From The Washington Post, 7/27/06:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/07/26/AR2006072601666.html
'Waiting to Get Blown Up'
Some Troops in Baghdad Express Frustration With the War and Their
Mission
By Joshua Partlow
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, July 27, 2006; Page A01
BAGHDAD
Army Staff Sgt. Jose Sixtos considered the simple question about
morale for more than an hour.
But not until his convoy of armored Humvees had finally rumbled back
into the Baghdad military base, and the soldiers emptied the
ammunition from their machine guns, and passed off the bomb-detecting
robot to another patrol, did he turn around in his seat and give his
answer.
"Think of what you hate most about your job. Then think of doing what
you hate most for five straight hours, every single day, sometimes
twice a day, in 120-degree heat," he said.
"Then ask how morale is."
Frustrated?
"You have no idea," he said.
As President Bush plans to deploy more troops in Baghdad, U.S.
soldiers who have been patrolling the capital for months describe a
deadly and infuriating mission in which the enemy is elusive and
success hard to find.
Each day, convoys of Humvees and Bradley Fighting Vehicles leave
Forward Operating Base Falcon in southern Baghdad with the goal of
stopping violence between warring Iraqi religious sects, training the
Iraqi army and police to take over the duty, and reporting back on the
availability of basic services for Iraqi civilians.
But some soldiers in the 2nd Battalion, 6th Infantry Regiment, 1st
Armored Division -- interviewed over four days on base and on patrols
-- say they have grown increasingly disillusioned about their ability
to quell the violence and their reason for fighting.
The battalion of more than 750 people arrived in Baghdad from Kuwait
in March, and since then, six soldiers have been killed and 21
wounded.
"It sucks. Honestly, it just feels like we're driving around waiting
to get blown up. That's the most honest answer I could give you," said
Spec. Tim Ivey, 28, of San Antonio, a muscular former backup fullback
for Baylor University.
"You lose a couple friends and it gets hard."
"No one wants to be here, you know, no one is truly enthused about
what we do," said Sgt. Christopher Dugger, the squad leader.
"We were excited, but then it just wears on you -- there's only so
much you can take. Like me, personally, I want to fight in a war like
World War II. I want to fight an enemy. And this, out here," he said,
motioning around the scorched sand-and-gravel base, the rows of
Humvees and barracks, toward the trash-strewn streets of Baghdad
outside, "there is no enemy, it's a faceless enemy. He's out there,
but he's hiding."
"We're trained as an Army to fight and destroy the enemy and then take
over," added Dugger, 26, of Reno, Nev.
"But I don't think we're trained enough to push along a country, and
that's what we're actually doing out here."
"It's frustrating, but we are definitely a help to these people," he
said.
"I'm out here with the guys that I know so well, and I couldn't
picture myself being anywhere else."
'Never-Ending Battle'
After a five-hour patrol on Saturday through southern Baghdad
neighborhoods, soldiers from the 1st Platoon sat on wooden benches in
an enclosed porch outside their barracks.
Faces flushed and dirty from the grit and a beating sun, they smoked
cigarettes and tossed them at a rusted can that said "Butts."
The commanders in Baghdad and the Pentagon are "looking at the big
picture all the time, but for us, we don't see no big picture, it's
just always another bomb out here," said Spec. Joshua Steffey, 24, of
Asheville, N.C.
The company's commanding officer, Capt. Douglas A. DiCenzo of
Plymouth, N.H., and his gunner, Spec. Robert E. Blair of Ocala, Fla.,
were killed by a roadside bomb in May.
Steffey said he wished "somebody would explain to us, 'Hey, this is
what we're working for.' "
With a stream of expletives, he said he could not care less "if Iraq's
free" or "if they're a democracy."
"The first time somebody you know dies, the first thing you ask
yourself is, 'Well, what did he die for?' "
"At this point, it seems like the war on drugs in America," added
Spec. David Fulcher, 22, a medic from Lynchburg, Va., who sat
alongside Steffey.
"It's like this never-ending battle, like, we find one IED, if we do
find it before it hits us, so what? You know it's just like if the
cops make a big bust, next week the next higher-up puts more back out
there."
"My personal opinion, I don't speak for the rest of anybody, I just
speak for me personally, I think civil war is going to happen
regardless," Steffey responded.
"Maybe this country needs it: One side has to win. Be it Sunni, be it
Shiite, one side has to win. It's apparent, these people have made it
obvious they can't live in unity."
It was dark now save for one fluorescent light and the cigarette tips
glowing red.
"I mean, if you compare the casualty count from this war to, say,
World War II, you know obviously it doesn't even compare," Fulcher
said.
"But World War II, the big picture was clear -- you know you're
fighting because somebody was trying to take over the world,
basically. This is like, what did we invade here for?"
"How did it become, 'Well, now we have to rebuild this place from the
ground up'?" Fulcher asked.
He kept talking.
"They say we're here and we've given them freedom, but really what is
that? You know, what is freedom? You've got kids here who can't go to
school. You've got people here who don't have jobs anymore. You've got
people here who don't have power," he said.
