Taking the Battle to the Enemy

(2 of 4)

The Ramadi operation, launched at 4 a.m., is designed to end before sunrise, before morning prayers. The Marines expect resistance, but as the 36th breaches the gate of Ramadi's main mosque, the city remains quiet. Sergeant Jose L. Carillo of the 2/5's Whiskey Company looks out from a position on a nearby rooftop. "These guys fight when they want to fight, not when we want them to fight," Carillo says of the insurgents, as he peers through night-vision goggles. "They just keep on recruiting. And, I don't mind saying it, we don't have enough people for what we're doing."

With the first search complete, Whiskey Company moves with the 36th to another mosque, while other units pursue other targets. Again, no resistance. The whole day is quiet. "That's not good. That means they're planning," says a Marine who asks not to be identified because he has told his wife he is in Kuwait. Indeed, the response comes at night. Shortly after 9 p.m., another company encounters resistance in the town. The Whiskey platoon, tasked as that night's Quick Reaction Force, gears up, led by company commander Captain Patrick Rapicault. "We'll probably get hit tonight," says his driver, Corporal Marc Ryan, who gazes at a picture of his sweetheart back home before speeding into town.

First stop is the government center, a heavily fortified observation post where two Marines had been wounded by mortar fire earlier that day. The stay is brief. "We're definitely being observed," says Rapicault, but the night seems calm enough, so the units decide to head back. They turn right out of the government center onto Michigan, then right again on Central. Halfway down the street, an IED detonates near the lead humvee. They have driven into an ambush. As Ryan steers through the smoke, red tracers streak through the air and bounce along the ground. RPGs fly from both sides of the road, and AK-47 fire crackles. Rapicault's gunner returns fire with the mounted .50-cal. machine gun; his counterparts in other vehicles do likewise. The convoy U-turns en masse, back to Michigan, then back to sanctuary in the government center. No one is injured. One humvee has a flat tire, and another has been hit with two RPGS, which were deflected by the armor. A Marine says his crew saw an RPG team running down an alley and tried to take it out with an automatic grenade launcher, but the weapon jammed.

In the empty, darkened hallways of the government center, Rapicault huddles with senior officers from both Whiskey and Echo companies, studying a map by flashlight, plotting the next move. Reports arrive that some 25 men are massing south of the ambush site. The Marines debate their options, then head out again to find these insurgents.

Ryan once more turns right on Michigan. As the convoy approaches Central, an IED blows near the lead vehicle. Then two more-- 155-mm mortar shells wired with remote triggers — detonate on either side of Rapicault's humvee, only a few feet from the front tires. The blasts shower the humvee with sparks and dust, spider-webbing the windshield and nearly piercing the reinforced glass in two places. Ryan pushes through the smoke, struggling with steering and visibility, then hits a barrier on the side of the road. The vehicle is alone, no support front or back. More IEDs go off in the distance, and Rapicault shouts to Ryan to turn around. "We can't stop here!" he yells. The windshield is covered with oil, so the gunner shouts out directions, and Ryan feels his way back onto the road.