t have time to put it together. As we waited, 1st Sgt. Ward and the other big dogs started to put the pieces together.

The final outcome was the U.S. Army Infantry got shammed, sort of, but not completely. In reality we got the last laugh. 1st Sgt. Ward noticed that a guy was videotaping us, so he grabbed the video camera. “Hey, look what I have here,” 1st Sgt. Ward said like an inspired detective getting his first find. He showed Col. Townsend, who had come by to check things out. They looked at the video, and sure enough it was all a setup. This is what we came up with. The guy or whoever destroyed the building, breaking windows smashing computers and printers. Then he thrashed more offices and then finished it off by planting white shirts with blood all over them and then laid them on the ground. After doing that he or someone called our tip line and said that there was some activity going on and we should check it out. The next part would be the horde of men at prayer, so perfect timing. We roll up and bing, bang, boom — you have an incident for the news. This tape was orchestrated to make it look like we just came in like a bunch of cowboys and broke up their prayer and destroyed offices. The funny part to the whole drama was that the guys who put this together forgot to tell their buddies not to lock the door when they left. They basically got trapped in their own trick. When we came in they had nowhere to go, so they just started praying. The guy who had the camera tried to hide it, but after some stern talking, he pointed it out.

This all could have been so much worse, but the men on the ground kept their composure. So far in our time here that may have been the most intense roller coaster. Getting shot at or getting blown up is, of course, intense as well, but to see a horde of people raging mad and unpredictable, that to me is a rush I will never forget. I will say one thing; I learned a valuable lesson on crowd control in Iraq — assume they want to kill you, because it’s just easier when you have to pull the trigger.

The other day we finally were told officially that we are getting extended. Even though it was news that we all knew was coming, the feeling of avoiding death in an unappreciative country numbed me once again. I look at these next months as something that may help me grow stronger in faith; it seems that may be the only saving grace at this point. We all miss home and our loved ones, but as you all know we must finish what we start. It’s the right thing to do and the honorable thing, and we have no true choice in the matter. Regardless, of politics and all that goes on in Washington, D.C., the only real thing that matters is that we all get on the bird together alive and well.