Monday, December 01, 2003
The Case of the RPG Road Runner
Well, this actually happened in August, but it's a story of a pretty typical interaction between coalition troops and the local Iraqi population, so thought I’d post this little vignette, anyway. Plus, after two media stories in a row, I think it's time to break things up with a (cringe) "war story," if you will.
Anyway, one day toward the end of August, I happened to have been leading a small convoy of four vehicles and about 20 men through the countryside along the Euphrates River valley. (If you’re following along on your maps, it was about a mile east of the town of Hit.)
We came up behind a rickety, rusty, gray Peugot pickup truck (yes, a Peugot!) traveling in the same direction we were, albeit about 20 mph slower and laboring under a full load of cargo in the rear of the truck. As I passed the truck in the lead vehicle, though, I could see that the blanket covering the boxes in the back was starting to come off, revealing stacks of military green wooden crates, about 1 x 1 x 4, complete with bright orange "EXPLOSIVE" stickers.
"Slow down, some," I told the driver. Let's see if this guy passes us again. I want to be sure I saw what I think I saw."
So we slowed down, some, but he didn’t pass us. We slowed down some more, and still he didn’t pass us. We slowed down some more, and still he didn’t pass us, so I told the driver to speed up again, until the whole convoy had crossed over a rise and around a bend.
Once we were out of sight of the Peugot, on the reverse slope of a gentle hill, I said "I'm gonna stop that truck." I called the rear vehicle on the radio and told them “we’re stopping that truck. Take rear security,” and ordered the driver to stop the vehicle on the side of the road. The rest of the convoy followed suit. The other guys in the humvee with me all jumped out and set up an impromptu traffic control point--the SAW gunner pulled security to our 12 o'clock, and the other guys and I waited for the Peugot, which sure enough came trucking along about 20 seconds later. So we stepped in front of it, leveling our rifles at the driver, and waived him to the side of the road to stop as well. We pulled the doors open, and directed the driver and passengers out of the truck--there were two adult males, one adolescent around 15 or 16, and a boy of about 10. We separated them, so they couldn't cook up a story between them, searched them, and had them kneel by the side of the road.
I had one NCO take charge of the searching and securing of the Iraqis, another took a few guys to start searching the vehicle, and I went around to make sure we had our own security out in all directions, just in case. We were out in a large open area, 500 meters across a soccer field from the town. We were attracting some spectators, which I wasn't thrilled about. About 20 or 30 people started walking across the field toward us. I had the guys try to wave them away. You never know who's cousin you're messing with around here.
I WAS thrilled with what it appeared we had on the vehicle, though. We pulled the blanket away to reveal 40 crates for Rocket Propelled Grenade Launchers (RPG-7s) The cab was clear of weapons, and we started opening the crates, one by one.
I was disappointed to find them all empty.
I tried communicating with the oldest of the detainees, and he was making hammering motions with his hands--I guessed something about a carpenter, but unfortunately there aren't nearly enough interpreters to go around. Without the weapons, there's no contraband, and nothing to put them away on, but I definitely wanted to know where they got the crates from. So I ordered the guys to cuff them (except for the boy) and loaded them on one of my 5 ton trucks with as many of the crates as we could fit, and started hollering a one-minute countdown.
The crowd across the soccer field was building and I wanted to get out of there as fast as we could.
A Kiowa helicopter, patrolling the road, had spotted the commotion by now, and was circling overhead, though I didn't have radio contact with it yet. I set one guy to writing the frequency out in the dirt around the trucks, big enough for the chopper crew to see.
Finally we got everyone loaded up and started rolling again. The whole thing took maybe 10 minutes. I was very happy to get out of there. We took them up to the prisoner processing facility at Al Asad Air Base, where I knew some Arab interpreters.
The first thing I did upon arrival was take the boy off the truck and keep him out of sight of the adults. I figured with the youngster out of sight and get a lot more cooperation a lot faster that way. Doctrinally, you segregate detainees by age and rank, anyway. So I had one guy sit with him and we gave him some Skittles out of an MRE.
The boy didn't know much English, but he knew "scared" and he knew "father," and motioned that he wanted to be with his dad. I had to tell him "not yet, soon," and felt like an unbelievable ass.
Turned out all the other guys we picked up had the same story--they bought the empty crates in Baghdad for 20 dollars for their brother, a carpenter, so he could use the wood to make furniture.
"Ummm, were you surprised when American troops stopped you?"
"No, we understood because American troops are afraid of RPGs."
"Oh."
Nevertheless, after talking to these guys was clear now that these people were no threat. They were just a family driving around with a very stupid cargo. We told them they were very lucky to be alive. A lot of gunners would have just opened up on a cargo like that. But finally I said, "Ok, we're going back down that same road this afternoon. We can take you with us and drop you off anywhere you want. Do you have family in Hit or any other towns between here and Ramadi?"
No, they didn't, so we said we'd just drop them off where we picked them up, and we hoped their truck was still there.
It wasn't. Probably didn't last five minutes.
They really wanted to keep the RPG crates, so we wrote out a note in English explaining things, so they wouldn't get arrested again, and helped them unload their crates.
So we pulled away from a family outside of Hit standing by the side of the road with 40 RPG crates, trying to hitch a ride home.
