Ambush Alley: The Most Extraordinary Battle of the Iraq War (10 page)

“Hey, if we don’t get tanks up here we are not going any farther.”

Once again Grabowski got on the radio to his XO, Major Jeff Tuggle. This time he showed his frustration.

“I need those tanks up here as soon as possible. Tell them to get their asses up here.”

“Roger, boss, I’m working on it.”

All of a sudden there was a huge boom. A hot storm of dirt and rocks blew toward them.
They’ve hit one of our amtracks.
Grabowski feared the worst.

“What the heck was that?”

The battalion gunner replied.

“That’s a Javelin.”

It was the first time his battalion had fired a Javelin in combat, and although they were a couple hundred meters away, he was surprised at the strength of the backblast that sent hot air, dirt, and packaging from the missile hurtling toward them. He looked up to see the gunner and his loader hollering and high-fiving with excitement.

“I guess they hit what they were aiming for.”

He was proud of them. They were doing what they had trained to do. Locate, close with, and destroy the bad guys.

For the fourth time, Grabowski got back on the net and asked Major Tuggle where those tanks were. All of a sudden, he heard a rumble and felt the ground shake. Through the thick black smoke still pouring from the burning U.S. Army vehicles appeared the outline of four M1A1 tanks. They roared through his position toward the bridge. He called Captain Newland of Bravo Company. He wanted to get them “Oscar Mike,” or “on the move.”

“Mustang 6, you’ve got your tanks. We need to get you moving.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Let me know when you are Oscar Mike.”

Grabowski knew that to meet Natonski’s deadline he had to go for those bridges.

9

Major Peeples and his tanks had driven about ten kilometers south to get to the refueling point at the rear of the battalion’s column. He was pleased with the way the movement had gone so far. His team had performed well, and they were jubilant and high on the adrenaline of battle. He wanted to get the tanks refueled quickly, but there was no great hurry. He knew that the battalion was planning to establish a defense south of the city. He then presumed there would be a huddle before a decision was made on whether to go for the bridges. It was a principle that even the most junior marines were taught.
The attacker controls the clock.
The only thing he regretted was that he hadn’t had time to conduct a proper handover with the commander of Bravo Company, Captain Tim Newland, now that Bravo had taken over as the lead element.

He saw a flurry of activity around the fuel truck. That’s when he had a bad feeling. He had eleven tanks, each requiring five hundred gallons of fuel. One of the support staff came up to him.

“We’ve only got fourteen hundred gallons of fuel left to give out.”

Peeples quickly did the calculation. It meant that each of the tanks was not going to get much more than a hundred gallons. That would only get them an extra 120 or so kilometers. There was worse to come. They’d been having problems with spare parts for the pumps and some of the pumps weren’t working. Now Peeples discovered that none of the pumps worked. The tanks would have to be gravity fed, and there was only one hose.

Nearby, Captain Scott Dyer had answered the question that had been bugging him for years.
How will I fare in combat?
He was pleased with the answer. They had rescued American soldiers and none of his crew were injured. Now he wanted a much-needed leak. It came out like a torrent, forming a huge puddle.
I’m pissing like a racehorse.
He was so exhausted from the fight that he inadvertently trod in it and was irritated to find that the mixture clumped to his boots.

Milling around the hospital tracks at the rear of the column near the refueling point were some of the rescued soldiers from the 507th. Dyer ran over to one of them, a staff sergeant, to find out more about what the Army convoy had been through. The picture the soldier painted of the city was not at all what he had been led to believe. Dyer realized that the intelligence they had been fed for the past few months was all wrong. Waiting for them in the city were not crowds of cheering Iraqis, ready to shower them with flowers for taking on Saddam. The soldier talked of fortified positions, of machine-gun bunkers lining the streets, of thousands of armed Iraqis swamping the streets, ready to attack the invaders. He painted the area to the north, around the Saddam Canal Bridge as swampy, treacherous, and not trafficable by tank.
This is brilliant battlefield intelligence.
It dawned on Dyer that their whole strategy was built on wrong assumptions.
I’ve got
to get this information to the lead units.

Dyer ran over to the main battalion command post where the XO, Major Tuggle, was coordinating logistics for the battalion from his C7 command track. Major Tuggle was the backstop for Grabowski at the forward command post. That was the quickest, most reliable way of feeding the battalion commander information. Dyer tried to explain what the soldier had told him, but Tuggle didn’t seem to take much notice of what he was saying. He was preoccupied with something else.

“Bravo is in contact and needs the tanks.”

Dyer looked at him. He saw from his face that he was desperately trying to conceal worry and stress.
Tuggle knows that everybody’s ass is in a
crack.

“We’ve just got a call from Bravo. They are in contact and need the tanks back up there as soon as possible.”

Captain Dyer was confused.
Why the hell are they in contact?
Then it struck him that the battalion must have started the attack without them.

“What the hell is going on? Why didn’t you tell us that they were going to attack?”

