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Fri, December 5, 2003
173rd conducts searches
“Seventeen love songs for 11 guys,” one of the Soldiers jokes as they roll back toward their assembly area before departing on the ride back to their safe houses from the small, troublesome city of Al Hawija. Indeed, the crooning of Marvin Gaye does seem strangely out of place here. One might expect to hear some faster, harder music from heavy metal bands like Drowning Pool or Aenima. None of the paratroopers even seem to notice as they sing along with the music, while their humvee bounced down the rutted streets under the yellow glow of antiquated street lamps. It was a strange ending to a three-day mission for the men of Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 508th Infantry, “The Red Devils.” The mission included almost all of the 173d Airborne Brigade’s paratroopers. They netted more then 50 possible “bad guys,” and confiscated several automatic weapons, three Improvised Explosive Device making kits, a large cache of rocket-propelled grenades, and various other items devious intent. A few hours earlier, the commander, Capt. John Kilbride and First Sgt. Toby Boland, along with the men, had searched a house looking for a Senior Ba’ath party member. It was one of many houses they searched that day, but this one was a little more special then the others. Before the search the Battalion commander, Lt. Col. Timothy McGuire jokes with the First Sergeant. “I call him Colombo,” he laughs giving the first sergeant a playful punch. The nickname may be fitting. Boland and his men were responsible for the capture of one of Saddam’s senior bodyguards a few weeks ago. Boland spotted the man in a crowd near his house when he discovered a photograph inside the house that matched. It was an impressive piece of detective work. McGuire is the new battalion commander replacing Lt. Col. Harry Tunnel who was badly injured in an ambush a few months ago. McGuire fits right, illustrated by the easy back and forth conversation with his commanders and staff. He has got an infectious laugh and seems genuinely good-natured. The “Joes” miss Tunnel. You can tell when they talk about him. But McGuire is one of them; there is no doubt in any Soldiers mind.
Even though he’s a big guy, Boland has a way with people that make him seem less intimidating. When questioning a family about the whereabouts of their husband and father, he’s able to do it with a smile. He even manages to finagle a smile from the family’s children. He seems nice, until his patience runs out, and no one here has an abundance of patience right now. The night before was spent sleeping in vehicles or on the rocky ground during a clear but very cold night at Forward Operating Base McHenry. It was cold, uncomfortable and noisy. Sleep, what little there could have been, came only out of exhaustion. But back to the house. It’s a well-built, big place by Hawija Standards. Outside, in the small courtyard that even the poorest hovel has in Iraq, sit 9 or 10 children, three women in their mid-30s and two grandmothers. They are all seated on lawn furniture in a semi circle while Boland’s men search the place. Only one man was found at the residence, he’s wearing a neck brace and is separated from the rest outside on the street. “Does the baby need anything,” Boland asks through an interpreter. He’s the father of two girls and a boy himself. There’s a hint of sympathy and understanding in his voice as he waits for the mother of the infant to reply. There’s really no way to describe this house search process to someone who is reading this from the comfort of home, the office or anywhere. It’s a vulgar and disgusting act if the occupants of the house are innocent. If they’re guilty of attacks against coalition forces though, it’s perfect and right on the money. Imagine 10 strangers, all with automatic weapons, entering your house while you’re held at gunpoint outside. Imagine them opening every kitchen cabinet, every dresser drawer, and looking into every crack and crevasse. Even the paratroopers acknowledge what may seem like a violation. “Hell, I’d be pissed off if I lived there and someone did this to my house,” one remarks later after the search is over. An exceptional amount of chatter comes from the mothers and grandmothers. The interpreter, let alone Boland, has a hard time getting a word in edgewise. Nearly every question posed is met with an answer that is irrelevant and argumentative. “Are there any weapons in the house?” Boland asks only to be told, “My husband is not home.” “Who lives in the first bedroom?” Boland asks. “I don’t know,” someone replies. “You don’t know who lives in a bedroom of your own house?” Boland asks. “It’s not my room,” is the reply. Even the simplest question is met with answers like this. Finally, Boland has had enough and he separates a small boy from the women and the rest of the children. The boy is about 10 years old. “A brave little kid,” Kilbride remarks. Kilbride is a small man. Maybe 5-foot 6-inches and 145 pounds if he’s wet. He’s not what one might except for an infantryman -- let alone a paratrooper -- to look like. But spend five minutes with him and you quickly realize he’s all business when it comes to this sort of thing. Kilbride seems