Fallujah Awakens. Bill Ardolino
if one can protect the population, kill the “right” people, and provide alternatives more attractive than fighting the government, the rebellion will lose popular support and deprive its fighters of their natural camouflage and freedom of movement. The insurgency will wither on the vine. Easy in theory, hard to execute.8
In this type of struggle, information is at least as important as military proficiency. Unfortunately for Alpha Company, it arrived on Fallujah’s peninsula with almost none of this vital currency in the bank account. Whisnant quickly directed his platoons to learn about the residents in their area of operations (AO). This effort took the form of security patrols and census operations, so the company was reorganized according to the mission. Marine companies are typically composed of four platoons, each with about thirty-six men split into three squads. Usually, three of these platoons fulfill the role of light infantry, while the fourth is a weapons platoon, dedicated to bring mortars, rockets, and medium machine guns to bear in conventional battles. The operations on the peninsula, however, called for each platoon to be capable of independent operation. Thus Weapons Platoon, which had been assigned to operate from FOB Gold, a forward operating base about a kilometer away from FOB Black, was retasked primarily as light infantry with the option of fulfilling its traditional role as needed.9
First Lt. Rob Lehner led 1st Platoon. Like Whisnant, Lehner was a “mustang.” He had started his career as an enlisted Marine before his recent promotion to the officer ranks. Company officers and staff NCOs offered generally positive reviews of Lehner’s leadership and the resulting performance of his platoon. He was slower to undertake the aggressive intelligence gathering and subsequent operations against the insurgency embraced by two of his peers, but eventually “got up to speed” as the deployment progressed.10
The 2nd Platoon was led by GySgt. Brian Ivers. An Australian who had already served two tours in Iraq, Ivers drew criticism, especially from officers and senior NCOs, for hesitating to throw his men into their mission. Some officers speculated that “Gunny Dingo” lacked the initiative instilled in prospective lieutenants during Officer Candidate School. Others gossiped that he was gun-shy after his previous tours. Some Marines, however, especially those under his command, claimed to know the real deal: Ivers was highly competent, even aggressive in combat, but he simply didn’t buy into the mission. According to them, the Gunny had lost some men on previous deployments, and he didn’t believe in losing more while wandering around like bait, waiting to get shot at.11
While all four platoons conducted similar missions and had their share of good and not-so-good officers, NCOs and grunts, 3rd Platoon and Weapons Platoon soon proved themselves company standouts. Led by a pair of ambitious hard chargers—1st Lieutenant Greco at the helm of 3rd and Capt. Jeremy Hoffmann at Weapons—each worked a preternaturally punishing schedule of ambushes, roadblocks, “census ops,” and security patrols. Greco was tall, athletic, and had the rough features of a boxer, while Hoffmann was diminutive and youthful-looking and had a higher voice. The pair, however, had a lot in common, including elite educational backgrounds—Greco had attended Dartmouth, Hoffmann the Naval Academy—knowledge of counterinsurgency doctrine, and, above all, aggressiveness. Both men epitomized the Alpha male personality of a Marine officer, and as a consequence, brutally drove their men to “get after it.” Some of the lance corporals grumbled bitter jokes about Greco and Hoffmann running a competition to kick more ass and to impress superiors on the backs of their men. The rivalry was reflected in the pair’s occasionally brusque interactions at planning sessions. Greco, nicknamed “Greco Fury” for his intensity during volleyball matches prior to deployment, caught wind of the “dueling platoon commanders” scuttlebutt, and told his men it was ridiculous. The enlisted Marines under Greco’s and Hoffmann’s command didn’t consider their leaders’ competition reckless. Most had no doubt that the pair would have worked them like mules anyway, regardless of any officers’ pissing contest. But the young Marines also didn’t quite buy Greco’s denial, mostly because they had their own rivalries with enlisted counterparts in the sister platoons. Some exchanges were typical:
“How long were you pussies on long ops? We were out for weeks.”
“Hey, we just walked 28 fucking clicks today…. How far did you go on that patrol?”12
Ongoing critiques of Greco were also mitigated by the fact that he worked as hard as his men did. He impressed his squad leaders by regularly joining them on patrols and sometimes exposing himself to dangerous situations in place of others. In one case, Greco took point on a foot expedition to find an IED known to be buried in a certain area. The lieutenant found the wires of the hidden bomb while scratching in the dirt with his Leatherman tool and could have been killed by an alert insurgent manning its trigger. Enlisted and NCO ranks always subject officers to harsh appraisal, but actions like these earn valuable credibility.13
Hoffmann was commonly regarded, and often critiqued, as something of a merciless hard-ass. The captain was also considered smart and hardworking, and he was an enthusiastic student of counterinsurgency. He repeatedly stressed two goals to his men, the latter explaining why he worked them so hard: First, their success was contingent on getting to know, respect, and protect the people in their area. Second, they would deny the insurgents any rest or safe haven on the peninsula, even if his Marines had to walk fifteen miles a day to do it.14
The operational pace was brutal: up to twenty hours a day (on missions), six and a half days a week, for months, with little downtime. All four platoons divided their time between “short ops,” within walking distance of their forward operating base (FOB), and “long ops.” Short ops usually consisted of foot patrols, running overwatch on the main supply routes to prevent emplacement of bombs, launching targeted raids, and serving as a quick reaction force (QRF) to assist any Marines in trouble. On long ops, a platoon would travel far afield of the FOB, setting up a temporary patrol base in whatever commandeered local structure had the requisite defensive capabilities. Each of a platoon’s three squads would then rotate through a schedule of conducting patrols, manning ad hoc checkpoints, protecting the patrol base, and sleeping on cement floors, a respite that seldom exceeded four or five hours at a time. Census ops became the cornerstone of Whisnant’s information-gathering campaign during the longer outings. Marines would project into a village and introduce themselves, asking civilians a half dozen mostly fruitless questions about who and where the bad guys were.15
Sgt. Christopher Dockter quickly grew frustrated by the question-and-answer sessions with local villagers although by most accounts he was a patient man. The leader of 3rd Platoon’s 2nd Squad, Dockter had been dubbed “Manbearpig,” after the chimerical beast from the show South Park. The unflattering nickname, along with a second one, “Lunchbox,” were his men’s tribute to the dark-eyed squad leader’s hairy girth. The laconic Tennessean took it in stride. Dockter was a volunteer who had requested deployment to watch over younger augments from his home unit of Reservists with 3/24, and he knew that few Marines could expect to escape deployment without a rude nickname or two.
The newly married twenty-six-year-old’s easygoing nature permeated his management style. Only rarely did Dockter yell, barking at his guys when he had no time to baby the naturally unruly nineteen- and twenty-year-old PFCs and lance corporals. Usually he would ignore his men’s endless complaints about whatever facet of the “colossal suck” of being in Iraq had drawn their ire. After all, according to him, “Marines ain’t happy unless they’re bitching.”
Sometimes, however, Dockter took the time to outline the rationale behind orders when the youngsters bucked, because enlisteds often gripe due to being kept in the dark. The most common response offered by a lance corporal when asked why he was doing something was a blank stare followed by, “Because Gunny told me.” Dockter found that by occasionally explaining important things to them, he could get the men to quiet down and perform even the most difficult or boring tasks with workmanlike efficiency.16
Indeed, the sergeant’s unusual patience, along with requisite tactical proficiency, made him a well-liked squad leader in the company. But even this southerner’s laid-back temperament was sorely tested by a legion of Fallujan farmers in the early months of the company’s deployment. His interviews with them often resembled an exotically exasperating