Dyer thought that Tuggle gave him a strange, almost apologetic look.

“It’s too late. It’s done. You need to get up there and help those boys.”

Dyer could not believe it. They had planned the maneuver for months on ship and in Kuwait. They had gone through it over and over again. Tanks were central to the success of the mission. Team Tank was going to take a position on the south side of the Euphrates Bridge and provide a base of fire to support Alpha Company’s seizure of it. Then Bravo, reinforced with the other four tanks, would go around to the east of the city to take the northern bridge with Charlie Company. Team Tank would then make their way up to the northern bridge to support its seizure. It had been endlessly talked about and rehearsed, and he felt confident that they all knew what they were doing. But that mission had been downgraded to a “be prepared to” mission. And now it seemed that Bravo Company had begun the attack without them.

Major Peeples was monitoring the refueling process when Major Tuggle ran up to him.

“Bill, we need those tanks up there as soon as possible.”

Like Dyer, Peeples didn’t understand the urgency.
Why the hurry?
Peeples knew they had been told that they were going to get into a blocking position south of the city along the interchange between Route 7 and Route 8. Then a decision would be made as to who, if anyone, would actually seize the bridges. Clearly, something had changed.

With only one hose, it was taking fifteen minutes to give each tank a hundred gallons. Peeples cut short the refueling for the four tanks from 2nd Platoon that were supposed to be with Bravo Company. He’d given them the four tanks that were in the best condition because they would be the farthest away from the rest of the tank company and would find it harder to get backup support. He yelled to Gunnery Sergeant Randy Howard, his 2nd Platoon commander.

“You need to get the hell up there.”

The four tanks from 2nd Platoon had roared off up the road. To make sure he wasn’t missing something, Peeples checked again where his reserve position was to be after the rest of his tanks finished refueling. He was right. They were supposed to be in a location just south of the Euphrates Bridge.
What the heck then did they need those tanks for so
quickly?

With the loss of the tanks from 2nd Platoon, his Team Tank was now down to seven tanks. Captain Thompson’s 1st Platoon had three tanks, Captain Cubas’s 3rd Platoon had two tanks, and he and Captain Dyer, the HQ element, had two tanks.

10

Captain Dan Wittnam was in the TC’s hatch of his Charlie Company command track, fourth from the front of his column of vehicles. Just in front of him was Alpha Company. He knew that the change in the order of the column meant that the CAAT vehicles and Bravo Company were out in front by the railroad bridge. From the radio reports, he could tell that they were in contact with tanks and machine-gun fire. He pictured again the map of the city and the satellite images that he had pored over for months. It was how the modern Marine Corps taught the art of combat.
Visualize the battlefield, visualize potential problems, and visualize how to solve them.
They were taught to run a mental video of the battlefield through their heads so when it came to the real thing they could predict how the battle would unfold, how to react, and where and when was the best place to make a move. And the more you mentally downloaded those maps and images, the more efficiently you could control your battle.
Make the enemy fight your fight.
Don’t get suckered into reacting and fighting his fight.
General Mattis had sent a prebattle message to his marines before they crossed the line of departure: “
Be the hunter, not the hunted.
”

Wittnam was feeling confident in his abilities. He was well versed in the military principle of Commander’s Intent. It was drummed into him when he was a young marine, and from the first day of training he had drummed it into the marines under his command. Know what the commander wants to achieve at the end of the day and put all your efforts into achieving that aim. It appeared in all the Marine Corps warfighting documents.
“Commander’s Intent is the commander’s vision of what he intends to have happen to the enemy.”
It was a doctrine that gave everyone, from company commanders down to the grunt on the ground, a role in decision making, enabling them to act in a changing environment in the absence of additional orders.

“Palehorse 6, this is Palehorse 1. We are receiving sporadic gunfire from buildings to the left of our position. Nothing we can’t handle, over.”

It was Lieutenant Scott Swantner, leader of 1st Platoon, Charlie Company, letting him know what was going on. Wittnam was pleased that his platoon leaders were giving him information about enemy activity. His marines were trained to be as clear as possible about where it was coming from and its strength. What you didn’t want to do, though, is clog the airways or give too much information that wouldn’t be of any use to anyone.

“Roger that. Keep your eye on it.”

Behind Wittnam’s track in the hatch of Charlie 208 was Lieutenant Ben Reid, Charlie’s FiST leader. He was monitoring the radio when he heard that the CAAT team had encountered tanks at the railway bridge. He heard the battalion staff coordinating the fight up ahead and the cheers as the CAAT team launched some TOWs at enemy tanks.

He got hold of his artillery forward observer, Fred Pokorney.

“This is pretty impressive. Battalion is doing pretty good at controlling the engagements.”

The amount of communications on the net was increasing with every minute that went by. Reid now realized that there was a real fight up ahead by the railway bridge. F/A-18 Hornets streaked by, shooting up stuff in the tree line. Over the battalion net there was a confused chat about the red smoke in the air.

