NATE LEWIS
Convoy ©Drew Cameron
BOOZE ATTACK IN IRAQ
Our radio squawked out something barely audible about a vehicle approaching the convoy. My eyes scanned to my front and rear, nothing but dull green Army vehicles tearing down the highway at an amazing speed. My eyes shifted to a huge cloud of dust off the road a distance. As it approached I could make out an old, tri-colored caprice classic. It appeared seemingly out of mid air and as it arched towards the highway, I anxiously kept an eye on it. We were on our second day of nonstop driving from Kuwait to the center of Iraq. Stories of sedans packed with Iraqis wielding AK-47's and RPG's attacking convoys of tanks surfaced in my head. If they are bold enough to attack tanks with Caprices surely our "soft" convoy of cargo trucks would be a tempting target. I tightened my grip on the SAW as the car reached a side road and began racing up the on-ramp of the highway. The SAW is a belt fed automatic machine gun that looks like something Rambo would love to use. When first issued, most soldiers feel lucky to receive such a powerful and prestigious weapon. These feeling quickly fade when you carry the damn thing around 24/7. It's heavier than a M16 rifle and you must carry a large load of ammunition.
The car leaned on worn out shocks as it barreled through the curve. I snapped off the safety and pulled the weapons charging handle back, chambering a round. The car continued to accelerate and merged right in the middle of our convoy on my side of the truck. Nervously I leveled the SAW at the vehicle as it drifted into the next lane. I now could see the Iraqi's in the car. They were riding 6 deep and appeared to be all young men, looking as nervous and serious as me. As they came closer I could see an Iraqi in the back seat lowering the window and raising something from his lap. At the time the rules of engagement clearly stated that you must be getting shot at to return fire, or identify an armed enemy combatant. The object was thrust out of the window and I immediately recognized it. What he held was an unmistakable, dark, square bottle of Jack Daniels. In English he yelled out a price of 20 dollars. I could hardly believe it. These six guys had probably been waiting hours to ambush our convoy, not with bullets and bombs but with whisky and rum. Judging by their smiles I don't think they realized how close I had come to turning their Caprice with worn out shocks into a piece of scrap metal, twisted and flaming on the side of the road. Apparently they trusted the judgment of a tired and nervous 19 year old holding a machine gun enough to approach with whisky to sell.
When no rifle barrels protruded from the windows I began to relax, and just for fun; I began haggling the price down. After several seconds of negotiations they sped up to solicit the truck in front of me. Did they really think an Army convoy, moving at top speed and stretching as far as the eye could see, would pull over to purchase whisky? We had been told the ground war would be brutal and bloody. Now only two weeks old, we sped down the main Highway in Southern Iraq, facing Iraqis brandishing alcohol instead of weapons. Did they think we were some type of crazed beasts coming to Iraq for a hell of a party? What had these brave entrepreneurs been told about us?
I would soon learn that there were Iraqis everywhere trying to sell booze to Americans. Not only booze but narcotics as well. Hash, downers, uppers and all types of prescription medicine could be purchased very easily wherever you found American soldiers. There was also usually quite an extensive collection of Hukas and tobacco products that could be purchased off the side of the road. Barefooted children would run along side our trucks holding tiny bags of hash in the air. They would shout "Meesta, Meesta, smoke for you Meesta!"
In situations like this the U.S Army trusts you with good judgment. They trust you to shoot only when necessary and to not do anything stupid. You have to learn when it's appropriate to send hundreds of burning pieces of lead at someone or when to call in an air strike. Every soldier no matter how young or intelligent is a link in a chain. Your responsibilities and decisions could possibly affect hundreds of lives. It has always been hard for me to understand how the U.S Army trusts your judgment enough with a machine gun or with a million dollar weapon system, but they won't trust you to drink a few beers in the barracks if your underage. I still don't get it. They teach you to drive tanks, shoot howitzers and fire rockets but no boozing if you're underage. Why that might be dangerous!
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