Able Fire: The Next War - 2025 and Beyond

Chapter 10

“So we’re going to be up front?”

“Tip of the spear, Mister Resel. A-Troop, 1st Battalion, 7th Cav.”

“It’s Todd. No need for formalities if I’m going to be bouncing around in that Hummer with you guys for the next couple weeks.”

“Right… Todd. What paper did you say you were working for?”

“The New York Times.”

Major Jason Philips tightened the strap on his helmet and checked the position of his goggles. Tall, with short dark hair, he was all Army, and his cool efficiency was the reason he was going to be up front that day, right on point.

“Know how to wear one of these?” He tossed the reporter an Advanced Combat Helmet, Generation II, the lightweight model, which weighed a pound less than the standard combat helmet.

“Don’t I get the same kind you have?”

“That’s the lightweight model. Don’t worry, it has the same protection level as mine—just a little easier on the noggin. Believe me, you’ll appreciate that soon enough.”

“What’s this bit up front?”

“That’s the NVG Bracket—for mounting a night-vision goggle.”

“Cool. I get one of those?”

“You won’t need one. We’ll handle the reconnaissance. Now… This is your IOTV.”

“Sure doesn’t look like one.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“You wear the helmet like this, and the chin strap attaches here. You may want to get yourself a haircut. It can get hot under there.”

The reporter ran his hand through his thick, sandy hair, a bit wild, and he got the point. “A little too late for that,” he said.

“Suit yourself. Alright, this is your IOTV, the Improved Outer Tactical Vest—body armor. That weighs under four pounds, but once you rig it out with soft armor panel inserts, ballistic plates, collar and groin protectors, you’re looking at 30 pounds. So you may want to keep the camera equipment you plan to bring to a minimum.”

“Oh, I won’t need that. I brought my own. A buddy of mine in the Marines got hold of one. He calls it the Modular Body Armor Vest.”

“You got one of those? Hell, that’s what 75th Rangers wear.”

“Just sixteen pounds,” said Todd with a grin.

“Good for mobility,” said Philips, “but not as good on protection as this equipment. Your choice.”

“Well,” said Todd. “Seeing that I may be doing more running than fighting, better mobility sounds good to me right now.”

“We’ll issue you a sidearm for personal protection, but no assault rifle for nonmilitary personnel.”

“No problem. I’ll be snapping photos, not shooting at Iraqis.”

“Yup. We’ll do that, and we’ll be kicking ass and taking names, so you’ll have to be near the back of the column if you want to stay safe out there. Ok? Listen up. When we move you need that body armor on at all times, and this helmet. We move fast, but we can stop suddenly to conduct visual reconnaissance. If we come under fire, stay in your vehicle, and stay low. Keep your head down.”

“Well how am I supposed to cover this operation if I’m holed up in a Hummer while all the good photo-ops are happening?”

“Look, if you’re willing to die for a photo-op, be my guest. It’s just safer in the vehicle, but if we determine otherwise, you just do what your corporal says. We’re a pretty wild bunch, which is why we’re up front. Frankly, I’m surprised you even got permission to ride with this troop. If things get hot, stay calm, use your head, and follow orders. The men will be all business, but like I say, we’re the saw’s teeth up here. There will be combat. You’ll probably get a nickname pretty soon, so it may be better to pick one now that you can live with.”

“A nickname?”

“Right. Nobody’s going to call you Todd…. Todd. Let’s see. Your last name is Resel….”

Todd scratched his head. “Weasel,” he said. “Resel the Weasel. That’s what they called me in high school.”

“Sounds good to me. So from here on out, you’re the Weasel. I know you’re here to do a job, but just don’t try to weasel your way into places you don’t belong. And stay with the column at all times. No one’s going to have time to hold your hand, or to go looking for you if you wander off. Stay close, even if you take a piss, because we can move out on a moment’s notice and you’d better be in your vehicle when we do. If you hear someone say we’re Oscar Mike, that mean on the move. Get it? Miss the train and you’ll have to wait for a cab.”

“A cab? Out here?”

“That’s C.A.B.—Combined Arms Battalion. There’s three of them right behind us, Lancers, Stallions and Thunder Horse. This here is the Iron Horse Division, and we move like steel thunder. So if you miss your ride, you’ll have to stick out a thumb with one of those three battalions behind us.”

“Yes sir, Major. Understood… What’s your handle, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My handle? You mean my nickname? It’s Major.” He looked at his watch. “We roll at midnight tonight, so you may want to catch some Z’s before that. The road is likely to be rough in places, and a Humvee is no limousine.”

“Right… Any idea where we’re going, Major Philips?”

“You can read a map, can’t you? We’ll be on Highway-1, and as far as it goes—all the way to Babylon.”

“You mean Baghdad?”

“Right, but keep that under your helmet, Mister Weasel. By the way, how do you report to your paper?”

