In a Volatile Region of Iraq, U.S. Military Takes Two Paths

Col. Falah Salah Shimra heads the new police force in al-Furat, in Iraq's restive Anbar province. A U.S. Special Forces team persuaded an influential local tribe to supply recruits. (Ann Scott Tyson -- The Washington Post)

Training foreign military forces is a core Special Forces mission -- and the top priority of the U.S. command in Iraq. The Iraqi scout platoon, recruited from the Albu Nimr tribe and coached by the team in Hit, displayed an agility and confidence unusual among Iraqi soldiers. And the Americans fostered loyalty in the platoon.

"We've been to their homes, we've treated their children. They are our partners," said the team captain, an energetic officer from Los Angeles.

"We walk with them as brothers," said Mokles Ali Muklif, the Iraqi platoon leader.

But last spring, when the scouts spotted a roadside bomb during a solo mission and warned U.S. forces about it, they were detained by Graves's battalion, blindfolded and forced to sit in bitter cold for seven hours before the team could secure their release. "I was livid," the team sergeant said.

Later, when the Special Forces team offered to give advanced training to the entire Iraqi army battalion, Graves rejected the idea. Morale continued to drop in the Iraqi battalion, its manpower down to 60 percent after hundreds of soldiers quit over lack of pay, poor food and duty far from home. "We could have had the battalion conducting unilateral ops, and 1-36 could be sitting back at the firm base," the team captain said.

Instead, the team threw all its energy into mobilizing the Albu Nimr tribe behind a police force -- first in its territory of al-Furat, then in the broader region including the contested town of Hit.

A Recruiting Drive

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Col. Falah Salah Shimra, 41, a portly tribesman with an imposing demeanor, examined the charred shell of a police station destroyed by a bomb planted on the roof.

Chief of al-Furat's growing tribal police contingent of several hundred men, Shimra minimized the attack on his fledgling force. "Basically, within our area we have no threat at all," he said. "The threat is from outside."

Nearby, tribal police manned a checkpoint, wearing blue shirts as uniforms. None had body armor. Most used their own rifles and ammunition and patrolled in their own vehicles. Many had gone for months without wages until the Special Forces team helped cut through red tape and graft to secure their full pay in July.

Once they get more equipment, Shimra said, he plans "to extend our security all around Hit and get rid of the insurgents."

Indeed in July, backing from tribal leaders led to Hit's first successful police recruiting drive.

"We knew there would be no people in Hit, so to facilitate success we put out word in al-Furat," the team sergeant said.

But a dispute emerged when Graves decided to "lock down" Hit with tanks and hold the recruiting drive at a frequently mortared U.S. combat outpost inside the town rather than in a safer tribal area across the Euphrates. "It's the most dialed-in place!" said the team sergeant, whose men narrowly missed being struck by a mortar shell during the drive.

In the end, only three Hit residents volunteered. But about 150 tribesmen crossed the river to sign up. Graves said he considered the police recruitment to be one of the U.S. military's biggest achievements in his area, and he acknowledged the Special Forces team's help in enlisting the tribesmen. "They deserve credit for that," he said of the team, whose tour ended last month.

The Special Forces soldiers realize there are drawbacks to relying on the tribe, which is focused on protecting its own territory and interests and which imposes tribal law that can undercut civil authority. Every decision, from firing a policeman to averting revenge killings, requires the sanction of tribal leaders such as Jubair. But the reality in Anbar, the team captain said, is either to "engage the tribes . . . or leave them to the will of the insurgency."