Life is tough on Iraqis. It's tougher if you're stupid. It's tougher still if you're an Iraqi stupid enough to drive down a main supply route crawling with Coalition traffic with your pickup truck loaded with RPG crates.
Still, I wish they had their truck back.
Anyway, one day toward the end of August, I happened to have been leading a small convoy of four vehicles and about 20 men through the countryside along the Euphrates River valley. (If you’re following along on your maps, it was about a mile east of the town of Hit.)
We came up behind a rickety, rusty, gray Peugot pickup truck (yes, a Peugot!) traveling in the same direction we were, albeit about 20 mph slower and laboring under a full load of cargo in the rear of the truck. As I passed the truck in the lead vehicle, though, I could see that the blanket covering the boxes in the back was starting to come off, revealing stacks of military green wooden crates, about 1 x 1 x 4, complete with bright orange "EXPLOSIVE" stickers.
"Slow down, some," I told the driver. Let's see if this guy passes us again. I want to be sure I saw what I think I saw."
So we slowed down, some, but he didn’t pass us. We slowed down some more, and still he didn’t pass us. We slowed down some more, and still he didn’t pass us, so I told the driver to speed up again, until the whole convoy had crossed over a rise and around a bend.
Once we were out of sight of the Peugot, on the reverse slope of a gentle hill, I said "I'm gonna stop that truck." I called the rear vehicle on the radio and told them “we’re stopping that truck. Take rear security,” and ordered the driver to stop the vehicle on the side of the road. The rest of the convoy followed suit. The other guys in the humvee with me all jumped out and set up an impromptu traffic control point--the SAW gunner pulled security to our 12 o'clock, and the other guys and I waited for the Peugot, which sure enough came trucking along about 20 seconds later. So we stepped in front of it, leveling our rifles at the driver, and waived him to the side of the road to stop as well. We pulled the doors open, and directed the driver and passengers out of the truck--there were two adult males, one adolescent around 15 or 16, and a boy of about 10. We separated them, so they couldn't cook up a story between them, searched them, and had them kneel by the side of the road.
I had one NCO take charge of the searching and securing of the Iraqis, another took a few guys to start searching the vehicle, and I went around to make sure we had our own security out in all directions, just in case. We were out in a large open area, 500 meters across a soccer field from the town. We were attracting some spectators, which I wasn't thrilled about. About 20 or 30 people started walking across the field toward us. I had the guys try to wave them away. You never know who's cousin you're messing with around here.
I WAS thrilled with what it appeared we had on the vehicle, though. We pulled the blanket away to reveal 40 crates for Rocket Propelled Grenade Launchers (RPG-7s) The cab was clear of weapons, and we started opening the crates, one by one.
I was disappointed to find them all empty.
I tried communicating with the oldest of the detainees, and he was making hammering motions with his hands--I guessed something about a carpenter, but unfortunately there aren't nearly enough interpreters to go around. Without the weapons, there's no contraband, and nothing to put them away on, but I definitely wanted to know where they got the crates from. So I ordered the guys to cuff them (except for the boy) and loaded them on one of my 5 ton trucks with as many of the crates as we could fit, and started hollering a one-minute countdown.
The crowd across the soccer field was building and I wanted to get out of there as fast as we could.
A Kiowa helicopter, patrolling the road, had spotted the commotion by now, and was circling overhead, though I didn't have radio contact with it yet. I set one guy to writing the frequency out in the dirt around the trucks, big enough for the chopper crew to see.
Finally we got everyone loaded up and started rolling again. The whole thing took maybe 10 minutes. I was very happy to get out of there. We took them up to the prisoner processing facility at Al Asad Air Base, where I knew some Arab interpreters.
The first thing I did upon arrival was take the boy off the truck and keep him out of sight of the adults. I figured with the youngster out of sight and get a lot more cooperation a lot faster that way. Doctrinally, you segregate detainees by age and rank, anyway. So I had one guy sit with him and we gave him some Skittles out of an MRE.
The boy didn't know much English, but he knew "scared" and he knew "father," and motioned that he wanted to be with his dad. I had to tell him "not yet, soon," and felt like an unbelievable ass.
Turned out all the other guys we picked up had the same story--they bought the empty crates in Baghdad for 20 dollars for their brother, a carpenter, so he could use the wood to make furniture.
"Ummm, were you surprised when American troops stopped you?"
"No, we understood because American troops are afraid of RPGs."
"Oh."
Nevertheless, after talking to these guys was clear now that these people were no threat. They were just a family driving around with a very stupid cargo. We told them they were very lucky to be alive. A lot of gunners would have just opened up on a cargo like that. But finally I said, "Ok, we're going back down that same road this afternoon. We can take you with us and drop you off anywhere you want. Do you have family in Hit or any other towns between here and Ramadi?"
No, they didn't, so we said we'd just drop them off where we picked them up, and we hoped their truck was still there.
It wasn't. Probably didn't last five minutes.
They really wanted to keep the RPG crates, so we wrote out a note in English explaining things, so they wouldn't get arrested again, and helped them unload their crates.
So we pulled away from a family outside of Hit standing by the side of the road with 40 RPG crates, trying to hitch a ride home.
Life is tough on Iraqis. It's tougher if you're stupid. It's tougher still if you're an Iraqi stupid enough to drive down a main supply route crawling with Coalition traffic with your pickup truck loaded with RPG crates.
Still, I wish they had their truck back.
Comments:
Post a Comment