"You know, so yeah, they've got freedom now, but when they didn't have
freedom, everybody had a job."
Steffey got up to leave the porch and go to bed.
"You know, the point is we've lost too many Americans here already,
we're committed now. So whatever the [expletive] end-state is,
whatever it is, we need to achieve it -- that way they didn't die for
nothing," he said.
"We're far too deep in this now."
'Our Biggest Fear'
The largest risk facing the soldiers is the explosion of roadside
bombs, known among soldiers as improvised explosive devices, or IEDs,
the main killer of U.S. troops in Iraq.
Battalion commanders say they have made great strides clearing the
main highways through their southern Baghdad jurisdiction, including
the north-south thoroughfare they call Route Jackson, but insurgents
continue to adapt.
"We do an action, he counters it. It's a constant tug of war," said
Sgt. 1st Class Scott Wilmot, an IED analyst with the battalion.
"From where I sit, the [number of] IEDs continually, gradually, goes
up."
Each day, U.S. and Iraqi soldiers patrolling neighborhoods such as
Sadiyah, al-Amil and Bayaa -- an area of about 40 square miles where
about half a million people live -- encounter an average of one to two
roadside bombs, often triggered remotely by someone watching the
convoys, he said.
"Motorola radios, cellphones, garage door openers, remote-controlled
doorbells. Anything that can transmit, they can, in theory, use,"
Wilmot said.
"Anybody who thinks they're stupid is wrong."
After the bombing in February of a golden-domed Shiite shrine in
Samarra, sectarian killings between rival Shiite and Sunni Muslim
factions exploded, and have continued to take thousands of Iraqi lives
despite a security crackdown in Baghdad that started last month.
U.S. military commanders in Baghdad say the killings extend beyond
sectarian motives, to include tribal rivalries, criminal activity and
intra-sect gang warfare.
Most of the killing takes place out of sight of the Americans,
commanders said.
"At this point, it's getting a little difficult to tell which groups
are responsible," said Capt. Eric Haas of Williamsburg, Va., an
intelligence officer for the 2nd Battalion.
"Our biggest fear is this turning into a Bosnia-Kosovo situation"
where the police are allowing the slaughter to take place.
"We're definitely making progress," he added.
"It's going to take some time to get there."
Into this fray, day and night, come the U.S. soldiers.
Each infantryman conducts an average of 10 patrols a week, for a total
of 50 to 60 grueling hours, "and it is having an effect," said the
battalion's executive officer, Maj. Jeffrey E. Grable.
"Sometimes it's not obvious, the fruit of their labor," said Grable.
But the patrols have "a deterrent effect on sectarian violence.
Unfortunately, we just cannot be everywhere all the time."
'Only Promises'
The patrol led by Capt. Mike Comstock, 27, of Boise, Idaho -- two
Humvees and a Bradley Fighting Vehicle -- started at 1 p.m. on
Saturday.
At about 15 miles per hour, the patrol passed down blighted Iraqi
streets with dozens of cars waiting in gas lines, piles of smoldering
trash, rubble-strewn vacant lots and gaping bomb craters.
On one stop, the patrol pulled up to the Saadiq al-Amin mosque in the
Bayaa neighborhood.
Some mosques in the city have stockpiled weapons and been operations
centers for insurgents -- used, said one officer, "like we use
National Guard armories back home."
"How are you doing today, sir? A little hot?" Comstock asked Walid
Khalid, 45, the second-ranking cleric of the Sunni mosque, who opened
the gate wearing sandals and a white dishdasha , a traditional robe.
"Our imam was killed three weeks ago," Khalid said through an
interpreter.
"This is actually the first I've heard about this," Comstock said,
taking notes.
"The people around here are afraid to come here to pray on Fridays,"
Khalid said, going on to explain that the mosque didn't have water or
electricity.
He said that he was worried about corrupt Iraqi police attacking the
mosque, and that he needed permits for the four AK-47 assault rifles
he kept inside.
"Would it help if we brought the national police here so you could
meet them?" Comstock asked.
"Maybe you guys could start building trust together."
"We would like to cooperate, but sometimes those people come to attack
us, and we want to defend the mosque," Khalid said.
"Inside the mosque is our border. If they cross this line, we will
shoot these guys."
Comstock's patrol stopped at Bayaa homes and shops to conduct a "SWET
assessment": checking the sewage, water and electricity services
available to residents.
Most said the sewage service was adequate, but the electricity
functioned no more than four hours a day.
Some said they had little running water and dumped their trash along
the main streets. Inner neighborhood roads were blocked with slabs of
concrete and the trunks of palm trees.
The most repeated concern among residents was a lack of safety.
"I can't fix electricity or sewers all the time. We recommend projects
to be done," Comstock told Muhammed Adnan, a Bayaa resident.
"Patrolling your neighborhood is one thing we can do. I hope that
helps."
"We just receive promises around here, nothing else," Adnan, 40, told
Comstock.
"Three years, just promises, and promises and promises."
Comstock wrote down the words:
"only promises."
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BRING.......THEM.......HOME.......NOW!!!!
Harry
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