Rakkasans in Iraq: The Bulldogs’ Victory, The
It ended with a bang, but it started with a whisper.
It was a whisper on the grimy streets of Baiji, Iraq, to a patrol from Company B-the “Bulldogs”-1st Battalion, 187th Infantry (1-187 Infantry). Somebody said he knew somebody who might know something, maybe something worth something, he told the soldiers, and gathering intelligence-even shreds or hints-is a priority for the Bulldogs. They can’t afford not to listen.
But Iraqis say a lot of things to soldiers on patrol, and, mostly, what they say leads to a dry hole.
Soldiers spend hours keyed up and cramped inside a Humvee during the middle of the night to raid a house, stop a car or meet a source, and it’s all for nothing. It was a lie or the talker got it third-hand and wrong. Sometimes, it’s a trap, and everybody needs to be ready for that-suspect it every time. That’s the way you stay alive among the whispers and the shadows of Baiji.
Whether or not it’s good information, soldiers always have to think about why somebody talked. Generally, it’s for revenge, jealousy or to get a rival out of the way. Other times it’s to get money from the reward fund. Occasionally, the person does it for the thrill: the sheer romance of being a spy. That type also tends to be a braggart, and a braggart sooner or later ends up with his throat cut or a grenade pitched into the front seat of his car.
Sadly, low on the list of reasons is that the talker genuinely wants to help American soldiers clean up the insurgency and get Iraq on track. If you peel away enough layers, that’s seldom the real motivation, although soldiers like to think it could be someday if they keep at it; at least they hope it might. These days, though, Baiji really isn’t that kind of town. Just about everyone there has an angle to play.
Baiji is Sunni-dominated, shady and dangerous, like most towns running northward along the Tigris River, which was the base of Saddam Hussein’s power, and after nearly three years has remained a pool of simmering hatred for the coalition. Improvised explosive devices (IEDs) are planted almost daily along one of the roads. Now and then, a mortar round gets lobbed into Forward Operating Base (FOB) Summerall, the soldiers’ camp just outside town. Sometimes, soldiers die. Company B lost four soldiers to an IED.
The job for Company B and the rest of the battalion task force on the FOB, however, is to turn the situation around in Baiji, and the best way to do that is to get Iraqis talking to them, regardless of motive. If the soldiers work it right, maybe it really could be because the people of Baiji want to help end the violence.
But the soldiers will take information any way it’s given. They monitor mosque messages. They survey people on the streets to get a handle on the general mood. They talk to shopkeepers. They sip chai at every invitation, at times performing like good actors, having learned the need to play a potential source and not get played-smiling, flattering or pumping a lead through small talk to dredge up tidbits and/or partial fabrications if that’s what it takes.
“We’re fighting an insurgency, but it’s really all about personalities and working with people,” explained Capt. Matt Bartlett, the Company B commander.
“I tell the guys that it’s like picking up a woman in a bar,” he said. “You go into the bar, make her feel good about herself, and by the third time you meet, you’re good to go.”
The Bulldogs had been working Baiji hard since their arrival three months before as part of Task Force Band of Brothers under the 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault), which has responsibility for most of northern Iraq. The 1-187 Infantry is part of the division’s 3rd Brigade Combat Team, the “Rakkasans,” indicated by a red Torii gate-the Rakkasans’ unit symbol-painted on almost every piece of rolling stock or flat surface on FOB Summerall. To say the least, the Rakkasans aren’t subtle about letting people know who they are.
One day earlier this winter, Company B’s efforts in Baiji finally dug up a mother lode.
The Bulldogs’ Third Platoon received initial information about the guy who knew the guy and reported the contact to Capt. Bartlett. He delved into it and conducted a series of negotiations to seal the deal.
On the day set for Company B to exploit the information, the captain was more excited about a mission than usual. This one could be big, and it was important for the company to have something to show for all the effort.
The setup that day was this: the initial contact led to an Iraqi who said he knew exactly where some rockets were buried-big rockets, longer than a picnic table as he described them, and a lot of them.
If it panned out to be true, Capt. Bartlett had a wad of fresh $20 bills in a pocket of his Army combat uniform for the guy. If it didn’t pan out, he would be kept near enough to explain why.
The Company B headquarters section basically had the lead, backed up by a line platoon. Everybody started getting ready to move out long before dawn.
Two Apache attack helicopters sat on the tarmac of FOB Summerall’s runway, ready to provide air cover and a distraction as Company B’s Humvees made their way to the site along Route Phoenix.