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DEL.ICIO.USBorder war: Where it all begins
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
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| Louie Favorite/AJC |
| An Iraqi fort on the Syrian border, temporary home for Georgia-based Company H, 121st Infantry (ABN) (LRS). |
• Click here for more photos from the border
Ninevah province, Iraq — It is sundown when 3rd platoon rolls into the Iraqi border fort in a parade of Humvees and a military truck carrying supplies to last a week. Here on the Syrian border, the Georgia soldiers will rest by day and, at night, when darkness propels illegal activity, they will stake out the unforgiving desert that lies between two nations.
The acting commander of the Iraqi Border Patrol battalion occupying this fort comes out to greet the Americans.
This is where the war begins, says Capt. Staff Waleed Mohammed Ibrahim, of the foreign fighters, smuggled fuel and weaponry that drive Iraq’s toxic mix of hatred and bloodshed.
• FIRST OF TWO PARTS
The world focuses on Baghdad’s mayhem, but it can all be stopped on the border, he says. “My men are the first line of defense for Iraq.”
In this little-known border war, Ibrahim’s battalion works closely with the soldiers of Company H, 121st Infantry (ABN) (LRS), a Georgia Army National Guard long-range surveillance unit based at Fort Gillem. Hotel company soldiers, whose home in Iraq is Forward Operating Base Sykes in Tal Afar, rotate in and out of border forts like this one.
The partnership is not always seamless; different cultures and work ethics can get in the way. And, there is no such thing as instant trust.
Ibrahim depends on the Americans for tactical support; the Georgia soldiers turn to Ibrahim, whose men are more familiar with the region, for information and tip-offs on suspicious activity.
The United States accuses Syria of supporting terrorism in Iraq; Syria denies it. Whether the crossers are Syrian or Iraqi, the business is smuggling goods for money that can be used for sinister purposes.
Platoon leader 1st Lt. Brooks Askew sits down for a brief conversation in Ibrahim’s office. The Iraqi leader asks about a bridge that was blown up on the main highway to Tal Afar.
“It’s good now,” says the officer from Atlanta. It has been rebuilt.
As the two leaders talk, 3rd platoon soldiers unload their gear. Later, they will head out on their first reconnaissance mission. An Atlanta police officer, Sgt. Jeff Stewart, will take his men north with Askew. Other 3rd platoon Humvees will cover territory to the south. They will work under the cover of night and return at daybreak to this border post.
A sand berm separates two nations
It is a fort only in name, a shell of a building with a guard tower and Soviet-era binoculars attached to a metal stand. There is no electricity here save a small generator. Most of the time, there’s no fuel to run it.
The Syrian flag flies so close that the Georgians manning the guard tower can almost reach out and pluck it from the other side of the sand berm that separates the two nations.
It is a barren landscape with the Sinjar Mountains in the distance, and a small graveyard along the border. The Americans surmise that some headstones belong to men who served in the Iraqi Border Patrol.
Since 2003, Iraqi border forces belonging to the Sinjar division have endured 25 terrorist attacks that killed 13 of their own and permanently crippled another dozen.
As the Iraqis surrender their sheltered space to the Americans, the whitewashed rooms fill with rows of green canvas Army cots and camouflage sleeping bags. Without heat, it can be uncomfortably cold at night.
In the central open-air courtyard, the soldiers set up Coleman camping stoves so they can heat water and make Starbucks coffee in the morning. There’s a stash of sweet, sticky honey buns, otherwise known as LT steaks because they are Lt. Askew’s favorite snack.
Ibrahim’s men have seen U.S. soldiers many times. Still they stare, curious. They are amused by the brown bags containing MREs, the Meals Ready to Eat, affectionately called Mr. E’s.
Cpl. Ryan English of Atlanta refuses to touch the military rations. He pulls out a bag of hydrogenated Pad Thai that he ordered online.
The soldiers come here equipped with hand sanitizers, anti-bacterial wipes and toilet paper. The only water available comes in bottles and is conserved for drinking and brushing teeth.
An invitation to dinner
Next to the Americans, the Iraqis look like a ragtag army. They wear whatever uniforms they can scrounge up: Some are dressed in Gulf War-era U.S. chocolate chip blouses and cargo pants like those seen in the movies “Black Hawk Down” and “Jarhead.”
The Iraqi captain invites the Georgia soldiers to join his men for dinner. His compound has a kitchen staff and mud ovens where hundreds of pieces of flatbread are baked every day.
“We’re tired,” Askew says, declining.
“Then lunch tomorrow?” Ibrahim asks.
“OK. Maybe 10 of us.”
“Ten? No, no, no. Twenty.”