“I’m on deep background, so I file my story with the press pool, whenever we find them.”

“So you don’t need to phone home each day?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Good, because they’ll be listening. No need to let them know where we are, and by all means, where we may be going.”

“Right,” said the Weasel. “But Major, I think someone over there will be able to read a map too. This road only goes one place.”

“Oh, it goes a few other places too,” said the Major. “But don’t let that bother your sleep, Mister Weasel. Remember—midnight.”

The world wasn’t going to hear about Operation Able Fire until noon that day, when the president planned to go live for a statement to the nation. In the meantime, the darkness of the Iraqi desert that folded itself over the land was near complete. There was no moon, as it was new that day, and so the stars were the only witness to what was happening.

The Coalition forces were taking two routes east into Iraq. The US contingent had moved east through the long panhandle of Jordan to the Iraqi border where two roads (Highways 1 and 10) threaded themselves east through the desert to Ramadi, a 250 mile march. The first stop was the town of Rutba, 75 miles from the Jordanian border. Leg two, 80 miles on, would take the column to the junction of Highway 21 running south to meet Highway 22, which ran to Karbala from the Saudi border. The roads formed a great letter H turned on its side, with Highways 1 and 22 being the down strokes, and Highway-21 the cross connector.

The US forces in the north would lead with two BCT’s of the 1st Cavalry Division, the 3rd BCT being in Saudi Arabia south of Kuwait with the 1st USMC Division. Immediately behind 1st Cav, would come the iron hammer of Old Ironsides, 1st Armored Division, and then 3rd Infantry Division. 4th I.D. was still in the Sinai, but it had detached its 1st Stryker Brigade and another of these, the 3rd Stryker Brigade, was send over from 2nd Division for the operation. These two mobile brigades would stand as the US ground element reserve. The force was then augmented by the whole of the 101st Air Assault Division, with the 173rd Airborne Brigade acting as the airmobile reserve.

In the south, the European Coalition forces moved out of Jordan to Arar in Saudi Arabia, which was on the Saudi Highway 85, about 40 road miles from the Iraqi border. This force was composed of the French 7th Armored Brigade under General Lemont, the British 20th Armored Infantry Brigade under Major General Wilson, and their Strike Brigade under Brigadier Grant, the German 21st Panzer Brigade arrived under Brigadier Berg, and the Italian Ariete Brigade under General Romano. With five brigades, it was a much smaller force compared to the American contingent, which had all of ten ground BCT’s and four air mobile brigades in its generous order of battle.

The plan that night was to move rapidly through the vast empty western desert of Iraq in a 150 mile lightning dash that would take both contingents to the joints of that cross bar on the letter H. First to move was the massive helicopter force of the 101st Airborne, which would rise like a dark horde of metal locusts, thumping its way east, low over the ground. The Apaches of 1/17th Cav would lead the way, scanning the dark ground ahead on infrared as they moved to a point a little north of the junction to carve out the first occupied territory of Iraq in this war, appropriately called FOB Alpha. Stretching 15 x 15 kilometers, it would become a massive arming and refueling and point for the helicopters, which had already delivered their BCT’s to positions deep inside Iraq.

While the flat open desert offered little in the way of obstacles to the Coalition advance, the approaches to Baghdad would soon be compressed into two chokepoint sectors. It was not stony mountains that formed these chokepoints, but water barriers. The long Euphrates river ran out of Syria and made its winding journey south through Iraq. In 1956, the great Tharthar depression was filled with the diverted floodwaters of the Tigris river to the east, and became an imposing obstacle that stood as a massive water shield for the region between Baghdad and Tikrit in northern Iraq.

South of Tharthar was the much smaller Lake Habbaniyah, and between the two lakes, Highway-1 ran through the Ramadi-Fallujah Gap, about 20 miles wide from north to south. That was where the US column was headed, intending to simply bull its way through the gap, and then drive another 50 miles to Baghdad.

The European Contingent would push up highway 22 until it bent south of another water barrier, the large Lake Razzazah. Just east of the lake sat the city of Karbala, nestled between Razzazah and the Tigris river. That city was their first objective prior to forcing the Tigris to secure Al Hillah and Alexandria. After that, they were to drive north to Baghdad as well. The entire operation was aimed at that one massive city, the heart of Iraq, designated Objective Babylon.

As the Weasel had suggested to Major Philips that night, the Iraqis could read a map well enough. They had been watching the big buildup in Israel and Jordan nervously for weeks, hoping it was just there to deliver the coup de grace to the operation aimed at the Suez Canal. When the Egyptians signed an armistice, all bets were off, and Chinese intelligence informed Baghdad that it was very likely the Coalition forces were there to invade Iraq.

