Ambush Alley: The Most Extraordinary Battle of the Iraq War (26 page)

Robinson bounded up a staircase and emerged onto a flat roof with a small bricked-up room. There was a laundry line spanning its length and a small parapet, about two feet high, running around the roof’s perimeter. He checked his situational awareness. He knew that the rest of the marines were in a courtyard below him on the other side of the parapet. He didn’t want to put his head over the wall because he knew it would surprise them and they would shoot him.

He yelled back into the alley.

“Is that you, Robinson?”

He dared to look over the wall and saw Martin aiming an M16 right at his head from below.

“Shit, I almost killed you.”

“The house is clear. Get over here.”

“How d’you get in?”

It was too dangerous to go back into Ambush Alley and around the front. Castleberry, Honmichl, and Martin collected some loose bricks and built some steps to help them all get over the wall. Robinson stood on top of the wall and covered them while, one by one, they climbed over and fell into the cleared house. It reminded Robinson of training.
Just like an obstacle course at Camp Lejeune.

At that moment, an Iraqi who looked like the same man they had kicked out earlier came running into the house through the back door, gesticulating and ranting. Most marines had at some stage received their laminated card with the rules of engagement on it. “Treat civilians and their property with respect and dignity.” “Give a receipt to the property’s owner.” Now, though, surrounded by a hostile force, in hostile territory, the rules of engagement looked different. A screaming Iraqi, even one who just wanted his property back, was a dead Iraqi. Several marines let out a burst of gunfire and the man dropped to the ground. They piled up furniture against the back door to stop anyone else from running in.

There were now four serious casualties and about twenty more or less able-bodied marines inside the house. Some of the marines began to panic. Jared Martin, blood still streaming down his eye from the shrapnel wound he received up at the bridge, tried to get his head together.
We’ve
got to calm down. Is everyone okay now? What’s going to happen next?
We’re low on water and ammo.
They knew they still had supplies in the track, including several boxes of ammo inside, but the track was still smoking. The whole thing might go up. Martin remembered that in the rush to get out, they had left behind the broken body of his buddy Fribley. He wished they had brought him with them.

Robinson was dying of thirst from running around. He realized he was unbearably hot. There was so much going on that he hadn’t noticed it before. He threw off his chemical suit blouse and gas mask and got rid of his rubber overboots. He felt a hundred pounds lighter. He ran up to the roof with Castleberry, Martin, Ortiz, and some of the others. There they clicked into action. They divided up the areas they were going to cover, building up a base of fire around the SAW gun, the machine gun that was the backbone of a squad’s defense. It was an excellent position.

“You got that building and that building. Next guy, you got that building and that building.”

By posting marines a few meters apart, they could build overlapping sectors of fire and cover the whole street in front of them. They did a quick general scan of the buildings opposite. Then, as they’d been taught, they each made detailed scans of the street, gradually working their way outward in fifty-meter strips till they were looking at the rooftops opposite.

It was only now that Robinson realized exactly where they were. He heard the explosion of huge mortars raining down in the distance to his right, sending up billowing mushroom clouds.
It sounds like World War
III.
He believed the noise was coming from the north side of the Saddam Canal, by the bridge where they had been fighting earlier.
The rest of
Charlie Company must still be under attack.
He worked out that to his left was the Euphrates Bridge, which they had crossed several hours earlier. He looked at the disabled track 201 in the street, in front of the house. From the way it was facing, he worked out their orientation. They must have left the northern bridge and been traveling south when they got hit.
That means we are on our own in the middle of Ambush Alley.

There were crowds of Iraqis about twenty meters from them, hiding in the alleyways opposite, inching closer. More of them started massing in the street. Robinson noticed that, strangely, some of them started waving, as if in welcome. He had no idea whether they were innocent civilians or fighters. He hadn’t been taught how to fight like this. All of a sudden a burst of gunfire erupted from within the crowd. The marines on the roof opened up. Some in the crowd scattered. Others fell to the ground.

