Soldier of Fortune Magazine The Journal of Professional Adventurers
by Greg Chabot
Editor’s note: This story contains some very raw, violent material that could bring readers back to their own stark experiences at war. ~SKK
April 9th, 2004
Author’s note: During this time TF- 1/6 soldiers were living in three locations in the city. Troops were at the Provincial Governor’s office known as Blue Dome. And at the Civil Military Operations Center, which had Other Government Agency and Coalition Provisional Authority detachments as well as city offices. And at the Diyala Provincial Police HQ.
The day had started off quietly. The OPs were reporting the local folks were taking down their satellite dishes, and traffic had dried up. Which was not good at that time of day. We were getting reports of heavy fighting in Najaf and other cities, and intel warned an attack was imminent in our area of operations.
The 10th Group guys came over from FOB Gabe to reinforce us. I moved my team’s vehicle to the back gate of the HQ. Peanut and I were told to hold that position no matter what. Another fireteam was tasked with securing the city jail, which was part of the HQ complex. It housed around 150 prisoners crammed into large cells. The prisoners were being held for various crimes from petty theft to being Al Qaeda Iraq members, with a few Iranians thrown in.
READ MORE from Greg Chabot — The Cordon: One Very Bad Day in Baqubah
The HQ is in an urban area with houses built right up to the perimeter walls. Which worried us, as the enemy would have plenty of cover if they made attempts to breach the perimeter. It was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the chatter on our radios. You could feel the tension as we waited for the savages to attack. We didn’t have to wait long.
I was sitting on the hood next to Peanut. We saw a dude peek around a corner and then nonchalantly take a knee, raise an RPG and fire. We watched the RPG head towards us and heard the whoosh as it hit the OP above us with a loud CRUMP!
That kicked shit off! We began to take heavy RPG and small arms fire from all directions.
The supersonic crack of passing rounds and whooshing of incoming RPGs is deafening.
Peanut turned around and yelled: “Get the Fuck down!”
I hit the ground with adrenaline pumping through my veins. Another RPG flies above us and hits OP3, where Spoon-man was engaging the enemy with his M-249. The blast knocks him on his ass, he gets back up, and continues to bring the hate to the savages. Peanut was also engaging targets while I scanned houses and windows for threats and kept the TOC updated on our status.
You’re probably wondering if I was scared? Bet your ass I was, but I took that fear, and channeled it into rage. Rage from all the abuse I had suffered, and turned it back at the enemy. Next time you’re in a bar and hear someone saying they weren’t scared in battle, they are lying to you.
As the fighting raged on, enemy fire focused mainly on OP3. Spoon-man returned fire with an AT4 at one of the enemy RPG positions. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect. The RPG fire continued, with one hitting a position we called “The Eagles Nest,” where a Special Forces sniper nicknamed “Chief” was blown out of his position. Luckily, he was not badly injured and continued to engage the enemy while coordinating return fire with other positions.
I spy the muzzle of an AK47 in the window of a building at 11 o’clock. I call out the threat and engage the target. Peanut shifts fire to back me up. I directed Sgt.Rhodes, who was checking on us, to fire a 40mm grenade from his 203 into the window, which eliminated the threat. We then shifted fire back to support the troops on the roof.
The entire city had gone completely insane. On the radio Blue Dome, CMOC, FOB Gabe, and Warhorse had reported they were under attack. And unable to send reinforcements to besieged outposts in town.
Word came over the radio to hold position, and artillery was authorized for use at unit discretion.
A pall of smoke and dust hung over the city. The smell of explosives and gunpowder was heavy in the air. My throat was raw from breathing that shit in, along with yelling over the sound of the battle to be heard.
I had my first Combat high, which was the most euphoric intense high I have ever experienced in my 33 years on this miserable earth. It was also the first time in my life I actually felt truly alive. The primal nature of having someone actively trying to kill you is still to this day the greatest rush that no drug or sport will ever equal.
