daylight. Others had decamped entirely, slipping through security to spend the night in the desert. The platoon advanced three full blocks without firing a single shot.
The absence of actual fighters didn’t necessarily diminish the threat. It felt like someone was leading them into a trap. Sinclair’s team encountered a brick barrier blocking the rooftop of an apartment complex. Better luck next time. The stairs in a neighboring building had been ripped out, making it virtually impossible to access upper floors. They finally had to settle for a three-story home with good offensive visibility but an imperfect view to the south. Behind them, Fallujah smoldered in ruins. But there were still plenty of places to hide. Technically Iraqi troops were responsible for providing rearguard security. Patrolling cleared quadrants was as strategically necessary as clearing them in the first place.
Iraqi Security Forces had been deployed in previous high-profile offensives. Fighting side-by-side was the best way to promote the perception that the war was a joint operation, not an American occupation. Early on, Iraqi National Guardsmen seemed eager to get the job done. But when the insurgency terrorized Anbar Province, the feasibility of joint missions became increasingly tenuous. Iraqi soldiers expected the support of regional authorities, something US Marines had long since given up on. The coalition was fragile. When local sentiment shifted, it fell apart.
The Joint Task Force figured out ways to deploy the Iraqi National Guard without jeopardizing the success of the op plan. Tasking them with rearguard security duty was a prudent compromise. When the ING stuck to their guns, they significantly boosted the perceived legitimacy of the mission. When they didn’t, American soldiers were less likely to pay the price. Controlling the optics of the coalition was half the battle, at least as far as the Pentagon was concerned. The official assessment of the role of Iraqi forces was unequivocal. They were indispensable. Unofficially their impact was negligible.
Marines were expected to commend their Iraqi counterparts, no matter what went down. This directive, which came straight from Centcom, was designed to make sure loudmouths like McCarthy shut their traps. It was like trying to plug a volcano with a wine cork. Whenever the press corps showed up, Wolf shuffled him off for a cigarette break. The last time McCarthy was interviewed, the entire platoon suffered for his indiscretion. The reporter was an investigative journalist for NPR, the type that snoops around trying to stir up trouble.
“A lot of folks back home wonder if Iraqi Security Forces are up to the job,” the reporter observed.
“Good question,” McCarthy said.
“What’s it like, fighting with them?”
“Slightly better than fighting against them,” McCarthy said. “On a good day.”
McCarthy couldn’t help himself. The platoon had almost lost a man when Iraqi Guardsmen failed to hold their ground during a firefight in Saqlawiyah. When Colonel Denning caught wind of the interview, he summoned Lieutenant Radetzky.
“Ever heard of a loose cannon, Radetzky?” Colonel Denning said.
“Sir?”
“One of your boys has been shooting his mouth off again.”
“Yessir.”
“Don’t ‘yes sir’ me, Radetzky.”
“It won’t happen again, Colonel.”
“Half the world is yip yapping about our strategic objectives. Unilateral this. Occupation that.”
“Like it’s any of their business, sir.”
“The last thing we need is grunts bad-mouthing the coalition.”
For once, Sinclair shared McCarthy’s skepticism. Monitoring the Guard’s movements in the wake of the platoon’s advance, he noticed that their performance was spotty, at best. They kept hanging back, leaving gaps of three or four blocks between offensive positions and rearguard support. Insurgents could slip back into unoccupied areas at will.
“There’s a defensive breach in the line,”
The absence of actual fighters didn’t necessarily diminish the threat. It felt like someone was leading them into a trap. Sinclair’s team encountered a brick barrier blocking the rooftop of an apartment complex. Better luck next time. The stairs in a neighboring building had been ripped out, making it virtually impossible to access upper floors. They finally had to settle for a three-story home with good offensive visibility but an imperfect view to the south. Behind them, Fallujah smoldered in ruins. But there were still plenty of places to hide. Technically Iraqi troops were responsible for providing rearguard security. Patrolling cleared quadrants was as strategically necessary as clearing them in the first place.
Iraqi Security Forces had been deployed in previous high-profile offensives. Fighting side-by-side was the best way to promote the perception that the war was a joint operation, not an American occupation. Early on, Iraqi National Guardsmen seemed eager to get the job done. But when the insurgency terrorized Anbar Province, the feasibility of joint missions became increasingly tenuous. Iraqi soldiers expected the support of regional authorities, something US Marines had long since given up on. The coalition was fragile. When local sentiment shifted, it fell apart.
The Joint Task Force figured out ways to deploy the Iraqi National Guard without jeopardizing the success of the op plan. Tasking them with rearguard security duty was a prudent compromise. When the ING stuck to their guns, they significantly boosted the perceived legitimacy of the mission. When they didn’t, American soldiers were less likely to pay the price. Controlling the optics of the coalition was half the battle, at least as far as the Pentagon was concerned. The official assessment of the role of Iraqi forces was unequivocal. They were indispensable. Unofficially their impact was negligible.
Marines were expected to commend their Iraqi counterparts, no matter what went down. This directive, which came straight from Centcom, was designed to make sure loudmouths like McCarthy shut their traps. It was like trying to plug a volcano with a wine cork. Whenever the press corps showed up, Wolf shuffled him off for a cigarette break. The last time McCarthy was interviewed, the entire platoon suffered for his indiscretion. The reporter was an investigative journalist for NPR, the type that snoops around trying to stir up trouble.
“A lot of folks back home wonder if Iraqi Security Forces are up to the job,” the reporter observed.
“Good question,” McCarthy said.
“What’s it like, fighting with them?”
“Slightly better than fighting against them,” McCarthy said. “On a good day.”
McCarthy couldn’t help himself. The platoon had almost lost a man when Iraqi Guardsmen failed to hold their ground during a firefight in Saqlawiyah. When Colonel Denning caught wind of the interview, he summoned Lieutenant Radetzky.
“Ever heard of a loose cannon, Radetzky?” Colonel Denning said.
“Sir?”
“One of your boys has been shooting his mouth off again.”
“Yessir.”
“Don’t ‘yes sir’ me, Radetzky.”
“It won’t happen again, Colonel.”
“Half the world is yip yapping about our strategic objectives. Unilateral this. Occupation that.”
“Like it’s any of their business, sir.”
“The last thing we need is grunts bad-mouthing the coalition.”
For once, Sinclair shared McCarthy’s skepticism. Monitoring the Guard’s movements in the wake of the platoon’s advance, he noticed that their performance was spotty, at best. They kept hanging back, leaving gaps of three or four blocks between offensive positions and rearguard support. Insurgents could slip back into unoccupied areas at will.
“There’s a defensive breach in the line,”
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