Team Infidel
Forum Spin Doctor
Wall Street Journal
June 26, 2008
Pg. 1
In Taliban Country, Lance Cpl. Santiago Stands Guard Against Suicide Bombers
By Michael M. Phillips
GARMSIR, Afghanistan -- A few days ago, U.S. intelligence officers intercepted an ominous Taliban order: "Prepare the martyr."
It's Carlos Santiago's job to shoot the martyr before the martyr can martyr himself.
As one of his platoon's most junior Marines, it falls to the 20-year-old lance corporal to guard the outer security post at this front-line patrol base. There, he's supposed to spot suicide bombers among innocent shepherds, farmers and children, and kill them before they explode. Even if he fails, he and his sandbagged guard post will take the brunt of the blast so the rest of the Marines don't.
Such is the cold logic of military service. While no man is expendable, some men are more expendable than others.
"You send the pups out, and you leave the big dogs inside," Lance Cpl. Santiago said, watching Afghans walk past the base's concertina-wire perimeter, 25 yards in front of him. "You can't have a sergeant out here because he's a squad leader. If he gets offed, who's going to take over the squad?"
During a month of fierce combat, the 2,400-strong 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit drove the Taliban from Garmsir, a district along the Helmand River that insurgents had called their own for two years. (Please see related article.) Penetrating deepest into Taliban country were the 180 men of Alpha Company, First Battalion, Sixth Marines, who commandeered a series of mud-brick compounds, reinforced them with sandbags and razor wire, and now use them to launch foot patrols through poppy fields and villages.
The defeat has pushed the Taliban to give up on frontal attacks here for an Iraq-style campaign of roadside explosives and suicide bombs. This month, a bomber blew himself up next to a British foot patrol north of here, killing three soldiers. Taliban militants have also stepped up attacks this week over the border in Pakistan.
Villagers in Garmsir report the bazaars are abuzz with rumors of impending attacks in the district. According to U.S. intelligence reports, would-be bombers are planning to attack on motorcycles or dressed as women. But thus far there have been no suicide attacks on Marine positions here.
A few weeks ago, Lance Cpl. Santiago was kicking down doors and launching mortars. Now he pulls three-hour shifts in a sandy no-man's land. The base is 15 yards behind his guard post. The opening in the razor-wire perimeter lies just ahead.
Hundreds of locals have come to the main Alpha Company position since the fighting tapered off at the end of May. Outside the perimeter, a few sell blocks of ice and bottles of orange soda to the troops. Some ask for food and medicine. Most are seeking compensation for damage done to their homes. To get inside, each must first pass inspection at Lance Cpl. Santiago's post, where a makeshift blanket awning provides the merest hint of relief from the 130-degree midday heat.
"When the bullets are flying, you know where they're coming from," Lance Cpl. Santiago said, watching a small group of men watching him. "But a suicide bomber -- you don't know who the hell it is. It could be one of those guys."
First Line of Defense
Lance Cpl. Santiago doesn't tell his girlfriend that he's the first line of defense against suicide attacks. He doesn't tell his mother much of anything.
He completed a two-year associates degree in architecture in his native Carolina, Puerto Rico. But he admits he was too fond of the night life there and too vulnerable to the drug culture that came with it. He has a long scar on his neck that he hints was the result of a fight. One day early last year, he found himself signing papers at the Marine recruiter's office. "The first reason is because people didn't think I could make it," he said.
On the sandbag wall of his post, Lance Cpl. Santiago and the other junior Marines who share his duty keep a sheet of yellow legal paper with a few English phrases translated into Pashto, the local language.
"Come."
"I don't have any."
"Go wait over there."
"Shut up."
"Run."
Just before he deployed to Afghanistan, he had a blue crucifix tattooed onto his left forearm. It was, he thought, something to "remind me of God" in time of crisis.
"Obviously his life is as important as anyone else's, but someone has to be out there," said Sgt. James Blake, 25, of Merrimack, N.H., the lance corporal's platoon sergeant.
Every so often the Marines move the concertina wire that surrounds the base, pulling its razor-sharp coils across the sand road that runs between the base and the Amir Agha Bazaar a hundred or so yards away. Sometimes the Marines allow car and truck traffic; sometimes they don't. The idea is to make it harder for aspiring car bombers to plan. It also confuses the local donkeys, which frequently get trapped.
