Thanksgiving in Iraq
Thanksgiving started out in a sort of comical way in 2004, the weather had become very cold over the weeks, it went right from summer-like temperatures in the mid 80�s to winter temps in the mid 40�s within a few days. On the Saturday before Thanksgiving we were informed we wouldn�t be getting our hot meal on Wednesday, rather it would come on the Saturday after.
Operation Big Dig II was occurring just to our north at IED Bridge, so called because it attracts IED like flies to honey. MEU was in the process of rebuilding the northbound lane after the latest IED strike, battalion had a presence up at the bridge providing security, and our 1st Platoon was tasked with setting up an OP (Observation Post) on a house to the west between our FOB and the bridge. I went out with a squad and we found a position that would fill the bill. We left FOB ROW at 0600 for the 3 klick or so walk to a house we had scouted on the map. I was carrying my PRC-113 for talking to aircraft, a PRC-148 for talking to our mortars, my fleece, gore-tex, hat, gloves, and 2 spare batteries for each radio. All of this was stuffed into an old ALICE pack without the frame. War is definitely a young man�s game; after only the short walk to the house I was feeling the weight. Once we got into the area we found a much better house to use and began to secure the area.
As we approached the house we saw that the father was getting ready to leave for work, we approached him and made it clear that he could not leave and that we were going to use his roof as an OP. Obviously he wasn�t too happy, but given that there was 12 of us with guns he wasn�t going to argue. A quick search of his home turned up an AK-47 but no ammunition; we confiscated the rifle and set up our OP. We had one team on the roof, one team roving the area around the house, and the third team watching the family. We let them go about their business, but made it clear none of them were allowed to leave the area.
Iraqi houses are very different from what we are used to; most are of brick or cinderblock, they don�t have frame houses here, the floors are dirt or concrete, and furnishings are an afterthought. I�ve been in a number of homes here and only the wealthy have anything better than some mats or small rugs to lay on the floor for chairs and beds, and this house was no different. I sat on the roof for about an hour and had to go in to put on my gore-tex and fleece, I was chilled to the bone. As I went down the stairs to the main room I saw the security team sitting on mats drinking chai (a local hot tea) and eating cookies. This is one of the things that always surprises me about the Iraqis, we will go into their houses and occupy them for hours and they will serve us chai. The squad leader offered to take over my radio and observation while I warmed up, so I let him. I stripped off my LBV, flak, and blouse and put on layers. The man of the house made it obvious I was to sit down and have some chai, so I did. Hot chai is delicious, and with the amount of sugar they put in it will keep you awake for hours, we call it �liquid crack�.
The house was busy; the family was large, even by Iraqi standards. They had a husband and wife, a young woman who lived there whose relationship I couldn�t determine and five children from about three years old to about fifteen. The surprising thing was the way they were all dressed; the youngest child had on a fleece shirt, sweat pants and no shoes, yet he was running all over the yard. At the same time I was wearing my long underwear, fleece shirt, uniform blouse and trousers, flak (these do help hold heat in), and gore-tex top, for a scarf I wear a green and black shemagh. There were Marines wearing more layers than I was!
I could tell that the wife was rather unhappy with our presence; she scowled at us whenever she had to pass through the main room. The husband hovered over us hoping we would leave if he was nice, we invited him to join us and after a few minutes he did, with a look of disapproval from his wife. We took out pictures of our children and passed them around, Iraqis are very interested in family and this is always a good way to break through. It worked; the wife was soon in the main room asking questions about our various children. After about 20 minutes I went back up to the roof and took my post back. All was quiet in the area.
Being that we were in a rural area the family had livestock and farm fowl; a couple of cows, some chickens, and, believe it or not, three turkeys. I was standing on the roof and I heard yelping, turkey yelping, at first I thought I was imagining it. As I looked around the house, my attention had been out much further so far; I saw two hens and a tom walking around the yard. These weren�t domestic turkeys; they were identical to the wild turkeys I hunt at home. The thought of shooting one and taking it back for dinner raced through my mind, but I didn�t know how much we would have to pay the guy. The tom followed the hens around the yard, strutting and gobbling at the various farm dogs and roosters.
We occupied the house from about 0700 to 1100 that day, an hour past our scheduled time to support the operation at IED Bridge, without incident. We did not see or hear any enemy activity in our area and packed up to leave. After the Marines had stripped down for the walk back, we thanked the owner for his hospitality, and I gave him two dollars. We walked back to FOB ROW the way we had come, dealing with farm traffic along the way, but not overly concerned about it. By the time I had reached the FOB the pack was really starting to get heavy.
