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Saturday, December 3, 2005
Convoys magnets for bombs
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Curtis Compton/AJC
A U.S. military supply convoy rolls under the arches as it arrives in Trebil, Iraq, on the Jordanian border last week. U.S. convoys escort supply trucks across the treacherous desert, where bombs laid by insurgents are a constant threat. | Photos of convoys, bomb attack | What's it like to be attacked? Read the firsthand accounts of reporter Jeremy Redmon and photographer Curtis Compton.
Trebil, Iraq — The desolate highway from this trash-strewn town on the Jordanian border into western Iraq is littered with bomb craters and burned-out skeletons of supply trucks.
They are grim reminders of the dangers that lurk along this main supply route for U.S. forces here.
Georgia National Guard soldiers regularly travel the highway, protecting trucks loaded with fuel, food and water. They send roughly 100 troops in about 30 heavily armed military vehicles to guard each convoy.
Despite the overwhelming military presence, insurgents are aggressively attacking the convoys with rocket-propelled grenades and roadside bombs. Between Sept. 1 and Nov. 11, 37 roadside bombs hit convoys or were detected by soldiers before they detonated. One recent convoy was attacked with eight roadside bombs.
“You get hit every damn time you go out,” said Capt. Jeff Schneider, 34, a full-time Georgia National Guard soldier from Atlanta who helps guard the convoys.
More than 2 1/2 years after the invasion of Iraq, the ambushes underscore how insurgencies remain robust in many parts of the country, despite U.S. attempts to stamp them out.
In western Iraq, Guard soldiers are tracking as many as five insurgent and militia groups operating around their supply routes. They include al Qaida in Iraq and Ansar al-Sunna. Both of these notorious terrorist organizations are linked to Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, a radical Sunni Muslim from Jordan.
The Georgia soldiers also are protecting the convoys from bandits seeking to plunder supply-laden trucks in the restive Al Anbar province.
The soldiers consider these enemies such a threat that they escort each supply convoy. Still, even with the overwhelming military presence, insurgents are aggressively attacking.
“You need all this security. It’s a way to guarantee that our supplies get there,” Schneider said.
Schneider is a member of the Savannah-based 1st Battalion, 118th Field Artillery Regiment Task Force, part of Georgia’s 48th Brigade Combat Team. The brigade is guarding supply convoys across Iraq, from Tallil in the south to Baghdad in central Iraq to Trebil in the west.
The Theater Security Mission, as it is officially known, is important because it ensures soldiers get the supplies they need, everything from beans to bullets.
The 118th troops say their missions are particularly dangerous because Iraq’s western borders are not sealed off to insurgents traveling from Jordan and Syria.
“For every couple of insurgents we detain or kill, there are busloads of them coming across the border to join the cause,” said 1st Lt. Alan Dufresne, 28, a financial adviser who belongs to a Rhode Island-based company of National Guard infantrymen attached to the 118th.
Dufresne is constantly trying to fool the insurgents by changing his travel patterns. But that’s a challenging task — there is only one paved highway between the Jordanian border and their supply hub at Al Asad Air Base, near the city of Hit.
One 118th officer said that predicament makes soldiers “sitting ducks.”
“They are hitting you every time on this mission,” said Sgt. Curtis Wilmont, 45, a truck driver from Pembroke. “They are real consistent because they know your movement. They know you are coming and they know you are leaving.”
In recent months, several civilian truck drivers and U.S. soldiers from other units have been killed on supply routes across Iraq. As of Thanksgiving, no 118th soldiers had been killed or seriously injured on their missions in western Iraq. They have managed to keep their supply convoys running despite the attacks. But their vehicles have taken a beating from roadside bombs.
During the last week of November, a 118th supply convoy was hit by two roadside bombs, narrowly avoided a third and possibly a fourth. The convoy started early on the morning of Nov. 22 and ended on Thanksgiving Day.
The troops started their mission escorting about 100 empty supply trucks to Trebil. On the first leg of the trip, they rolled along a treacherous road called Route Uranium. Pocked with bomb craters, the road passes through a desert landscape. Soldiers wince on the narrow, one-lane route as they drive past suspicious-looking piles of gravel and sand, possible hiding places for bombs. A sign warns of mines off the road.
Route Uranium eventually gives way to Route Mobile, a divided highway lined with the blackened carcasses of supply trucks. When the trucks break down, U.S. soldiers move them far off the road and blow them up so they cannot be used as booby traps.