That started the mad scramble to get combat worthy divisions out of Saudi Arabia and north to Baghdad, because they could easily see where all the roads leading east would bring the invaders if they came. So by the time Able Fire was set to be kindled, the entire 1st Corps of the Republican Guard had already left Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, and moved north to Baghdad. Yet it was not the same force that had started the war with its bold invasion of Kuwait many weeks earlier. Both the Talwalkana and Nebuchadnezzar Divisions were so badly depleted that they were disbanded, and their remaining troops and equipment used to build the other three divisions (Baghdad, Al Medina, and Hammurabi) up to strength.

The first two deployed to Baghdad to join Qusay Hussein’s personal division in defense of the capital. The Hammurabi went south to Alexandria to watch the river crossing there. All the rest of the force that was returned to Iraq was composed of territorial infantry brigades, and these were all sent to their respecting cities and districts to prepare defensive positions there.

In the north, all the national guard brigades were scraped together to form three makeshift divisions, with one posted at Tikrit, another at Samarra and the third at Mosul. Other forces in the north included territorial brigades at Erbil and Kirkuk. All the special forces battalions that had swept into Kuwait were withdrawn with their helicopters to form the screening defense in Al Anbar province, the first to be invaded by the Western Coalition forces.

If General Abdul Bakir could have concentrated the bulk of all these forces at the two chokepoints, he might have presented a formidable defense, but Qusay Hussein overruled that option.

“We will not bunch our forces in one place,” he said. “It will leave the rest of the country defenseless, and you know how restless the Shia tribes are in the south.”

General Bakir folded his thick arms. “But if we occupy these natural gaps near the lakes, we can hold them at bay. They will never get into the rest of the country.”

“Oh? Do not be so certain of that. They have airmobile forces. Furthermore, if we bunch the army up as you suggest, then it will offer them one massive target for their air force to pummel us night and day. No, we will disperse the Army throughout the country, with all the territorial brigades at their home bases. This way, even if Baghdad were to fall, the greatest part of Iraq will remain unconquered. We will fight them here, to be sure, and with our three best divisions, but if we fail, there will be many bastions of defense remaining in all our cities. This is the way we will fight. The Americans call it Distributed Lethality.”

“Military jargon,” said General Bakir. “I call it dispersion, lack of concentration. You will end up giving them the chance to destroy our best troops if we fight this way, and what will the rest do when they see them beaten?”

“Perhaps, but if we cannot save Baghdad, then all surviving forces here will simply withdraw to the next bastion city. It will be up to you, General, to preserve these good divisions, and keep them from destruction. We must hold the north! That is the heart of our Baath Party power base. So if we must yield Baghdad, then we will fall back on Samarra and Tikrit.”

“Look here,” the General pointed at the map. “The first contact will be along the upper Euphrates, and certainly at Ramadi. If they take that city, then they could swing to the north of Fallujah through the Ramadi Gap. Do not forget those airmobile forces you mentioned a moment ago. They will look to seize good air bases for further operations in theater. Suppose they strike at Al Muthana here, or at Balad here.” His thick finger moved around the map, pointing out those bases. “That would prevent any withdrawal north to Tikrit as you advise.”

“Then I will post a full brigade of the Qusay Division here, at Al Taji north of Baghdad. They will be able to move north to those airfields if they are threatened. So if they storm the capital, then we fall back on Tikrit, and certainly Baqubah. If they come here, and take Baghdad, they will think they have defeated us, but will just look up and see we still control 90% of the country. You see? They will never defeat us.”

“What about General Ayad in the south? What about Kuwait?”

“He must retain command of 1st Army and fight to hold what we have taken, particularly Kuwait. Nothing inside Saudi Arabia matters now, but if we can retain the oil fields in Kuwait long enough, we might negotiate to keep them permanently.”

“Respectfully, sir, they did not move all these brigades into Jordan to negotiate. The time for that is long gone. We should have sued for peace when they first started landing in Israel, and launched this operation against Suez.”

“Perhaps,” said Qusay. “But we must fight the war we have, not the one we might wish to have. They were very bold. We thought they would build up in the south, and only strike at Kuwait to liberate that place. This is something entirely different now. The very survival of Iraq and the Baath Party is on the line—so do not disappoint me, General Bakir. You now command 2nd Army, directly under me, and you must fight!”

Chapter 11

The night move by the 101st Airborne went off without a hitch, and though it wasn’t entirely unexpected, it was still a shock to the Iraqis when the scope of the lift was revealed at sunrise. 1st BCT had gone in to take the Al Asad airbase on the middle Euphrates, rooting out a battalion of Iraqi Special Forces in fortified positions. The Apaches provided cover fire against the enemy bunkers, which had been built as aircraft revetments, but otherwise, the air base was empty. Once under the fire of those Apaches, the Iraqi units bugged out and looked for safer climes.

