Ambush Alley: The Most Extraordinary Battle of the Iraq War (30 page)

21

Captain Mike Brooks’s heart sunk as he watched Peeples disappear with two tanks into the mouth of Ambush Alley. He now had only two tanks to safeguard his position at the Euphrates Bridge. The aggression and initiative displayed by Peeples had impressed Brooks. He didn’t wait for orders from the battalion commander.
Would his actions stand up in a doctrinal
textbook? Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, he is now carrying a lot of the success of the battalion on his shoulders.

Brooks now had a much clearer picture of the battlefield. It was now confirmed that the AAV that had been hit in his position was not one of his tracks. The track and its dead and wounded were from Charlie Company. He also now knew, from survivors from the convoy, that Charlie Company had taken the northern bridge but were in one hell of a fight to hold on to it. But he had heard nothing from Bravo or the forward command post for some time.
I guess they are still heading north around the
east side of the city. It must be taking longer than planned.
He didn’t know that several tanks and tracks were stuck in the mud. He had never asked the battalion commander. He had just wanted simple answers to his simple questions. He had too many things going on where he was located to find out what was happening at the forward CP. Nevertheless, he felt uncomfortable not knowing where the other units were.
It’s not
good warfighting skills.
You need to know where everyone is to reduce fratricide. Because he did not know exactly where the other battalion units were, his FiST was forced to coordinate fire support by knowing where friendly forces weren’t.

They were still receiving RPG and small-arms fire from the buildings at the mouth of Ambush Alley. Rounds were still cracking over his head, and mortar shells and RPGs were exploding only yards away.

He ran back to his C7 to work out what he was going to do. He did know that the three companies were now in separate parts of the city and unable to support each other.
The longer it goes on like that, the bigger a problem
it will become.
Brooks had assets with him—the 81 mm mortar platoon, a CAAT section, tanks, a forward air controller, and now a platoon of Charlie’s own marines—that would make a huge difference in Charlie’s fight.
The longer we sit here, the more dire the situation is going to be.

He couldn’t move until 2nd Battalion, 8th Marines conducted the relief in place. There was no sign of them on the bridge. He tried to think one step ahead, formulating in his mind suggestions that he could throw at the battalion commander. He knew that Dan Wittnam, Charlie Company’s commander, was in trouble. Dan was a close friend. Personal loyalty was involved, too.
Dan needs help. Bravo is stuck to the east. I am the only person who can help him.
He was realizing that he needed to leave the Euphrates Bridge and head north along Ambush Alley to help out Charlie at the Saddam Canal Bridge. Now he wanted to speak to the battalion commander or the operations officer so that he could make it happen.

“Timberwolf, this is Tomahawk 6. Do you read me?”

There was nothing.

He tried to reach the main command post.

“Main, this is Tomahawk 6.”

He thought back to war games and training.
If ever there were a tactical
problem thrown at you in peacetime, this would rival any of them.
But he wasn’t training. This was for real.
This is the sort of situation you only ever
read about.
He had to make a decision, and there was no one to help him. Should he move now and help Charlie, even though 2/8 had not arrived to secure the Euphrates Bridge? Commander’s Intent told him that at the end of the day, his mission was to help secure the northern bridge. The longer he waited, the more likely it was that Charlie would have to surrender the bridge.
I am not going to stand by idly and allow Charlie Company
to get chopped up or take further casualties when I could be in a position
to assist them.

Brooks moved around with the field radio to get a clearer signal. Although the buildings were only one or two stories, they seemed to be interfering with reception. He tried a different radio, but it didn’t help. Finally, he got through to the assistant operations officer, Captain Hernley, at the main CP some fifteen kilometers away. He almost shouted at the voice at the end of the line.

“I have no comms with the battalion commander. I need to know where 2/8 is so I can turn the bridge over to them.”

“Two-Eight is already in position.”

Brooks looked back to the Euphrates Bridge. Then he looked at the casevac helicopter still waiting in an alleyway off Ambush Alley for the wounded from track 206 to be loaded up.

“I don’t see ’em. Can you check that? I’m evacuating casualties. As soon as this helo lifts, I’m going to call you again and I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do.”

Brooks ran over to his men, warning them to prepare to move out.

“Pass the word. When the helo lifts, we are going to make best possible speed to Charlie’s position.”

