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."
"You moved here 20 years ago and you don't know anyone?" Frank asks, skeptically.
"They are different; we don't talk to them," she says.
"She is Turkmen," observes Frank's translator. The vast majority of Huwija residents are Arabs; Turkmens make up a third of the population of nearby Kirkuk and dominate some other nearby towns. Though Saddam Hussein's project of "Arabization" of the northern oil fields was mostly focused on moving Kurds out of Kirkuk, he also forced out some Turkmens.
As he speaks with the woman, Frank concludes that he has been given directions to the wrong house. He looks sadly over to the gate and wall his platoon has destroyed. The woman, realizing that she has convinced the Americans they have the wrong family, asks for some medicine. "Let's get some IO stuff over here," Frank yells.
IO stands for information operations, missions intended to build goodwill among Iraqis by handing out medicine, school supplies, and toys. In a matter of seconds, one of the Charlie Company soldiers produces a soccer ball and two packages of notebooks and pens. It's the all-American deal in Huwija: Lose a gate, get a soccer ball.
As one of the children hugs the soccer ball and the other looks at the packet of paper and pens, Staff Sgt. Michael McMath bounds up to Frank with a notebook.
"We found this; it is filled with formulas," McMath says.
"He is a teacher," Frank says.
"A teacher of bomb making," McMath growls.
Frank shakes his head. "None of the names match up."
McMath switches gears along with the lieutenant. "Wrong house, eh," he says.
Frank fills out a claim form for the woman. If she or her husband bring the form to the city council, they can get money for a new gate, Frank explains.
The Americans pull away, hoping both that they will soon find the real location of the suspect and that they have not made a new enemy in the meantime. Maybe this was just a mix-up. Or perhaps an Arab Sunni tipster has purposefully turned the Americans on a Turkmenian family to harass them.
"That is the [expletive] part of this; you never know about the reporting," Wolff says as the patrol rolls down the street. "A lot of times it is a revenge-type thing. It's sad. We spend a lot of time trying to make people like us. Then we go and smash down their wall and hand them a claim ticket and some school supplies. You end up spinning your wheels."