2nd BCT landed 40 kilometers to the south at Hit, setting up road blocks on the road that ran parallel to the Euphrates, Highway-12, and then organizing an attack to seize the bridge over the river. Hit was an ancient Assyrian frontier outpost, and Bitumen wells there yielded an asphalt like substance that was used to help build the Ziggurats of old Babylon. So as the troops entered, they were driving in to thousands of years of history in that place. The air was cool and crisp, and they could smell the river. It was winter on the Euphrates, with daytime highs around 55 degrees Fahrenheit, and it was the rainy season. That said, the place would average less than an inch of rain per month. It was as balmy a winter as many in the battalion ever had.

The bridge leading northeast into the hamlet of Bakr was a minor objective, taken only to control movement across the river. The real objective was the pipeline that crossed the river there, continuing up to the H-Line that would eventually reach the Mediterranean Sea. The pumping station was taken undamaged, and the reporting Lieutenant sent the welcome message up the chain of command that “Pushpot-1 was in allied hands and secured.

Pushpot-2 would take just a little more before if it was going to change hands….

“Resel the Weasel,” said Sergeant King. “I like it. We got the short straw when the order came down to take you on, but you got lucky. This here is the Wild Bunch, Corporal Neal, main gunner Duran, our driver Private Sanchez, and that’s Murphy. He’ll be riding with you in the back seat.”

The men gave the newcomer a cursory glance, looking busy with their equipment, and then Neal wandered off.

“Now you could have asked for a ride in a real armored vehicle, so you’ve at least got the balls if you wanted to roll with us. This here is armored cavalry, so we have a couple dozen Bradley AFV’s, and over 30 Strykers in the battalion. That’s a lot more protection than a Humvee.”

“Yeah, but once you get stuck inside, you can’t see much. That’s why I asked for a lighter vehicle like a Hummer.”

“Well that’s what you got, but this ain’t no goddamn Hummer. That’s the civilian model. This here is a genuine High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, a bona fide Humvee. It’s been a long time since we had a Pogue along for the ride.”

“What?”

“Pogue—P.O.G. That’s People Other than Grunts, which is you. I suppose you had to pass muster with Major Philips, so we’ll take you on. But make sure you look after all your own Battle Rattle when we move. I’m not carrying extras.”

“Right… Battle Rattle.”

“You know, helmet, vest, weapons, and all the rest.”

“Yes, I got the lecture from the Major.”

“Good. That’s a slick vest. You got Sappy in there?”

“What’s that?”

“Small arms protective plates—SAPI.”

“I think so.”

“Well, you’ll know if someone takes a shot at you. Anyone else with you? No Terp? No Photographer?”

“Did you say twerp?”

“Terp… interpreter.”

“No, I’ll look for one later. As for photos, that’s my job too.”

“Alright, I hope you hit the chow hall hard and got some sleep, because from here on in, it will be MRE’s and sleepless nights in this old buggy.”

“M.R.E’s” said the Weasel. “That’s one I know. You guys invented a whole new language out here.”

“Oh there’s more. You’ll pick it up in no time.” The Sergeant looked at his watch, his round, ruddy cheeked face smiling. Here’s another one, we’re Oscar Mike, on the move, and that in five minutes. Kapish?”

“Gotcha,” said the Weasel. “The Major taught me that one.”

“Hey,” came a voice. “We Oscar Mike, Sarge?” It was the top gunner, Alphonso Duran back again, climbing up to man the big 50-Cal, MG when they moved.

“Any minute now,” said the Sergeant. “This here is manos de piedra, hands of stone. He’s a cold hearted shit kicker on that fifty.”

“Cold hearted and freshly farted, Sarge. Just took my first combat dump. We heading up to Al Wafa? Sanchez is calling it the waffle house.”

“A little more than ten Klicks on,” said King.

“Say,” the reporter ventured. “What’s your nickname, Sergeant.”

“Take a good guess. The name is King, but anything appropriate will do. I tend to like Your Royal Highness, but your majesty will do.”

“You mean your royal hind ass,” said Duran. “How you lug all that Battle Rattle about when you’re already packing so much armor on your backside, Sarge?”

“Can it, Duran.” The Sergeant gave him a disparaging look. Then he put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. “Where the hell is Neal? Mount up!”

Neal came running up when he heard the whistle, along with Murphy, a veritable red haired Irishman the others simply called Murph. The Sergeant got into the front right seat next to Sanchez, twirled his finger in the air and pointed dead ahead. Neal and the other men jumped in the back with the Weasel, and soon the Humvee was growling down the road, headed for the Waffle House, but there would be no breakfast served there that day. When they got there they found the place was already crawling with tough looking infantry, but at least they were friendlies. Todd thought they were hostiles at first, but the sergeant clued him in.

“That’s Task Force-1,” he said. “Tango Foxtrot One, the Black Lions. They were air mobile in here last night. Bastards fired the first bullets from any American rifle in WWI, and they probably want to fire the first one here too. They’ll have four companies in here, Aztec, Battle, Crusher, and Destroyer.”

