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Friday, June 10, 2005
IEDs can spell death for patrols
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Forward Operating Base, St. Michael, Iraq — In a crumbling brick hut set about 100 yards off the narrow, two-lane road U.S. soldiers call Route Fat Boy, the lookout had waited patiently for many days for a military convoy to pass.
Dozens of water bottles had been emptied and discarded in a corner of the barren earthen structure, as well as a few cans of fish and plastic wrappers that once held crackers.
A small fireplace used for cooking was in one corner of the hut and flimsy metal cot had been placed beneath the tiny window that provided the spotter’s only view of his target.
The window itself was about a foot square, bordered by a splintery wood frame. The hut had no plumbing or electricity — but it had everything the spotter needed to detonate an “improvised explosive device,” the most deadly weapon insurgents now in use against American soldiers.
The lookout had a clear line of sight to the road and could instantly trigger the explosive hidden there with a cell phone or other wireless device. Next to the road, a line of evenly spaced power lines provided a low-tech but effective way to gauge the convoy’s speed.
“All he’s got to be able to do is count,” said Lt. Col. John King, commander of the 1st Battalion, 108th Armor Regiment, who discovered the hiding place on an impromptu patrol with Sgt. Tim Hass. “Once they know how long it takes for a vehicle to go between two poles, they can anticipate how long it will take to get to their IED.”
King, of Doraville, and Hass, of Kennesaw, came upon the lookout’s hiding place at the end of a spontaneous hour-long search that highlighted some of the difficulties they face here.
Fat Boy - named for a Harley-Davidson motorcycle - parallels an irrigation canal. Insurgents can quickly tunnel horizontally into the soft soil underneath the blacktop and place IEDs - usually artillery or large mortar shells, but occasionaly bombs as large as 250 pounds.
In this part-urban, part-rural area south of Baghdad, IEDs have destroyed large armored military vehicles and killed dozens of soldiers.
The 48th Brigade Combat Team soldiers were on their way home from a nearby military base when a member of their convoy spotted a freshly dug mound beside the road that they suspected concealed an IED.
The soldiers stayed away, drove some of their vehicles off the road and began searching nearby homes and buildings for suspects.
Two soldiers entered a rural family’s home, a ramshackle place with a large chicken coop attached. Without an interpreter, they used hand motions to describe their intentions.
While they searched the home, another soldier spotted what he described as a man running away from the road, and the soldiers hurried to catch him. They came upon another home where they discovered the person they were looking for — a tall, lanky boy who appeared in his early teens.
The soldiers spoke to a man, apparently the boy’s father, who communicated that the boy had been playing with his brother. Then the soldiers left to search other homes and buildings in a more populated area on the other side of the road.
After inspecting several homes, King and Hass — both police officers in their civilian lives — discovered the lookout’s hiding place near the road.
A quick burst of several rifle shots rang out and the soldiers rushed toward the sound of the firing. They discovered the shots had come from a member of their own team as a warning to several approaching dogs.
The search almost finished when an American bomb detection team arrived. They soon determined the suspected IED was a fake.
Was the whole exercise a mistake? Or are insurgents using a new tactic by intentionally producing false alarms?
Lately, the bomb disposal teams have become high-priority targets. Insurgents call in false reports and shoot at the bomb specialists or set secondary explosives to try to kill them.
Certainly, the soldiers had helped their cause by finding the lookout’s hiding place. But had they alienated people with their aggressive tactics?
It was impossible to know.
Hass, a Cobb County motorcycle cop, said the soldiers had responded appropriately and professionally. He said they will continue to refine their tactics and build confidence in each other and Iraqis during their year-long deployment here.
But the big, affable former Marine said he was frustrated by his inability to communicate with Iraqis — particularly the young ones.
“I hate scaring little kids,” Hass said. “They look at me like I’m a giant, and for all they know, I’m about to pick them up and eat them. I wish I knew how to reassure them and let them know that I’m really here to help.”
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