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Just wanted to write to you and tell you another story about an experience we had over here. As you know, I asked for toys for the Iraqi children over here and several people (Americans that support us) sent them over by the box. On each patrol we take through the city, we take as many toys as will fit in our pockets and hand them out as we can. The kids take the toys and run to show them off as if they were worth a million bucks. We are as friendly as we can be to everyone we see, but especially so with the kids. Most of them don't have any idea what is going on and are completely innocent in all of this. On one such patrol, our lead security vehicle stopped in the middle of the street. This is not normal and is very unsafe, so the following vehicles began to inquire over the radio. The lead vehicle reported a little girl sitting in the road and said she just would not budge. The command vehicle told the lead to simply go around her and to be kind as they did. The street was wide enough to allow this maneuver and so they waved to her as they drove around. As the vehicles went around her, I soon saw her sitting there and in her arms she was clutching a little bear that we had handed her a few patrols back. Feeling an immediate connection to the girl, I radioed that we were going to stop. The rest of the convoy paused and I got out to make sure she was OK. The little girl looked scared and concerned, but there was a warmth in her eyes toward me. As I knelt down to talk to her, she moved over and pointed to a mine in the road. Immediately a cordon was set as the Marine convoy assumed a defensive posture around the site. The mine was destroyed in place. It was the heart of an American that sent that toy. It was the heart of an American that gave that toy to that little girl. It was the heart of an American that protected that convoy from that mine. Sure, she was a little Iraqi girl and she had no knowledge of purple mountain's majesty or fruited plains. It was a heart of acceptance, of tolerance, of peace and grace, even through the inconveniences of conflict that saved that convoy from hitting that mine. Those attributes are what keep Americans hearts beating. She may have no affiliation at all with the United States, but she knows what it is to be brave and if we can continue to support her and her new government, she will know what it is to be free. Isn't that what Americans are, the free and the brave? If you sent over a toy for a Marine (US Service member) you took part in this. You are a reason that Iraq has to believe in a better future. Thank you so much for supporting us and for supporting our cause over here. Semper Fi, Mark GySgt / USMC Source: SOG Publication Jennifer Martinez: editor
Two days until Christmas. I can only imagine the trepidation that many of you must be feeling, as you prepare to celebrate such an enormous holiday without your beloved Marine. Well, rest assured, there is much yule tide spirit in the Mayhem Area of Operations, better known as the Mayhem AO. Cards, lights and stockings adorn all the FOBs, and especially pictures of children are everywhere. Christmas music can be heard coming from walkmans and computer laptops, and there is enough candy and candy canes to feed the Battalion and keep them high on sugar for the next 10 years. All of this courtesy of the amazing families and support network of 2/24. And, I must send a special thanks to all of you that have sent me personal notes and cards of encouragement and support, you will NEVER know how uplifting those moments have been for me to receive and read. I will get a note back to each and every one of you, I just beg your patience as our operational tempo only knows one speed: FASTER than yesterday. I always try to shoot straight with the families of 2/24, and this update will be no different. I know some of the Marines are openly thinking about the Christmas season, while others keep "the stiff upper lip" and pretend it is just going to be another day. Well, although my 60 watt bulb of a brain only draws 20 watts, I am bright enough to know, and sharp enough to see, this time of year is dealing a hefty blow to my beloved Marines. The weight of not being at home with their families, during this most family oriented of seasons has them a bit down. I know that many are adrift with thoughts of how Christmas WOULD be spent if they were not in Iraq. I know they long for the sights, hunger for the tastes and yearn for the touch of loved ones. They imagine the warmth that tingles from within when seeing the light of a child's face when opening a toy. They visualize about the look in a spouse's eyes, so intent that it says "I love you" without a single spoken word! All these things race through their minds at dizzying speed, for they race through mine as well. But, in spite of it all, we will be a joyful bunch this Christmas. We will be a joyful bunch, because while we cannot be amongst you, we can be between you. Between you and the enemy that seeks your destruction and the end of all your Christmas celebrations, forever! No, we will be a joyful bunch, because the enemy is at bay. He is at bay because standing between you and him is the righteous fury of "a few good men." No, we will be a joyful bunch, because we are the tool of the fury. We will spend Christmas on the wall separating good from evil. We will spend Christmas in the relentless pursuit of those who would replace your child's wonder with fear, your happiness with desperation, your freedom with tyranny. No! Such cannot happen! And therefore, we spend this Christmas on duty, at the ready, and