BALAD, Iraq — Second of two parts
Children swarmed the tractor-trailer trucks ambling toward the Camp Anaconda gate.
Dawn was just a couple hours ago and a long night was finally over for Bandito 26, 151st Cavalry Regiment of Arkansas' 39th Infantry Brigade. Soon they'd crawl into beds used by hundreds of soldiers who run the roads like they do, the war's traveling soldiers.
These men move from camp to camp, protecting convoys of fuel, food and supplies bound for U.S. bases in Iraq. They have rooms at Camp Adder in southern Iraq but are rarely there. Over the year, they will spend more time in transient tents at bases across Iraq than in their own beds.
About 15 hours ago, these men left Camp Adder in southern Iraq escorting a threemile-long line of jet-fuel tanker trucks 280 miles north through Baghdad to Balad.
The rush of children was the last challenge of the day.
Some were barefoot, all were dirty and seemingly poor.
But not all of these children were there to beg for food. One stole a chain off a tractor-trailer rig as it crept by. Another pried open a toolbox behind a truck cab, swiping tools. Often, the children steal anything they can grab.
Sgt. Patrick Carter of Magnolia saw several children open a compartment on the civilian truck in front of him as the vehicles stopped at the gate. He pulled up his ASV light armored vehicle, trying to block them. But the children weren't easily scared, even by a massive armored truck with a grenade launcher and .
50-caliber machine gun poking out of its turret.
Amy is blogging as she travels with the 39th.
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Sometimes these children leave things as well - such as magnetized bombs that fit snugly against a fuel tanker. Increasingly, children are playing larger roles in the insurgency. The long-standing ritual of soldiers tossing snacks and water to these children is harshly criticized by commanders.
The guidance is clear and without waiver: Don't feed the kids and do whatever it takes to keep them from coming near a convoy.
Child insurgents are nothing new. The 39th lost a soldier to grenade-tossing third-graders in 2004.
According to a recent report by the United Nation's Committee on the Rights of the Child, more than 2,000 children and teenagers have been detained in Iraq since 2002. Currently the U.S. has about 500 detainees under the age of 18, most of whom are teenagers.
There was little conversation as the convoy pulled into Camp Anaconda at Balad, just red eyes and tired brains. The soldiers of Bandito 26 had only just begun a mission that would extend two more days.
Although they didn't know it yet.
A QUICK REST
As they pulled into Camp Anaconda, the men talked about how they hoped to return home to Camp Adder by dinner the next day.
They never know what each day will hold. There are a thousand variables - trucks break, bombs blow, routes close because of bad weather or the arrival of dawn.
The trucks were quickly parked and the men moved into the open-bay barracks they'd call home for the next 12 hours. Hot showers, a warm breakfast, cool air-conditioning and a fresh bed waited for them. They slowly made their way to breakfast and then disappeared, one by one, into sleep.
Afternoon was turning to evening when the men emerged from their beds.
By 9 p.m. they'd be packed. By midnight they'd be rolling again.
Spc. David Moore of Flippin walked across the compound clutching a cup of coffee about 10 p.m.
"The way back is the worst part," he said. "You need visual stimulation to stay awake and there's nothing."
Moving north they had the adrenaline of hot spots and Baghdad late in the trip to keep them alert. Those sights come early on in the drive south. The last eight hours carry little more than fatigue amid the vast brown desert.
Still, the men would rather roll back to Camp Adder than spend a night at Camp Seitz in Baghdad. While there isn't much at Camp Adder, it's their home.
"Hopefully we'll hit our window and be able to keep going at[Baghdad]," said Sgt. Robert Kerr of Hazen, convoy commander. "But we're leaving late, it will be a push."
As the last convoy scheduled to leave the gate that night, the odds began to stack against them.
Spc. George Brown of Mountain Home wove his humvee though the tractor-trailer trucks, looking for the head of the line. His truck will set the pace for the tractor-trailers and his job is to coordinate with civilian drivers in the minutes before departure.
But other convoys ahead of them clogged the gate, delaying Bandito 26's departure even further. Frustration mounted as the men weighed the few hours of darkness left in the night against the travel time they needed. They had to get south of the city by a certain hour to pass through. The window was closing fast.