Fifty meters away, the 81 mm mortar platoon was still firing. He yelled at them.

“When this helo lifts, we’re leaving.”

He saw them looking at him blankly. They had no idea who the hell he was.

“I’m the fucking company commander. And when this helo lifts, we are leaving.”

They sprang into action.

He ran back to the track and got on the radio to Hernley.

“What’s the status of 2/8?”

“To the best of my knowledge, 2/8 is in position on the bridge. They say they are on the bridge.”

Brooks once again stood up and looked across the span of the bridge.

“Listen. I’m on the fucking bridge and I don’t fucking see them.”

Brooks made a quick calculation. The railway bridge had confused him earlier in the day.
Either they are on the railway bridge, not the Euphrates
Bridge, in which case it will take them too long to get here, or they are
holding and not coming.
He asked himself whether he was prepared to undergo the scrutiny of leaving before he’d done a positive handover to 2/8. He decided he was. He reached for the radio.

“When this helo lifts, I’m going to go up north and relieve the pressure on Charlie.”

22

The Charlie marines had now been in the house on Ambush Alley for about an hour, and for the first time they felt as though they had a semblance of control. They expected a Marine convoy to come and rescue them at any moment. With all its technical and military know-how, the Marine Corps must be able to get to them. For the past few minutes, it had been calm. But there was something about the way the black-robed figures appeared and then disappeared from alleyways and windows that made them feel that it was about to kick off again. Castleberry was perched behind the parapet with a good view down Ambush Alley when he saw a motorbike with two soldiers on it coming up the street toward them. They were the first uniformed soldiers he’d seen all day. The guy on the back was firing an AK at the house as he sped along the street. All the marines on the roof got into firing positions.

They’d killed so many people that Castleberry didn’t feel much anymore.
It has turned into a game to see who can kill the most Iraqis.
When the motorbike came into firing range, all the marines on the roof were on it. There were bursts of gunfire from M16s, M249s, M203s. It was a 203 grenade that hit the motorbike first, punching a hole through the driver as the bike spilled from under him. The marines on the roof let out a cheer. The passenger tried to pick up the bike and kick-start it. He was a sitting duck. There was another burst of gunfire.
We’ve wasted him in a hail of
fire.
The roof erupted again in cheering.

Worthington, down in the courtyard, saw the marines yelling and hollering with delight, doing a victory dance as if they’d scored a touchdown.

“Yo, that’s what I’m talking about. Whoa.”

Robinson was so hyped up that any movement was now a threat. He spotted a white pickup truck careering down the road.
This is dangerous. If the
car manages to knock down a wall, they will overrun us.
He took aim with his machine gun and fired. The truck veered wildly off the road and exploded.

Castleberry recognized the change in atmosphere. Killing had become routine and easy. An old man with a stick walked right along Ambush Alley in front of the house. Nobody was taking any chances. A marine fired at him. The old man crumpled to his knees, his face looking in the direction of the house. Milter was freaked out.

“He’s looking at me. He’s fucking looking at me.”

Castleberry could see that the old man wasn’t looking at anyone. There was no movement. He was obviously dead. It didn’t stop Milter.

“That old man is looking at me. He’s staring right at me.”

Somebody shot the old man again to force his gaze in another direction.

Castleberry didn’t know how long they would be able to hold out. He saw Sena still working with the radio. There was a weak signal, but there was so much chatter going on that he couldn’t break through. He heard Sena trying to call back to Captain Wittnam on the northern bridge.

“Palehorse 6, we’re south of the bridge one hundred meters, in a house to the east of the MSR.”

Again there was nothing.

“Why can’t we get any fucking comms?”

Castleberry wanted a go at it. He thought of himself as pretty useful with anything technical. At home in Seattle, while his brother had messed about with computers, Castleberry had done more manual things—fixing cars, stereos, anything that was broken. He turned the radio off for ten minutes to see if the batteries would recharge. This time he tried his AAV platoon commander, Lieutenant Tracy, call sign Whaler. If he was still on the northern bridge with Charlie, maybe the signal would reach him.

“Whaler. This is Castleberry, over. Tracy. This is Castleberry, over.”

On the northern bridge, Tracy had just climbed back into his track when he heard a faint noise on the radio. Through the static, he could just make out the name of Castleberry. He grabbed the radio.

“Castleberry, this is Tracy. Where are you? Over.”

