Authors: Claude Schmid
“It’s them,” Wynn said to the FOB guards.
Within a couple of minutes, the BMW was allowed to proceed through the gate to a small parking lot on the other side. Wynn and Cengo followed on foot. When they arrived at the car, Amir and the other Iraqis got out and met them.
“Amir suggest you and I sit in car with him and talk,” Cengo said to Wynn.
The three men—Amir, Wynn and Cengo—got in the car, Amir and Wynn in the back seat.
Amir smiled at Wynn respectfully and said, in Arabic, “I know you have questions. I have come here to tell you a story. Please let me tell it. I think you will understand,” Cengo translating.
“You have a story. I have questions, but I will listen to your story and see if it answers my questions,” Wynn said.
Amir proceeded, at length. He had the look and voice tone of a lawyer negotiating a divorce settlement, trying delicately to bridge the difference between hopes and reality. His big nose appeared to grow even larger, as if it were serving as a shield for his mind’s calculations. After some time, Amir stopped and Cengo turned to Wynn.
“I try explain this, Sir,” Cengo began, breathing deeply before attempting. “Sheikh Amir tell me many things. I try carefully. He say he knew for some days already about the torture warehouse before we go. He trying many days to ransom his friend’s son. They, the
Takfiri
, negotiate hard. Sheikh Amir say they lie to him, then they kill his friend’s son. Amir he find this out before he call us go warehouse. He find out because his friend call him and say his son’s head left at his house. Early that morning the
Takfiri
bring head and leave it at front door doctor’s house. So then Amir know it over. Then he call you to help get revenge.”
“So Sheikh Amir knew his friend’s son was dead before we even went to the warehouse?”
“Yes. He learn that morning.”
“Why didn’t he call me sooner?”
“He say that not possible. He say if he call you sooner, and you go warehouse, they surely kill his friend’s son. He say PFA no really interested in negotiation, they only want kill those working with Americans.”
“What else he say? What about Haider?” Wynn looked at Amir as he asked these questions. The sheikh sat resolutely. Wynn didn’t think he’d moved once during Cengo’s translation.
Cengo continued. “There’s more, Sir. Amir say he have someone watching warehouse when we come there. This person, he saw several cars and nine or ten people leave in hurry. He, that person, tell Amir this. Then Amir get worried. He say, he say to himself, ‘why when he tell Americans something, and they go there, the
Takfiri
leave in hurry few minutes before American soldiers come.’ Amir, he very worried, he say to me ‘maybe information I give Americans not private, maybe they have spy, maybe
Takfiri
somehow know what I say to Americans on cell phone.’ So Amir say to me he have other plan. He say doctor friend beg him for revenge. And Amir say he want stop PFA too, but use
his
way. This what he do. He hear from Manah.”
“Manah? What did he hear from Manah?” Wynn interrupted, his mind simultaneously scrambling back to the school shooting.
“Amir, he say this. Manah his old friend. After boy shooting, Manah call Amir. Manah say something interesting. He tell Amir that the schoolmaster, Albadi, he have son-in-law that maybe friendly with
Takfiri
.”
“A son-in-law friendly with insurgents?” Wynn asked. Albadi had earlier acknowledged two daughters, but their ages were supposedly younger.
“Yes, Sir. He say Manah tell him this. He say after shooting, Manah hear Albadi talk to his daughter on phone. That he very worried about way daughter’s husband talk. He think, I mean talk, like daughter’s husband maybe terrorist. Manah wonder if this husband help PFA. And Amir hear all this from Manah. Then he say to me this what he do.”
“What?”
“This information make Amir send strong people, his people, to the house, to Albadi’s house, the night after we go warehouse. The same night of the day Amir’s friend get son’s head. Haider lead these people.”
On hearing this about Manah and Albadi’s son-in-law, and then Haider’s name mentioned, Wynn’s mind neared eruption. He felt like information-seeking rockets were about to blast out of his head.
“Sir, Amir say Haider talk hard to this man, Albadi’s daughter’s husband.”
“Wait. Wait. Why did Amir think that this man had any connection to PFA?”