continuing the hunt. Who will we spend Christmas with? Let me answer that one. Last night I was making my rounds and had just entered the S-1 office. Now, office is a gross overstatement, as our spaces are essentially wood cubicles inside an old chicken factory with the amenities of a pauper and enough dust to choke a Hoover vacuum. But, office at least gives the impression of a space where the S-1 Marines do their combat admin magic, and it is at least that. There were (3) Marines seated in a close circle in the middle of the space, and I immediately recognized them as from Fox Company; they had layers of dust on them, layers of clothes on them for protection from the cold, and the look of fatigue that is easily recognizable by Warriors, the one that displays a need to sleep, but a greater need to finish the task at hand. I always try to talk to my Warriors and I approached and after receiving the usual, "good evening Sir," that I got from each of them because of our Marine's unbreakable professionalism, I asked them how things were at Fox. Please understand, I cannot convey tone and tenor, but these Marines instantly knew I meant "how is Fox?" As in, how are you all holding up in light of the tragic loss of LCpl Warner and PFC Vroman. Now, these Marines can easily dismiss the Bn Cmdr, who they all always want on the other side of the Mayhem AO from wherever they currently are, with a simple "doing fine, Sir" or "good to go Sir" or even better yet, "oohrah Sir." But I got none of these. I got a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, and then one of them, a young handsome Devil Dog with broad shoulders and the kind of look that should be used as a recruiting poster, looked at me, took a deep breath that instantly let you know what he was about to say was important and warranted your undivided attention, and said: "you know Sir, it's amazing. Even the "bad ass" Marines cannot help but get a little choked up about what we are doing in Yusufiyah. I mean, when we seized that town and it was a running gun battle day in and day out, that place was abandoned. Nobody came out of their houses. But now, when we are out on patrol, and all the schools are back open and people are living their lives, it feels good. But what really gets you Sir... those little kids...those little kids...they come up to you, and in their broken English say "look, we go to school" with a wide smile and a thumbs up. It gets to you Sir, it feels good. We are doing really good out there, aren't we Sir?" Well, after that you could count every hair on the back of my neck because it was at the position of attention, and after the chills stopped going down my spine, and the tears were pushed back into my soul from whence they sprang, I simply said, "you have no idea Devil Dog. You have no idea. You have done amazing work. And one day, I will tell the world just HOW amazing." So, weep not for us, because I for one, and I think I speak for us all, know the only thing that would keep me from my beautiful wife and angelic daughters on Christmas would be: 1. to be in the service of my country and 2. in the presence of heroes. Check roger on both counts. Therefore, from Iraq and on behalf of all the heroes of 2/24: Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! MERRY CHRISTMAS FALLEN WARRIORS OF 2/24, CHRISTMAS DINNER WILL BE IN YOUR HONOR, AS WILL ALL FUTURE CHRISTMAS DINNERS IN THE SMITH AND MANY OTHER HOUSEHOLDS. REST WITH THE ANGELS AND LOOK DOWN ON YOUR BROTHERS. WE LOVE YOU. Mark LtCol USMCR TF 2/24 Commanding Officer, 24 MEU Mahmudiyah, Iraq "Mayhem from the Heartland" or as the terrorists call us "The Mad Ghosts" Source: SOG Publication Jennifer Martinez: editor
Subject: My Son
My son, the soldier, comes home for good. At last report, he had left Iraq and was waiting a flight in Kuwait. With luck he will be in Germany today and then on to Texas. By the way, he is called "remains" but I know better. He is my son. I want to tell you about him. Not because he is so great a guy _ although I think so, but because he represents the thousands of sons and daughters America is sending to far away places to secure our peace and our liberties at home. Captain Sean Patrick Sims, commanding officer of A Company, 2-2 BN, 1st Infantry Division, was killed in action Nov. 13 in Fallujah, Iraq while clearing insurgent occupied buildings. A tough assignment, clearing an urban area. Dirty, dangerous work. Sean lost his executive officer the day before and I read of the deaths of two Marine Captains who were similarly killed in Fallujah. It is sad when a father must write his own son's obituary. I don't know what to say. My son, like others falling in that conflict, was a hero who believed in his mission, his unit, and his men. He also believed leaders should be in the front, leading, not following. And that is how he died. He was well liked and respected by his superiors and the men in his company, who sensed his concern for their well being. He was also concerned about the well being of the Iraqi people and did his utmost to guard them from harm. Sean was a devout Catholic, who lived the tenets of his faith on a daily basis. There is no doubt in our minds that Sean is now in heaven and in the hands of our Lord. We grieve for his loss, which is our loss, but not for his soul. If anything, we ask his intercession on our behalf as he is now much better placed for that effort. I don't know what to say or how to describe the sacrifice of your blood for this country. Having served in Vietnam, twice, having a father who spent 36 years as a soldier through two wars, and a brother who served in Vietnam twice and is now 100% disabled