“I don’t want to take your food,” Askew says, accepting instead an offer of chai, a heavily sweetened tea.
Behind the commander’s office is a detailed sand table that depicts the lay of the land. It is kept hidden in a zippered U.S. Army tent.
In the aftermath of Saddam’s ouster, border posts were deserted, and squatters settled in. Since 2003, the Iraqis have reclaimed the buildings and erected eight border posts; the Syrians have 10 times that many. Little flags on the table mark the border stations and checkpoints along the main north-south Iraqi road.
Askew eyes seven pickup trucks parked outside. The last time his platoon was out here, they cornered the drivers and confiscated their trucks as they tried to cross the border illegally. The Georgians also seized cardboard boxes each containing 50 cartons of cigarettes: Jordanian made Wall Street Lights and United 100 Lights. Ibrahim has them piled up in a storage room.
Cigarettes, explains Ibrahim, are much more expensive in Syria; each box carrying 50 cartons is worth $75 there. “They sell them in Syria and maybe buy weapons with the profits,” he says. “Terrorists in Iraq get big help from outside.”
Other smuggled items such as fuel similarly cross the border all the time. Iraq has one of the world’s largest oil reserves but gasoline is in short supply and frightfully expensive. In this area, Ibrahim says gas can cost $4 a gallon, prompting insurgents to look West for fuel.
A computer is ‘a good friend’
The Iraqis lack the sophisticated surveillance equipment the Georgians possess. Until recently, Ibrahim didn’t even have access to the Internet or adequate radio communication. The Russian-manufactured radio he used felt like two blocks of cement on his back.
The Georgians helped him on that front, too. “It’s a good friend,” he says about the flat-screen computer monitor now sitting on the commander’s desk.
Ibrahim hints that corruption and bureaucracy keep the central government in Baghdad from lending much support to border security forces. “There is no country in the world that can secure 100 percent of its borders,” Ibrahim says. “But we don’t get what we need for the men.”
He says his men leave their families to work here for two weeks at a time, without electricity or running water. It’s human rights abuse, he says, to not even have a way to shower. They are paid only $370 a month, half of which is burned up in gas to get out here and back.
Ibrahim, like many Iraqis in this area, is grateful for American support. With U.S. assistance, he says, roughly 35 border crossers have been detained so far this year. Among them, five were known terrorists; two were suspects in anti-American incidents.
A rocky marriage between troops
The relationship between the Border Patrol and the Americans, however, is sometimes an uneasy one. It’s almost like a marriage in which each partner suspects infidelity.
Ibrahim explains that in the past, U.S. soldiers entered the area, did their own thing, and left. He even recalled a firefight between the Iraqis and Americans that erupted from miscommunication. The Georgians, in turn, look over their shoulders to make sure the Iraqis stay honest. Corruption and sectarian allegiances within security forces throughout Iraq are common and can impede policing operations.
Ibrahim slouches in a heavily upholstered chair and yells for his cook to bring out another round of tea for Askew.
He is extremely proud of the red stripe that sits under the three gold stars on each shoulder of his old American uniform. The stripe entitles him to the “staff” designation and is an Iraqi equivalent of the elite Ranger tab that many of the Company H soldiers have earned.
Two Company H officers paid their Iraqi counterpart soldierly respect by presenting him with Ranger tabs. One day, Ibrahim says, he hopes for an opportunity to go through the grueling 61 days of Ranger school that starts at Fort Benning.
Though they come from separate worlds, Askew, a 25-year-old Georgia Southern graduate, and his seasoned Iraqi host know they have to work together. The conversation between the two men is punctuated with laughter, until discomfort surfaces in awkward moments of silence.
An interpreter lights up a Marlboro red and offers his pack around. Both Askew and Ibrahim decline.
Ibrahim may be the only Iraqi soldier who does not smoke. He laughs at that observation, and when he does, the wrinkles on his sun-damaged face add age to his 34 years.
Sitting under a framed passage from the Quran, the Iraqi officer leans forward toward his American counterpart.
“There’s a local saying,” he tells Askew, laughing. “As long as there’s chai and cigarettes, there’s no problem.”
Tomorrow: An Atlanta cop and his crew go out on a mission, hoping to snag infiltrators and smuggled goods that fuel the war in Iraq.
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By Maverick
March 27, 2007 1:28 PM | Link to this
Thank you for the great job you are doing keeping all of us informed on what’s happening with Georgia’s own. Your report are heartfelt and I look forward to reading the AJC because of them. I hope that the men of H Co. have embraced you in the same manner the the Blacksheep and men of C Co. did and that you are getting the full experience. Keep up the good work!