“They sound like friendly guys,” said the Weasel.

“Goddamn welcoming committee,” said the King. “They were supposed to set up a blocking position here until we arrived. Then we start the rough stuff. Up ahead is the Al Muhammadi Air Field, and that’s our first objective. Take that, and then it’s just another 25 Klicks to the Ramada Inn.”

“You mean Ramadi?” The Weasel shook his head.

“Gentlemen, I made reservations for all of us there, and check in starts at 15:00. First come, first served. Do you realize that the column behind us now stretches all of 200 miles? 2nd BCT will be out on our right soon. They took that secondary road we passed a while back. That puts two fists of the Iron Horse Division right up front, and brothers, we ain’t stopping till I get to my master suite in the Ramada.”

The Black Lions would not be the ones to fire the first shots of the ground war, for technically, the 101st Airborne troops landing to seize Al Asad AFB had already done that. As the main column approached Al Muhammadi AFB, the Weasel’s unit, 1/7th Cav, veered off the road into the open desert. They were bypassing the airfield, the light Humvees in the vanguard, with the rest of the battalion fanning out in a chevron formation. The Bradley AFV’s were on the left, and the Strykers on the right, but the Weasel was right in the middle of things, taking photos of the armored charge, with streams of sand and dust in the wake of each vehicle.

They did not get far before the tip of the spearhead halted to get optics on a shimmering mirage up ahead, knotted with dark blobs. It was the 175 Recon Squadron of the Iraqi Air Assault Division, which was watching the road about 15 kilometers west of Ramadi. 1/7th Cav was going to say hello.

“Kingmaker, this is Pale Horse. We have eyes on a light armored formation, about two klicks out and blocking the main road. Confirmed hostile. Over.”

“Roger Pale Horse, cleared hot on hostiles. Engage and clear that road. Over.”

Sergeant King heard that transmission on the coms and smiled. “Time to get this war started,” he said.

At that moment, with the sandy vehicles stretched out in that wide chevron to either side, no one could see the end of the road they had taken to come to this place. Mack Morgan had sent information on one possible outcome in his secret Geronimo transmission file to the President of the United States, and if that were to repeat here, the end would be a long decade or more away. Would the chronology move from invasion, to combat, occupation and insurgency, as it had in the history Morgan knew?

The official US Iraq War Logs listed just over 109,000 deaths in the war, of which 3,771 were US or Coalition friendly forces.[2] Yet numerous surveys taken by various institutions all tallied different numbers, one exceeding 650,000 deaths. No matter how the bodies would be counted, the killing would start here for 1/7th Cav. The Weasel heard someone on a trumpet sounding a traditional cavalry charge, and the chevron started moving. It was time to “get some,” an old war cry made popular by the Marines of 1st USMC Division. But here the war cry was Garryowen, the song of the 7th Cav…

Streams of tracer rounds lanced east as the wave of dust and sand closed on the enemy formation. The Weasel leaned out of the Humvee, snapping photos with his small hand held camera, which was tied securely to his wrist with the strap to keep it from being jarred loose when they hit a rough spot. The men hooted, and they heard the sound of that 50-Cal MG chugging away above them. As the battalion charged, the Iraqi vehicles were turning east down the road. They sped away, leaving their own dust trail behind them, which clouded the whole scene in a dull brown haze. Soon they reached the first of six burning vehicles, old Soviet built equipment that the Iraqis had bought years ago. About three kilometers on, the charge ended. Up ahead the road split, and the enemy had taken the left fork that led to the main bridge over the Euphrates northwest of Ramadi. From that fork, they were now 15 kilometers from the heart of the city.

The real ground war would start there, in the mud brown buildings of Ramadi, a city that would see at least 100 separate battles between the years 2003 and 2026 in Mack Morgan’s history. This would be the first in this retelling of these events, in a war that was embracing actions fought in the first two Gulf Wars as Morgan knew them. Even as it began, there was already a Desert Storm like operation underway in the distant south.

Dubbed Operation Clipper, a force composed of the 1st USMC Division, 3rd BCT of 1st Cav were swinging into the southern desert to enfilade the Iraqi and Iranian forces in Saudi Arabia. At the same time, the Saudi and Gulf State Forces threw themselves into a counterattack against the enemy line to pin it in place. Waiting in the wings was the concentrated 82nd Airborne Division, ready to move by helicopters to positions behind the enemy lines, blocking roads and avenues of retreat. That withdrawal order had already been issued, and the Iraqi forces were streaming north, trying to avoid engagement and take up a new line in northern Kuwait, defending the Sabiryah and Rumailah Oil Fields.

Here, as the Weasel snapped a photo of a wrecked Iraqi APC, the Ramada Inn ahead was now being made into Iraq’s first desert shield for the approach to Baghdad. Four Special Forces battalions, and four more of the Ramadi Territorial Brigade were digging into the bones of the city, where nearly a quarter of a million people huddled in fear as the war came to their homeland in this most unexpected way.

