Trouble is routine for Delta Company

TREBIL, Iraq - Capt. Bryan Kieffer's voice echoed through the convoy's vehicles as the palm trees and buildings of Hit on the Euphrates River cast dark shadows along the road.

It was turning into another long night for Delta Company, 2nd Battalion of Arkansas' 39th Infantry Brigade. And Kieffer's radio message was an indication of what was to come - breakdowns and bad driving.

"Be careful," Kieffer, of Ward, said over the radio. A Marine convoy was stopped on the narrow road up ahead, one of the tractor-trailers they were escorting - which, like most of the supply trucks, had a foreign driver - had run off the road and turned over.

Staff Sgt. Darien Mickelson of Jonesboro listened, shaking his head.

"They fall asleep all the time," he said. "They run into each other and sometimes, us."

Anbar province is no longer the hotbed of insurgency it was back in 2004 and 2005. Right now, this is the quietest region in Iraq.

For the soldiers of 2nd Battalion, car bombs are not a concern. And roadside bombs are relatively rare here these days. The battalion has logged more than 8,000 miles on this stretch of roadway, and only one roadside bomb has exploded on them.

There were no injuries.

The real danger is within their own convoy.

The 2nd Battalion "Gunslingers" run convoys across Anbar province, covering more than 600 miles round-trip with each mission as they push about 200civilian trucks between the Jordanian border in the far west and al Taqaddum, the easternmost camp in the province.

The majority of the trucks haul fuel. About 27 percent of all fuel consumed by the U.S. military in Iraq rolls in tankers along this route, according to Lt. Col. Mickey Stewart, 2nd Battalion commander.

The trucks and drivers are called "Third Country Nationals," or TCNs, by the U.S. military. They are from Arab nations like Jordan, Sudan and Pakistan - places where preventive maintenance is lacking and accidents are believed to be a matter of "God's will."

"They tend to fall asleep, or they do something stupid like pass one another," Stewart said of the foreign drivers. "They're our biggest risk."

When he's on a convoy, Stewart typically passes caffeinated drinks like Red Bull or Rip It to the foreign drivers aroundhim.

"It may not be a culturally correct thing to do, but it works," he said.

RUSH TO BE FIRST

A couple of hours earlier, as Delta Company was preparing to wrangle their trucks at al-Asad air base, Lt. Kevin Kannett of Ozark gathered his platoon in a dusty splash of humvee headlights.

"Due to TCNs falling asleep, we're going to take two stops on [the route]," he said.

A handful of days ago, a foreign driver fell asleep and rammed into another vehicle, pinning himself in the cab. It took several hours to free him and his mangled legs. The truck was totaled.

Dust storms had delayed all convoys for several days, pushing Delta Company a day behind schedule. A Marine unit rumbled into the lot as Delta started climbing into their trucks and pushed past them into the Third Country National truck lot. The foreign trucks and drivers are kept separated from U.S. troops and U.S. civilian drivers.

"Everybody wants to get out of here first," Kieffer said.

The Marines clogged the yard, telling the movement control supervisor they were ready to go, asking to push out first.

Delta Company climbed back out of their trucks and waited, some leaned on concrete barriers and smoked. After about15 minutes with little progress, Kannett walked over to the Marines.

"Are you going, or not?"

Delta Company would later pass that Marine convoy and its overturned foreign truck at Hit.

The first breakdown of the night struck as they were leaving al-Asad. A civilian truck was having air brake problems.

Spc. Vivien Akins of Little Rock peeked down from her gunners hatch.

"We should leave him back," she hollered. "He's going to give us problems along the way."

Hit is a lush oasis on the banks of the Euphrates River and a minor hot spot for convoys. Bullets occasionally zing toward the trucks from darkened palm groves. A sniper's bullet claimed the life of a Marine a few weeks ago.

But most nights there is little more than the burning stench of sewage to catch soldier's attention at Hit.

"It's like the minor leagues here," Mickelson said. "They move little elements through here to practice on the way to Baghdad."

