While embedded with the 172nd Stryker Brigade, reporter Margaret Friedenauer kept a Web log of her observations. This item was filed October 7, 2006.
Rolling down Haifa Street in Baghdad on Thursday, gunfire rang out several times. Sometimes it was a single shot several blocks away, other times a series of shots and return fire from what sounded like a couple hundred yards away. To the scouts of the 4-14 Cavalry I was with on this day, it perks their ears up and they try to determine the direction and likely location it’s coming from. I felt foolish, trying nonchalantly to ask the soldiers I was with what they thought was up. Usually it’s Iraq army or police firing shots in the air to disperse traffic, or a single sniper taking aim at Iraq forces, they said.
Capt. Matthew Eberhart said just the presence of Stryker vehicles in a neighborhood can put attacks in check … for a time. Hopefully, he said, it’s enough time for local Iraqi forces to gain a foothold and be able to maintain safety. Trying to attribute an attack to any specific group also becomes difficult. Barnhart said there are two main culprits usually, Shiite militia or, more recently, Sunni terrorist groups trying to mimic Shiite so the militia gets the blame.
The closest shots Thursday came as the third platoon of the 4-14’s Assassin Troop was talking with shop owners at a small strip mall. We heard one or two shots, then others in measured succession. Lt. Mateo Gross and sergeants excused themselves from a realtor’s office to step outside as the other soldiers around the outside of the shop became alert. Shortly, an Iraqi army truck zoomed by on the street, a soldier standing from a top hatch, firing shots into the air.
Gross said the increased dangers in the Baghdad streets can’t keep the cavalry scouts from leaving their vehicles to talk with Iraqis and try to form relationships that can help root out some of the insurgents. Most Iraqi shopkeepers and shoppers Gross and his platoon chatted with Thursday were receptive.
In an Iraqi dress shop, the owners were chatty and smiling, and a nearby goldsmith was forthcoming about how the neighborhood has deteriorated, how thieves have become the norm and how he’s not confident in the Iraqi police to help with the issue. At a neighborhood fruit and vegetable stand, Gross asked shopkeepers if the soldiers’ presence was deterring customers. The shop keeper said, “no,” Gross was welcome to stay and chat. He proceeded to tell Gross about his head injury from Desert Storm in 1990.
Several of the locals freely speak with the soldiers, a few in passable English. One man questioned me about my camera, a digital Cannon Rebel wearing its wide-angle lens at the time. He said he has the same camera and told me things about it’s functions I didn’t know.
Women shopping for fruits and vegetables and waiting to meet their children from a nearby school as students were dismissed were unimpressed by the Strykers and Calvary scouts. They continued sifting through the choice tomatoes, cucumbers, apples and dates while picking their way around the children that had massed, drawn to the soldiers. It seemed like a typical day in a typical neighborhood in any country in the world.
More shots rang out, perhaps a dozen blocks away. The soldiers took notice and scanned the area but continued with their conversations. The Iraqis aren’t fazed.
I was still on edge, scrutinizing each person on each balcony in the apartment complex next door, while I should have been paying more attention to Gross’s conversation with the shopkeeper. I’m a reporter, not a scout. But I kept thinking to myself that I can’t imagine a Fairbanksan getting used to nearby gunfire that is clearly not the sound of a duck or moose hunter, while perusing the cabbages and potatoes at the Tanana Valley Farmer’s Market on a Saturday morning.