Not my usual reading, still a worthy one.
What I hated about it was the souvenir thing. Really? A freaking souvenir??? Reckless, that's what it is. And disrespectful.
Q: I looked back and saw a group of ten of them, boys and girls aged about eight to twelve, come into view. They were all carrying book satchels and appeared to be headed in the same direction as me – Ramallah. ...
The kids hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards from me when the IDF soldiers on the hillside opened up. I could tell by the sound of the gunfire that the kids were out of range of the bullets. High-velocity bullets like rounds from an M16 travel faster than the speed of sound. If you’re in range when fired upon, you first hear the sharp crack of the round travelling past you followed by the thump of the bullet leaving the barrel. In the military it’s referred to as ‘crack and thump’.
I estimated the bullets were dropping fifty or sixty yards short of the children. The kids, meanwhile, simply glanced over at the high ground where the soldiers were positioned and carried on on their way to school. To them, it was just another day. They were seasoned veterans, and I was new to the game. I watched the kids for another five hundred yards until they disappeared into a small hollow. When the soldiers stopped shooting, I went on my way. (c)
Q: Obviously, I held the Israelis in very high esteem. My feelings about the Palestinians were equally as strong, albeit not in a positive way. The western media had always referred to Arafat as a ‘terrorist’ and his multi-party confederation, the Palestine Liberation Organization, as a ‘terrorist’ organization. The label meant only one thing to me. The old adage of ‘one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter’ was a load of liberal crap as far as I was concerned. (c)
Q: It wasn’t long before I’d settled into a daily routine. Throughout the night I’d hear explosions and gunfire. Then around 5 a.m. there’d be a lull. The silence was my alarm clock. (c)
Q: After a quick introduction, I sat down and started listing my concerns. The meeting was as brief as it was frustrating. I asked the officer why there were no guards stationed in the sentry towers.
‘Fuck it, man,’ he said. ‘We’re trying to entice these fuckers over the wall so we can take them on!’
When I told him about the potential for the detainees to kick over the portaloo in the holding area and escape, I got a similar response.
‘Fuck it, man, we want them to come at us so we can take them on!’
That seemed to be his answer for everything. If he was one of Sassaman’s ‘better officers’, the Americans didn’t have a hope in hell of securing Samarra. Although he was three times bigger than me, I told the officer I didn’t agree with his tactics or his attitude and that I would raise my concerns directly with his Commanding Officer.
‘Fuck it, man, do what you want. We’re here to kill Iraqis,’ he said.
I left the officer and went straight back to Sassaman.
‘I think you sent me to the wrong man,’ I said.
‘Why?’ Sassaman asked.
By that point I’d lost patience. I didn’t have time to tiptoe around personalities or worry about offending people.
‘You seriously need to listen to what I’ve got to say. You’ve got problems,’ I said.
Sassaman paused and looked me in the eye. ‘OK, Bob. Please give me twenty minutes.’
I returned to Sassaman’s office to find him flanked by his 2 I/C (second in command) and Sergeant Major. I wasn’t sure if he’d gathered them there to listen to me or lock me up. Maybe both.
Again, I began with the guard towers. ‘Why aren’t they manned?’ I asked.
Sassaman explained that he didn’t have the troops to spare; if his soldiers weren’t on patrol they were resting up for the next one.
I pointed out that while I sympathized with his manpower issues, it was imperative that he and his troops live in a secure environment. If soldiers don’t feel secure when they rest, their performance on the ground will eventually suffer.
To my surprise Sassaman and his officers agreed with me.
me.
I then asked Sassaman if insurgents had fired mortar rounds at his base.
‘Three times,’ he said, adding that the strikes had been very accurate.
‘Why do you think that is?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Sassaman.
‘Do you think it has something to do with the sixty-foot water tower in the middle of your camp?’ I asked.
Sassaman and his officers looked at each other and then at me.
‘It’s a brilliant reference point,’ I explained.
‘Shit,’ said the Sergeant Major. ‘We didn’t think of that.’
‘You may want to dismantle the water tower, especially as it’s not in use,’ I said.
The Sergeant Major pulled out a pen and paper and started taking notes.
Next, I listed the problems I’d observed regarding their handling of Iraqi detainees. I gave them my idea for converting the unused outbuildings into processing and holding areas. I also suggested that in the meantime they removed the portaloo from the holding area and posted sentries outside the barbed wire to observe for signs of suspicious activity.
When I finished, Sassaman and his officers looked at me as if I’d just unravelled the secrets of the pyramids. I was starting to understand why the Americans assumed such an aggressive stance all the time. Living and working in a state of perpetual insecurity without the proper skills to limit the risks is enough to drive even the most controlled character into a frenzied state. Maintaining a cool head whilst operating in an insurgent-rich environment requires proper training, pre-deployment. It certainly didn’t appear as if Sassaman had received it. And if a highly competent, committed officer assigned to one of the most dangerous areas of Iraq hadn’t got it, then it was doubtful anyone else in the US military had. That meant that the ex-US soldiers feeding American CSCs were in the same boat – only worse: they didn’t have a professional army to bail them out if they got in the shit. (c) And this is why security audit is fun.
Q: ‘We’ve all read up on it. We know what we’re doing,’ he assured me. (c)
Q: Perhaps they didn’t want a strong character questioning their authority. Or perhaps they’d become so mentally committed to their original plan that they couldn’t conceive of altering it. (c)
Q: Sadly, it was a pattern I would see repeated elsewhere in the not-so-distant future. (c)
Q: Complacency is a security adviser’s worst enemy. I put my personal interests to one side and focused on what could go wrong. (c)
Q: Some people never change. Others do, though it usually takes one hell of a catalyst. (c)
Q: Before the British took over Helmund in 2006, US forces were in charge there. According to several of my Afghan sources, in 2004, in an effort to step up the handover of security to Afghan forces, the Yanks recruited 500 local police in Helmund. In addition to training, the recruits received uniforms, weapons, vehicles and other equipment to do their jobs. Within eighteen months of completing the programme, 450 of the original 500 recruits had either switched allegiance to the Taliban, left the police to apply their skills in Afghanistan’s booming drugs trade (which funds the Taliban), or formed private armies to wreak havoc in their own little fiefdoms. I wonder how many of them turned their weapons on British soldiers. (c)