Chapter 2 Sleepless in Iraq Over Again
First mission with Captain Carlos Manoso. Not a happy go lucky romance story.
It wasn't long after Desert Storm, Saddam had been kicked back into Iraq and wishful thinking thought he would behave himself and pull his country back together. Instead he used his usual hard handed rule by going after the Kurds on the north, the Shi'ites in the south and harassing the coalition in the No Fly zone. By 2003 we were back in the country having told Saddam to get lost, he didn't and now we were trying to find him and at the same time deal with a rapidly fracturing country. Iraq was beginning to feel like loosing cause.
For the next 8 years Iraqis of all religions died, of all Islamic sects died, coalition forces died, but some people got rich. Opportunists knew there was money to be made. Intel coming in indicated someone within the US Army was supplying arms to outsiders. Who these outside forces were depended upon the region; Al Qaeda in the west in Anbar province, Shias in the south around Basra, Kurds to the north…whoever wanted to fight, arms were found. Russia was a major supplier but American entrepreneurs weren't about to be left out.
I finally had a beam on who their leaders were and the suspected US Army members supplying them. Unfortunately I ran out of time.
I was told to report to Colonel Nichols and when I relayed my concerns to him with the skimpy proof I was immediately dismissed with great vitriol. He could not believe someone in the US military was purposely supply arms to the rebels, insurgents, whatever you wanted to call them. He was convinced the blame lay with the many private contractors that worked in conjunction with us.
My orders came soon after the discussion with Colonel Nichols…..more like an ass chewing than discussion. I stood at attention at my commanding officer's desk. "You will interview a tribal chieftain, Amir Almarta. He has information on this leak. You will be accompanied by only one Special Forces Ranger officer, enter the area under darkness by a night drop. The two of you will travel as husband and wife in tribal clothing."
"That's it?" I asked my commander.
"What you need engraved orders?" He stormed.
"No sir, but I'd like to know the exit method."
He looked at me with a blank face and inside my blank face I was asking, "You do have an exit strategy and what are my bargaining chips?"
He stormed, "Major even a lonely lieutenant would know to get back to Kirkuk for transport."
That was it, I was going in without anything to barter, exchange, and basically I was going in naked. Oh it was just getting better and better. The whole operation smelled fishy. Jumps here were silly and unnecessary and a night drop into mountainous territory was just crazy. Going in with an officer was also nuts. Normally I'd go with a Special Forces non-com. Maybe none was available. Heck, I'd go in with retired General Schwarzkopf if it got the job done.
I met my Special Forces companion, Captain Carlos Manoso and immediately recognized him as Fernando's nephew. He looked just like his uncle. Fortunately Manoso didn't recognize me from New Year's in his uncle's apartment some years before. Once again I wondered why Manoso? Was this more than a simple interview with a tribal chieftain or was Manoso on some shit assignment for punishment? Or was it something else I would not like at all? I let it drop.
We read our orders. "This mission isn't right," Manoso said.
"Tell me about it. The odor is worse than a pig sty in July," was my reply. I planned to keep him out of why we were going on our little journey. I had that inkling I was being set up, possibly by Nichols or a member of his staff including my commander. If I was killed and Manoso survived, not knowing the nitty gritty might keep him out of the profiteer's cross-hairs.
Training together didn't happen. After reading the orders that was the last I saw of my partner. When I mentioned his absence in briefings to Col. Nichols, I was told Manoso was highly trained and didn't need a refresher course. Now I began to wonder if Manoso was there to protect me or to make sure I didn't survive.
My doubts were so great I expressed my concerns in a private memo to my Sargent, Ben Carson. His loyalty was beyond question. It was a simple "if I don't make it back alive" note. I gave him copies of my research and the warning it should not go to Nichols and very well hidden as more than likely all my work would be destroyed…conveniently.
Loaded down with our gear and communications, Manoso and I waddled aboard the C-140. Soon after takeoff, the flight became a carnival ride from hell as the weather turned on us. We lurched; shook and I seriously wondered if the aircraft would fall apart. Fortunately the C-140 is built like a tank.
