The soldiers, about 10 or so, rushed inside a home, bouncing off walls and knocking things over with their overstuffed flak jackets. We must have all looked like aliens. The soldiers ordered all the men into one room -- all the women into the other. The men stayed quiet; women and children screamed and cried. Early in the day, I was told the soldiers were looking for suspected insurgents, supporters of Shiite cleric Moqtada Sadr.
The oldest Iraqi man in the group tried to be kind -- offered the soldiers water. The soldiers were frustrated, nervous, but they politely declined. Some went on to raid the house next door.
Soldiers from the Army's 1st Cavalry Division, based in Baghdad,guard a man who has been detained at the checkpoint after his hands tested positive for explosive matter.
(Andrea Bruce Woodall)
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Over the radio, the orders were to detain the men. Soldiers started tying the Iraqi men's hands behind their backs. One had a physical disability. The soldiers hadn't noticed. The women of the household -- especially the older, strong and fearless grandmother -- pleaded with me. I understand very little Arabic, but I understood more than the soldiers did. The son with the disability was sick, couldn't be taken with the other men, needed medicine. After an hour on the radio, the soldiers were allowed to leave that young man behind. But they took the older man, the young men from next door and a few passersby that the soldiers had happened upon. They were all flexicuffed and marched by the arm into a waiting personnel carrier.
No huge firefight. Just confused information -- or misinformation -- and high-fives later. I guess the soldiers have to try to believe they are doing something right, that they are making progress. They have to try to believe that they've helped -- or everything will seem so pointless. But I know for sure that they didn't make any friends on that sleepy street. How long will the detainees be held? How will the families survive with their men gone?
6/21/04
THE PAST COUPLE OF DAYS, THE 1ST INFANTRY DIVISION HAS SEEN HEAVY FIGHTING IN BUHRIZ. One soldier, Pfc. Jason Lynch, 21, (the next on base up for leave) died during an ambush. Instead of reporting his death as a statistic, as we often do, Washington Post reporter Ed Cody decided to go into detail with this soldier's life and death.
After spending a day interviewing soldiers on base, I decided to go on a "routine" night patrol with the "Bulldogs" unit inside the town of Baqubah and the village of Waidr. Not as much for the story -- but for the experience, to get more of an idea of what it would have been like for Lynch patrolling local streets.
The village was peaceful, almost festive. We rolled out around 9:30 p.m. -- crescent moon, bright country stars. It seemed like everyone was out enjoying the cool night breeze. Getting ice cream. Riding bikes. The town felt so nice, pleasant. Maybe it was because of the tree-lined streets, the gardens -- luxuries I miss in Baghdad.
I was inside one of four Humvees (one of only three that were fully armored). We dismounted and went on foot patrol for about four blocks of narrow, heavily populated streets of well-to-do homes.
To me, the soldiers seemed rude -- screaming at locals to Move! Move it! Move on! Slow down! Where do you think you're going on your bike? But the second lieutenant was cool -- a very young guy, skinny, reminds me of one of the members of the band the Beastie Boys. He kept the only translator by his side, asking locals about "bad guys."
"You know they're out here, don't you?" the second lieutenant asked a group of older men in long white dishdashas. "There are bad guys here, aren't there?"
The men denied it. "La, mako shee," they said. No, all is okay.
After about 25 minutes, the electricity in the town went out. Everything turned dark. One soldier started to appear anxious. "I don't have a good feeling about this," he said. "We've been on foot too long. Let's roll!" The dozen or so soldiers on the patrol climbed into their vehicles, night-vision goggles still floating in front of their eyes. They left the village quickly, shining flashlights in the eyes of scared Iraqis, who hadn't seen the ghostly Humvees with their headlights off.
When they drive like this, these young guys, headlights off, through the roads between small towns and farmland, it brings me back to my small-town high school days in Indiana -- the rides my parents didn't know about, going too fast. I listen to these soldiers. They are so much like my redneck high school friends back then. But I'm now 30. And we are in Iraq. I wonder if they sometimes forget where they are, too.
