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T
HE
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UNDI
S
T
here was one way the overall plan did affect us, and not for the
better.
The Ramadi offensive wasn’t supposed to be just about
American troops. On the contrary, the new Iraqi army was
supposed to be front and center in the effort to retake the city and
make it safe.
The Iraqis were there. Front, no. Center—as a matter of fact,
yes. But not quite in the way you’re thinking.
B
efore the assault began, we were ordered to help put an “Iraqi
face on the war”—the term command and the media used for
pretending that the Iraqis were actually taking the lead in making
their country safe. We trained Iraqi units, and when feasible (though
not necessarily desirable) took them with us on operations. We
worked with three different groups; we called them all
jundi
s,
Arabic for soldiers, although, technically, some were police. No
matter which force they were with, they were pathetic.
We had used a small group of scouts during our operations east
of the city. When we went into Ramadi, we used SMPs—they
were a type of special police. And then we had a third group of
Iraqi soldiers that we used in villages outside of the city. During
most operations, we would put them in the middle of our columns—
Americans at the front, the Iraqis in the center, Americans at the
rear. If we were inside a house, they would sit on the first floor,
doing security and talking with the family, if there was one there.
As fighters went, they sucked. The brightest Iraqis, it seemed,
were usually insurgents, fighting against us. I guess most of our
jundi
s had their hearts in the right place. But as far as proficient
military fighting went . . .
Let’s just say they were incompetent, if not outright dangerous.
One time a fellow SEAL named Brad and I were fixing to go
into a house. We were standing outside the front door, with one of
o ur
jundi
s directly behind us. Somehow the
jundi
’s gun got
jammed. Idiotically, he flicked off the safety and hit the trigger,
causing a burst of rounds to blow right next to me.
I thought they’d come from the house. So did Brad. We started
returning fire, dumping bullets through the door.
Then I heard all this shouting behind me. Someone was dragging
an Iraqi whose gun had gone off—yes, the gunfire had come from
us, not anyone inside the house. I’m sure the
jundi
was apologizing,
but I wasn’t in the mood to listen, then or later.
Brad stopped firing and the SEAL who’d come up to get the
door leaned back. I was still sorting out what the hell had happened
when the door to the house popped open.
An elderly man appeared, hands trembling.
“Come in, come in,” he said. “There’s nothing here, nothing
here.”
I doubt he realized how close it came to that being true.
B
esides being particularly inept, a lot of
jundi
s were just lazy.
You’d tell them to do something and they’d reply,
“Inshallah.”
Some people translate that as “God willing.” What it really
means is “ain’t gonna happen.”
Most of the
jundi
s wanted to be in the army to get a steady
paycheck, but they didn’t want to fight, let alone die, for their
country. For their tribe, maybe. The tribe, their extended family—
that was where their true loyalty lay. And for most of them, what
was going on in Ramadi had nothing to do with that.
I realize that a lot of the problem has to do with the screwed-up
culture in Iraq. These people had been under a dictatorship for all
their lives. Iraq as a country meant nothing to them, or at least
nothing good. Most were happy to be rid of Saddam Hussein, very
happy to be free people, but they didn’t understand what that really
meant—the other things that come with being free.
The government wasn’t going to be running their lives anymore,
but it also wasn’t going to be giving them food or anything else. It
was a shock. And they were so backward in terms of education
and technology that for Americans it often felt like being in the
Stone Age.
You can feel sorry for them, but at the same time you don’t want
these guys trying to run your war for you.
And giving them the tools they needed to progress is
not
what
my job was all about. My job was killing, not teaching.
W
e went to great lengths to make them look good.
At one point during the campaign, a local official’s son was
kidnapped. We got intel that he was being held at a house next to a
local college. We went in at night, crashing through the gates and
taking down a large building to use for the overwatch. While I
watched from the roof of the building, some of my boys took down
the house, freeing the hostage without any resistance.
Well, this was a big deal locally. So when it was photo op time,
we called in our
jundi
s. They got credit for the rescue, and we
drifted into the background.
Silent professionals.
That sort of thing happened all across the theater. I’m sure there
were plenty of stories back in the States about how much good the
Iraqis were doing, and how we were training them. Those stories
will probably fill the history books.
They’re bullshit. The reality was quite a bit different.
I think the whole idea of putting an Iraqi face on the war was
garbage. If you want to win a war, you go in and win it.
Then
you
can train people. Doing it in the middle of a battle is stupid. It
was a
miracle it didn’t
....
things up any worse than it did.
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