Posted on 01/26/2004 9:27:42 AM PST by SwinneySwitch
FORT HOOD — Tension builds as "Iraqis" kneel in the road to pray, blocking the U.S. convoy.
A minute later, about 60 "villagers" with knives, guns and rifles, and a like number of GIs carrying M-16s, approach each other.
The local elder asks for food.
"That's why you are here, to help us," he says, scowling, through an interpreter.
The lead American negotiator promises food in a day or two.
"Just try to make it one day," the elder says before directing his people to let the convoy pass.
Bloodshed has been averted. For now.
This winter's role-playing exercise on the nation's largest Army post, about 20 miles south of President Bush's ranch in Crawford, is one of many being staged at Army posts across the country to train soldiers, reservists and guard troops to provide stability in a volatile land.
Under a $6 million-plus contract with Kellogg, Brown & Root, a Houston-based subsidiary of Halliburton, about 5,500 soldiers so far have trained here to make life-or-death decisions in a country with an unfamiliar culture. Exercises at Fort Hood began in early November and are to run at least through March, for soldiers who will relieve returning troops.
Some 300 Killeen-area residents earn just over $8 per hour to play the role of Iraqis. Known in military parlance as "cobs," these "civilians on the battlefield" say the work is both fun and deadly serious.
"Our basic job is to kill Americans," said Sarah Dill of Copperas Cove, a court reporter and mother of two who relishes her role as an Iraqi terrorist.
At times, the exercises get intense. Dill "killed" one soldier by sneaking a bomb past a checkpoint near her village.
"I looked at her, her eyes got big and she started crying," Dill recalled. "That's when I realized this is real."
Last year, U.S.-led troops focused on winning a war. To win the peace, many reservists and guard members now deploying will have to keep their cool in a long hot Iraqi summer.
The exercises at the 217,000-acre post already have revealed hair-trigger tendencies. Trainees have opened fire on the villages and strafed Iraqis who approached U.S. camps, typically to ask for food, water, medicine, electricity or protection from Saddam's Fedayeen militia.
A bad split-second decision in Iraq can leave thousands of soldiers vulnerable to retaliation — roadside bombs, rocket-propelled grenades or suicide attacks. Of the 513 deaths of U.S. troops in Iraq, most have occurred since Bush declared an end to major hostilities May 1.
Watching over Fort Hood's fantasy war zone is the "cobmaster," Col. Chris Ellis, senior Army adviser with the Arkansas Army National Guard. He trains under auspices of the 5th Army, based at Fort Sam Houston, and tries to replicate Iraq conditions. His civilian actors usually get three days of cultural training.
"They know how important this is for the soldiers," since many of the actors have prior military experience, or a close friend or relative in Iraq, said Ellis, who went there in the fall to prepare the training course.
The course's five stations focus on security; force protection; vehicle convoys; route clearance; and urban operations, such as searching and securing buildings. Some stations use actors posing as snipers, or mock Iraqi villages, and U.S. camps that hold up to 800 troops.
After leaving Fort Hood, troops undergo final training at Fort Polk, La., before deploying.
At Fort Hood, soldiers camp near mock Iraqi villages for four or five days. If they maintain good relations, the villagers, under direction from military officials, remain friendly. If hostilities arise, or a soldier commits a faux pas by touching or photographing a female villager, or making any left-handed gesture to the Iraqis, the role-players respond defiantly — and violently. Iraqis are sensitive to left-handed gestures, as that is the hand associated with personal hygiene.
Some Iraqi women carry "babies" — blankets covering dolls or, sometimes, fake bombs or pistols.
In one village, Jonathan Tarabey, a hair stylist and part-time actor, is the village elder's oldest son. He's the sheakh, or the "chosen man," partly because he has a college degree in acting, and knows Islamic culture, having grown up in Beirut, Lebanon, during a civil war. An errant bullet struck him in the leg when his was 14.
Tarabey, 36, fled to the United States in 1989. He could make $200 per day cutting hair, but prefers helping the soldiers.
"I didn't get what a child can get," Tarabey said. "I just knew war. I thought this was normal."
When it comes to harassment, "we try to be as hard on them as we can," he said.
For the exercises, actors wear authentic Middle Eastern garments. The men didn't grouse about wearing a hatta, or scarf, or an ahgal, a rope-like headband often used to delineate social status.
The hard part was getting them to model a gown, called an abaya, or dishdash.
One of the Army trainees was Staff Sgt. Develyn Lewis, 32, of Little Rock, Ark., with Company C, a medical company with the 39th Brigade Combat Team, of the Arkansas Guard. She feels lessons learned at Fort Hood will help her return safely to her husband and 2-year-old daughter after a yearlong tour.
"This helps us be more cautious and aware of our environment," Lewis said. "It really helps expose us to a culture we're about to enter."
With the training, she knows she can slap her right hand against her chest to convey to the Iraqis that she can't be bothered. That she can search a female Iraqi without offending the villagers, but should avoid the males, who refuse to negotiate with a ranking female soldier.
Cpl. Rice James, 33, of Stuttgart, Ark., is with a transportation company of the 39th. He's been to Afghanistan, Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. But many of his fellow guardsmen have little experience.
"Some thought it would be a piece of cake," said James, who has a 3-year-old daughter. "They're realizing it's not going to be that easy."
Josephine Hisatake, a telecommunications worker in Killeen, is the leader of females in her village. She has a cousin serving in Iraq and two sons of draft-eligible age.
"I wish we'd had this before the troops went out (last year)," she said. "One of those soldiers could be one of my sons."
Javier Villanueva of Copperas Cove usually drives his two stepdaughters to school, then puts in time on his roofing-remodeling business. By the time his wife finishes her shift at an area Wal-Mart, he's ensconced in his role as a prominent Iraqi villager with two wives.
"We're a happy little family" when trainees aren't shooting up the village, forcing the actors to dab on store-bought "vampire blood," Villanueva said.
Sadaqat Khan, a Pakistan native and convenience store cashier in Killeen, joined the village two weeks ago as an interpreter and cultural consultant.
"I don't want the American soldiers killed, and I don't want the Iraqi people killed," he said.
Maria Russell of Killeen quit her job in a factory and now plays the role of a nighttime sniper with passion.
"It gives me a sense of peace for my son," who is due to deploy to Iraq this year, she said.
At 6-foot-1 and dressed in black, Russell often gets a cautious eye from trainees.
One night, she crept near the U.S. camp and fired a pistol three times in the air. Trainees returned about 1,000 rounds of fire, violating protocol that requires them to surround and detain her.
She later crowed to her daughter, 17, that the soldiers were afraid to "come get me."
"My daughter said, 'Mom, I'm worried about you,'" she said.
"I like lying down in the grass" during an attack, Russell said. "I feel like I'm serving my country. I want to keep the soldiers more aware of what's going on out there and teach them what to look for."
Some of the actors have made a crude but tasteful mosque, built stone pathways in front of their tents and even started work on a winter vegetable garden. A few have learned to enjoy the Muslim songs wailing through loudspeakers in the villages.
"You start to get to liking it," Russell said. "It gives you a little peace when you listen to it. And I'm a Christian."
Katy Fusselman of Burnet, a teacher, and her husband, Paul, commute about 50 miles to pretend to be in Iraq. Her husband, laid off a year ago from his job as a foundry worker, is mayor of their make-believe village.
"This is the most fun job I've ever had," she said.
--shuddleston@Express-News.n
Nope.
III Corps - The Death Dealers
Central Texans help Army train soldiers for duty in Iraq
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