C140s are cargo aircraft, no tourist windows; if there had been I might have caught glimpses of the stars or far off mountains to know if we were headed in the right direction. But there was no peeking outside.
When the jump order didn't come on time I looked at the jump master. "Head wind, we've lost time." Quite the contrary, this time of year winds should be pushing us to our target zone faster.
The aircraft banked and the weather got worse, if possible. Soon after the standby to jump light can on. The weather was far below safe jump parameters, the jump master should be calling this off, but he wasn't.
"No way," I protested. The master reached inside his vest and pulled out his .45. The load master also pulled his .45.
"You will leave this aircraft. It doesn't matter if you are living or not when you leave." Damn, I wish he was from the South where you and y'all are more definitive. Was it just me or was Manoso also being ordered off?
I stood and grabbed onto the overhead support to keep from being thrown around the bay. Manoso was right behind me. When the ramp lowered, it was a maelstrom from hell; wind howling, dark, sand blasting into the aircraft. Jumping into that guaranteed the chute would collapse or one would be sand blasted to death.
I looked at Manoso and indicated I didn't have a plan. I raised an eyebrow silently asking if he did.
"Major, three choices stay and get shot then thrown out, stay and get blown up by the explosives in the upper rack, or off the ramp." He never said "we" and I still wasn't sure he was with me or them.
My eyes strayed upward and I saw the C4 and detonator. "Well fuck," I said. What a choice: shot, blown up or jumping into certain death. None sounded promising. Turning I waddled to the ramp, prayed a might prayer to every Guardian angel within a 200 mile radius and jumped into the night. The green "jump now" light hadn't yet come on. We were still at hold. Did it matter? The wind hit me like a sledge hammer; I had no clue which direction I was facing.
Every rule in the book about landing, first lowering your gear to avoid falling onto it, etc. was impossible. Visibility was near zero; often I could not see the altimeter on my pack. I had no clue if my chute was deployed, collapsing, or torn. There was no time for real fear, I was more concerned about smothering in all the blowing sand than crashing into the ground below. All I could do was stay loose for impact or risk turning my legs into splinters. Of course if my chute was damaged in any way, it wouldn't matter, I'd be a broken open bag of mush when I impacted at terminal velocity. I knew in the back of my brain that was exactly somebody's plan. I was Intel, not Special forces plus I was a woman. The Army still considered us nuisances or total incompetents out in the field.
The impact wasn't land gently and roll. I was slammed to the ground and immediately dragged across the ground. I survived the jump, now my life would end by being dragged across the ground, torn to shreds and broken into pieces. Eventually I was able to release my chute and it went into the wind, to China's for all I knew.
I was alive, in one piece more or less and thoroughly bruised, battered and sand blasted. As for Manoso, if he didn't jump did he disarm the bomb? If he jumped there was no telling how far the wind had separated us, providing his chute remained intact.
Right now I needed to assess my equipment. It was evident it had taken the brunt of the force. Cases were broken open, electronics were in pieces. The satellite phone was nothing more than a battery and broken parts. As I shuffled through the ruin I found what appeared to be a GPS device. It wasn't supposed to be there. Other equipment also had tracking chips. Why was I being monitored and by whom? Thinking about this whole mission, I felt I knew.
Several larger boulders provided partial protection from the wind and I began going through my equipment and clothes for more tracking devices. One was found inside my helmet, another GPS and inside my vest. I looked at my boots, surely not. As I used my Kbar to peel off the sole, I heard someone coming. Were all these GPS devices bringing the enemy to me? The wind was still brutal and sounds were difficult to trace, but there was someone or something out there. I had my rifle at my shoulder as I scanned. For a brief moment I saw him, it was Manoso in stealth mode, searching. He found where I had landed and the remains of some of the electronics. He squatted down and tried to peer down wind. I whistled, his head turned slightly in my direction. I whistled again and he started my way. He too held his rifle at the ready as he scanned the area.