from his injuries there, I am encouraged by the awareness of our countrymen for the sacrifices of our children. I am thankful for the realization by our citizenry that freedom is not free. My son was not a rampant political supporter for any party, although he was probably more Republican by instinct. But he did have an abiding trust and belief in the United States of America. He felt we are a moral nation, steadfast in our principles; this nation does not take its commitment of its sons and daughters to war lightly. But unlike many nations in the world, we do not shirk our duties to commit our blood to just and necessary causes. Because that is what keeps us free. I think he understood something which seems to have been lost in the debates over weapons of mass destruction and poor intelligence estimates in this particular war. That is that sovereign nations must be held accountable for their actions. We cannot tolerate nations that hide behind borders and provide support to enemies who are intent on our destruction. We can debate on how this war developed and was executed. It can not be debated that nations now look carefully at their responsibility and accountability before providing such support. America has made its statement. If you support terrorism, we will find you and destroy you, whatever the cost. My son understood this and believed what he was doing was right. But he also believed that you can't go in and destroy a country and walk away. He was anxious for the insurgents to be quickly defeated so we could start the nation building that Iraq so sorely needs. He chafed at the delays and the debates in implementing aid. He was not a romantic. He understood well the backwardness of the country, the strangle hold of its religion and more challengingly, the social and political pressure of the tribal system. They all looked insurmountable when you add them up. But he had been raised in a tradition of grit and putting one foot forward at a time, so he was not deterred by the challenge. He was faced with a difficult, dirty and seemingly impossible task, but his response was not how do I get out of it but how do I get it done. I think his sacrifice to his nation can best be summed up in a message I received from a friend expressing condolences for his loss: His sacrifice was made to keep my family, my sons and my grandchildren as well as all Americans safe and free and for that we will eternally be grateful. That's nice. My son would agree. That's what he thought he was doing. In retrospect, the true hero here is his wife, who is left a young widow with a young son to raise. She is a woman of grace, and grit. She will do well by her son and her warrior husband. Regards, Tom Sims (Col. US Army Retired) Classification: UNCLASSIFIED Caveats: NONE Source:SOG Publication Jennifer Martinez:Editor
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My dear brother monks, family and friends, 15 Nov 2004 The operation in Fallujah has just begun, and the mood here on base is tense. We are bracing for high numbers of casualties, expecting the worst but praying for the best. Fallujah is only a few miles from us, and we can hear distant booms as well as some close rockets--one landed 60 yards away. The enemy is trying everything they can to intimidate us, as they also do with the local Iraqis in increasing numbers. I'm reading General Tommy Franks' autobiography now, about his time in Vietnam. It's weird--the same helos used in Vietnam are still being used here, and mortars are going off around us here much as they did in that time-just as I'm reading about it. Our tent is next to the airfield, and very often through the night, we hear helos, planes and jets taking off at all hours. It gets pretty loud, and some of the 10 guys in my tent, unbelievably, sleep through it. During the day, too, machines are constantly flying overhead, on rescue missions most often. Many times they are flying our wounded and enemy wounded to higher care units. It's ironic that we transport the enemy, given the fact that they have just tried to blow us up, sometimes succeeding. Ironic, especially, when our birds are getting shot at trying to save an enemy's life. Even though it's emotionally difficult for the docs and pilots to work caring for the enemy, they do so with every consideration and effort they can, as if they were caring for one of our own. Al Jazeera (sp?) television, of course, (because of death threats) never reports our efforts, never mind our own media's reporting. We have a program in which we videotape the Marines reading a children's book to their kids, then they mail the videos home. They are reading in the room next to mine, and with plywood walls, I hear most of it. It is touching to hear some of these guys, especially the higher ranks, quite tough on the outside, reading with such childlike simplicity and gentleness to their kids. Some of them as they sign off, through tears, tell their kids to be good, that they miss them, etc. Tough to be away from home for them. One told me recently he lost it on the phone when his little 4-year old said, "Daddy, it's time for you to come home now. You've been gone long enough." 