Castleberry was amazed at what a perfect place they’d found. From the roof they could see almost everything. They could also take shelter behind the low parapet. It was like their own fort.
It’s like defending the Alamo.
It wasn’t a comfortable sight, though. In the alleyways in front, to the left, and to the right, black-robed figures congregated, as though they were ready for an assault on the building.

“Hajjis at the track.”

Marines let out a burst of fire as an Iraqi tried to run across the street and steal a ruck hanging from the side of the track. He ducked for cover. Then another one darted out. This time the marines on the roof hit him with a burst of gunfire. He shuddered to a halt and fell to the ground as the rounds punched him in the torso. Another burst of gunfire stopped his writhing. More Iraqis made the suicide run to the track. Some of them managed to pull down the rucks hanging off the track. Others were just cut down in the middle of the street. Young boys were sent out on the raiding missions. Maybe the Iraqis thought the Americans wouldn’t shoot at young kids. Castleberry couldn’t understand why fathers, uncles, and older brothers would let the young boys risk their lives. It bothered him. But he shot them anyway.
This is like shooting fish in a barrel.

It was a continuous stream of orders and reassurance to each other. Nobody was in charge. They went with whoever shouted loudest and whoever came up with a good idea. But it was working. They were still alive.

“I need more ammo.”

“Milter, watch out. Hajjis behind you.”

“Who needs some 203s?”

“I’m out of rounds, I’m out of rounds.”

“I need water over here.”

“Hajjis running for the track.”

They’d only been there fifteen minutes and already the area around track 201 was scattered with dead Iraqis. Castleberry couldn’t explain why they kept rushing out into the street, only to be mowed down by the marines on the roof.
You’d have thought they would have got the idea.

Farther up the road, strewn around the burning track 208, Robinson saw pieces of dead marines. He could hardly look at the sight. The track was still burning and beginning to cook off. Inside were boxes of ammo. The track was letting off sparks and flames. He regretted that they were losing so much ammo and firepower from the guns mounted on the track.
But at least the hajjis can’t get at it to break down our defense.
It didn’t stop them from trying, though. Young Iraqi boys dashed to the track and tried to pull down the rucks attached to its side, or grabbed Kevlars and equipment from the dead marines lying on the ground.

Robinson knew that they now had to let battalion know where they were. He watched the radio telephone operator, Lance Corporal Sena, doing his radio operator thing while crouched behind the parapet. He was fiddling with the handheld radio.

“The battery is dead. I can’t get no comms. I can’t get no comms.”

Robinson’s heart sank.
If we can’t get comms, they won’t find us. We’re
stuck.
He found Wentzel. Wentzel was no longer balled up. He was more energized. He now looked to be more in the game.

“I need to get back to the track and get some batteries for the radio.”

Wentzel wouldn’t let him go. He was worried that if the Iraqis started firing on the track again it might hit the ammo stored inside and then the whole thing would blow.

He went downstairs to find Worthington. Both Worthington and Wentzel were corporals. Theoretically, they had the same authority. If Wentzel wouldn’t let him go, maybe Worthington would. He found Worthington still patching up Carl in the front room.

“I need to get back to the track.”

“I know, but let’s wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Wait till we’ve got a situation here. Just hang on.”

Robinson didn’t like the answer. They needed to get supplies from the track. The Marine Corps had taught him aggressiveness, boldness, initiative. But now he felt driven by something instinctive. Something he hadn’t learned. Something he’d always lived with. He wanted to go to the track just to get something done, to get anything done. He felt a constant battle between giving in to fear and being inspired by it. He’d learned through Marine infantry school that fear was infectious. It could spread hopelessness and despair. Or it could be controlled and channeled to inspire those around him to fight. He left Worthington and put his energies into strengthening the defense for the house. Their position was good, but there was some dead space in a small alley to the left of them where, even from the roof, they still couldn’t see anyone approaching.
If we can get the house next
door, we will be in a much safer position.
He grabbed Olivas and Milter, ran downstairs, climbed over the eight-foot-high wall separating the houses, and ran into the courtyard of the house next door. The family inside took off pretty quick. This time Robinson knew what to expect from the layout of the rooms. He cleared the house by the book, methodically going from room to room. He kept low and tight with Olivas and Milter while they covered him. There was no one else inside the house. He went up the stone stairs onto the roof. There was a full view of both sides of Ambush Alley.