He said nothing as he crawled into the depression between the larger rocks. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, his .45 in his hand. My .45 was also in my hand. Neither of us fired. I figured if he was going to shoot me, he would have done so immediately, but I didn't lower my gun. He looked at me wondering if I was going to shoot him. Finally he shook his head no and put his weapon back in his holster. I lowered mine as well. He looked at me to see if I was injured, then scrunched his eyes wondering why I was barefoot, without my helmet and my vest was torn open. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tracking devices. His eyes showed surprise. Was he surprised I found them or did he truly not know they were there?
He immediately began searching is equipment and after another hour we found several more devices in his clothes and equipment. "As soon as this storm ends, they'll be coming after us," he said.
"Us or me?" I asked.
"Us". I left it at that.
"They won't look too hard if we are dead," I replied.
He gave me a questioning look.
"During a lull in the wind I saw the terrain down wind. I looks like Bryce Canyon in Utah, very rugged wind carved spires. I don't remember this one's name but I suspect we were expected to land there and be killed or severely injured. Being injured in there we'd be sitting ducks to an attack. I'm pretty sure my chute is in there, somewhere. Now we need to add more," indicating the tracking devices and broken electronics.
"I don't remember a canyon in the briefing," he said.
I was curious what briefing he had, it was not with me. "Because we are far south of Baghdad, near Saudi Arabia, nowhere near Kirkuk.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, the sand storm intensity gave it away. This is a desert sandstorm, not one you'd find in the northeast mountains. I saw this canyon a year or so ago when looking into Sadr's actions down here," I answered.
"They intended to drop us into the canyon, but your jumping early, before the "go" light kept us out," he said.
"You must have been right behind me."
"Major, my orders were to stay close."
"Why?" I asked.
He didn't answer. "They'll come for us when the storm ends. We'd best create our diversions now." he said.
We discarded everything but the basics for survival; all broken equipment, my ACU jacket and his pants; we kept some of our tribal clothing. We needed decoys. We scrambled into the canyon and using the clothing and broken equipment made what appeared to be a human dead among the rock spires and smashed equipment smashed. Manoso's parachute was stuffed into nearby crevices after being partially shredded. My chute was in the canyon somewhere.
As daylight crept in we had climbed back out of the canyon and dug ourselves in under rocks to hide our heat signatures leaving only small openings for observation. Three hours after sunrise we heard the vehicles; three of them. The occupants were a rag tag group, mostly in tribal clothes but their vehicles had .50 cal. machine guns mounted on the top. They went to the edge of the canyon and began searching with their binoculars. One pointed to the southeast and the others began looking.
"Please don't go down," I whispered.
They used a device to track the GPS. Suddenly they became excited pointing to where Carlos had used the uniform and rocks to replicate a broken body caught in a narrow cleft. The .50 cal. rifle barked as it strafed the body.
Not long after a helicopter was heard. An AH64 Apache helicopter circled the canyon looking for movement or heat signatures. Soon it moved off.
The rebels pulled way back, taking refuge behind large rocks just as Manoso and I were hidden.
"This doesn't look good," Manoso remarked. About the time we could discern jet engine noise, the canyon was turned into a flaming pit. An incendiary bomb, Mark 77 had been dropped. The air around us was extremely hot and reeked of kerosene and benzene. We were well away from the canyon but for a while the heat was unbearable...and that was with solid rocks protecting us from the direct blast.
The canyon burned for a while but when it died down the rebels took one last look and left.
"You burned?" Manoso asked.
"No, how about you?"
He shook his head no.
I my mind I went through the UN Conventions on the use, actually non-use of incendiaries. Somebody's ass, maybe Nichols, would be fried...a pun fully intended. A little dark humor was necessary for sanity.
Mark 77s were used in Gulf War I and were supposedly eliminated from the US arsenal. Yeah right, just on paper. Who had so much pull as to use an Apache and a fixed wing bomber jet to hunt down and kill to us? I wondered if I'd live to find out.
The rebels loitered for about an hour and then left. I hoped Carlos Manoso and I were officially dead. Now we needed to figure out how to survive.