18 Nov The wounded have been streaming into our SSTP tents (hospital). We've all been pushed pretty hard with long hours, difficult situations, etc. The docs have been doing surgeries sometimes non-stop for hours on end. At times we've had as many as 15 wounded come in at once. My fellow chaplains have been an inspiration, and we work together very well. We first find out the religious preference, if we can. Some wounded have no ID on them as they've been stripped of clothes and gear on the scene of the injury in order to check all of their wounds, and sometimes they arrive here unconscious. We chaplains quickly tell each other, "This one's Protestant, this one's Catholic, Buddhist, or no-preference," etc. Then we tend to our own faith groups as best we can. Of course, though, we are not limited to our faith group. I've anointed many men who were not Catholic, yet requesting anointing. The Holy Spirit has not been lacking for people to strengthen! One Marine told me, "I'm Wiccan, sir," and then quickly and anxiously added, "but my parents are Catholic." I had to smile. We all take turns going to chow, or if it's too busy, chow is brought to us. Sometimes it tastes better when you're really hungry! I have so many memories of these guys on the gurneys, on the operating tables, in the wards. Often, the wounded who arrive are from the same unit, and they've grown very close to each other. One night, two wounded came in and were taken to separate tents for prelim exams. (Often the chaplain acts as a messenger between two or more of them, as they are constantly asking how their buddies are doing.) As one of them was being carried into the surgery tent, he was carried right by his buddy's stretcher. They stretched out their arms and grasped each others' fingers as they passed, so the stretcher bearers paused for a couple of seconds: "Sergeant, how ya doin?" "Hey man, good, you?" "Good, Sergeant. Sergeant, I'm with ya, I'm right here with ya. Good luck in there." "Hey, thanks, you, too, Corporal, you're gonna be fine, see ya in a few." Their fingers let go and off he went. These scenes happen time and again, with variations. One night I was called to the hospital tents for incoming, then 5 seconds later the Mortuary called-two "angels' bodies" to bless. I hurried first to the surgery tent, where a Catholic Marine officer was in prep for a fairly serious operation to remove some large shrapnel from his shoulder and legs. He was already grieving, as he had seen two of his Marines blown up in front of him. I anointed him and told him I would be back shortly. I rushed to the Mortuary, a gruesome scene every time, but this time particularly so. They were both Catholic. As they normally do, the crew there all joined me in praying the Prayers for the Dead, then we sprinkled the men with holy water. When I got back to medical, the injured officer was in the recovery ward with three enlisted from his unit who had carried the KIA out of the kill zone. Most were Catholic, and so we prayed together a decade of the rosary, then spontaneous prayer the likes of which I have seldom heard. It was most moving to me, inspiring, and in a wonderful way, hopeful. In the midst of their great sadness, their faith in eternal life still shone through. Sometimes I wonder, given those same circumstances, if my faith would be that strong. I think so, but I don't know. I hope so. Another patient: blond headed kid, shot, in operation over 2 hours. Thinking he was stabilized and good to go, I left as they were stitching him up, preparing to medevac him to a base with a higher echelon of care. A messenger came less than an hour later. Despite the surgeons' desperate attempts, his bleeding had continued, and he had died. (There are more medical details, but in respect to his family, possibly reading this, they are not noted here.) That was an especially difficult one for the docs and me, since we had talked to him when he arrived (the bad ones are usually unconscious), and that connection made the unexpected death more personal. One of the docs was understandably angry, mostly at himself, wondering if there could have been anything else done to save him. There really never is, but they still question. A while back I went on a convoy to Blue Diamond, another base. They had great chow, we could hardly believe how good, and of course, envy set in immediately! Then during Mass a mortar hit very close to the chapel, cracking with an extremely loud bang, sucking the door into a slam with the concussive wind, shaking the walls of the building. I decided the good chow wasn't worth living there, as they got more mortars than our base! There was a contingent of about 50 young Tongan military men there, doing base security. At night, they would sit in a circle and sing their evening prayers in four-part harmony. Many folks stand around in the dark near them and listen. Quite a beautiful experience. Much like the monks' singing Compline back home. During another convoy, after we had arrived at our destination and had just gone to sleep, at 2am we were awakened to the loud noises of a firefight less than one click away from our tent. It went on for a couple of hours. One Marine next to me could see I wasn't able to sleep, either, so he asked if he could go to confession. So right there, huddled in our sleeping bags in the freezing cold, I heard his whispered confession and absolved him. Shortly afterwards, the artillery and small arms stopped, and we slept for another hour. On our way home, they were firing artillery about a thousand yards off the right side of the road over our heads towards the enemy. That was a little unnerving. Two Marines from this convoy unit 10 days later were moderately injured when their vehicle, going 40 miles per hour, hit a road barrier. It's been raining off and on, and our tents, which are coated with kerosene for some reason, smell strongly inside just like old urine. Our tent leaks, too, right behind my rack, so I've pulled away from the wall a bit to avoid getting my mattress and me wet anymore. The weather has changed amazingly quickly. Where just two weeks ago we were sweating now