The first few minutes after the marines had taken over the house were chaotic and disorientating. Now Castleberry’s initial, overwhelming panic had begun to subside. He had regained some situational awareness, and they had repelled the first wave of Iraqi fighters. He hadn’t seen Sergeant Schaefer or Lieutenant Swantner and had no idea whether they had survived. Now he looked up to see Robinson on the roof of the house next door. On ship and in Kuwait, Castleberry had talked with Robinson about his desire to join Force Recon. Now he saw him strutting about on the roof of the house next door as if he owned it.
I don’t believe it. He’s having a
good time. He’s in full Recon mode.

“You are beautiful, man. You are beautiful.”

“This house is clear, dude. We’re good.”

“Get back over this side.”

Looking at the space between the two houses, Robinson saw that if you had the balls you could get from one house to the other by jumping the gap between the two roofs rather than going back to ground level and climbing over walls. He felt the same nervous excitement he used to have when he was about to ride an awesome wave, a wave that might be too powerful for him. He took a breath, gave himself a short run-up, and jumped the gap.

In the sitting room downstairs, Worthington was talking to Carl, trying to keep him calm. The area had been turned into the casualty collection point and Lance Corporal Kyle Smith, with his trademark bandanna, was now beside him helping him treat the three other casualties. As Worthington reached over to hand out one of Smith’s Newport cigarettes to the wounded, he banged his foot against Carl’s leg. Carl screamed in pain.

“I’m sorry, dude, I’m sorry.”

As he tried to move out of the way, he hit him again. Carl yelped. Worthington thought about giving him some Valium from his NBC pack. But Valium slows down the heart rate. Instead, he tried to take his mind away from the pain by talking about what they were going to do when they got out of there. Worthington knew that Carl wanted to open a bar with Corporal Glass when he left the Marines. For a while, they talked about the perfect bar, what drinks it would stock, where the barstools would be, what sort of music it would play. Sometimes Carl would join in. Other times he just lay there looking straight up in the air, his arms out to the side, legs perfectly still, muscles flexed with pain. When Worthington thought he could do no more, he grabbed the squad automatic weapon that was lying next to him, ready to join the fight. He was dismayed to find that although the SAW had a belt of ammo, about a hundred rounds, it was covered in mud.

If anyone could get it functioning again it was Worthington. The infantry trained all its marines to be expert riflemen. But Worthington was more than that. He was in Weapons Company and was at ease with any weapon system: the M240G, the M249, the M16, and the M203. He grabbed some cleaning gear that he had in his butt pack, took out an all-purpose brush, scraped the mud from the ammo, opened up the insides of the SAW, scraped it out, put it back together, and ran upstairs to see what was going on. At each corner of the roof there were two marines facing different directions, covering every part of the street below. Marines were picking people off blocks away.
This is an amazing sight.
Worthington was impressed and ran back downstairs to see what else he could do.

Sena’s radio was still not working. Robinson knew that battalion was unaware of their location. If they didn’t get batteries for the radio, they were stuck. Again he ran around looking for Wentzel and Worthington. This time, they both agreed that Robinson could make a run for the track to try to bring back some batteries and whatever else he could find. Worthington asked him to bring back the CLU, the command launch unit thermal-imaging sight system for his Javelin missile. With the CLU, he could track anything that had a different heat signature from its background. It meant that he would be able to see and target anything that moved, day or night.

Worthington organized suppressing fire from the roof and the downstairs courtyard while Robinson grabbed Milter and Olivas and headed for the gate onto the street.