Cengo turned to Amir, who had been quiet and waiting patiently, and asked that question. Before Amir answered, he looked down at his right hand, made a fist, and then looked back at Cengo. Was his fist-making a symbol of crushing something, maybe crushing his enemies?
After Amir had answered, Cengo continued: “Amir say he hear rumors that PFA female sniper shot the boy. And then this what Albadi’s daughter’s husband tell Haider. Amir say Haider call him after talking to that man. Haider tell Amir that the man definitely know something. He act funny. He act guilty. So they take him to special place, and they torture him. Haider take out his eye. Then Haider tell him if he not talk, he take one of everything he, that man, have two of. He say I take off one hand next. Then foot. Then take balls. That’s what Haider say to him. The man lose his eye—Haider use thumb to take eye out—but then man talk. He talk everything.”
“So that prisoner we have is Albadi’s daughter’s husband?”
“Yes.”
“What else did they learn from him?” Wynn asked, trying to imagine the horror of the scene.
“They find out he work with PFA. Amir say the man tell them the lady sniper shot boy because she cannot shoot Manah. He say Manah was inside school with you the whole time. She decide shoot boy to send message that anybody work with infidels, even talk with infidels, are bad Muslims. That even children be killed to stop infidel’s plans for Iraq. Then, because he very scared they torture him more, he tell them more.”
“What?”
“This what happen. He tell them he know other places PFA maybe go when they leave warehouse fast. One place is Mullah’s house. The leader this PFA group have Mullah religious adviser here in Bejanas, he tell them. Sometimes, with just a few of the PFA people, the leader he go there to Mullah. Haider torture man more and learn from him where this Mullah live. Amir talk to Haider on phone. Amir, he then organize twenty of his men, men with guns.”
Cengo paused and glanced down. He looked wearied by the complexity, almost too tired to continue. Amir remain silent and still.
“Go on. Give me the rest,” Wynn said.
Cengo asked Amir another question. The answer was quick.
“Amir’s people, they take the tortured man and go to the Mullah’s house. That tortured man guide them to house. This happen maybe 1am in morning, I think. Only one car there. This mean PFA split up, and go different places. So Amir and Haider, they think they get lucky. Amir tell Haider on phone to kill everyone in house. So the men—everybody wearing masks—go in house. They kill the people. But Amir tell me the
Takfiri
in house—not many, I think he said four or five—they fight back. The fighting hard. Two Amir’s men killed. During fight, they, the
Takfiri
, they destroy the car Haider come in, the car that Albadi’s son-in-law in. When Amir people leave, they leave very fast. They think maybe more
Takfiri
maybe come. The damaged car with Albadi’s son-in-law is left behind. Haider tell Amir he shoot that man himself as he leave the place. But, like we know, that man live. He now in FOB hospital.”
“Why did he take this risk?”
Cengo asked Amir Wynn’s question.
Amir summoned a little smile and balled his hand into a fist again, then relaxed it. He spoke for about a minute.
“Sheikh Amir say,” Cengo began, “that strong man sometimes have to take risks to stay strong. He also say, like old American Cowboy movies show, that the way kill a snake is cut off its head.”
“Was the female sniper at this Mullah’s house?”
“Amir say yes.”
“Amir’s people shot her?”
“Yes.”
“How does he know he cut off the head? How does he know he got the leader?”
“Amir say the leader had a long red beard.”
Wynn remembered the man with the red beard at the brick factory. He had been dead for more than a day. That would be this man.
“Tell Amir that we found the red-bearded man and the female at the brick factory.”
Cengo translated. Amir nodded his head and looked at Wynn the way lawyer looked at his client when all the documents were signed.
Wynn went on to explain more about what happened at the brick factory. He asked Amir whether he knew about PFA having a hiding place in the brick factory before today. Amir said no. Amir added that PFA probably had several hiding places around the city, which Wynn also suspected. The brick factory must have been one of those, maybe a kind of last redoubt. After further conversation, both men concluded that other PFA personnel must have recovered the casualties at the Mullah’s house and taken them to the brick factory. Wynn didn’t tell Amir how the Wolfhounds had heard about the brick factory. Wynn had to assume, as they had before, that the egg ladies had learned the information.
“This good. American soldiers and my people, Iraqi people, we make very bad time for PFA,” Amir said in rough English, summarizing his position.