we are shivering. At night the temps are around 32-35, daytime temps just in the 50s. The wind has been quite strong at times, which makes it feel much colder. Thanksgiving Day The "internet café" is a tent with about 40 computers connected to the internet, and the Marines use them for email, etc. Of all the times for it to be down, this week is one of the worst. The last windstorm started to blow the roof off of the computer tent, so it was condemned and another is being built. The AT&T phones were down, too. Makes it hard for folks. We've not received any mortar attacks for almost 10 days, but today just as we were headed for the big meal, several dud rockets hit quite close. Actually one hit inside the chapel itself, just 5 feet from my office chair. No one was around at the time. But it has became the talk of the base. We were a little more thankful than normal at the meal, I'd say. The medical folks set up tables in the surgery tents, rather than eat with the thousands in the mess hall. It was as close to home as possible. We even had real turkey, vice the normal pressed meat we get. The dressing, though, was not at all like mom's or my sister Kay's, which I missed the most. It is somehow appropriate and almost sacred that we eat in the same tent where so much blood has spilled, where so much life and death has crossed our paths. We do have so much for which we are grateful. 2 December We haven't been getting tomatoes or lettuce for the last couple weeks in the chow hall. However, the supply of bleu cheese salad dressing, which really is terrible, has never dwindled. We are looking forward to the day when we get something other than that kind of dressing, along with real tomatoes and lettuce. We come to appreciate such simple things in life out here! The hot water has been on and off in the showers for several days, and the cold shower experience is not pleasant, especially in these cold temps. Some days the water is off altogether. Today I got my first hot shower in a week, and it was so good! It's become like a game for us, finding the shower trailer still with hot water and heated air being the grand prize. The chapel has been without power for two weeks now. Sunday Masses are a test for the devoted, as it is very cold. Last Sunday we moved outside, where the sun was shining, thus warmer than inside. It was actually pleasant to sit in the sun and celebrate Mass. My office in the chapel has been without power for the last three weeks. Miserably cold, especially for counseling, until I was given a space heater and got power hooked back up today. Such luxury, it feels like. The weather prediction for next week says it will get into the 60s, but we've been duped before. My last letter home seems to have taken a life of its own. People are writing from all over, and sending packages, often with cigars. Some boy scouts made some cookies, some folks sent Christmas lights, others are sending edible goodies, etc. Their generosity is amazing. And they are all offering prayers. That is of course the best part. Our postal Marines have been working very hard lately, receiving enormous amounts of mail, sometimes 80,000 pounds in one 24-hour period. Their spirit is remarkable, always smiles on. They have to work sometimes night and day in the cold, throwing box after box into the right container. But they help bring a lot of love to us. This week I saw another Iraqi brought into medical. He had helped us in some way, and the criminal insurgents had whipped his body to shreds. Last week one of our ambulances had picked up several Army soldiers seriously wounded by a grenade. On the way back, the ambulance (clearly recognizable as such) was hit with an IED and then again by a vehicle suicide IED, wounding several more inside. Two KIA and 5 WIA. That was very tough to take. A few days ago a little 4 year old girl was brought into the SSTP, wounded in Fallujah by the insurgents' mortars, was found by us in a pile of rubble. Her eye was shut, she was covered with dried mud, etc., and mangled hair. The enemy had just left her there, for a couple of days, we estimate. We had an interpreter here who spoke to her. A couple of the Marine attorneys and I have become friends, and once in a while we sit outside their office with our snivel gear on, smoking cigars. I never thought I'd enjoy them, but have come to learn a few of the finer points of cigars. The smell is nice, and the company, enjoyable. You are remembered by all of us here daily at the Eucharist. We depend heavily in like manner on your prayers, too. Let us all prepare to meet Christ! Come, Emmanuel! Fr. Karl, OSB 1st FSSG; H&S Battalion Camp Taqaddam, Iraq Submitted by: Ed Dougherty President SFA Chapter 75 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Greetings from Fallujah, Iraq. I hope you've all had a Happy Thanksgiving and are looking forward to enjoying the rest of the holiday season. Things here are calming down a bit, and the weather has taken a turn to cooler temperatures, which is nice for a change. I apologize for not being in touch with you more, but I've been quite busy for the last month. November was an interesting month for me. I was assigned as a liaison officer to the Iraqi Armed Forces for the battle of Fallujah, and began living and training with them on November 2nd. We went into the city for combat operations on the 9th, attached to a USMC infantry battalion commanded by a good friend of mine. You probably saw them on the news, especially if you listen to NPR, as we had Ann Garrels embedded with us. The battalion was BLT 1/3 -- the Lava Dogs -- from Hawaii. My friend is the commanding officer. It was especially