"When someone gets hit down there, we wish we could do more about it," said Spec. Denver Claywell, 22, of Winchester, Va. "It hurts when we look down and can see the explosion and can't do anything about it."
Insurgents have taken to shooting at the brick tower, upset that U.S. soldiers are perched at the peak of a structure that has attracted Muslim pilgrims for centuries. A rocket-propelled grenade left a circular scar on the western face of the tower, small-arms fire ricochets off the walls, and the snipers' spent shells litter the top steps of the structure.
U.S. Army snipers took over the top of this nearly 1,200-year-old spiral minaret at a Samarra mosque after the streets below became the scene of frequent attacks by insurgents in the restless city.
(Josh White -- The Washington Post)
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"They don't like that we're up here," said Spec. Bryan Heffinger, 25, of Youngstown, Ohio. Heffinger peered out over the city with a high-powered scope, then turned his attention to the surrounding desert, where a plume of smoke hung in a hazy sky.
Passing 12 hours with just one companion can get onerous, he said.
"You hear the same story a thousand times," Heffinger said, looking at Claywell. "We talked about everything last time. This time we decided we're not going to talk to each other at all."
Capt. Robert Klinger, 36, of Urbana, Md., arrived in Iraq on Dec. 13, his first overseas deployment after 17 years in the Army National Guard. His unit -- Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 112th Infantry Regiment out of Butler, Pa. -- has dozens of people Klinger has known for years, and a sense of optimism about playing a role in the future of Iraq.
"I have a lot to lose in coming here," said Klinger, whose son just celebrated his first birthday and whose successful insurance company in Washington is in his wife's hands until he gets back. "I just wanted to make sure that my family doesn't have to go through this."
Before he left, parents and spouses and children of the soldiers in his unit approached him. "They asked me to please take care of their son, or to please take care of their husband, and that's a lot of pressure," Klinger said. "But in my heart, I feel it's the right thing to be here."
Pvt. Kenneth Ivey, 22, of Bastrop, Tex., said he loved being able to ride his weapon rather than carry it. Leaning against his M1-A1 Abrams tank, a 140,000-pound mammoth nicknamed "Atilla," he gave it a slap on its steel and depleted-uranium plates.
Ivey's duties in Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 77th Armored Regiment, are among the best in the Army, if you ask him. He steers one of the most formidable machines in the armed forces, a tank that can flatten a building in seconds and roll over cars as if they were speed bumps, and has a gun that fires devastating 120mm artillery shells.
"We fired on one building a month ago, then we ran over the building," Ivey said matter-of-factly. His crew of four has fired the main gun six times in Samarra in the past year, but they mostly patrol the streets at night to deter violence. The tanks, Ivey said, scare the insurgents enough that they usually don't try to mess with them.
Sgt. Joshua Rasey, 24, of Portland, Ore., a senior gunner in the crew, said he believed that tanks like theirs are needed here, "especially when we need to flex and show some muscle. The kids are in awe when they see it. It's a great piece of machinery. I'm still learning what it can do."
Sitting in the mess hall after a long day's work on the streets of Samarra, several soldiers talked about how they avoid telling family members back home about getting shot at, breaking down doors or avoiding mines.
"The stuff we've seen and done, you can only talk about here," said Spec. Rob Yurkanin, 23, of Port Murray, N.J., his eyes drifting over to a football game on a distant television. "No one else can understand it."
