Sunrise Over Fallujah: List 9

A tribal leader named Hamid Faisal Al-Sadah complained that the Coalition was not protecting his people, and that a number of young men from his area had been killed when they entered Fallujah.

Third Squad was going to Fallujah with us. The plan was that we would talk to the sheik and then spend the night guarding a nearby antiquity site.

The cities were all crowded, huddled together around whatever plumbing and electrical resources they had, but the people seemed to know how to live their lives.

The sheik was in his fifties, a smallish man with neat, graying hair. He wore a traditional Iraqi garment—the long flowing djellaba with the embroidered front that richer men wore—but I could easily imagine him in a carefully tailored suit.

The sheik had held up his hand for Major Scott to stop. “You mean the weapons of mass destruction?”
“I do,” Major Scott replied.
“Go on, sir.”
“If you help us find these weapons, we will be able to divert men away from that operation to providing security for your people.”

“Sir, what we can accomplish together, the coalition forces along with the goodwill of the Iraqi people, will astound the world,” Major Scott said as we stood outside the door.

“Sir, what we can accomplish together, the coalition forces along with the goodwill of the Iraqi people, will astound the world,” Major Scott said as we stood outside the door.

“I think Major Scott was right in the way he handled it,” Coles said. “He had to pin the sheik down into actually doing something. The different factions over here all want our goodwill but they don’t want to actually do anything to get it.”

The night air in Fallujah was fresher than what we were accustomed to in Baghdad and I felt myself relaxing. We could still hear sporadic small-arms fire outside. I thought I recognized the staccato cough of a machine gun and occasionally what could have been a grenade.

But here, on this bright morning, I rode for the first time as someone who had killed. All the times before that, I had fired my weapon into the darkness, or at some fleeting figure in the distance, I could say that maybe I had missed, that maybe it was not my bullets that hit them.

Folks, there’s not much on this table to eat,” he said. “When you give it to one person, you have a chance to make a friend. When you divide it between two people, you’re liable to make two enemies. That’s what we’re facing here in the Middle East. There’s so little to go around and so many people who need both food and spiritual substance that no matter what contribution we make we’re going to create more enemies than friends.

“In 1776 we were the world’s only true democracy. Now most of the world’s leadership has followed our example. I don’t want to sound utopian, but if we can bring 1776 to the Middle East we can change the world. You young people can take an important step in that direction. You can show us the way. That’s what I’m asking of you, that’s what America is asking of you. Thank you.”

If there is a need to have shots fired, you can rest assured that your security detail will be amazingly proficient at doing just that.

“The whole area between the southern tip of Iraq north through the Maysan province is supposed to be held by the British,” Kelly said.

“We just found out that some of their children have been kidnapped and are being held for ransom. Kidnapping’s big business over here. We think we can use that to our advantage. The local tribe that the children belong to has been—or at least we think has been—dealing with some of the Badr fighters who are coming across the border from Iran. The Badr fighters are the bad guys in this picture...."

“And we haven’t verified that they’re absolutely the ones bringing in the new detonators we’re finding throughout the country, either. If we get our hands on a supply of the detonators, we might be able to trace them directly to the source. If we can do that, we might be able to exert enough behind-the-scenes pressure to stop the flow. What we think is that the Badr fighters are bringing in the detonators and selling them to the locals, who then bring them into the suburbs around Baghdad.”

We loaded the medical supplies in the second vehicle and tried not to stare too hard at the men—we could only guess that they were soldiers—who were staring at us. They were a motley crew. Big, muscled, in a variety of uniforms. Some wore bandanas around their heads, others wore earrings.
“Who are you guys?” Coles asked.
“Fifth Group,” one guy said. “We work with the local tribes.”

“We’ll get you some food and you can lay up until it gets dark. We got some work to do tonight so you need to be rested. Sorry our hospitality couldn’t be more considerate but we got us a situation, so to speak. People working before you—including us—haven’t got the job done. That’s why you folks are here. We understand you’re pretty good.”

“We’ll get you some food and you can lay up until it gets dark. We got some work to do tonight so you need to be rested. Sorry our hospitality couldn’t be more considerate but we got us a situation, so to speak. People working before you—including us—haven’t got the job done. That’s why you folks are here. We understand you’re pretty good.”

“I don’t think they’ll try anything rough with your people, and with ours there they won’t try to intimidate you. They’ve been told that you’re a crack negotiating team from CENTCOM and that you’re willing to spend our government’s money to ransom the kids from a rival tribe. These are the kids of one of their religious leaders. So it’s important for the chief to get the kids back to show he’s still got juice.”

We stopped inside and the men who had brought us in, two older guys dressed in caftans and sandals, pointed to the ground. We started to sit.

The old man I thought might have been a chief spoke very softly to the man on his left. He was also ancient-looking and wore a kind of half turban the same silver-white color of his beard. The fire reflected in his beard and eyes and gave him a mystical look.

“There’s an old proverb they say in the marshes,” Fadel said. “‘Chiefs sleep on anthills.’ If he sleeps on it he’s going to be bothered all night and by the morning he will have changed his mind five times.”

"Our vehicles have armored plates on the sides and if you don’t get a direct hit with an RPG or take a straight-on shot from a AK-47, you have a good chance of making it. These people shoot and run quick; they don’t want to tangle with my men. We lack sympathy.”

I hobbled outside and tried to breathe. A burning pain seared through my left leg. There were streaks in the sky and the first signs of morning. What to do? Where to put my eyes? What to think? It had been so long since I had prayed. So long.
O Jesus God, please don’t let him die. Oh, please don’t let him die. O God, please don’t let him die. Oh, please! Oh, man, God, please don’t let him die. Not Jonesy, God. Please.