“It seems so,” Wynn said. “You certainly did things your way. I have one final question. Why didn’t you ask us for more help? Well, maybe two questions. Why didn’t you ask us for more help and why didn’t you give me information sooner on PFA?”
Cengo translated.
Amir pondered the question, then put both hands in front of himself, palms up, before answering. He spoke for as long as necessary to make his point.
“Amir, he say he have to put his friends, his people first. He not act unless it for him and his friends. Albadi, the schoolmaster, he from different tribe. So Amir no have problem dealing hard with him. But with PFA he must be careful. They very dangerous. He say when he decide they must attack Mullah’s house he think that best and safest plan. Plus it make his doctor friend happy. His doctor friend, he go there with Haider. Amir, he use the word honor. It honor for them. Plus, like he say before, he not understand why when we go warehouse the
Takfiri
leave before we get that. Amir he say—and this he think very important—a wise man must act carefully, but when he do act, he must act very hard.”
About an hour later, after midnight, Wynn leaned against a concrete barrier near his hooch. He had crunched every detail of what Amir had said, and decided to digest it overnight. He’d wait until morning to tell his men. Despite some anger about Amir’s originally withholding significant information, Wynn recognized that from the Sheikh’s perspective he had probably handled things the way Iraqis would. Amir’s story resolved most things plausibly. Amir could not fabricate a whole tale like that. Amir’s people had, evidently, decapitated PFA. The Wolfhounds, this morning, had cleaned up the rest.
Albadi wasn’t honest. He probably lied about his girl’s ages, to hide the fact that one of them was married. Based on the timing, the schoolmaster would probably have known his son-in-law had been kidnapped just prior to the second Wolfhound visit. He had looked particularly tired that day. He had no compelling reason to tell them. On the contrary, he would have wanted to suppress any knowledge that his son-in-law was involved with PFA, if he even knew.
On the issue of why the insurgents fled the warehouse prior to the Wolfhounds arriving, all Wynn could conclude was that somebody had seen them coming. This was not surprising. Perhaps someone at the market had heard them talking to the egg ladies. No way to know.
Sheikh Amir had taken a considerable risk in striking PFA. Amir and his people were very fortunate that they found the PFA leadership at an opportune time, when only a few key members of the group were at the Mullah’s house. Amir wouldn’t risk attacking a larger group. Since the remains of the group got destroyed at the brick factory, the chances of PFA retaliation against Amir was low, at least for now.
Then Wynn thought about the way things looked to him overall. What was happening in Iraq was both complicated and simple. Was it possible for America to achieve its goals? Echoes of the past always pummeled the present. Man’s ambitions drove everything; his abilities perhaps insufficient.
It was simple because it was basic, he thought. All was struggle. Survival was in jeopardy. Danger was a constant. Only those close to you would help. It had always been such. Blood connections are the surest bond, man’s most important asset.
It was complicated because it was so hard to understand. What had Iraqi's experiences taught them? Their stories? Their traditions? Maybe the answer was different from what rational western minds might conclude. Maybe we couldn’t understand them. Maybe we lost ourselves in a safe imagination of civil structure and domestic comfort.
At best, if they’re fortunate, good soldiers can feel it. They can feel things like the tribal attachments, detect it by being deep in—by watching, by thinking, by experiencing.
The world every man lived in also lived inside him. That much they knew.
Then he reflected on his soldiers—the Wolfhounds.
Like all others, present and past, they were temporary players on a larger stage. Many had played in the past. Others would play in the future. They would look to the past and ask the same questions, whether as nations or as individuals. The Wolfhounds’ time to be soldiers was now. That would come to an end. All was transitory. Life was too.
They had taken two casualties today and were lucky it was not more. The insurgents could have planted IEDs on the roads leading into the brick factory. The Americans had been spotted coming in. They’d come under fire. But no IEDs were used. Why? Perhaps the enemy had been too busy.
In the meantime, Tyson had many months of care ahead. Ramirez’s family, and the others that had lost loved ones, would deal with that for the rest of their lives. That was the cost of war. And being wounded—or even killed—was the highest form of payment. Some would pay that price. No way around it.