They were mostly Sunni Arabs, the tough, irascible Dulaim Bedouin tribe, the strongest in the “Sunni Triangle” of western Iraq. Fiercely independent, up to 20% of the ranks of the Republican Guard divisions were filled by men from this tribe, and it had formed the heart of the resistance movement in Al Anbar province against US occupation in Mack Morgan’s history. That resistance here would begin with this battle.

1/7th Cav got orders to pursue the retreating Iraqis up that north fork to the bridge, and when they got there, they found that the enemy had crossed to the far bank.

“Kingmaker, this is Pale Horse. Sitrep. Be advised. We have reached the river as ordered and have optics on the far bank. The enemy appears to be bringing up demolitions teams.. Over.”

“Roger Pale Horse. Imperative you cross that bridge and prevent demolition. Over.”

Sergeant King was squinting at his map. The airfield at Al Muhammadi had been overrun without much difficulty by the three heavy battalions that had followed them. Now he looked at the snaking course of the Euphrates, noting that there were few other places to cross north of his position. If he wanted to check in to the Ramada Inn, he needed to cross here, and fast, or he would find himself sitting there, staring at a broken bridge.

The sun was already low, setting red on the horizon, and they could hear the sound of artillery firing near Ramadi to the southwest.

“Hey Sarge, what gives?” Duran stuck his head down to complain. “I thought we were going to Ramadi.”

“This is the way to Ramadi,” said the Sergeant. “That’s the goddamn main bridge right there, and we just got orders to cross it.

“Well, we ain’t getting over that,” said Neal. “Not without tanks and engineers. What if they knock out some of our vehicles. It will be one hell of a clusterfuck on that bridge.”

“We got tanks, Neal.”

“Yeah, but they’re at the back of the column. Better if we wait here until they come up.”

“Stow that, Neal. We got orders to cross, and that’s that we do. Move it!”

As the engines growled to life again, they saw vehicles on the road behind them, friendlies. It was the Stryker Company, the first of the heavier units in the battalion. The lead vehicle stopped, and the company commander walked up, Lt. John Ranes, a tall Texan, all muscle.

“Outstanding, move to contact,” he said. “We just got tasking orders to take that bridge. You stay here and hold Abu Rishah while we take point.”

“Roger that,” said the Sergeant.

The distant sound of gunfire near Ramadi festered in Sergeant King. That was his fight, and now the Stryker Company had horned in and taken it from him. Yet the more he thought of it, the more the wisdom of Corporal Neal’s complaint settled in. Better to lead with something heavier in a situation like this. But the fight was just beginning, and there would be plenty of time and opportunities for 1/7th Cav to get some.

Chapter 12

Abu Rishah was a small outlying town just west of the Palestine Bridge into Ramadi, which had two main spans and a slimmer secondary bridge. It was the largest bridge in the region, and there was no way the Iraqi’s were going to rig it for demolition that night in time to stop those Strykers. But just as Sergeant King’s team moved into the hamlet, they came under small arm’s fire from unseen fighters in the heavier buildings ahead.

The Strykers moved off the road, passing on their right like grey ghosts, ignoring the encounter in the village and intent on their mission. The 50-Cal’s were heavy hitting rounds, nearly 5.5 inches long. If they hit someone, there was no way that unfortunate target could survive, and they could chew through brick, blast away wood or concrete walls, and even collapse buildings. They were the main guns on the Humvees, but the Stryker Company had heavier arms. The Stryker Dragoon Infantry carrier had many variants, one with a 30mm cannon, another with a 105mmm gun. Others were rigged to carry ATGM’s, Mortars, or an M2 Heavy Machinegun. It was perhaps the most versatile vehicle class in the army, though not as well protected as the Bradley.

The main city of Ramadi was screened by water barriers the muddy Euphrates to the north, and a wide channel and canal known as the Ramadi barrage that ran southeast to block the approaches from the west. That canal diverted water all the way south to Habbaniyah Lake, which was completely impassible. So the city presented a formidable obstacle. While it might be bypassed to the north, leaving any strong enemy force there would complicate the long line of communications and supply. Ramadi simply had to be cleared and secured.

Getting over these water obstacles with any expediency counted on the US forces capturing the few bridges intact, and the Palestine Bridge was the prize. Once across, Highway 1 would continue east north of the Euphrates, effectively bypassing the city, and Sergeant King and his men could count their lucky stars that they had not been tasked with veering off onto Highway 11.

That road approached Ramadi at the point where the canal diverted off from the Euphrates. There was a big ceramics and glass factory there on the west bank on the channel, blocking access to another bridge that would lead into the city where the toughest fighting would be.

