| Page 4 of 5 < > |
For a U.S. Platoon in Iraq, Merciless Missions
Sgt. Patrick Hagood, left, and Sgt. Ernest Daniels examine bomb material.
(By Steve Fainaru -- The Washington Post)
TOOLBOX
   Resize
COMMENT
 Discussion Policy
 CLOSE
Comments that include profanity or personal attacks or other inappropriate comments or material will be removed from the site. Additionally, entries that are unsigned or contain "signatures" by someone other than the actual author will be removed. Finally, we will take steps to block users who violate any of our posting standards, terms of use or privacy policies or any other policies governing this site. Please review the full rules governing commentaries and discussions. You are fully responsible for the content that you post.
Who's Blogging  |
Baker called this latest song, "August." Its haunting melody was set against lyrics that spoke of loneliness and resilience during endless separation:
A year long
A year gone
Is so damn long
Baby, hold on
It won't be long
Till I come home
There's been ups
There's been downs
We stay strong
Hold on
It won't be long
Till I come home
Midnight Attack
On Aug. 26, Blue Platoon went back on patrol at 8 p.m. It was the second patrol of the day; earlier that morning, the platoon had been shot at outside a mosque.
Dusk was fading as the soldiers made their way around the city, stopping to question residents, inspecting an Iraqi police checkpoint. The brutal afternoon heat broke, giving way to a soft summer night.
At 10:30, the four Humvees raced down the dangerous Isaki Highway. The platoon reached a shuttered white store at the end of the road, stopped to fix a jammed grenade launcher, then doubled back down the highway.
The convoy slowed to about 20 miles per hour and headed east, the vehicles' headlights cutting a path through the darkness. Every hundred yards or so, the Humvees swerved to avoid bomb craters in the asphalt road.
Baker, driving the lead vehicle, swerved right to avoid one of the three-foot-deep craters. Beside it, buried beneath the asphalt and unbeknownst to him, was another bomb. "I was just going around the hole and it blew," Baker said.
"The truck came off the ground, sir," he continued, recounting the incident the next day in his room. "It kind of lifted it up and set it back down on the ground."
"It felt like we were flying," said Fishbein, the gunner.
About 25 yards back, Young found himself driving toward an orange fireball. Rocks and huge chunks of the road smashed the windshield, spreading a web of cracks. Young jerked the Humvee to the right. "Stop! Stop!" yelled Hagood, who was seated in the passenger seat. The vehicle stopped in a ditch surrounded by tall grass.
The gunners shot illumination flares and lit up the night. Now, able to see across the orchards, the gunners opened a barrage of fire with their M-240 machine guns, hoping to kill the unseen insurgents who had detonated the bomb. The red-hot shell casings fell down into the Humvees; one landed on Smith, scorched him through his pants.
"Ow!" he screamed, swearing.