“What is that red smoke and where is it coming from?”

Reid knew that it was the trail of the Zuni rockets fired by the Cobras at the tree line. He tried to get comms with battalion to find out what the helos were engaging and what their frequencies were. He felt frustrated that he wasn’t able to let his company commander, Dan Wittnam, know what the fire support situation was. He wasn’t at the front line, but nevertheless he felt control of the fight slipping away from him.

And then came an order from the battalion commander that confused him. It was just before noon.

“We got to take those bridges. Alpha, take the southern bridge. Charlie, take the northern bridge. If we don’t take those bridges now, regiment will give our mission to LAR.”

Reid spoke with Pokorney to check that he’d heard correctly. He didn’t like the sound of the order. It was hasty and rushed, and somehow that hastiness was passed on down the radio. And what did it mean that they are going to give the mission to the Light Armored Reconnaissance units? Was it some sort of threat to get them moving?

“Hey, he’s not projecting a whole lot of confidence in the way he gave that order.”

It gave him a bad feeling. He felt that an element of panic had just been introduced. One minute they were planning to establish a defense to the south of the city, and then out of the blue they were going to carry out the “be prepared to” mission and take the bridges. Suddenly, the battalion net he was monitoring went crazy.
The net has just gone to shit. Everyone is
stepping on each other. They’re all talking at the same time.
He heard intermittent chatter and recognized who was talking from their call signs, but he found it hard to build up a coherent picture of what was going on.

“Hey, Timberwolf, this is Badger, be advised we’ve got two enemy tanks that we’re engaging.”

“Roger that.”

“We’ve destroyed these tanks.”

“I’ve got enemy infantry at my position.”

“Where are we supposed to be?”

“Alpha, what is your position?”

“Small-arms fire from the left and the right.”

First Lieutenant Conor Tracy, the vehicle commander of AAV Charlie 204, also heard the order over the radio. He could hear from the chatter over the company radio that the order had spread confusion throughout Charlie Company.

“Are we really going up there?”

“I am not sure what he said. What do you think he said?”

“I’m not sure. I think we’re going to go in.”

The movement forward had been carried out deliberately and methodically. Suddenly, it had turned into a rush. What worried Tracy more than the rapid escalation in the speed of the movement was that they still didn’t have tanks with them. He felt it was suicide to go into an urban environment without tanks. They had planned to seize the bridges in a certain order and with tanks in front. It seemed now that things had changed.
What’s going on? We’re in the wrong order and there are no tanks up
ahead.

The marines from his track were dismounted, clearing buildings to the east. He realized that regardless of whether they had tanks or not, the order had been given to move into the city. And speed was vital.
We’ve got
to get going.

In the driver’s seat of 201, Lance Corporal Edward Castleberry was also surprised by the battalion commander’s order.

“Push, push, push. We don’t want to lose this fight to LAR.”

Castleberry was momentarily thrown by the tone of the radio message.
Who the hell cares who fights the battle?

In the TC’s hatch behind him, Lieutenant Swantner popped his head out and looked for his platoon. Adrenaline was now pumping, and Castleberry heard him yell at the top of his voice.

“Back in the tracks. We’re moving. We’re moving.”

Private First Class Robinson was pulling security by the side of the road when he heard the order. He noticed an urgency in Swantner’s voice that hadn’t been there before. His earlier lethargy was disappearing. He felt his heart pumping. They all piled back into the track. For the past few hours he had been almost numb to the continuous stop, start, dismount, mount-up routine. He’d done it all in a daze. But now there was something about the way everyone was acting that made Robinson think that this was for real. As they pulled out onto the hardball road, he picked up bits from the radio but couldn’t understand what it all meant. Amid all the noise and crackle he had trouble putting it all together.

“Army stuck in the city . . . heavy casualties . . . we’re going in . . . say again . . . where are the tanks? . . . keep pushing, keep pushing . . . we’re going to take the bridges.”

He thought for a moment.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This is
weird.
He was expecting a fragmentary order, something just to let them all know what was going on. One last briefing. Anything to prepare them for what they were going to do. He knew that several options had been planned. But the latest order they had received the night before was that they were going to set up a defensive position south of the city and go into the city the next day.
Has that changed? Are we going to go right into the
city?
Whatever they were doing, it seemed as though there just wasn’t time to go through the plan. AAV 201 started to move off real quick. Ahead he saw flames and smoke and helos pounding positions in the city. He heard loud explosions above the roar of the amtrack. Minutes earlier the marines in his track had been talking about which girls they were going to hook up with back home. Now it went kind of quiet. Looking out over the flat, barren landscape he suddenly longed for the sights and sounds of home: the waves rolling onto Santa Cruz’s beaches, the smells from the beachfront food stalls, the yelling and screaming from the Giant Dipper roller coaster on the boardwalk. There was no turning back. They were heading right into the action.