More than halfway through their trip, the 118th soldiers encountered some Marines stopping traffic. The Marines were about to detonate a bomb they found planted in the median. It was three mortar rounds connected to a car battery. When the Marines blew it up, the troops heard two explosions, the second possibly coming from another bomb planted nearby.
Insurgents sometimes attempt to lure soldiers by placing a bomb, called a “come-along,” in clear view. They conceal a second explosive nearby to kill troops who climb out of their armored vehicles to destroy the first bomb.
“I’m glad they found it because it was intended for us,” Dufresne said while briefing his troops later that evening.
Dufresne and his men slept that night at Camp Korean Village, a small Marine post 223 miles from Al Asad Air Base. Soldiers say the camp got its name from the Koreans who built the divided highway to Trebil for Saddam Hussein’s regime. The camp is blacked out at night, giving soldiers a striking view of the stars.
The National Guard soldiers didn’t start out with this mission. Until October, the 118th Task Force was headquartered at Camp Taji, a sprawling base northwest of Baghdad. The troops patrolled the surrounding area and hunted insurgents. Some 118th soldiers say their new mission is riskier because of the persistent threat of roadside bombs.
“I’m on the end of my tour and we went from dangerous to more dangerous,” said Sgt. 1st Class Wayne Oldroyd, 39, a Massachusetts state prison worker who is attached to the 118th Task Force. “You are basically riding down the road waiting to get blown up.”
On the second day of their convoy, Oldroyd and the other troops traveled 70 miles to Trebil. As they pulled into the outskirts, they saw two puppies wrestling over a dead rat in a pile of garbage.
The soldiers dropped off the empty supply trucks and linked up with 100 others full of fuel, food and water. Before they left, Guard soldiers inspected each truck to ensure it would not break down and make the convoy vulnerable to attacks.
Then the soldiers placed pieces of cardboard in the sand, marking spots where they wanted the civilian truck drivers to stand and be frisked. They searched for weapons, drugs and alcohol, anything that could interfere with the mission.
Soldiers also scan the U.S. military contract drivers for tattoos that could link them to insurgent groups or militias.
They also confiscate the drivers’ cellphones. They don’t want them tipping off insurgents about their travel times and locations. Insurgents have killed drivers in the past, stolen their passports and posed as their victims to gain entry into Iraq, U.S. soldiers said. Most of the drivers come from Jordan, Sudan and the Dominican Republic.
“When you see a new face, you have to keep your eyes on them,” said Spc. Luis Rivera, 41, of Jesup, who works at Sea Island Resort in civilian life.
On the way back to Camp Korean Village, the convoy was attacked with a roadside bomb. No one was seriously injured, but the blast flattened three of the Humvee’s tires.
Insurgents placed the explosive in a storm drain on the side of the road. The drains run perpendicular to the highway, making it easy for insurgents to aim and time their bombs. U.S. troops have stripped the metal guardrails from the highway so they can’t be used to plant explosives.
On Thanksgiving, the last day of their three-day convoy, the troops got hit again. Nobody was seriously injured, and the Humvee was not disabled.
Soldiers aren’t the only ones at risk on these convoys. Chris Lee, a fuel truck driver for KBR, a major U.S. military contractor, said 12 of his colleagues have been killed on Iraq’s roads in the last four months.
Lee, who goes by the nickname “Fuel Dude,” inherited a truck riddled with bullet holes and damaged by a roadside bomb. He said KBR’s rules prohibit him from carrying a sidearm. So he straps three knives to his vest.
“It kind of looks like Rambo,” said Lee, 48, a burly truck driver from St. Louis. “I’m not going to end up on TV, getting my head chopped off.”
“If it gets more dangerous,” Lee continued, “I will pull the plug and go home.”
As Lee prepared to pump his fuel out at a small U.S. military base near Hit, a roadside bomb exploded near the entrance to the camp. The blast seriously injured an Iraqi soldier, who was evacuated by helicopter to a hospital.
“Well, good thing we hadn’t left yet,” 2nd Lt. Matt Pitts, 21, of St. Mary’s, said dryly as he waited to escort Lee back to Al Asad Air Base.
Lee wears a helmet and body armor on his convoys. The interior of his truck is wrapped in a Kevlar blanket and has ballistic shields that fit behind the doors.
Truck drivers for other U.S. military contractors don’t have such protections. Supervisors for the Amman, Jordan-based International Oil Trading Company, said their drivers lack helmets, body armor and Kevlar blankets.