MORE BREAK-DOWNS

Moments later, the power steering in their humvee started to go. The smell of burning fluid coughed out of the truck's air conditioning vents. Hours passed without incident as they moved farther west, finally stopping to refuel and give the drivers a break.

The convoys carry extra fuel with them, each humvee is loaded down with 5-gallon fuel cans to keep them going. As Mickelson's crew topped off the tank, mechanics popped the hood to inspect the steering issue.

Gooey, burnt fluid caked the engine.

Spc. Levi Spigner of Hot Springs climbed into the humvee's engine compartment, touched the residue with his finger and held it up to his nose.

"Y'all are blowing s*** everywhere," he said.

"It's coming from somewhere," Mickelson said.

It was 1:30 a.m.

They'd fix it when they got to Camp Korean Village, their home away from home to thewest.

Within 20 minutes of hitting the road again, the civilian truck with the air-hose leak lost its brakes.

Drivers from the surrounding civilian trucks rushed to the aid of the broken rig. They argued with one another, looked at the blown hose and argued some more.

One man ran back to his truck and retrieved a propane burner used for cooking. Six of the men huddled around the burner, taking turns holding a pair of pliers and the metal hose fitting. They were trying to burn the rubber out of the fitting so they could reattach it.

"A billion dollar operation here, with the Department of Defense, and they're out here with Sterno burners doing maintenance," Mickelson said.

Time ticked on as the men worked and Mickelson grew impatient. A breakdown stops part of the 50-mile-long convoy and drastically slows the rest of it.

"Five minutes, mister," said one driver as he looked up from the burner's blue flame.

The group continued to bicker as several of the men climbed under the truck cab to reattach the fitting.

The fringe outlining the truck's windshield swayed as the men worked. One picked up a crescent wrench and started hammering with it.

"You've got two more minutes, and we're going to trade out bobtails," Mickelson warned the men.

"One minute, one minute," said a man, his hand poking out from under the truck and waving in the platoon sergeant's direction.

There are always several trucks without trailers - called bobtails - in the convoy so a trailer can be moved if a truck breaks down and needs to be towed. If that happens, however, the original driver's pay is cut in half and the other truck driver's pay is doubled.

"They say five minutes, five minutes and a repair will extend 20 or 30 minutes," Mickelson said. "So I tell them we'll switch bobtails [trucks] and they get motivated to work faster."

If a truck can't be repaired, soldiers have the option of destroying it on site with incendiary grenades. The previous unit did that quite often. Stewart said he'd rather recover the vehicle, if possible.

"There may still be a need for destruction, but safety will have to out-weigh the local impact of having a destroyed tankerabandoned on the highway," he said.

A FALLEN TANK

Two hours later, at 4:15 a.m., two foreign trucks fall out of the convoy and stop on the side of the road. The overflow tank from one of the empty fuel tankers had fallen off and was wedged under the back bumper.

Although the tanker was empty for the trip back to Jordan, the overflow tank was full.

Foreign drivers are notorious for stealing fuel. Some siphon it into water containers. Others rig the overflow tank to hold fuel. They take it back home and sell it.

"Why is that full of diesel?" Mickelson asked the driver.

The driver said he didn't understand the question. Another driver came running down the road from his parked truck, wearing nothing but large boxer shorts and a tight tank top.

He grabbed the 40-gallon metal tank and tried to pull it out from under the bumper. The driver pulled forward as the man planted his feet on the pavement and held on to the tank.

Diesel fuel sloshed out of several holes in the tank as it and the man holding it were dragged down the road by the truck as the driver tried to dislodge it.

The next breakdown came at 6 a.m. A flatbed died in the road, a pool of fluid dripping from the engine. It was hooked up to another truck and dragged the remainder of the way to camp.

The foreign trucks were herded into a holding lot, and soldiers went to find the huts they'd call home for the next few days. One day later they'd be back on the road, making the rest of the short run to Jordan to drop off the empty trucks they hauled west and pick up full trucks to push back east in a couple of days. They'd be back at Camp Korean Village in time for lunch.

"Days and night blend together," Kieffer said.

MOVING AGAIN

Trebil sits on the border between Jordan and Iraq, a no man's land between entry checkpoints.