like an easy going kind of guy, as if nothing can get to him. He’s in charge, but there’s nothing boastful about this. It’s a matter of fact sort of thing. Inside the house the questions continue with the boy. “Where does your family hide their rifle? It’s okay, everyone is allowed to have one in their house and we want to make sure there is only one,” Boland asks. “We don’t have any guns,” the boy replies “Where is your father?” Boland asks. “He’s at work,” he says. “Who is the man outside with the neck brace?” “He’s my uncle” “Which room does he sleep in?” “That one,” the boy points. The questions are not harsh nor are they scary. Boland squats down to the kids level so they are both eye to eye and removes his Kevlar helmet. He does his best not to come across as an ogre, even playing with the kid a bit here and there in, an effort to keep the boy calm. Boland’s approach, and the kid’s bravery, prevents the boy from melting down into a crying fit. The boy is on the edge though and tears well up occasionally while he’s talking. Meanwhile, Boland’s interpreter is being slowly driven insane, between asking questions of the boy and dealing with the women who are becoming increasingly agitated with the search. The women are very demanding, very persistent, very angry, very loud and very upset. When one woman is allowed to get food, water and clothes for the children, the older women erupt in a fit of rage. Under the old regime any women separated from the group like this would surely be raped and the two grandmothers illustrate they are having no part of this. A frustrated young paratrooper, built like a brick wall, is trying to prevent the women from entering the house. The women fear the one woman will be raped or be beaten into giving information and are insistent on being allowed to accompany her. The interpreter does his best to explain to the women that nothing will happen to the one woman, but this tact seems as effective as talking politics with a dog. It’s a “no win” situation and finally she is allowed to accompany the younger woman. Back in the other room, the kid has finally had it and erupts into tears. It’s his father the paratroopers are looking for after all. “He’s just protecting his dad,” Kilbride says. “Hell I’d do the same thing.” When the tears start, the boy is returned to his mother. It’s a lot of pressure and a lot of questions to pose of such a young boy and the men of Charlie Company understand. Many of them have children the same age. In the end, not much is discovered. Found are an AK47 and several magazines of ammunition that the family swore they didn’t own, didn’t hide and, were about to tell the American’s about. The father never comes home and his whereabouts are never discovered. “You have to be a bit of a detective,” Boland said. “There are only two rules here. The first rule is that everyone is lying and the second rule is that everyone has weapons. You have to do your best to be a detective. How many rooms are there here with male clothing in them and how many males does the family say is living there? Look at the photos. Is there anyone that should obviously be in the house but isn’t? You have to ask the same question of different people in separate places and compare the answers with them.” The man outside may never know exactly how close he came to being detained. The zipper cuffs actually go on his wrists at one point when Boland catches him lying for the third time. “I told you three lies and you’re going to jail,” Boland tells him. The man has just finished telling Boland that he doesn’t live in the house they are searching, but the women and the boy have already confirmed for Boland that he does indeed live there. Even the simplest of questions, “do you live here?” is sometimes met with the most pointless, outlandish lie imaginable. It makes little sense to the men of Charlie Company, why they just don’t answer the easy questions honestly. They know they will eventually get to the truth. The man is released since there isn’t much in the house that interests the paratroopers in their pursuit of Saddam loyalists and terrorist elements. The AK47 is a ‘ho-hum’ find; they’re as common in Iraq as are grains of sand. Every family has one here, like finding a microwave in an American’s kitchen. The man is released and the first sergeant does his best to assure the family that they didn’t mean anyone harm, just looking for people responsible for attacks against Americans, Iraqi Police and Iraqi citizens. While the search has been intrusive and confrontational, it’s important to note that had this been Saddam’s soldiers, the search would surely have been a different. Insurgency, or even the suspicion of such, was cause for bloody violence under the old regime. A lie in Saddam’s era was met with the cutting out of a tongue and homes were often leveled in the process of searching. It was a kingdom of fear and brutal oppression after all. It’s after all this drama, the Marvin Gaye tunes come out. It does actually fit the mood, easy going and relaxed as if the adrenalin pumping beats of anything heavier would only frustrate the end of a frustrating night. It’s a strange ending to a strange little tale in a strange country halfway across the world.
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