Two drivers have been wounded by roadside bombs in recent weeks, said Ahmad Al-Shaer, an International Oil Trading Company supervisor. One was blinded in his right eye and the other was burned. A third driver was kidnapped and beheaded in Trebil recently, Al-Shaer said.
“They hate us because we are working with” American soldiers, he said.
A fellow supervisor, Cesar Mejia Gonzalez, has been riding on the convoys between Trebil and Al Asad for more than a year. He said he is in Iraq for his wife and two young children back home in the Dominican Republic.
“I want to give a better life for them. That is why I take the risk,” said Gonzalez, 31.
Gonzalez and Al-Shaer agree the U.S. military escorts are critical for their convoys. None of their drivers, they said, would show up for work if the troops were not there to escort them.
Explosion punctuates monotony, unifies us
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Curtis Compton/AJC
Sgt. Brian Lancey, 36 (kneeling, right) checks for bomb damage along with his driver Spc. Greg Carter, 37, (left) while gunner Spc. Jason Roberts, 32, scans the desert for the bomb's triggerman.
Ramadi, Iraq — The bomb exploded after I let my guard down.
I’m usually on the lookout for bombs while I’m riding in Humvees. But after hours of rolling past featureless desert landscapes, my mind wandered.
Then came the deafening explosion.
During 15 weeks of reporting from Iraq, I have ridden in five military convoys that have been hit with roadside bombs. On Thanksgiving Day, I felt what it was like to be inside one of those vehicles.
I was riding with three Georgia National Guard soldiers in a Humvee. They were guarding a supply convoy on a highway between the Jordanian border and Al Asad Air Base.
Nothing much had happened the first several hours of the trip, lulling me into a sense of comfort. And then at about 8:40 a.m., I heard the blast.
I felt the shock wave vibrate through my body. I felt the wind sucked out of me, as if the bomb was burning up all the oxygen around it.
A thick cloud of smoke and dust enveloped us. We sat for a few moments, stunned and speechless.
Spc. Steven Riley, our 20-year-old gunner from Savannah, was halfway up in his hatch when the bomb exploded. The blast snapped his head back. He heard shrapnel ricochet around his metal gun turret.
“Riley, are you OK?” I shouted.
He quickly responded: “I’m OK! I’m OK!”
As if to prove it, he popped back up in his turret and fired off several rounds. Gunners are trained to lay down suppressive fire immediately after a roadside bomb attack. They want to keep triggermen from detonating additional bombs or hitting soldiers with small arms fire.
Through the dust and smoke, I could see our driver hunched over the steering wheel. Sgt. Curtis Wilmont, 45, of Pembroke, had dipped his head and taken his foot off the accelerator.
The vehicle commander, Staff Sgt. Joshua Winchester, reacted quickly. He knew he had to get his men out of the insurgents’ kill zone, where secondary explosives could be planted.
“Drive forward!” Winchester, 30, of Jesup, shouted to Wilmont.
Wilmont hit the gas, moving up the road a short distance until we saw a house on the left. Riley kept an eye on the house as two other Humvees in our convoy peeled off in search of the triggerman. I could see Riley’s legs trembling from the adrenaline. Gunners are often the most vulnerable to roadside bomb attacks because their bodies are exposed.
“It felt like I was getting kicked in the face,” he said later. “It felt like my nose was broken.”
When Winchester perceived the danger had passed, he ordered Wilmont to drive back to the site of the explosion. We found a 3-foot-wide blast crater on the right side of the road. Insurgents had placed the bomb in a storm drain there.
We stepped out of the Humvee. The bomb had scraped and gouged the side of the vehicle with shrapnel. It left two dents in the front passenger-side door, near the level of Winchester’s head. It broke the left back door handle and smashed the right-side mirror. It drilled a piece of shrapnel into the front right tire but failed to deflate it.
Scattered across the road were jagged pieces of black shrapnel as small as the tip of a finger and as large as a man’s forearm. The crater still smelled of burning metal.
It could have been much worse. Inside the trunk sat several cans of ammunition for Riley’s grenade launcher. Basically, we were a rolling bomb.
We were thankful the explosive wasn’t more powerful. Some are so massive that they obliterate armored Humvees. I have heard plenty of stories from soldiers who had to retrieve their comrades’ body parts.
My experiences with road- side bombs are nothing compared to what the soldiers endure. I volunteered to come to Iraq and could leave whenever I wanted. The soldiers must stay, sometimes for a year or more. And they must have the courage to go outside protected compounds again after surviving a roadside bombing. The nerve-racking anticipation of another bomb attack is almost worse than getting hit with one.