"That's great," Brown said, looking at the traffic jam. "A convoy holding up a convoy. Damn."
Convoy protection involves coordinating the movement of hundreds of trucks. It's a mileslong game of follow the leader. If a convoy ahead has trouble, it holds up every convoy down the line.
A DRIVER'S FEAR
The soldiers visited with the civilian drivers with KBR (formerly Kellogg, Brown and Root) they escorted north the day before and would take back south this morning.
The civilian drivers have their own reasons for running the gantlet of Iraq's roads.
Some are former military. All are professional truck drivers. They drive armored rigs with metal grates across their windows. The trucks are equipped with sleeper bunks, but these men don't keep very many personal items with them. They drive fuel tankers. And fuel tankers burn down to the ground in minutes if hit by a roadside bomb.
The rest of their gear stays back at Camp Cedar, where they keep rooms.
Most of these middle-aged men have been running Iraq's roads for several years now. They like the excitement; it's why they came here.
But things are changing.
In Anbar province more than one truck driver has watched mothers push their children in front of a passing truck to stop a convoy - and some trucks can't stop in time. Other kids make a game of running between the trucks, making drivers flinch with fear.
"I don't want to hit one of those kids. It's my worst fear," said one driver who asked not to be named. "But I know that I may not be able to help it. It's awful."
The civilian drivers looked at their watches. One driver said the civilians hope the convoy will miss the window and have to stay at Baghdad. They'd like to spend time at the Victory Base Complex where there is more to do, better food and shopping rather than quickly return to Camp Cedar, where they'd fill up with fuel and head back outalmost immediately.
They needed a break.
Kerr started counting tractor-trailer trucks as the congestion cleared, deciding where to place his gun trucks. Soon they'd leave the gate.
"It's been a long day already," he said.
It was just after midnight.
The trucks lumbered out the gate, some keeping up, others not. When the last gun truck reported that it was leaving the gate, they were in the time window needed to make it through Baghdad and back to Camp Adder.
HITTING THE WINDOW
The last civilian truck was a flatbed, the odd duck in a convoy of fuel tankers.
As it bounced through the gate, a massive roll of hydraulic hose rolled off and onto the ground. Three miles ahead, at the front of the convoy, Spc. Richard Young of Springhill, La., ordered his gun truck to halt.
An inbound convoy squeezed by on the narrow dirt road, heading toward the Camp Anaconda gate that was now blocked by Bandito 26 trucks and the fallen load. A monumental roadblock was in the works. No one would be able to move.
Cpl. John Gonzales of Texas asked the KBR drivers to reload the hose so they can get moving.
"These rolls are several hundred pounds, so it's not going to happen," one KBR driver answered over the radio.
Gonzales relayed the message to Kerr.
"Tell them our [operations center] wants us to leave that flatbed here," Kerr said.
The radios crackled with voices as everyone tried to figure out how to turn the flatbed truck around with two convoys wedged into the gate.
Gonzales looked at the time and clicked on his humvee radio, calling back to Kerr. Several of the soldiers had heard the KBR drivers talk about wanting to stay the night at Baghdad.
"Hey, are we going to make it in the window?"
"I just don't know right now," Kerr said. "Yeah, they [civilian drivers] don't want to make this run tonight."
"I don't know why; they do the same thing we do," Gonzales answered. "Turn and burn."
Gonzales, like most of the other soldiers, didn't want to spend another night on the road. The mission schedule doesn't change. A day on the road takes away aday they'd have to rest. They have just one day between missions to relax, do laundry and prepare for the next trip.
"Why spend a day at [Baghdad] and burn a day we could have back home?" Gonzales said.
Brown said he'd rather stay at Baghdad, give the trucks and himself a rest.
A half-hour after the order came to leave the flatbed behind, the convoy finally rolled down the road.
DELAYED FOR THE DAY
The sky began to brighten as the trucks approached Taji. Traffic filled the roadway by 4 a.m., as soon as the sun began to appear. The gun trucks tried to clear the roadway for their convoy, but local traffic was slow to comply.
Spc. Kenny Weaver of Dallas fired pen flares from his gunner's turret at the vehicles that refused to move as Brown navigated to block vehicles trying to push into the convoy. Lines of trucks filled with onions and crates of vegetables headed to market filled the roadway.