Castleberry was elated at the response. It was the first time they had made contact with anybody since they’d taken over the house. He tried to tell Tracy about the dash down Ambush Alley and being stranded in the house. All Tracy could hear was empty static.

“You’re breaking up. I can’t understand.”

Castleberry was getting frustrated. He started to yell into the radio. He knew it was stupid, but he thought that if he shouted louder, something might get through.

“Castleberry. This is Tracy. I’m losing you. Click once if you can hear me.”

Castleberry clicked the radio key once.

“Good. Click once for yes, twice for no. Are you south of the north bridge?

He clicked the radio key once for yes.

“Are you at Alpha’s position?”

Castleberry clicked twice for no.

“Are you in your vehicle?”

Castleberry clicked twice again.

Tracy was worried.
That’s not good news.

“Are you in the city?”

Castleberry clicked once for yes. Tracy paused, trying to come to terms with the fact that there was at least one marine stranded in the city without support.

On the roof, it had been quiet now for about fifteen minutes. Robinson found his mind wandering. He thought about his wife. They had met because they were both swimmers. He hadn’t written to her much in Kuwait, just a couple of brief notes scribbled on the back of some cardboard, or an MRE packet on which he’d written her address and
Free Postage.
The last one he’d written didn’t say much more than “Hey, how’s it going?” He hadn’t described much about life in Kuwait or what he did all day.
She’s a
clever girl. She can work it out.
But now he didn’t know how he was going to explain to her about the house in Ambush Alley and the killing and the chaos. She had moved to Camp Lejeune with him but hated it on the East Coast and moved back to California, where she worked as a travel agent. He had missed having her around. After she left, he had to share a small room on base that contained a sink and three bunks with two other guys. The good thing was she flew back to see him every couple of weeks. She hated him going to Iraq and said he might die out there. But he made a promise to her that he wouldn’t get killed because he wanted to have kids with her. He’d even refused to write a death letter like some of the other marines did. He thought it was bad luck.
I hope I’ll be able to keep my
promise about having kids.

He wondered who would look through his pack if he died. There was an understanding among the marines that they would sanitize each other’s packs. They would get rid of the porn magazines and other private stuff that it wasn’t good for family or girlfriends to see. He’d heard of a marine who was killed in combat and whose wife had received, among his personal effects, letters a girlfriend had written to him. That wasn’t good.

He had no idea how long they’d been in the house. Time was of no relevance. It could have been five minutes; it could have been five hours. They were all feeling the strain and beginning to sag. Robinson watched someone write a death letter and give it to a fellow marine. He saw Martin, with blood streaming down his face, still posting security on the roof and was amazed that he didn’t act injured. It was the same with Seegert. He’d been on the roof like everyone else. Now Robinson saw that his triceps had been shredded. He thought about the injured marines downstairs.
All I want to
do is get them home.
He hoped that if he were wounded, someone would look after him, too. Only hours earlier, he had remembered feeling all macho and that the marines would crush anything that stood in their way. Now he was terrified.
We just might not make it out of this one. I’m scared.
I want to go home.
But home was such a long way away.

“Hey, there’s something big going on over there.”

Robinson woke from his reverie. He looked south and saw Cobras circling among the buildings away to the east of Ambush Alley.
Something is
going down a couple of klicks away.
He thought for a moment that the helos were going to turn and swoop toward them. Then they would be in trouble.

Worthington grabbed some metal foil from the house and tried to signal to the Cobras in the sky. It didn’t seem to work. He broke some glass and tried to reflect the sun toward the eyes of the pilots. Other marines grabbed laundry and the orange air panel from inside the track and waved them at the helos in the distance. But the helos ignored the marines and just kept pounding the buildings in front. Smoke billowed out from between the buildings followed by a long crackle of gunfire and an enormous boom.
Maybe Bravo is finally on its way to get us out of here?
But if he was honest with himself, he was no longer sure where any of the companies were or whether anyone was going to come and get them out.

Robinson, Olivas, Martin, and Castleberry sat under the shelter of the parapet on the roof. Worthington manned his SAW position in the courtyard. Smith worked on Carl, Trevino, and Elliot in the front room. They felt alone, abandoned, let down. In the midst of the anxiety and tension there was now a new, even more uncomfortable sensation taking root. They didn’t recognize it yet, but it was the early traces of what was growing into a burning, bitter anger.