So Thanksgiving was just another workday for us, except that we had to face the loss of another Marine and the wounding of three others.
Our 3rd Platoon was still out on Tampa at Checkpoint 22A helping to secure the route. On the evening of the 25th they ghosted a convoy from 22A north to 26A, where Echo Company had replaced our 2nd Platoon freeing them to move to Lutayfiyah. When 3rd Platoon�s patrol reached 26A they turned around and began driving back south. Not far along they hit a tripwire activated IED in the southbound lane. Four Marines were in the hummer, Sgt Ganem (driving), Sgt Hazel (front passenger), LCpl Skaar (flank security), and PFC Cantafio (machinegunner). The IED was placed on a guardrail stump and angled up to direct the blast toward a Marine riding in the top hatch of an up-armored hummer. Of course our hummers aren�t up-armored, we mainly have old high-back hummers with armor plating bolted on the bed. This IED was one of the smaller ones encountered, but the tripwire and angling to target specific positions was new to us.
Unlike the IED that killed three of our Marines in Lutayfiyah we were less involved than I would have liked to be. All we could do was relay messages from 3rd Platoon to battalion and back. A QRF (Quick Reaction Force) was dispatched to the scene by Echo and we got the medevac request going up the chain. By the time things started to settle out and accurate reporting was going both ways we had four wounded Marines, one needing immediate evacuation; he had succumb once to his wounds and was brought back to life and breathing on his own. Just like on November 8th the CP was quiet but packed. The only sound was message traffic on the radios or messages between primaries; I manned the battalion net, Maj Holton manned the company net, and Capt Murphy manned the computer. As we continued to wrangle with battalion, and battalion with the medevac squadron, on the air support for evacuation PFC Cantafio died. It is doubtful that Ryan Cantafio would have lived even if the bird had been airborne and heading his way before they struck the IED, he had a piece of shrapnel pass under the neck guard on his body armor and cut the left side of his neck.
Shrapnel in the right elbow wounded LCpl Skaar, Sgt Ganem had shrapnel wounds to his foot, and Sgt Hazel minor shrapnel wounds to his arm. Sgt Hazel returned to duty the next day, Sgt Ganem and LCpl Skaar were evacuated to Baghdad and then to Germany. I had the displeasure of writing to Cantafio�s young wife that night. I wish I knew what to say to the families, I feel so inadequate when I write them. I try to tell them how proud I am of their loved ones, how much I admire them, and how much they meant to the platoon, but it never seems to come out that way. I honestly don�t know if I will be able to look them in the eye when I get home, I feel ashamed that their loved ones are dead and I get to live. I spent time that evening coordinating leaving Lutayfiyah and going up to Mahmudiyah the next day to take care of Cantafio�s personal effects.
Cantafio�s death hit me harder than Ramey and Warns�s, I don�t know why. The feeling of helplessness that hit was like a hammer. The CO took me into his room to talk and offer his condolences, I cried like I haven�t in years. I wish it was some comfort to the families and me that we are doing good here, that we are finding the insurgents and getting them off the street, but it comforts me very little. I had become sick of this place, sick of the insurgency, and sick of trading young lives for a people that won�t know what to do with the opportunity we are providing them. I have sent three of my Marines home to their families in flag draped coffins, and I wouldn�t trade a single one of them for all of Iraq. Perhaps if the people of Iraq acted as if they were going to try and run their own nation, as if they wanted to create a society of free enterprise and commerce, as if they wanted to help us find and capture the insurgents, perhaps then I would feel different, but I see very little that is positive today.
Capt Murphy woke me early to jump on a ride up to IED Bridge, I met up with the unit I was to ride to Al-Mahmudiyah with and started chatting with some friends, 1stSgt Scheerer and Maj Porter from Weapons Co., and Maj McGinnis (Gramps) the Battalion Air Officer. My original ride to FOB St. Michael couldn�t take me as somebody else now occupied the seat, I would just have to wait. Work continued on the bridge and soon enough it was as done as MSSG was going to make it that day. The Engineers from our battalion and MSSG packed up and started up the road toward St. Mike.
�Hey Gunny,� Maj Porter said, �there goes your ride. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.� I had missed my second ride up to Al-Mahmudiyah in less than three hours. I would have to wait at least another four hours for the last of the battalion level security to move back north for my chance to get up to St. Mike and start working on Cantafio�s gear.
Gramps had some helos do some practice fire missions to keep their skills sharp. After that was done we looked around for something else to keep us occupied. Gramps sent his radio operators off to find a pole, �about 10 feet tall and not too big around,� he had an idea. The Marines returned several times with some very sorry excuses for a flagpole.