Empty trucks are dropped off here and new trucks, filled with fuel and supplies headed for troops in Iraq, are picked up.

Soldiers move up and down the rows of parked trucks, checking drivers' passports, looking at tires and listening to engines. The drivers sat by their trucks,many brewed tea, others slept on carpets laid out on the dirt.

"We see if they're going to make it," said Sgt. Chance Franks of Camp. "Most of the time they break down."

Some drivers reached into their trucks and offered the soldiers drinks and candy.

"This is called the 'please go nice on the inspection' Pepsi," said Spc. Joel Vargas of Virginia.

Spc. Johnathon Dobbs of Newport said he tries to keep the inspections in perspective. None of the trucks would likely pass inspection using American standards.

"I try not to be an a****** about it," he said. "As long as they have tread and lug nuts, they're good. I figure it's a guy just trying to feed his family."

Delta Company pushed the trucks faster than normal to Camp Korean Village that morning.

"We're trying to self-identify problems, that's why we're running a little harder," he said.

By pushing the trucks, the soldiers can weed out vehicles with problems making them unable to keep up.

When they arrived back at Camp Korean Village, Kieffer told his company to eat, sleep and be ready to roll again in 12 hours.

The next day's run to Taqaddum would be long even on a good day. It turned into the longest day Delta Company has had to date.

The clock struck midnight as Delta Company prepared to head out for Taqaddum and then back home to al-Asad.

"Remember, sleep and speed kills," Kannett told his platoon, as he does before every mission.

He went over the highlights of the past 24 hours - a minor roadside bomb on the route and gunfire in Hit. It was more enemy activity than usual.

Meanwhile, Mickelson cut five foreign trucks from the convoy because they couldn't maintain 50 mph, the minimum convoy speed, the day before.

A soldier from the Movement Control Team at Camp Korean Village walked up to Mickelson as he lined up the trucks and argued the decision.

"You're going to pull trucks because they can't maintain speed on the [Main Supply Route]?" he said. "That's b*******."

Mickelson looked up from the manifest where he was marking off license plate numbers as the foreign trucks rolled by.

"I'll tell you what's b*******," he said. "There are trucks that can't pull 45 mph from Trebil to here and you want us to pushthem hundreds of miles across the [country]. That's b*******. And they want us to take two trucks across Anbar province that won't even start here in the yard. I don't think so."

This is common argument between convoy commanders and the movement teams whose job it is to make sure the trucks get from one place to another.

None of the trucks in question rolled that day.

LONG DAYS ON THE ROAD

Down the road they dealt with a foreign truck with a shredded tire and another with a fuel leak.

As the convoy moved from the main road to the dirt lane that leads to Taqaddum, Mickelson looked at his driver, Spc. John Marin Lackie of DeValls Bluff.

"You getting tired?" he asked.

"That was a long time ago," Marin Lackie said.

Before long, as the morning sun began to cook the armored vehicles, one of the lead trucks spotted rocket tubes out in the desert. The entire convoy ground to a halt and waited for bomb specialists to clear the path.

"This is why I hate [Taqaddum]," Akins said. "Every time we leave a gate there's a problem that makes the trip longer."

The usual 10-hour day would stretch to 15 hours by the time bomb specialists arrived from Ramadi to check out the rockets. They were surface-to-air missiles, the kind that can pluck a C-130 cargo plane or helicopter from the sky.

Three hours after the convoy stopped, the bomb specialists arrived. They picked up the munitions and cleared the way. Taqaddum was still hours of dirt road away. The delay cut deeply into 1st Platoon's rest time.

After five short hours at Taqaddum - enough for a nap and food - the convoy was off again, finally back to al-Asad.

"It was a long day, and a quick turn. I know you're tired," Kieffer told his soldiers. "Speed kills. Remember, we're our own worst enemy right now."

The morning's trip should have been a short one. They had just 33 foreign trucks, a fraction of what they usually have.

But time after time, foreign trucks broke. First a battery issue, then a truck's brakes locked up.

"It just goes to show you," Mickelson said. "It doesn't matter if you've got 75 TCNs or 25, things go bad."