thedrifter
10-27-05, 07:51 AM
US marines patrol Iraq's Wild West
Treacherous canyons, arid land in western Iraq give US marines impression they are in middle of nowhere.
By Patrick Baz - IN THE IRAQI DESERT
The long US column creeps forward over arid land and among hostile tribes, towards potentially treacherous canyons and the Syrian border.
Passing an abandoned train station it gives freight cars a wide berth, moves through a ghost town and a valley, and crosses a river in the midst of swirling sand that gives troops the impression they are in the middle of nowhere.
Wrecked planes from the former Iraqi air force lie next to routes baptised Michigan, Denver, Colorado and River Valley.
While the surroundings resemble a surreal cowboy film set, the troops are wrapped up under Kevlar helmets, wearing ski masks, knee and elbow pads and flak vests as they point M-16 assault rifles at the horizon.
"Somewhere between Mad Max and Apocalypse Now," one marine jokes.
The troops form a long line with gaps of 30 meters (yards) between vehicles, but the foe in the volatile western province of Al-Anbar remains out of sight and deadly.
The marines' prime fear is IEDs, improvised explosive devices or makeshift bombs that insurgents bury or hide next to the road, sometimes in chains spaced several meters apart.
"They are innovating with the power of the explosives", explains Colonel Stephen Davis, commander of the 2nd Battalion Combat Team A. "They link five 155 mm shells to propane tanks and nothing in the military's arsenal can resist it.
"Welcome to the Wild West."
Suddenly, an explosion throws up a column of smoke in the middle of the convoy. "Bomb, bomb!" the soldiers yell, but no one is wounded.
Slowly but surely, the column gets back underway.
Helicopters fly low overhead and advance scouts check for more bombs.
In the distance, shepherds dressed in long camel capes and red Arab headdresses ride mules amid packs of sheep. They wave white pieces of cloth as a sign to marine sharpshooters.
Mauricio Alvarez checks them out through the scope of his rifle. "What do their sheep have to eat? There's nothing but sand out here," he says, suspecting anyone who is not a marine of being an insurgent in disguise.
The convoy rumbles to a halt. More IEDs up ahead, and a two-hour wait while demolition teams ply their trade.
Finally, a white mushroom cloud billows into the sky and the heavy vehicles shift back into gear.
Any movement on the horizon is scrutinized. Dead branches blow between the trucks, silhouettes and cars appear up ahead.
A village located near an abandoned military airport known only as H1 is cleared by combat troops who seal access roads to the main street while the convoy passes through.
Children give awkward "thumbs-up" signs to the troops, while their mothers peer out of half-opened doorways.
The men don't move, sudden gestures can mean sudden death.
The sun sets and turret-mounted machine gunners cast long shadows on homes made of brick.
A few kilometers (miles) up ahead, an abandoned cement factory sits in the middle of the desert, mounds of white powder creating volcanic shapes and a lunar landscape.
Another explosion, and another shock wave sweeps across the sand, covering the marines in white dust that stands out against red flames and black smoke as the tires of a tractor-trailer truck burn.
No victims, and the convoy keeps going. Nine hours to cover 100 kilometers (60 miles).
"If Baghdad seems bizarre, here it's surrealist," Colonel Davis says.
Ellie
Treacherous canyons, arid land in western Iraq give US marines impression they are in middle of nowhere.
By Patrick Baz - IN THE IRAQI DESERT
The long US column creeps forward over arid land and among hostile tribes, towards potentially treacherous canyons and the Syrian border.
Passing an abandoned train station it gives freight cars a wide berth, moves through a ghost town and a valley, and crosses a river in the midst of swirling sand that gives troops the impression they are in the middle of nowhere.
Wrecked planes from the former Iraqi air force lie next to routes baptised Michigan, Denver, Colorado and River Valley.
While the surroundings resemble a surreal cowboy film set, the troops are wrapped up under Kevlar helmets, wearing ski masks, knee and elbow pads and flak vests as they point M-16 assault rifles at the horizon.
"Somewhere between Mad Max and Apocalypse Now," one marine jokes.
The troops form a long line with gaps of 30 meters (yards) between vehicles, but the foe in the volatile western province of Al-Anbar remains out of sight and deadly.
The marines' prime fear is IEDs, improvised explosive devices or makeshift bombs that insurgents bury or hide next to the road, sometimes in chains spaced several meters apart.
"They are innovating with the power of the explosives", explains Colonel Stephen Davis, commander of the 2nd Battalion Combat Team A. "They link five 155 mm shells to propane tanks and nothing in the military's arsenal can resist it.
"Welcome to the Wild West."
Suddenly, an explosion throws up a column of smoke in the middle of the convoy. "Bomb, bomb!" the soldiers yell, but no one is wounded.
Slowly but surely, the column gets back underway.
Helicopters fly low overhead and advance scouts check for more bombs.
In the distance, shepherds dressed in long camel capes and red Arab headdresses ride mules amid packs of sheep. They wave white pieces of cloth as a sign to marine sharpshooters.
Mauricio Alvarez checks them out through the scope of his rifle. "What do their sheep have to eat? There's nothing but sand out here," he says, suspecting anyone who is not a marine of being an insurgent in disguise.
The convoy rumbles to a halt. More IEDs up ahead, and a two-hour wait while demolition teams ply their trade.
Finally, a white mushroom cloud billows into the sky and the heavy vehicles shift back into gear.
Any movement on the horizon is scrutinized. Dead branches blow between the trucks, silhouettes and cars appear up ahead.
A village located near an abandoned military airport known only as H1 is cleared by combat troops who seal access roads to the main street while the convoy passes through.
Children give awkward "thumbs-up" signs to the troops, while their mothers peer out of half-opened doorways.
The men don't move, sudden gestures can mean sudden death.
The sun sets and turret-mounted machine gunners cast long shadows on homes made of brick.
A few kilometers (miles) up ahead, an abandoned cement factory sits in the middle of the desert, mounds of white powder creating volcanic shapes and a lunar landscape.
Another explosion, and another shock wave sweeps across the sand, covering the marines in white dust that stands out against red flames and black smoke as the tires of a tractor-trailer truck burn.
No victims, and the convoy keeps going. Nine hours to cover 100 kilometers (60 miles).
"If Baghdad seems bizarre, here it's surrealist," Colonel Davis says.
Ellie