�Gents,� Gramps told them, �it�s sad that Marines could find a better pole on the top of a volcano on Iwo Jima and you can�t find a decent pole here on the edge of a town where a bridge is being built.� The Marines took this kind of hard and redoubled their efforts.
Finally the Marines brought in a suitable flagpole; it was piece of galvanized water pipe about 14 feet long and an inch in diameter, it was even pretty straight. Maj McGinnis went to his pack and pulled out a Marine Corps flag. We tied the flag on to the pole using 550 cord, found a couple of cinderblocks laying around and went to the center of the bridge. As soon as the flag went up the Iraqis crossing the bridge started to honk and wave, a number of men slowed to shake our hands as they passed. I�m not really sure why the sudden change of heart, all morning we had been getting sullen looks, perhaps the locals recognized the flag and knew we weren�t the Army, perhaps they were finally aware of us (the ING were running the checkpoint), I really don�t know. We had our pictures taken and moved back to the staging area.
Gramps had his Marines find another pole and pulled out an American Flag. Had we been able to find an Iraqi flag we would have put them up alongside our colors. But events transpired against us and nobody seemed to have an Iraqi flag, not surprising.
I moved down to a machinegun position that was covering the canal to the east of the bridge, �You boys see that flag?� I asked the two Marines, LCpl Jarlsberg and PFC McVay. �Yes Gunny.� They replied. �As long as that flag stands I want every Marine from Weapons to take the time and get their picture taken in front of it, do you understand?� I said, tears welling up in my eyes. �Yes Gunny.� They replied again.
A little later we started seeing some issues with our flag; traffic seemed very concerned that we would react violently if it was knocked over and cars were weaving toward the edge of the bridge to avoid getting close enough to impact the flagpole. This, combined with the fact that the bridge repair was just a pile of dirt over two large culverts in the canal and hadn�t been tamped or had plates lain on top, was creating a series of ruts in the surface. Cars were beginning to get stuck and to avoid the ruts had to get closer to the edge of the bridge. Eventually somebody was going to slip into the canal. After some deliberation we decided that in the interest of safety we would take our flag down. I didn�t care about sensitivity at that point, or being politically correct, I was sending another kid home to his family in a box. [bleep] the Iraqis and how they felt about us. But I also wasn�t going to drop a family into the canal and risk killing a child. Gramps and I talked and we took the flag down.
We finally got loaded up and headed north to Al-Mahmudiyah. I arrived at FOB St. Mike about 1400 that day and went immediately to the Company Office to check in with the 1stSgt. He wasn�t ready to start sorting gear so I hung around a little while and checked emails, talked with some of the guys coming in and out and tried to fix the satellite TV so that it would receive a signal again. While I was waiting Sgt Mathison and LCpl Hueramo, two of the Marines in Cantafio�s squad showed up with his gear. I shook their hands, expressed my regrets and spent some time talking to SSgt Mallow. A little while later 1stSgt Eastwood came in and said he had meetings to go to until much later and that I should get anything done I need to. I went to take a shower, drop off my laundry, hit the PX, and call my wife, in that order.
Later that evening the 1stSgt and I spent some time sorting Cantafio�s gear. This time it didn�t seem as therapeutic for me. From talking to the 1stSgt I understood that although Cpl Navarro was a huge help previously much of what was done last time I inventoried a dead Marine�s gear was incorrect. Again, had a SNCO or Officer been the one to make the liaison, not a junior NCO, it may have been done correctly. Sorting the gear took some time again, a lot of personal stuff that had been sanitized by the Marines last time did not get done this time, and with four wounded and one dead there was a lot of gear piled in a small area. Last time we had piled each Marine�s gear in a separate pile outside Supply, now the 1stSgt wanted to be more discreet and do the work in the Company Office. In retrospect I don�t agree with this; working around stacks of mail scheduled to go out with the next run, and having to dig through piles of gear made the job harder than it needed to be. I don�t believe there was enough traffic
We finished late and went to bed. I had packed all the gear I expected to take back to FOB ROW and brought it up to the Company Office, I didn�t want to sleep in the tent alone and risk missing my ride back to Lutayfiyah. We left a wake up call with the Echo Co duty and hit the rack.
Nevada, that sure looks like a Dragon Eye. The tail is a little different and it looks a little slimmer. Must have been a prototype, but I think your photo really helps. You don't catch the plane, you just let it do a belly flop onto the ground. Hopefully it's close enough that you don't have to go chasing all over.
I'm very behind in my writing.... a lot has happened and I need to get it down soon or I risk losing some information.
Hoping to be home for turkey season,
Bob