"Push up!" Gonzales yelled at Brown. "Go, go, go! Slow down!"
Weaver yelled from his turret at the vehicles.
"There should be no vehicles in the convoy. Let no vehicles into the convoy. They should be on the side of the road," Gonzales told his crew.
The convoy pushed south, chasing the deadline to pass through Baghdad.
As traffic cleared, herds of hedgehogs rambled across the roadway. Some made it. Some didn't.
The sun broke the horizon at 4:30 a.m., just as a call came from the convoy's rear from the ASV light armored vehicle.
It was losing power and could not manage speeds beyond 35 mph.
Kerr listened to the report on the radio, but didn't immediately respond. He didn't want to stop at Baghdad, and the convoy could make it through if they kept going. But a truck was broken.
They'd have to turn in.
After a long pause, he said, "Ask the [operations center] if they want us to turn into [Baghdad International Airport, Victory Base Complex]."
The sun blazed high in the sky an hour later when the convoy settled into parking spaces at Baghdad. They were delayed another day.
The men headed to their tent and settled into cots. The more bright the sun, the sleepier these midnight riders get.
Twelve hours after they arrived at this tent city, the crack of opening Rip It cans and laughter pierced the night air as the men met up again at their trucks.
It was 10 p.m. Another day had begun.
Kerr lamented that the ASV that lost power earlier in the day could have been fixed in a couple of minutes on the side of the road. The problem was a loose hose.
"But I don't have a lot of mechanics in this crew," he said, running his hand over his silver-tipped hair. "It was best to stop."
Across the motor pool, Spc.Nicholas Stuart of Old Washington prepared his ASV.
"You get used to this," he said of life as a transient running Iraq's roads. "I would have rather gone back this morning. I think all of us would have rather gone home last night. But it didn't happen."
Even Brown had changed his mind over the last few hours. Hewas ready to head back.
"Let's get out the gate on time and haul ass," he said.
Kerr told his crew to keep an eye out for roadside bombs and prepare to fight if fired upon.
"I just feel they're testing us to see what we'll do. Keep your eyes out," he said. "If you see small-arms fire, I want 20 rounds returned for every one round shot at you."
They were heading into the most dangerous stretch of road on the route - the long volatile miles south of Baghdad where convoys require the cover of darkness.
Gonzales climbed into his humvee seat and checked on the radios. Scratched into the padded roof above his seat were the words, "So tired."
"I'm tired," Carter said. "But there's no way I could sit on the base. I'd go stir crazy."
After a quick prayer, the convoy rolled out the gate, heading to home.
BACK ON THE ROAD
As they moved onto the highway, Weaver clicked on the radio and said he had a decision to make.
"Sgt. Kerr asked me personally to stay," he said.
Weaver volunteered to extend his tour of duty for two months to stay with the brigade. He's scheduled to return home at the end of the month. As a student, Weaver said the money is tempting. He could stay for another six months and have enough money to go to school for a year without having to work at the same time.
His girlfriend told him to do what he feels he needs to do.
His dad's reaction hit him like a brick, though. He'd sent a lengthy e-mail to his dad listing the pros and cons of staying in Iraq.
"He got mad," Weaver said. "It surprised me."
His dad asked him what happened.
"He said I came over here to help people and make a difference and now it's about money," Weaver said. "He said it made me something of a mercenary, fighting for money."
Weaver said that really bothered him.
His reasons for staying are not so much black and white as gray.
His fellow soldiers agreed, it was a tough decision.
But none of them commented on what he should do. That was his decision alone.
The radio fell silent for long periods as the convoy moved south. There was little to do but watch the roadsides as they cut through the desert landscape.
"It's such a boring night," Moore said over the radio.
As the sun rose on southern Iraq, green fields and ponds dotted the landscape along the Euphrates River. Piles of white salt raked from the pond beds poked out of the water like icebergs.
"Hey, Mighty Mouse," Kerr hollered on the radio to Brown as they approached Camp Adder's gate. "Are we there yet?"
Brown laughed and punched the button on his radio to reply.
"Every rotation brings us closer to home."
Front Section, Pages 1, 4 on 06/23/2008