The Strykers rolled across both spans of the Palestine Bridge, cannon spitting fire at the defenders on the far bank as they went. Behind them came the three mech infantry companies of the Thunder Horse Battalion, tasked with continuing up Highway 1 and enfilading the city to the north of the Euphrates. South of the fighting in Abu Rishah, there was an open area that was a pre-designated site for 1st BCT to set up its forward operating base—Camp Ramadi. So Sergeant King knew that the dark haired brigade commander, Colonel Deacon, would be very close, and he wanted to please.

Called “The Raven” on comms, Deacon would send out his tasking orders as the battle progressed, and at that hour he was fixated on the bridge, ignoring the firefight at Abu Rishah, as the rest of the brigade had done when they bypassed that action.

“Damn bastards are hanging tough,” said King. The MG Gunners on the Humvees had chewed up half the buildings ahead of them, with all three platoons engaged now, but the enemy fighters were irregulars, crouching in the rubble, and moving from one building to another. It was just the first nibble of what the urban fighting might be like in Ramadi, a much more densely built up area.

The Strykers bulled their way across the Palestine Bridge, losing only two vehicles to RPG attacks on the far bank. They were both support vehicles, one of the ATGM carriers and a big Stryker Mobile Gun, which pissed off the Company commander to no end. As dawn came, the light platoons had finally cleared out the last of the enemy fighters in and around Abu Rishah, losing only one Humvee in all that action. It had been night optics that had kept them safe, for they were able to see the small teams of Iraqi fighters trying to get close to use their RPG’s and gun them down before they could get off a shot.

“Hajis got their asses kicked,” said Gunner Duran with a grin.

“Hell,” said King. These guys weren’t even regulars. Not one had even as much as a helmet on. These were just locals with AK’s and RPG’s, but they kept at us all night.”

“Well bring on the Republican Guard,” said Sanchez. “I just wet my beak with this scuffle.”

“Team one, Harrier. Standby for tasking.”

“Roger Harrier, Standing by.”

There would be no breakfast break, because the tempo of operations was going to remain brisk all the next day. Sergeant King would get his orders soon enough, to move north along the west bank of the Euphrates and reconnoiter that area to make sure it was free of enemy units. Along the way they would see the rag tag remnants of the men they had been fighting in the pre-dawn darkness. As the Weasel looked through the field glasses he borrowed from Murphy, he could see that they just seemed to be civilians, which gave him a very uneasy feeling.

They weren’t going to be checking in to the Ramada Inn.

The heaviest fighting that morning was at the Ceramics Factory, where the first uniformed soldiers of the Ramadi Brigade were holed up. The heavy concrete buildings provided them fairly good positions, and that factory commanded the approached to the bridge over the canal. 1st BCT had plenty of 155mm SPG’s with them, and they started using the big guns liberally to reduce strongpoints, crushing one building complex after another and reducing the factory to smoking rubble. What remained was work for the Abrams tanks, and the Brigades of 1st Cav were equipped with the latest models, the Abrams M1-A2C.

Though largely destroyed, the factory was cleared by sunrise, and the infantry of 2/5 Lancers was securing the power station near the canal. Just south of the factory, the town of Al Tamim was also swept by the light recon platoons of 4/9th Cav, a unit structured in the same way as 1/7th Cav. Below that, the whole of 2nd BCT, 1st Cav, was rumbling along to enfilade Ramadi from the south. The Anbar University there had been taken, and it was now being used as a supply point as more trucks carrying everything from ammo and fuel to claymore mines and C5 explosives came up the long road from Jordan. 1st Cav was just the leading edge of the power that was still rolling along that road. Next in line was 1st BCT of the 3rd I.D.

Also underway that hour, was a battle for the Qassam Bridge further south on the canal. That bridge led to the Al Huz district of Ramadi, and word had come down from on high that all bridges were to be in US hands before noon that day.

Next on that list was the Al Jazeera Bridge, which was actually on a dam that controlled the flow of the Euphrates. At the narrow point where the canal and Euphrates diverged from one another, a palatial estate that belonged to the Baath Party was seized as an HQ site to oversee the operation to secure the Dam. It was taken with teams of infantry advancing behind Abrams tanks, the enemy small arms and MG fire snapping off the armor, and in on case, an RPG defeated when it failed to penetrate the frontal armor on the leading US tank.

Once that was crossed, and the palace was occupied, the first phase of the operation was complete. The night assault had been a great success thus far, storming the western rail station and rail yards, the Ramadi Silo, Ceramics Factory, Power Station, Palestine and Al Jazeera bridges, and three of four canal bridges. The last was secured by 09:00.

