Barnes Blog
As the conflict in Iraq continues, U.S. News has dispatched Pentagon correspondent Julian E. Barnes for a frontline view. Barnes, who has periodically reported from Iraq since the war began in 2003, is blogging his impressions for usnews.com.
Lose a gate, get a soccer ball
With a thud, the armored humvee slams into a courtyard wall, knocking down several dozen cinder blocks, toppling a metal gate, and creating a gaping hole. Through the opening, a fire team of American infantrymen dashes into the house, followed by four Iraqi soldiers.
This Friday-morning search was a rare daylight raid for the 101st Airborne Division's 1-327 infantry battalion. The raid was aimed at snatching a cell leader of Anser al-Sunnah, an Iraqi terrorist group believed responsible for some of the roadside bombings and sniper attacks that have plagued American forces patrolling Huwija.
A half-hour before the raid, the Iraqi soldiers' commanding officer, having just been told about the operation, objected.
"I wish we knew before," the Iraqi captain told the 101st soldiers. "This is not the right time. He isn't going to be there in the day. ... And once we do this raid, they will know the Americans are after him."
Lt. Josh Wolff, the executive officer of Charlie Company, responded that the captain had a point.
"We pushed those concerns up to headquarters, and it was dictated that we have to do the raid," Wolff said. The captain nodded, then gathered the jundi, the Arabic word for soldiers, to explain their role.
The American military officers are worried that some of their Iraqi counterparts either purposefully leak information on upcoming raids or inadvertently let important details slip when talking to relatives. In either case, the Americans do not trust the Iraqis to maintain operational security, and as a result their briefings tend to be last minute—and their concerns and input can be given only marginal consideration.
Shortly after their briefing, the Iraqis piled into the back of a pickup truck and then followed the soldiers from Charlie Company as they rolled out of the base and made their way through the streets of Huwija to the suspect's home.
Huwija is a poor town. Open sewers run down the middle of many side streets. Oil fumes mix with the stench of garbage all around the town. But it is also a busy place, filled with small shops selling produce, soda, hardware, and odds and ends. Many of the Friday-morning shoppers watch, occasionally waving, as the American-Iraqi patrol makes its way through the streets and to the small house of the suspect.
With the breach over in a few seconds, the American team begins quickly clearing the house—looking in every room with guns raised to make sure there is no one armed inside. The only people home are two children and their mother, whose hands are covered with the dough of the bread she was making when her courtyard wall came crashing down.
As the Iraqi and American soldiers search the house for weapons and documents—the suspect is accused of making fake ID cards for insurgents—Lt. Michael Frank, the platoon leader, begins questioning the woman, Fatima Abbas. Her husband, she tells Frank, is a teacher and is away in another town. His name, Mustafah Hussein, does not match that of the suspect. Frank tells her the name of the suspect and asks if she knows him. "I don't know anyone here," she says. "Saddam moved us here 20 years ago."
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