Home : America At War : War On Terror :A Soldier's StoryAnyone wondering about whether or not they hate us should come and fight these thugs. There is no doubt in my mind that they would kill us in our own cities. Instead, we kill them here.
Lt. Col. Steve Russell had to fight to hold back a smile. Normally, there wasn't much to smile about in Iraq. But the news that Saddam Hussein had been captured sent the blood coursing through his veins. He was elated. Russell, a Del City native and leader of the Fort Hood, Texas, 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry, had for months been on the trail of the deposed Iraqi leader in and around Tikrit. His troops captured several of Saddam's cronies, in the process gathering information that led to the coalition's biggest catch. When U.S. forces pulled Saddam from a hole in the ground in front of a farmhouse, Russell and his troops were nearby, forming a protective cordon on the west side of the Tigris River. Russell was with his soldiers when he got news of the capture on a tactical phone, but was asked not to spread the word until an official announcement was made. He put on his best poker face, knowing the importance of following orders. He would tell his soldiers soon enough. And with his online journal, he would tell their families, too. Russell took command of the 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry in June, and began posting monthly updates on the group's Web site. His accounts paint a picture of life in Iraq. Two thugs in a black late model Toyota sedan dashed down the street on which the men were patrolling. The passenger hung an AK-47 out the window on the left side of the car and fired a burst at the squad. Sgt. Trujillo brought his rifle into action almost immediately. He fired four rounds at the moving car. All four rounds hit the man with the AK-47 in the head. The driver, seeing his cousin's head explode, decided to immediately stop and put up his hands. That the soldiers did not kill him before he did is a testament to the discipline of the men.
Russell, back in Texas after pulling himself and his soldiers out of Iraq for a troop rotation, said it is important to share the details of battle with loved ones, even if the details are graphic. "I felt that I had an obligation to the families of the soldiers that I led," he said in a telephone interview. "I tried to connect to them the experiences that we were going through so that over time they didn't feel complete strangers to it upon our return." Many times Russell shared heartbreaking news. He wrote about responding to a call of a Black Hawk helicopter shot down in flames on a sandbar by the Tigris River. I set out to find any other soldiers. We had accounted for five. We had reports of six. Soon, we discovered the sixth soldier in the body of the aircraft. I will not describe to you what we saw. We recovered the soldier's smoldering dog tags and got a name confirmation. Then we began the grisly work of recovery. Russell, a fifth-generation Oklahoman whose relatives took part in the land run in Arapaho territory, witnessed death in Iraq. If it wasn't his soldiers or insurgency rebels, it was Iraqi civilians. Two sisters played in front of their house on the 16th of October near one of the city laundry shops in Tikrit. Two women and a man walked along the street about mid-morning. One of the ladies carried a black plastic sack, the kind that is so common among all of the shops and food stands. They conversed a bit and then walked away. The 7-year-old sister noticed that the lady forgot her sack on the road. She and her 12-year-old sister went over to pick up the bag and carry it to the lady who forgot it. The 7-year-old made it only a few steps when she was ripped apart by a powerful blast. Her sister was mangled and blinded. She could not walk. She struggled to pull herself to her house, leaving bloody handprints on the concrete and the gate where she lived. The gutless attackers blended into the daily bustle of the city. Russell said examples like that, and the more recent horrific image of Iraqis dragging charred American corpses through the streets, underline the importance of America's job in Iraq. "We can never lose sight of just how evil that regime and the thousands upon thousands that supported it in Iraq were," he said. "Their viewpoint is extremely narrow, and I'll point out, extremely barbaric and uncivilized. We found that type of activity good for bullets, and that's what we used to deal with it."
There were some enlightening moments for Russell and his troops, however. The commander recalled in his journal a lamb dinner at the farm of a cooperative Iraqi sheik. The laughter of the kids as they ran like kittens chasing our weapons' laser lights was a lift. Soon, my men were teaching them all sorts of games. By far the most enjoyable was the American favorite where a child is tapped on the head in a circle and dubbed various waterfowl. 'Duck, Duck, Goose' had come to Iraq. As I mused from a short distance and soaked it in, it was hard to keep the tears back for the longing of my own children. Despite the tribulations of enemy fighters and faraway families, Russell wrote that he was always reminded of why he was in Iraq. The day after the helicopter crash Russell spoke of, American forces launched a large-scale offensive, leveling buildings with screaming missiles, showing the Iraqis their acts of violence would not go unreturned. When morning came, the locals were terrified. They told us they had not been this frightened since April. Good, I thought. Tell that to your Fedayeen supporting, Saddam-loving neighbors. Don't they realize we have the might and resolve of the United States of America at our disposal? Don't they understand that burned in our memories is the investment broker making the best of two horrifying choices as he leapt from the World Trade Center Towers? That's why it was so rewarding for Russell to be a key player in the capture of Saddam. He realized he had helped accomplish something that would not only affect Americans and Iraqis alike, but would alter the world's history. The next day the world was abuzz. Rumors and rumblings finally gave way to confirmations. Then the electrifying announcement came from Baghdad. Now we could finally talk about it. That evening when we patrolled the town it was quiet as a mosque mouse. In each flophouse, apartment and home you could see faces lit palely by the television. The regime's war was now over, too.
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A tire in the road instantly became a brownish cloud of sand, flame and shrapnel. In the lead Hummvee, the officer in charge felt a sharp pain to his right knee and arm. An A Company sergeant sitting in the back was thrown sideways by the force into the middle of the Hummvee with neck lacerations. The cargo truck behind it collected a spattering of shrapnel that cut into tires, metal—and flesh. A specialist from our support company felt a deadening pain to his face and head and shoulder. Blood poured from the gums where several of his teeth had been. Another soldier facing the back took slicing shrapnel through his left foot. Amazingly, no one was seriously injured. The soldiers gathered their wounded comrades and rushed them to one of our aid stations a few kilometers up the highway. We arrived and secured the area, equipment and damaged vehicles. Big hunks of artillery shrapnel lay embedded in the asphalt. The tire was nothing more than an array of belted cords and loose rubber bounced in all directions. With our casualties and equipment secure, we recovered everything quickly from the scene. There will never be dancing Iraqis on our equipment. We will kill everyone of them that tries.| Links & Recommended Sites | Oneliners, Stories, etc. |
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