Around this time the shitheads in the jail began to riot and managed to set a fire, further adding to the carnage along with backing up the sewage. The best way to describe the stench is to set a porta shitter on fire and add tires. Sergeant Rhodes was ordered to bring the riot under control with his team. He wished us good luck, and headed in.
As the riot got worse more Soldiers were sent down to quell it which took much needed guns out of the fight. During this time some of our “Allies” threw down their weapons and ran away like cowards. Thankfully none came my way as I had no qualms about shooting them. The few Iraqis that stayed fought like lions and earned our respect.
With the thick smoke billowing from the jail the insurgents tried to flank us. I heard a shout and saw Chief pointing to the jail roof behind me. While trying to shoulder his weapon at the same time. I looked up and saw a couple of insurgents running across the roof pointing their weapons at our guys. While trying to use the smoke to screen their movements.
I yelled out a warning and fired my weapon, dropping one like a wet sack of shit. Spoon-man turned and engaged, killing one too and making sure they both stayed down. The riot had gotten worse, and I heard gunshots from inside the jail followed by loud wailing of the prisoners. I saw some Iraqi police haul out bodies of dead inmates. One had taken a shotgun blast at close range, and his arm was hanging by tendons. I gained a newfound respect for shotguns after seeing that.
That seemed to knock the wind out of the riot, and the prisoners calmed down. They probably realized their buddies weren’t breaking them out.
After the failed rooftop attack the incoming fire tapered off, and once again the city got dead quiet in our sector. Which gave us time to resupply with ammo and water to await the next attack. During this time, Mac the SF officer checked on us and the jail which was still spewing thick smoke. We thought we heard digging, so Mac and I stepped behind our makeshift DFAC to check the wall for signs of breaching. I went back to my post until relieved for some well-earned rest. Before racking out I noticed Spoon limping. He had a good chunk of shrapnel in his thigh. I removed it and patched him up, teasing him about forgetting to duck.
The fighting continued in other sectors through most of the day and into the night. With stretches of quiet in between. To this day, I still can’t remember how long we fought for or what time it was when it started. One of the SF soldiers remarked it was the longest most intense firefight of his career. He also stated his ODA would fight with us anytime anywhere. That compliment meant a lot to me as a soldier.
During the night, Brigade sent out patrols of Abrams and Bradley IFVs to engage and kill any savages who wanted to be martyrs. During debriefing we learned the focus of the attack was the downtown area. With the goal of pushing US forces out of that area. The attacks on the FOBs were an attempt to keep our troops from reinforcing us if we were in danger of being overrun.
Thoughts on Combat
My first combat was the longest day of my life. I had seen the elephant and lived to tell. To be frank, I enjoyed the combat high and felt a sense of accomplishment by doing what I had signed up for. The violence didn’t bother me, as I was desensitized from a violent upbringing.
I won’t lie, I was addicted, and I looked forward to facing the enemy on the streets of Iraq to get my fix and get some rage out of me. Combat could also be a thing of beauty in its own fucked up way. The tracers flying back and forth with the fire and smoke made for a macabre scene of destruction and beauty to my fucked-up mind.
The come-down did suck, as I would sweat and shake a tad. I learned that’s why many combat soldiers smoke or dip. It helped with the adrenaline dump. One thing I hated about combat, I would get this intense thirst that couldn’t be quenched. During that fight I drank at least five liters of water and didn’t have to piss.
Combat affects everyone differently. Some guys couldn’t stay still; others would close their eyes while shooting. Others like me were dead calm while laying down the hate. I hope readers never have to find out how they will react under fire. Though the rush might be worth it if you survive.
My platoon was very lucky with no one seriously hurt with only minor wounds being suffered. Spoon-man earned the ARCOM with V and the Purple Heart for his actions. Though a lousy soldier in garrison, he was a stone-cold killer on missions. So, I could overlook his bullshit and games.
Greg Chabot served in Iraq 2004-2005. He is a freelance writer living in New Hampshire. He frequently contributes to Soldier of Fortune.