The bomb on Thanksgiving did not disable our vehicle. We were able to roll back to base. As we continued our journey, there were long moments of silence. The mood in the vehicle was reflective. At times, we would replay what had happened, discussing in detail each of our experiences. The bomb had drawn us closer. We had lived through it together.
We got back to base without further trouble. Winchester and Wilmont seemed OK. But Riley was complaining of persistent headaches and dizziness.
We had been up since 2 a.m. Physically, I was wiped out. My body had nothing left to give. But I couldn’t sleep that night. I was too alert. It was if my body and my mind were fighting for control. And my mind was winning, just racing and racing.
Shrapnel meant for us, then silent sigh of relief
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Curtis Compton/AJC
Seconds after his Humvee is hit by a roadside bomb flattening three tires and filling the vehicle with smoke, driver Spc. Greg Carter, 37, drives through the blast.
Al Anbar Province, Iraq — Twenty-two miles east of the Jordanian border, Sgt. Brian Lancey reached for a PowerGel.
His Humvee was the lead vehicle providing security for a U.S. military supply convoy on a dangerous stretch of road between the border and central Iraq. The insurgents who operate here can easily track convoys as they move across the flat, featureless landscape.
They knew he was coming.
He knew they were waiting.
Without warning, a deafening blast ripped through the Humvee from the right side of what is known as Route Mobile.
Shrapnel from three or four mortar rounds fashioned into an insurgent’s most feared weapon, the roadside bomb, ripped holes in the back and right side of the Humvee.
Three tires blew out. The cab filled with thick, black smoke. Gas spewed from the punctured fuel cans strapped to the back.
Lancey felt like someone had blindsided him with a baseball bat. The gunner’s head snapped back as if he had been kicked in the face. The driver reflexively took his foot off the gas pedal. The vehicle shuddered, vibrated and sputtered.
Turning to his men, Lancey yelled: “Is everyone OK? Get us out of here!”
He grabbed the radio mike, calling the two Humvees following.
“Kill zone right. Look for possible triggerman,” he warned.
Lancey looked like Tom Hanks in the movie “Saving Private Ryan.” His eyes were intense, adrenaline was flowing. Yet, he was in control.
The driver, Spc. Greg Carter, straining to see through the smoke and dust, hit the gas and the Humvee emerged from the grip of the blast.
“Stop right here!” Lancey yelled.
He jumped out and began directing his soldiers. Weapons raked the Mars-like landscape, sending clouds of desert sand into the air.
Lancey ran to the blast site and raised his M-14 rifle, aiming down the sight line he suspected the triggerman used. Standing in the still-smoldering debris, he sent rounds down range in search of the enemy.
After a few shots, Lancey returned to his disabled Humvee. Carter, the driver, opened the trunk, which was penetrated by shrapnel. He picked up a steel can that normally is used to carry bullets for the machine gun. This crew used it to carry muffins.
It was ripped to shreds, along with the gunner’s backpack. Lancey paused to look at the can. His favorite snacks, chocolate and blueberry muffins, were destroyed.
“They got the muffin can!” he shouted. “Game on!”
Humvees roared off into the desert in a sweep pattern searching for insurgents while Lancey checked for secondary bombs. He looked over the crater from the blast and recovered pieces of debris that gave clues to the bomb’s makeup. There was no contact with any insurgents on the sweep and Lancey returned to his crew as the soldiers began changing tires on the Humvee.
There was still a convoy to protect.
Lancey addressed his crew before they took off again:
“Great job everybody. Carter, you drove right through there. Roberts, you got right up on the gun. All right Ramblers,” he said, using their nickname, “let’s get rambling.”
Once on the move, 15 minutes of silence passed.
The near-death experience was sinking in. Each man quietly contemplated the experience.
Spc. Jason Roberts, the gunner, was the first to speak.
“Everybody’s real quiet right now,” he said cautiously.
They all exhaled.
“I’m going to call home and tell my wife to buy lottery tickets,” Lancey said. “Until we [return home], my wife doesn’t need to know any of this. She doesn’t need to know anything I do. You know the reality of it is we are all really lucky. We got to see the severity of it and nobody got hurt.”
Lancey held up some of the jagged pieces of shrapnel meant to kill them.
“Man, if I can take these home,” he said, “it means I make it home.”