Each Afghan visitor must go through a two-step search. At the outside wire, with Lance Cpl. Santiago watching, the men must pull their loose ankle-length robes and pants tight around their chest, back and limbs to reveal the outlines of any mines, pipe bombs or other explosives hidden beneath.
Hokey-Pokey Inspection
Only after the visitor clears the hokey-pokey inspection, as the Marines call it, can he approach the outer guard post. Lance Cpl. Santiago leans the man up against the sandbags and frisks him, all the while keeping a hand on the man's collar for control. The guard is always supposed to remain behind the visitor on the theory that suicide bombers usually blow up forwards.
Lance Cpl. Santiago has his doubts. Asked what would happen if a bomber detonated during the pat-down, he showed no hesitation. "I'm dead," he said, fingering his sparse moustache.
While he frisks each visitor, his cover man, Cpl. Bruce Brorsen, 21, from New Bern, N.C., stands to the side, pistol in his hand. "If he moves quick or anything, I shoot him," the corporal said. The cover man is supposed to aim for the head, because it's the surest way to kill a bomber before he can trigger a device.
After years of war, most every civilian in Iraq or Kabul knows how to behave around heavily armed troops. Garmsir, however, was ignored or in Taliban hands for years, and the Marines know there's a risk of misunderstandings.
Marine commanders invited village elders to a meeting this month where they explained the hierarchy of force that grunts use if approached by a speeding vehicle. First they shout to stop. Then they fire a flare, followed by a warning shot into the ground. If the vehicle still doesn't stop, they shoot to kill.
The public meeting was a radical departure for the Marines. Normally such details are closely guarded, for fear of letting the Taliban know exactly how far they can penetrate Marine defenses before they risk getting shot.
Marines still find themselves firing flares at people who stray close to their lines, either innocently or as a way to probe the base defenses. A sentry at another Marine outpost this month shot and killed a young man on a bicycle who ignored warnings; he was unarmed, but apparently mentally impaired.
Recently, Marine commanders were more worried that heat and boredom were making their troops sloppy.
"Santiago -- watch the friggin' people you're searching," First Lt. Steven Bechtel, 24, from Naples, Fla., yelled on a recent day as he watched the lance corporal's attention wander. The lieutenant ordered Sgt. Blake to organize a refresher course in frisking.
"He's the furthest one out there," Lt. Bechtel said with a sigh. "You'd think he'd be more careful."
June 26, 2008
Pg. 1
In Taliban Country, Lance Cpl. Santiago Stands Guard Against Suicide Bombers
By Michael M. Phillips
GARMSIR, Afghanistan -- A few days ago, U.S. intelligence officers intercepted an ominous Taliban order: "Prepare the martyr."
It's Carlos Santiago's job to shoot the martyr before the martyr can martyr himself.
As one of his platoon's most junior Marines, it falls to the 20-year-old lance corporal to guard the outer security post at this front-line patrol base. There, he's supposed to spot suicide bombers among innocent shepherds, farmers and children, and kill them before they explode. Even if he fails, he and his sandbagged guard post will take the brunt of the blast so the rest of the Marines don't.
Such is the cold logic of military service. While no man is expendable, some men are more expendable than others.
"You send the pups out, and you leave the big dogs inside," Lance Cpl. Santiago said, watching Afghans walk past the base's concertina-wire perimeter, 25 yards in front of him. "You can't have a sergeant out here because he's a squad leader. If he gets offed, who's going to take over the squad?"
During a month of fierce combat, the 2,400-strong 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit drove the Taliban from Garmsir, a district along the Helmand River that insurgents had called their own for two years. (Please see related article.) Penetrating deepest into Taliban country were the 180 men of Alpha Company, First Battalion, Sixth Marines, who commandeered a series of mud-brick compounds, reinforced them with sandbags and razor wire, and now use them to launch foot patrols through poppy fields and villages.
The defeat has pushed the Taliban to give up on frontal attacks here for an Iraq-style campaign of roadside explosives and suicide bombs. This month, a bomber blew himself up next to a British foot patrol north of here, killing three soldiers. Taliban militants have also stepped up attacks this week over the border in Pakistan.
Villagers in Garmsir report the bazaars are abuzz with rumors of impending attacks in the district. According to U.S. intelligence reports, would-be bombers are planning to attack on motorcycles or dressed as women. But thus far there have been no suicide attacks on Marine positions here.
A few weeks ago, Lance Cpl. Santiago was kicking down doors and launching mortars. Now he pulls three-hour shifts in a sandy no-man's land. The base is 15 yards behind his guard post. The opening in the razor-wire perimeter lies just ahead.