gratifying to be in combat with someone with whom I am good friends. We were in close fighting with the insurgents numerous times, and got sniped and ambushed many more times. There was one firefight that was particularly long and heavy, in which two guys standing right next to me got wounded when we were attacked. I was hit with shrapnel, too, but was amazingly unhurt. It's really amazing that I didn't get hit that day, considering the volume of fire that was hitting the hood of the Humvee across which I was shooting. Bullets and RPG shrapnel hit the hood and skipped right past me, coming within inches, but leaving me unscratched. I guess it really is better to be lucky than good sometimes. The windshield was destroyed by a very large caliber bullet (we even had one go through some steel plating and into the trunk, leaving a 3" wide exit hole). The preparation fires for the battle the night of November 8th were like nothing I'd ever witnessed in my life. We had artillery, aircraft dropping bombs and tank main guns firing simultaneously throughout the night. We were positioned just north of the city waiting for the time to begin the ground assault, and it was just incredible to see the firepower we unleashed on Fallujah. I couldn't believe that anyone or anything could still be alive after such an assault. But, as we found out, plenty of insurgents survived the initial barrage to fight -- and fight hard -- for many days. In fact, the first day of fighting wasn't the most difficult -- they let us get past them, then tried to hit us in the rear and on our flanks. The Iraqi soldiers were quite timid initially, but did better as we got further into the city, and once they saw us stand and fight. The city of Fallujah was one of the most depressed places I've ever been. There are virtually no trees, and even the houses have an industrial feel to them. There was one beautiful mosque, but it had been partially destroyed in the bombing. Nearly every house in the city had some sort of battle damage. The only thing I found worth saving was a dog we call Lava, who I'm trying to rescue and bring to the States (he's in one of the pictures). I'm leaving here on Thursday for a month to go fill in at another job here in Iraq. This year, I feel that I've got more for which to be thankful than ever, even though I'm not with family and friends back home. Please don't ever forget how lucky you all are to be living in the greatest country on the planet. There is nothing like the United States. Have a very Happy Holidays, and enjoy all the freedoms and bounty that are part of being American. Best regards, LtCol Jay Submitted by: Ed Dougherty President SFA Chapter 75 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Battle of Fallujah Well Task Force 2-7 Cav made it back from Fallujah earlier than expected, mission accomplished. It feels so good to be back from a second successful mission that was as difficult as it was dangerous. We left Camp Cooke on Nov 1 and staged at Camp Fallujah for about a week. While there, we got the good news that George Bush was re-elected and we had busy days and nights of planning and rehearsals for the big attack. Two days before "D Day," a 122 mm rocket impacted 50 meters away from our tents that sent everyone to the floor. We staged there at a remote part of the post and it was obvious that a local national tipped off the "mujahadin" (Arabic name for the enemy) where we staged. From that attack, we lost one soldier and 4 more were wounded. That attack gave the rest of the Task Force enough anger to last the whole fight. After all the drills and rehearsals, the day for the attack finally came on Nov 8. Prime Minister Allawi gave the green light and Coalition and Iraqi forces went all the way. On Nov 7, a battalion of Marines seized the peninsula to the west of the city to prevent insurgents from fleeing. A brigade (4,000 soldiers) from the First Cav set up another cordon around the city to catch anyone fleeing. The plan was to make sure the insurgents would either surrender or fight and be killed. Intelligence estimates put the enemy between 3,000 - 5,000 strong, so we knew we had a tough fight ahead of us. One of the interesting factors to this fight was the weather, although Iraq is unbelievably hot in the summer (up to 130 in Najaf), it was colder out in Fallujah than it was back in New York. Temperatures were typically in the upper-30's and low 40's between 5 pm - 8 am. The average temperature here has dropped about 30 degrees in the past month or so. We moved all of our vehicles and soldiers from Camp Fallujah to a position about 1 mile north of the city. That's also where we set up our TF support area (re-fuel, re-arm) and where we set up the Tactical Operations Center. All day long while were setting up at that location, Air Force and Marine Corps aviators shaped the battlefield with laser- guided bombs and hellfire missiles. Although American forces had not been into the city since April, we had been collecting intelligence on the city for months through UAV's, human intelligence, and Special Forces. So we knew exactly where they stored their weapons and where they held meetings, and so on. All of these attacks from the air were precise and very effective in reducing the enemy's ability to fight us before the battle even started. With each attack, secondary explosions of weapons/ammo blowing up were heard. The Coalition also threw the enemy a curveball by destroying all the vehicles that had been parked in the same location for more than 3 days---the enemy planned to use these as car bombs when we attacked. Again, almost every single vehicle the air assets attacked