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DEL.ICIO.USSearching for a piece of the puzzle
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Al-Sahl, Iraq - Even though they have been out all night scoping out the Syrian border, the Georgia soldiers wake at the crack of dawn.
They know if they get to al-Sahl too late, all the men in the village will be gone from home.
Most of the villagers here make a living herding sheep or trading goods, a suspect business so close to the border. Here smuggled fuel, cigarettes and weaponry go from one nation to another with a hop over a sand berm.
• Photos: U.S. soldiers question villagers
The men of 2nd platoon, Company H, 121st Infantry (ABN) (LRS) surround the village. Staff Sgt. Brett Paul begins walking from mud hut to mud hut, asking the men questions.
In this random war pulled in every direction by sectarian allegiances, religious fanatics and anti-American sentiment, the only way to stop senseless brutality is by getting to the triggerman before he unleashes his wrath.
In poor towns and villages in this part of Iraq, an innocent man can easily turn to violent acts for a few extra bucks in his pocket.
“We never get concrete information but generally we get a piece of the puzzle,” Paul says. “The biggest benefit to walking in like this is that it gives Iraqis a platform to speak.”
But this also a war driven by extreme fear.
Every Iraqi knows that talking to an American one day can mean death the next.
Two people lingering at a doorway begin walking away from Paul. A woman shuts the metal gate to her compound.
“Have you ever seen outsiders here?” Paul asks Mohammed Chanchan.
“La, la, la!” he exclaims uttering the word for ‘no’ in Arabic. “There is no one from Syria or any other country here.”
The man is a little too eager. Paul has a hard time believing him.
His father, Nashmi Mohammed Abid, has the same answers.
“Maku,” he says, meaning nothing. He has never seen outsiders. There is nothing here, he says.
Paul snaps a photo of Abid and the five tattooed dots on his left hand. They are tribal identifiers.
The next few interviews reap the same results. No one knows anything about smuggled goods or people who have crossed the border illegally.
Company H soldiers routinely performs “assessments” in the Iraqi villages that are situated in the border region.
They won’t talk about all the techniques they use to gather intelligence on activities; some, they say, are “classified.” At one village, reporters were forbidden to accompany the soldiers. Meetings were held behind closed doors. An American interpreter of Lebanese descent who has classified clearance from the Defense department accompanies Company H soldiers into such meetings.
But often, the assessments entail patrol leaders talking to the mayor and going door to door. One could call it grassroots intelligence.
At al-Sahl, Paul tries to talk with as many people as he can.
The dirt paths are lined with simple mud houses. There is no electricity of running water here. The packs of mangy dogs surround the Georgian soldiers and begin to growl. The sheep and donkeys grow restless in their pens.
“I’m beginning to tick everybody off, aren’t I?” Paul says.
He takes a photo of a white Opel Omega parked under a thatched roof. License plate: Mosul, 288373. The car looks out of place in the village. Paul and his men will keep watch for that number.
“Who owns the horse?” Paul asks at another household. He is curious because he has seen horses on the border. They are too fast for soldiers to catch on foot on the sand berms. “It’s natural to suspect everyone,” Paul says about poor Iraqis trying to supplement their meager incomes. “That’s how these guys make a living.”
The soldiers cannot afford to stay in one village too long. Their security could be threatened.
Paul rounds up his soldiers and heads out. As always, the children run to the Humvees.
“All the children here are so cute,” Paul says. “It’s only when they grow up.”
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