Encountering an improvised explosive device, or IED, in Iraq is a matter of odds. The bombs are al-Qaida’s weapon of choice and necessity as their numbers dwindle and U.S. military forces work to help the process along. But if you’re a U.S. military combat engineer, the chance of getting blown up is not a matter of “if.” It’s a matter of “when.” Combat engineers in any country’s military are the unsung heroes of war. They are up front, ahead of the so-called “tip of the spear” infantry. They destroy obstacles and construct bridges and paths the foot soldier must pass through to reach their objective. In Iraq, they also seek out the IEDs terrorists and insurgents use to great effect.
I accompanied one such unit last week and learned first-hand the difference between imagining what it’s like to be blown up by an IED and actually experiencing it.
I was blown up last Tuesday. Luckily I can write about it. Many others who’ve shared the experience can’t. They’re dead, or their bodies and brains are so messed up by shrapnel or concussion they can’t remember the details. Others simply don’t want to remember and the psyche obliges. Some memories are best kept in a haze. Shock and trauma CAN be blessings.
My experience with an IED came about 0633 on the morning of Jan. 8. It was kickoff day for Operation Raider Harvest, part of a major effort by U.S. forces to root out and destroy al-Qaida operatives still operating in an area of Diyala province known as the bread basket. The unit I embedded with was the 3rd Squadron, 2nd Platoon, 38th Combat Engineer Battalion, attached to the 4th Stryker Brigade of the 2nd Infantry Division. The mission was to lead a company of infantrymen in Stryker vehicles (armored troop carriers) into the area while clearing their path of IEDs.
IEDs come in all shapes and sizes; they can be concealed under freshly laid gravel or in roadside trash heaps or disguised as discarded plastic jugs. They can be detonated by a crush-wire or trip wire, or by an operator using a cellphone or other electronic device. They can be made with plastique explosive, TNT or unused ordnance, such as mortar or artillery shells.
And they kill – suddenly, devastatingly, horrifically. More than half of U.S. deaths in Iraq are a result of IEDs and virtually all brain injuries and most loss of limbs can be ascribed to them.
You sure you want to do this?” an Army Public Affairs sergeant asked the night before. “You’ll be in the most dangerous position, but in the safest vehicle, a Buffalo.”
I hate eating someone else’s dust. And the prospect of being the tip of the so-called “Tip of the Spear” fed the ego.
“Good to go,” I said. “I want it.”
Now the Buffalo is in no way an attractive vehicle. It weighs about 40 tons and looks like a gigantic box on wheels. But it has a V-shaped bottom to deflect explosive blasts as well as upper body armor. It’s also fitted with a hydraulic arm with a giant fork on the end for “interrogating” suspicious objects and holes. It does its job and does it well, as cumbersome as it is. It also has ample leg room, a special perk in a military vehicle not to be casually dismissed.
On my Buffalo there was a crew of four. Three were veteran combat engineers who had been blown up previously. The fourth was a 19-year-old private straight out of training school.
The first village we entered Jan. 8 was Silsil. It looked innocuous enough as we crossed a canal and slowly rolled up its main street. There were small veg and fruit stands in front of homes and shops; orchards of oranges and pomegranates were close by. The streets were deserted, but it was early in the morning.
One hundred meters, 125 meters — slowly we approached a T-junction from the canal, scouring visually through the Buffalo’s ballistic windows for IED crush wires while electronic equipment sent out waves to jam any electronic detonator signals. At about 150 meters in, as we coasted to a stop at the junction, Army Spec. Webb, who was driving, called out: “Do I go right or lef …?”
He never finished the sentence. The last letter in “left” was replaced by a massive, metallic bang. I felt a hard punch under my left foot, and almost simultaneously the Buffalo was lifted into the air and then crashed down, There was no sound from the four soldiers in the Buffalo after initial expletives of surprise, not immediately anyway, except for heavy breathing. Everyone just listened anxiously. Was there going to be a second explosion – from the fuel tanks that would cook us alive or from a second, daisy-chained IED? You couldn’t look out to see. The dust, dirt and gravel wrapped us in an impenetrable grey/brown blanket as debris rained down on us. Later came the near hysterical jokes and bantering when it appeared explosion Number Two wasn’t going to happen to us. We’d survived.
The IED was estimated to have been 50-60 pounds of TNT. It was buried under the packed gravel road and exploded directly beneath us, set off by a crush wire that had been covered over to blend in with the road surface. It left a crater 2-1/2 feet deep and 5 feet across. Thick armor plating on the upper sides of the vehicle had been peeled back by the explosion as if it were paper; part of the armor plating on the V-shaped hull was missing, all but a few bolts on the other side of the V had been sheered off; the frame was twisted, axels bent, brakes destroyed.
We jumped out of the Buffalo’s sheltered compartment on wobbly knees and climbed down its ladder to a gaggle of photographers who had been farher behind us in Strykers. Infantry had surrounded the vehicle and medics were charging up the street. Words were shouted by those approaching but I can’t remember what now seems like a barely audible murmur then. I know other things happened after we stepped out of the Buffalo, but I still can’t bring them to mind. It’s like seeing images, shapes through a badly out-of-focus camera lens. But I do remember Webb yelling: “Damnit, damnit, damnit. That’s Number Five for me.”
You won’t see Webb’s given name, hometown or home state in this report. He had earlier refused to give it, saying he didn’t want his family to know much about what he does. I understand that now.
We were lucky. Others later that day weren’t so fortunate. Two men in a Stryker behind us were badly wounded after striking an IED, a fact that didn’t sit well with the engineers.
Later Tuesday, we were taken to a medical facility and poked, probed and questioned. “Don’t tell them you’re hurting if you want to go out again tomorrow,” someone whispered in my ear. I kept my mouth shut. Failing the eye exam was because I didn’t have my glasses with me, I told the medical technician; the wobbly performance on the heel-toe walking test was the result of bad knees; and inability to perform the memory tests of word lists and reverse alphabet sequence recitals were the result of my being an old man with short-term memory problems.
We went out on Wednesday in another Buffalo and it was uneventful – for us. Six soldiers and their Iraqi interpreters were killed nearby when they entered a house that had been booby-trapped with an IED. As we neared our home base – FOB (Forward Operating Base) Normandy — conversation in the Buffalo turned Wednesday to who had a stash of Advil or Tylenol. The headaches had set in with a vengeance but none of the crew wanted to risk being medically restricted from duty by going to the Med building for pills. The men of the 3rd Squadron had also developed a peculiar gait: a shuffle instead of a stride because of balance problems.
I’m on medical restriction now. I couldn’t hide the concussion as well as the others. There’s only so much you can claim to be the result of age or wobbly knees. And a wonky eye and fluid in an ear kinda pushed an argument to go back to the doctor and ‘fess up.
But tomorrow is a new day and there are new missions. The men of the 38th engineers will be on them. So, too, dozens of other Army engineers and scores of Marine engineers rushed in from Anbar province to help find and destroy IEDs as the U.S. military starts moving into the holding phase of Operation Raider Harvest – turning area security over to the Iraqi army, organizing armed neighborhood watch groups and helping set up a system of governance, all designed to root out al-Qaida terrorists who have gone to ground or to keep them from re-infiltrating an area that was once a bastion of their self-proclaimed Islamic Republic of Iraq.
I intend to be back with them.
