Help requires hard sell

"It's amazing," DeMoss said. "One day it's ‘get the hell out.' The next day it's ‘get the hell out.' And the next day ‘it's we love you.'"

Welcome to this war's third act. America toppled Saddam's regime in a matter of weeks. Disorder followed, opening the door for an insurgency that took years of American blood and bullets to break. Now the war effort, at least in the 1-25th Stryker Brigade Combat Team's turf in Diyala Province, has come down to ensuring Iraqis have whatever it takes to govern, and that means providing public safety.

Efforts cementing recent security gains achieved by U.S. forces take many forms. Officers in the 1-23rd, a storied regiment known as the "Gimlets," have invested months courting and supporting local police in the Muqdadiyah area.

Contributions of commodities such as gasoline, and infrastructure investments in electrical improvements and other services, meet with open arms. Selling Iraqi police on the merits of continued training is more complicated.

"Any luck getting ammunition for training with pistols?" DeMoss had asked Col. Sa'ad Issa Ibrahim Al Aslay earlier that morning, moving from pleasantries to his real mission visiting Wajihiyah district police headquarters.

"The Ministry of the Interior has its own procedure for training," the Iraqi officer responded through a translator. "Unless that procedure is followed they will not provide them with ammunition."

Yellow curtains, tightly drawn, filtered the sunlight bathing the Iraqi police chief's office. DeMoss, securely protected by his personal three-Stryker security detail, shed his helmet and appealed for the colonel's assistance formalizing local police training before his battalion's departs in coming weeks. "I want to keep trying to help," he said, wrapping his arm around the Iraqi's shoulder.

The two went back and forth discussing the ministry's heavy-handed control. "If they (the ministry) want us to continue the training," the Iraqi district chief explained. "They will send us a memo with the number of men used, the number of ammunition for each, all the details."

"What we could offer would be beneficial," DeMoss countered.

The battalion commander introduced a pair of civilian contractors, former policemen now working for a company called IPA, ready to lend their expertise.

"We're here to give you advice," said Billy Canaan, a 12-year veteran Louisiana lawman.

Could the consultants teach forensics? inquired Lt. Col. Abed Nabai Al-Timimi. Conducting interrogations? Securing crime scenes?

As Canaan and Scott, a 63-year-old former Tennessee Highway Patrolman nodded affirmatively, the Iraqi police officers began grinning back.

"This is phenomenal," the Iraqi colonel finally declared. "Designate the date."

"I still want to do pistol training," DeMoss pressed, suggesting the colonel provide him with a letter formally requesting ammunition. "I don't want to give up."

In truth, the commander had achieved his larger point. He moved to consolidate, announcing the consultants would return that afternoon, along with his operations chief, and settle the details.

From start to finish, the sit-down had taken about 90 minutes. The courtyard huddle followed: "I hate to say it, but it seems to make a difference when we bring more firepower down here," observed DeMoss, alluding to the value of a Stryker battalion commander as salesman.

Normandy's trio of Battalion TAC Strykers rolled out for Wajihiyah again that same afternoon. Ops chief Maj. Jeremy Linney, stood in DeMoss' usual place, peering out the topside hatch. At an opportune moment, he ducked down to explain his assignment.

"We call this exploiting success," said Linney, looking merry. "Our goal is to come out of this with a date and time for training next week. If that takes 30 minutes, OK. If it takes 90 minutes, that's OK too."

The afternoon session, conducted in full heat of the day, turned hard-nose. Col. Sa'ad demanded lesson plans for the requested investigative techniques and a definitive schedule.

When IPA's consultant suggested training might simply continue as needed, the translator interrupted. "Excuse me, sir, you gotta give him a schedule."

Maj. Linney took that as his cue.

Each class would meet once a week, for a month, and cover a single topic, the major said. "And everyone who completes that class will get a certificate."

He lauded the Iraqi's suggestion that participants should demonstrate mastery of the material through tests before progressing to the next class.

Col. Sa'ad committed to bring in officers from all seven of his substations each week, plus three of his men from the district HQ. He still wanted something in writing detailing class content.

"Tomorrow we'll bring the next three months of training plans," vowed Linney, putting the consultants on the spot as he concluded negotiations.

The supposed deal could still blow up, he said later. Col. Sa'ad, for example, is due for replacement shortly. DeMoss and other familiar Gimlets, likewise, are about to return to Alaska.

The battalion Ops officer figures the combination of the IPA's Canaan and Scott, along with a MP unit, staying in Iraq through fall, ought to ensure continuity through the transitions.

He's also counting on values trumping petty resistance.

"Iraqis are very honorable," Linney observed. "Because this was said face to face, in front of other men who will be here tomorrow--it's binding."

O'Donoghue teaches journalism at University of Alaska Fairbanks. This month he and three students are embedded journalists in the 1-25th Stryker Brigade Combat team in Diyala Province, Iraq.