http://www.kevinsites.net/2004_11_07_archive.html#110011362813651794
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Street By Street
Even before first light -- U.S. Marines, soldiers and Iraqi National Guard troops swarmed into Falluja. Tanks and heavily armored Bradley Fighting used their main guns to blow up cars and buses parked down side streets -- just in case they might be booby-trapped -- packed with explosives.
"This is a frigging ghost town," says Corporal Steven Wolf, a squad leader for the vehicle the CAAT (Combined Anti Armor Team) Platoon. The streets are deserted. But there are some exceptions. The dead.
The Marines are operating with liberal rules of engagement.
"Everything to the west is weapons free," radios Staff Sgt. Sam Mortimer of Seattle, Washington. Weapons Free means the marines can shoot whatever they see -- it's all considered hostile.
Our humvees pass by a body of a man in the center of the street. There is hole through his left eyes socket where a Marine sniper round passed cleanly through.
Down another side street is the body of a second man. This one dressed in clean white sneakers and athletic pants. He is on his back -- his arms behind his head, his face seems nearly peaceful, content. Not far from him--a Russian-made Dragonov sniper rifle. From the black ammo vest strapped to his chest loose 7.62 rounds have spilled to the ground.
The Marines I'm embedded with are nearly ebullient. This looks to be a cakewalk.
One jokes they'll be sipping 'Pina Coladas by the Euphrates River by fifteen-hundred.'
There is the occasional popgun crack of an AK-47 being fired. Usually just single rounds so the shooter can avoid detection. These "nuisances are met with overwhelming firepower. The concussion from the main gun on an Abrams M1 tank is powerful enough to knock you off your feet if you get to close.
The deep "whoomps" flashing from their long muzzles echo across the city while Bradleys wind down their 25-millimeter cannons on suspicious targets.
Down every other alleyway a vehicles is engulfed in furious orange flames.
Black smoke billows from building in the distance.
Almost to a man -- the 3.1 Marines I'm embedded with have all lost friends in this protracted war of attrition. They are eager "to get some," to pay "haji" back for the car bombs and IED's (improvised explosive devices) that have killed or maimed so many of their brother "Devil Dogs."
They are extremely likeable -- these young Marines -- full of bravado and easygoing about the danger that surrounds them. Some thumb through Maxim Magazine, others the Bible while the wait patiently to reign down death and destruction on their enemies.
"We're going to let loose the dogs of war," says Staff Sgt. Mortimer, "before the Falluja offensive begins. "It will be hell," he says, smiling after.
This levity continues until the Marines turn the corner onto a main street they've tactically dubbed, "Elizabeth."
Despite the constant weapons fire and explosion that have accompanied our advance -- this one is different -- it's directed at the Marines. As a squad from India Company passes by a way with a spray painted rocket propelled grenade launcher -- a real RPG round explodes against it. One Marines' face is burned by the powder and hot gas -- another has caught shrapnel in the leg, a third has been shot in the finger by the small arms fire that followed. The Marines are outraged. They turn their M-16's on the building to the west where they believe the shooter is hiding. But that's just an appetizer.
A gunner sitting in the armored turret of a humvee fires 40-millimeter grenades non-stop into the building -- until the gun jams.
Staff Sgt. Terry Mcelwain of Burden, Kansas is pissed. He grabs the bazooka-like AT-4 rocket launcher from the back of another humvee. It's fire trail zips into the now smoking building. Mcelwain wants Weapons Company to fire a tow missile into it as well, but low hanging electrical wires make it impossible -- so he calls up the tanks instead.
Two Abrams lumber toward the target. They stop and fire their main guns in unison. The explosion shakes the street. But the Marines aren't done yet.
They pour in more rounds from 50 caliber machine guns and their M16's.
But as the unit moves past the building, going from east to west, another RPG explodes behind them, then a third. More casualties. A Navy Corpsman cut the pants leg off one of the injured and wraps a guaze dressing around the bleeding wound while another Marine covers with a 249-SAW (squad Assault Weapon). But regardless of how much firepower the Marines bring to bear -- they can't seem to silence this phantom enemy, which continues to fire on them from the rear.
Then insurgent snipers begin firing in front of the Marines as well. One round pierces the Kevlar helmet a twenty-year old Mark 19 gunner -- in my vehicle. He is badly wounded. He's put in a canvas stretcher and six Marines run through the streets carrying him to a waiting military ambulance.
Shortly after -- another RPG round hits a humvee, but doesn't explode. The Marines are rattled but uninjured. A Marine who has caught shrapnel in the face is led to the safety of an empty storefront -- his eyes bandaged shut -- his hands outstretched -- probing the air in front of him.
The Marines know they are being hunted. Boxed from the east and the west in a treacherous kill zone by an enemy they can feel -- but can't see. Their superior firepower is checked by the insurgent's knowledge of the city -- their cunning in using blind alleyways and the crooks and crannies of buildings to pick off the Marines.
The gun battle continues late into the night -- eventually an AC-130 gunship is called in and strafes Elizabeth Street with its mini guns. With eight of their men wounded--it is a bloody and disappointing start for the Marines -- and a reminder that to win the battle for Falluja -- they will likely have to fight as they did today block by block, street by street.