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The Men Who Won The War |
by
Jim Lacey (An Embed)
(
04/07/2004 ) |
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The Men Who Won The War
An 'embedded' looks at our soldiers
By Jim Lacey
Since returning from Iraq a short time ago I have been answering a
lot of questions about the war from friends, family, and strangers.
When they ask me how it was over there I find myself glossing over
the fighting, the heat, the sandstorms, and the flies (these last
could have taught the Iraqi army a thing or two about staying power).
Instead, I talk about the soldiers I met, and how they reflected
the best of America. A lot of people are going to tell the story of
how this war was fought; I would rather say something about the men
who won the war.
War came early for the 1st Brigade of the 101st Airborne when an
otherwise quiet night in the Kuwaiti desert was shattered by
thunderous close-quarters grenade blasts. Sgt. Hasan Akbar, a U.S.
soldier, had thrown grenades into an officers' tent, killing two and
wounding a dozen others. Adding to the immediate confusion was the
piercing scream of SCUD alarms, which kicked in the second Akbar's
grenade exploded. For a moment, it was a scene of near panic and
total chaos.
Just minutes after the explosions, a perimeter was established
around the area of the attack, medics were treating the wounded, and
calls for evacuation vehicles and helicopters were already being sent
out. Remarkably, the very people who should have been organizing all of
this were the ones lying on the stretchers, seriously wounded. It
fell to junior officers and untested sergeants to take charge and
lead. Without hesitation everyone stepped up and unfalteringly did
just that. I stood in amazement as two captains (Townlee Hendrick
and Tony Jones) directed the evacuation of the wounded, established a
hasty defense, and helped to organize a search for the culprit.
They did all this despite bleeding heavily from their wounds. For over six
hours, these two men ran things while refusing to be evacuated until
they were sure all of the men in their command were safe.
Two days later Capt. Jones left the hospital and hitchhiked back to
the unit: He had heard a rumor that it was about to move into Iraq
and he wanted to be there. As Jones -- dressed only in boots, a
hospital gown, and a flak vest -- limped toward headquarters, Col.
Hodges, the 1st Brigade's commander, announced, "I see that Captain
Jones has returned to us in full martial splendor." The colonel later
said that he was tempted to send Jones to the unit surgeon for
further evaluation, but that he didn't feel he had the right to tell
another man not to fight: Hodges himself had elected to leave two
grenade fragments in his arm so that he could return to his command
as quickly as possible.
The war had not even begun and already I was aware that I had
fallen in with a special breed of men. Over the next four weeks, nothing
I saw would alter this impression. A military historian once told me
that soldiers could forgive their officers any fault save cowardice.
After the grenade attack I knew these men were not cowards, but I
had yet to learn that the brigade's leaders had made a cult of
bravery. A few examples will suffice.
While out on what he called "battlefield circulation," Col. Hodges
was surveying suspected enemy positions with one of his battalion
commanders (Lt. Col. Chris Hughes) when a soldier yelled "Incoming"
to alert everyone that mortar shells were headed our way. A few
soldiers moved closer to a wall, but Hodges and Hughes never
budged and only briefly glanced up when the rounds hit a few hundred
yards away. As Hodges completed his review and prepared to leave,
another young soldier asked him when they would get to kill whoever was
firing the mortar. Hodges smiled and said, "Don't be in a hurry to
kill him. They might replace that guy with someone who can shoot."
The next day, a convoy Col. Hodges was traveling in was ambushed
by several Iraqi paramilitary soldiers. A ferocious firefight ensued,
but Hodges never left the side of his vehicle. Puffing on a cigar
as he directed the action, Hodges remained constantly exposed to
fire. When two Kiowa helicopters swooped in to pulverize the enemy
strongpoint with rocket fire, he turned to some journalists
watching the action and quipped, "That's your tax dollars at work."
Bravery inspires men, but brains and quick thinking win wars. In one
particularly tense moment, a company of U.S. soldiers was preparing
to guard the Mosque of Ali -- one of the most sacred Muslim sites
-- when agitators in what had been a friendly crowd started shouting
that they were going to storm the mosque. In an instant, the
Iraqis began to chant and a riot seemed imminent. A couple of nervous
soldiers slid their weapons into fire mode, and I thought we were
only moments away from a slaughter. These soldiers had just fought
an all-night battle. They were exhausted, tense, and prepared to
crush any riot with violence of their own. But they were also
professionals, and so, when their battalion commander, Chris Hughes,
ordered them to take a knee, point their weapons to the ground,
and start smiling, that is exactly what they did. Calm returned. By
placing his men in the most non-threatening posture possible, Hughes
had sapped the crowd of its aggression. Quick thinking and iron
discipline had reversed an ugly situation and averted disaster.
Since then, I have often wondered how we created an army of men
who could fight with ruthless savagery all night and then respond so
easily to an order to "smile" while under impending threat. Historian
Stephen Ambrose said of the American soldier: "When soldiers from
any other army, even our allies, entered a town, the people hid in the
cellars. When Americans came in, even into German towns, it meant
smiles, chocolate bars and C-rations." Ours has always been an
army like no other, because our soldiers reflect a society unlike any
other. They are pitiless when confronted by armed enemy fighters
and yet full of compassion for civilians and even defeated enemies.
American soldiers immediately began saving Iraqi lives at the
conclusion of any fight. Medics later said that the Iraqi wounded
they treated were astounded by our compassion. They expected they
would be left to suffer or die. I witnessed Iraqi paramilitary troops
using women and children as human shields, turning grade schools into
fortresses, and defiling their own holy sites. Time and again, I saw
Americans taking unnecessary risks to clear buildings without firing
or using grenades, because it might injure civilians. I stood in awe
as 19-year-olds refused to return enemy fire because it was coming
from a mosque.
It was American soldiers who handed over food to hungry Iraqis, who
gave their own medical supplies to Iraqi doctors, and who brought
water to the thirsty. It was American soldiers who went door-to-door
in a slum because a girl was rumored to have been injured in the
fighting; when they found her, they called in a helicopter to take
her to an Army hospital. It was American soldiers who wept when a
three-year-old was carried out of the rubble where she had been
killed by Iraqi mortar fire. It was American soldiers who cleaned up
houses they had been fighting over and later occupied -- they
wanted the places to look at least somewhat tidy when the residents
returned.
It was these same soldiers who stormed to Baghdad in only a couple
of weeks, accepted the surrender of three Iraqi Army divisions,
massacred any Republican Guard unit that stood and fought, and
disposed of a dictator and a regime with ruthless efficiency.
There is no other army -- and there are no other soldiers -- in the
world capable of such merciless fighting and possessed of such
compassion for their fellow man. No society except America could have
produced them.
Before I end this I want to point out one other quality of the
American soldier: his sense of justice. After a grueling fight, a
company of infantrymen was resting and opening their first mail
delivery of the war. One of the young soldiers had received a care
package and was sharing the home-baked cookies with his friends. A
photographer with a heavy French accent asked if he could have
one.
The soldier looked him over and said there would be no cookies for
Frenchmen. The photographer then protested that he was half
Italian.
Without missing a beat, the soldier broke a cookie in half and gave
it to him. It was a perfect moment and a perfect reflection of the
American soldier.
_______________________________________________________________
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