had huge secondary explosions. After 12 hours of massive air strikes, Task Force 2-7 got the green light and was the first unit to enter the city. There is a big train station on the city's northern limit, so the engineers cleared a path with some serious explosives and our tanks led the way. While this was happening, my intelligence shop was flying our own UAV to determine where the enemy was. It is a very small plane that is launched by being thrown into the air. We flew it for 6 hours and reported grids to the tanks and Bradley's of where we saw insurgents on the roof and moving in the street---so our soldiers knew where the enemy was, before they even got to the location. We crossed the train station just before midnight and led the way for the Marines by killing everything we could in our way. It took our tanks and brads until 10 am the next day to get 2 miles into the city. They killed about 200 insurgents in the process and softened the enemy for the Marines. Five of our soldiers were wounded in this first 10 hours, but we accomplished our part of the plan. The Marines' mission was to follow TF 2-7 and fight the enemy by clearing from building to building. A lot of the insurgents saw the armored vehicles and hid. They waited for the Marines to come and took their chances by fighting them since the Marines weren't protected by armor like we were. In that first day of fighting, the Marines took 5 x KIA and many more wounded, but they also did their job very well. Along the way, they found HUGE caches of weapons, suicide vests, and many foreign fighters. They also found unbelievable amounts of drugs, mostly heroin, speed, and cocaine. It turns out, the enemy drugged themselves up to give them the "courage" and stupidity to stay and fight. The enemy tried to fight us in "the city of mosques" as dirty as they could. They fired from the steeples of the mosques and the mosques themselves. They faked being hurt and then threw grenades at soldiers when they approached to give medical treatment. They waived surrender flags, only to shoot at our forces 20 seconds later when they approached to accept their surrender. The next few days, TF 2-7 maintained our battle positions inside the city, coming out only for fuel and more ammo. We fought 24 hours a day and continued to support the Marines as they cleared from house to house. If they were taking heavy fire or RPG fire from a house, they would call on our tanks. Our guys would open up on the house with 120 mm main gun or .50 cal. After 5 minutes of suppressive fire, then the Marines would go into the building and clear it. There was rarely anyone left alive by that point. The problem is that we couldn't be there to do that for all the Marines and when we couldn't and they had to clear the building without our help, they took heavy casualties because the insurgents didn't stop firing until the Marines got into the building and killed them. After 3 days, half of the city had been cleared and Iraqi Forces followed the Marines to re-clear the buildings and clean up the caches. Sometimes the insurgents who had managed to hide from the Marines would stand and fight the Iraqis, so they took some casualties as well. But they did a good job of securing the area and collecting the thousands of AK-47's, RPG?s, mortars, and IED's that were in these houses. All that ammo proved just how intensely the enemy planned to defend the city - after all, Fallujah was the symbol of the resistance against the new Iraqi government. They wanted to keep their safe haven for terrorists like Zarqawi to behead innocent people. Since no Coalition Forces were allowed into the city, they were able to get away with those atrocious acts without much trouble. On day 3 of the fight, we had the most exciting moment for me personally when our Task Force Support Area and TOC came under attack. Insurgents fired mortars and rockets at us everyday, some landing as close as 30 meters from us. But on this day at 6 pm, just as it was getting dark, we took 3 rounds very close and then to the north 8-10 insurgents opened up with small arms fire on the TOC. Luckily, a tank platoon was back re-fueling and along with the scout platoon, laid down some serious firepower and killed them all in a matter of 5 minutes. But all of us in the TOC got to go out and be part of the fight, firing rounds and seeing the tanks unload on these insurgents. None of us were hurt, but it was an exciting 10 minutes. THEN came the second push through the rest of the city. Although by day four, the Coalition had already killed over a thousand, many of them fled to the southern portion of the city and took up positions there. Again, Task Force 2-7 led the push a little before midnight. Same mission, same purpose: To soften up enemy strong points and kill as many insurgents as possible to enable the Marines to follow us when the sun rose. The Marines from Regimental Combat Team 1 did just that for the next 5 days---fighting house to house, finding more weapons, more torture chambers, more ammunition, and more insurgents ready to fight to the death. One fighter came running out of a building that our tanks set on fire, he was on fire and still shooting at us. As our Sergeant Major said, "going up against tanks and brads with an AK-47, you have to admire their effort!" Over the next 5 days, the Marines and our Task Force killed over 1,000 more insurgents. In that time frame, over 900 more fighters made the decision to spend 30 years in prison rather than die. The Marines are still occupying the city and helping with the rebuilding process---they still meet some sporadic resistance, usually a group of 3-5, shooting from