Resistance on the western edge of the main city now stiffened at two locations. Within that narrow triangle near the palace and Al Jazeera Bridge, the Iraqis had fallen back to occupy the hospital and medical college buildings in the Al Warwar district. Four companies of US infantry were now forming to reduce and clear those strong points, preparing the operation with artillery. A well-aimed barrage smashed the supports on one wall of the medical college, sending that entire half of the building into a tumultuous collapse, and that broke the resistance there. The second battle was in the south near the East Rail Station. That sat astride a secondary road running beside the rail line east, and controlling that road would enable US forces to encircle the main city. A mix of Ramadi Brigade infantry units and a light battalion of Iraqi special forces were trying to contain the US bridgehead over the canal, but they were badly outgunned. It was only a matter of time, and lives, as smoke rose that morning over the western end of the city to mark the places where all this fighting had occurred.

Corporal Neal was sitting with his MRE lunch, the same as yesterday’s lunch, and likely the same for tomorrow until they finished off the case they were working through. They had scouted up the west bank of the Euphrates all morning, but saw absolutely nothing. Then, at 10:00 a helicopter went over them from the 101st, which had been operating up river at Hit. Eventually word came to return to the Palestine Bridge, and for the next two hours they bumped along, singing their favorite ‘oldies’ from a few years back. They were all millennials, born at the dawn of the 21st century, and the songs they were singing hadn’t topped the charts yet in our day, and would not be released for another three years.

“Falcon One, this is Harrier. You are tasked to move up red route to grid three-seven-zero-fiver, dash four-four. Scout and report.”

“Roger Harrier, we are Oscar Mike.”

That was going to send them up Highway-1 to a point about four klicks south of the village of Talal Jurashah, a location that was reportedly occupied by Iraqi special forces. They mounted up, moving quickly down the four lane highway, and thinking that they wished all the freeways back home were this empty. Passing through the hamlet of Shayk Hadid, they waved at the locals who watched them with guarded attention. Along the way they saw a venerable A-10 Warthog roar low overhead, bank sharply right and unleash its metal snot at the city of Ramadi. The brrrrr of its main 3-173mm Avenger autocannon was so distinctive that anyone would know that plane was in action when it fired. The old “warthog” as it was called was still one of the best close support aircraft in the world, a veritable flying tank, and that autocannon could chew up top armor on AFV’s and enemy tanks with its snarling report.

They passed a company of Abrams tanks, which were heading in the same direction they were going. A little over five klicks out, the lead vehicle suddenly stopped. Sergeant King immediately got on the comms and asked what was happening.

“Sir, we have eyes on foot mobiles up ahead. Looks like a road block. Iraqi infantry, in black uniforms.”

“Damn, that has to be those I-Racki Special Ops that were supposed to be operating out here. Get opticals on them. See if you can find out what they’re packing.”

“Looks like assault rifles, sir. Light infantry. Don’t see any heavy weapons.”

“Right up our alley,” said Sanchez. “We can take-em, Sarge. Manos de Piedra will chop those bastards up.”

“Right,” came Duran’s deep voice from above.

“What about those tanks we just passed a while ago?” said the Weasel.

“Tanks?” said Corporal Neal giving him an incredulous look, “We don’t get tank support, Weasel. Those are for the better armored, up-gunned assholes in the Strykers and Bradleys. Us wee folk in unarmored Humvees just fend for ourselves. Besides, they’re probably on mission too. There’s a secondary bridge south of us. Says new construction on the map, and I’ll bet the armored company is headed there.”

“Alright,” said King, “let’s see if these I-Rackis want to mess with us. We’ll have at ‘em, just like we did at that airfield yesterday.”

“This is crazy,” said Neal looking at the map updating the battalion unit locations on a pad device. “Strykers are south of us at that new bridge I mentioned. And yup, D Company Armor turned off the highway and that’s where they’re headed. Charlie Company is north of us, which is where these black ops guys are supposed to be, and here we are, Light Recon, good old Alpha Company, going right up the middle. That’s like trying to score with third and three with the quarterback running the ball.”

“Can it Sanchez. We got work to do.” Sergeant King twirled his finger and pointed east up the highway towards that roadblock position. “Guns, guns, guns,” he said on the comms. “Engage.”

They began to move on the enemy position, the vehicles in line abreast, all the 50-cals thrumming away and sending thick streamers at the roadblock. The Iraqis fell back 250 meters, and as they reached the roadblock, Sanchez hit the brakes.”

“Whisky Tango Foxtrot!” said Neal, meaning WTF? “Why’d you stop. We got them on the run.”

“Take a look!”

They could see demolition charges on the abatis that had been set up to block the road, and off in the distance, more dark uniformed Iraqi soldiers.

“We try to bust through that on the run and it’ll likely blow sky high,” said Sanchez.

“Alright,” said the King. “Comm this sitrep to Harrier and see what he wants to do. Maybe we can get some artillery.”

“Ha!” said Neal. “No Sarge, we don’t get arty either, just like the damn tanks. Bradleys went to that town up north, and all the Iraqis just came down here to crash our party. Isn’t recon fun?”