Aerial assault at dawn

Darkness and a blinding vortex of dust and rocks swallowed them two by two.

Stumbling forward on rutted, uneven ground, platoon leader, 1st Lt. Jordan Weigle, 26, led Monday's 3 a.m. aerial assault. The slim Tennessean immediately stepped into a deep furrow, falling on his face. Others landed on their knees before scrambling onward.

Squad leaders positioned soldiers in arcs, rifles facing outwards, providing security for the combined force of about 30 deposited for the raid on an unnamed, presumed abandoned, village.

The mission called for First Platoon making its way along wadi, notched into the hillsides by rain, to a position where soldiers might observe village ruins identified by aerial mapping. Signs of life would invite further scrutiny, according to the intelligence report, because Al Qaeda Iraq and other dissident groups active in Diyala Province sometimes hole up in such places.

Either way, the platoon and Iraqi Army men would use metal detectors and sweep the village site and surrounding tip of the Udaim River peninsula for cached weapons or explosives. Get in early. Get out before the sun sapped the men's strength. That was the plan discussed at Bravo Company's headquarters back at Grizzly.

Air assaults seldom go as scripted. "You usually get dropped off at least a click away, facing the wrong direction," quipped Capt. Barry Troy, another Bravo, 1-24th Infantry Regiment officer. "Nothing goes as planned."

As eyes adjusted to the starlight, whispers and pointing arms focused attention on a cleft in the bluff. Light, perhaps escaping from a cave fire, painted its walls.

"We moved out on it," Weigle said later.

Ants on the march

Efforts burying supplies were cut short. Soldiers hastened toward the suspicious cliff.

Moonlight revealed the platoon creeping along the hillside: dark ants winding upward across a lighter shade of dirt. Caked mud coated the crumbly terrain. Though soldiers occasionally slipped, none were hurt and the drone of planes, near and far, buried any sound of movements. Dust lent a whiff of baking soda to the air.

The platoon quietly claimed position above the lit wall. Spotters identified a bulb overlooking a water pump.

"Daylight is in about 45 minutes," Sgt. 1st Class Ronnie Taylor said, as men settled on a ridge near a majestic tree.

"You do know we left the bags on the road," the platoon sergeant added.

"Road?" said the lieutenant.

"Yeah," Taylor said, "it was a road."

By 5:15 a.m., a band of pink edged the horizon. The platoon rested in a wadi approaching the old village. Before proceeding, the lieutenant wanted fresh Intel from a recon flight. But a problem with a radio security code blocked communications. A broken digital stylus needed to reset the com further complicated matters. Taylor borrowed duct tape from the medic and patched then stylus together, but the com remained dead.

The lieutenant, commissioned three years ago, fired off a star cluster using his palm as a trigger. Falling green flares alerted a nearby Apache helicopter to problems on the ground. The ignition technique also melted one of Weigle's gloves, scorching a hand.

The payoff came in an explosion of dust, when an Apache helicopter dropped into the village bearing a replacement com handset.

Try using your helmet, or a rock next time, Taylor advised.

Platoon sergeant's are expected to take care of their officers, said Lt. Col. Brian Reed, whose 1st Battalion, 24th Infantry Regiment includes Second Platoon, Bravo. "Part of it is training that young officer."

Dawn witnessed the Iraqi contingent pouring into the village. Americans, though impressed, seemed concerned by the haste their partners displayed moved through the crumbling structures, paying little or no heed to potential booby traps.

"Usually we're looking for berms and river caches," Sgt. Jacob Coffey explained as an Iraqi sunk his shovel in a spot flagged by a metal detector.

Taylor, the platoon's most seasoned soldier with 12 years of service, eyed the hard-packed ground around the village and all but guaranteed it clean. "Loose dirt is what to look for. That and burlap. These guys wrap everything in burlap."

Experience is a good platoon sergeant's defining contribution, observed Brigade Sergeant Maj. Gabriel Cervantes. "He's the guy with the keen eye. Everybody listens to him."

Bringing them home

Mission delays boosted the sun high in the sky as soldiers began sweeping the river plain for hidden caches. Crickets apparently thriving in the river's bushy green shoulders echoed off the hillside. Soldiers trudging past in their heavy "battle rattle" armor talked about how fine it would be to go swimming. It was barely 7 a.m. and the temperature likely exceeded 100 degrees. Finishing the sweep claimed priority.

A dark hole on the hillside demanded closer examination.

"Is it a real cave?" Taylor asked. "Can you see out the back of it?" He flinched when the young soldier casually ducked inside.

"Goes back a ways," the soldier reported. "It looks like a river eroded it."

"Good job—let's go."

Morale flagged with the rising heat.

"I feel like Moses retarded brother," one soldier said during a break, "staggering around the desert carrying all this."

"I just want to go home," his buddy said.

"Click your heels together," the soldier shot back, cackling.

The lieutenant kept pushing, yet acknowledged irritation. "I hate it when we're not acting on Intel," he said.

Taylor directed soldiers carrying the heaviest gear and weapons to trade with those less burdened. He grabbed the medic's bulging pack.

"You sure you want that?"

"Well," the sergeant said, hefting the pack on his shoulders, "I didn't wake up this morning and say, ‘I want to carry Doc's bag,'

Flexing under the weight, he added: "We got to move out now!"

The patrol reached the landing zone about 8:30 a.m. A Navy team assisting the patrol returned to the cave and, with a thumping explosion, brought down the roof, ensuring AQI won't move in.

"I guarantee they know we were out there and we're watching the area," the lieutenant said of the message delivered through the patrol.

Awaiting rides home, one parched soldier nursed an IV drip. Others slumped along with Iraqis, backs against the bluff.

Not the sarge.

Those bags initially left near the road included the platoon's reserve Jerry cans of water. Taylor was about to take three soldiers and retrieve them, when he eyed the Iraqis soaking in the shade.

Give me two men, he told the Iraqi lieutenant, speaking through a translator.

When the Iraqis appeared hesitant, the old dog showed his bark.

"If you want some water—you'll come with me now!"