Hundreds of locals have come to the main Alpha Company position since the fighting tapered off at the end of May. Outside the perimeter, a few sell blocks of ice and bottles of orange soda to the troops. Some ask for food and medicine. Most are seeking compensation for damage done to their homes. To get inside, each must first pass inspection at Lance Cpl. Santiago's post, where a makeshift blanket awning provides the merest hint of relief from the 130-degree midday heat.
"When the bullets are flying, you know where they're coming from," Lance Cpl. Santiago said, watching a small group of men watching him. "But a suicide bomber -- you don't know who the hell it is. It could be one of those guys."
First Line of Defense
Lance Cpl. Santiago doesn't tell his girlfriend that he's the first line of defense against suicide attacks. He doesn't tell his mother much of anything.
He completed a two-year associates degree in architecture in his native Carolina, Puerto Rico. But he admits he was too fond of the night life there and too vulnerable to the drug culture that came with it. He has a long scar on his neck that he hints was the result of a fight. One day early last year, he found himself signing papers at the Marine recruiter's office. "The first reason is because people didn't think I could make it," he said.
On the sandbag wall of his post, Lance Cpl. Santiago and the other junior Marines who share his duty keep a sheet of yellow legal paper with a few English phrases translated into Pashto, the local language.
"Come."
"I don't have any."
"Go wait over there."
"Shut up."
"Run."
Just before he deployed to Afghanistan, he had a blue crucifix tattooed onto his left forearm. It was, he thought, something to "remind me of God" in time of crisis.
"Obviously his life is as important as anyone else's, but someone has to be out there," said Sgt. James Blake, 25, of Merrimack, N.H., the lance corporal's platoon sergeant.
Every so often the Marines move the concertina wire that surrounds the base, pulling its razor-sharp coils across the sand road that runs between the base and the Amir Agha Bazaar a hundred or so yards away. Sometimes the Marines allow car and truck traffic; sometimes they don't. The idea is to make it harder for aspiring car bombers to plan. It also confuses the local donkeys, which frequently get trapped.
Each Afghan visitor must go through a two-step search. At the outside wire, with Lance Cpl. Santiago watching, the men must pull their loose ankle-length robes and pants tight around their chest, back and limbs to reveal the outlines of any mines, pipe bombs or other explosives hidden beneath.
Hokey-Pokey Inspection
Only after the visitor clears the hokey-pokey inspection, as the Marines call it, can he approach the outer guard post. Lance Cpl. Santiago leans the man up against the sandbags and frisks him, all the while keeping a hand on the man's collar for control. The guard is always supposed to remain behind the visitor on the theory that suicide bombers usually blow up forwards.
Lance Cpl. Santiago has his doubts. Asked what would happen if a bomber detonated during the pat-down, he showed no hesitation. "I'm dead," he said, fingering his sparse moustache.
While he frisks each visitor, his cover man, Cpl. Bruce Brorsen, 21, from New Bern, N.C., stands to the side, pistol in his hand. "If he moves quick or anything, I shoot him," the corporal said. The cover man is supposed to aim for the head, because it's the surest way to kill a bomber before he can trigger a device.
After years of war, most every civilian in Iraq or Kabul knows how to behave around heavily armed troops. Garmsir, however, was ignored or in Taliban hands for years, and the Marines know there's a risk of misunderstandings.
Marine commanders invited village elders to a meeting this month where they explained the hierarchy of force that grunts use if approached by a speeding vehicle. First they shout to stop. Then they fire a flare, followed by a warning shot into the ground. If the vehicle still doesn't stop, they shoot to kill.
The public meeting was a radical departure for the Marines. Normally such details are closely guarded, for fear of letting the Taliban know exactly how far they can penetrate Marine defenses before they risk getting shot.
Marines still find themselves firing flares at people who stray close to their lines, either innocently or as a way to probe the base defenses. A sentry at another Marine outpost this month shot and killed a young man on a bicycle who ignored warnings; he was unarmed, but apparently mentally impaired.
Recently, Marine commanders were more worried that heat and boredom were making their troops sloppy.
"Santiago -- watch the friggin' people you're searching," First Lt. Steven Bechtel, 24, from Naples, Fla., yelled on a recent day as he watched the lance corporal's attention wander. The lieutenant ordered Sgt. Blake to organize a refresher course in frisking.
"He's the furthest one out there," Lt. Bechtel said with a sigh. "You'd think he'd be more careful."