a mosque or faking surrender and then shooting at them. We were very disturbed to find one house with 5 foreigners with bullets in their head, killed execution style. Marines also came upon a house where an Iraqi soldier in the Iraqi National Guard had been shackled to the wall for 11 days and was left there to die. These insurgents are some sick people and Fallujah proved that more than ever. Two mosques were not being used for prayer but rather for roadside bomb making! They were literally IED assembly line factories, with hundreds of IED's complete or being built. They also had several houses with high-tech equipment where they conducted their meetings. In Fallujah, the enemy had a military-type planning system going on. Some of the fighters were wearing body armor and kevlars, just like we do. Soldiers took fire from heavy machine guns (.50 cal) and came across the dead bodies of fighters from Chechnya, Syria, Libya, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Afghanistan, and so on - no, this was not just a city of pissed off Iraqis, mad at the Coalition for forcing Saddam out of power. It was a city full of people from all over the Middle East whose sole mission in life was to kill Americans. Problem for them is that they were in the wrong city in November 2004. Now that it's over, there is a lot of things that people back home should know. First of all, every citizen of Fallujah (non-insurgent) is getting $2,500 USD (that's a lot over here) to fix up their house or buy new things that may have been destroyed in the fighting. Insurgents took up positions in resident's houses so we were forced to destroy a lot of buildings. There is over $100 million dollars ready to be spent to re-build the city. This may seem like a lot of money, but I can assure you that it is a small price to pay for the amount of evil people no longer alive, contemplating how to kill more Americans. The intelligence value alone is already paying huge dividends. Some of the 900 detainees are telling everything they know about other insurgents. And the enemy never expected such a large or powerful attack and they were so overwhelmed that they left behind all kinds of things, including books with names of other foreign fighters, where their money and weapons come from, etc. I went into the city 3 times, but after a lot of the fighting had been done. It was amazing to see how the American military had brought the world's most evil city to its knees. I have an awful lot of pictures that I am going to upload to my webshots site - it will blow your mind to see what the insurgents forced us to do to win this fight. And seeing the pictures of what I saw firsthand will make you very happy to be an American and know that our country has this might if evildoers force us to use it. Our mission in Iraq is to help the Iraqi Security Forces become stable enough to keep this country safe, and once in a while fight with our full might to give these security forces a fair chance. When we need to go after the enemy with all we've got, the results have been amazing. In the fight for Fallujah, our military lost over 50 soldiers and Marines including a sergeant major, company commander, and 8 platoon leaders, along with 40 kids, typically between 19 and 23 years old. I can't even tell you how proud I was to be part of this fight and know these soldiers who were going from building to building to take the fight to the enemy. My Task Force lost 2 more soldiers after the rocket attack at Camp Fallujah, 1 of them that I knew pretty well. It was hard on the unit to deal with these losses, to go along with the 16 soldiers from 2-7 who were wounded. But this was a fight we knew would be dangerous...but worth the risk based on the good that would come out of it. Anyone back home who thinks the world is a safe place needs to come here for a day and learn real fast that there are an awful lot of people out there who hate Americans so much that they risk their lives to try to kill us. We cannot live peacefully back at home right now unless we continue to stay on the offensive against our enemies and fight them in their backyards. Remember, radical Arabs started this war..and they continue to fight it, proving to America over and over that they need to be fought. I am hopeful that most Americans understand that you have to accept death to defeat evil; all of us soldiers accepted that the day we signed up. There are some things worth fighting and dying for, and making the world and especially America, a safer place, is one of them. For every Mom out there that you read about who turns into a peace protestor when her son is killed in action, there are 99 Moms you don't hear about who are proud and believe in this mission even more. It sure is good to be back to Taji after our second "field trip." We have an officers vs. enlisted football game tomorrow where I am the quarterback, so I am excited about that. We also have a Task Force Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Despite the fact we have upcoming Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years away from family, friends, and fun, all of our soldiers are thankful to be back after this big fight and to have played such an important role in the successful mission. I received some nice letters out there that were very supportive, so thank you to all of you who did that for me. Thanks for all your prayers and support, and I wish everyone back home a Happy Thanksgiving and some quality time spent with family and friends. Mike Source:A Collection of Thoughts (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)
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