Duck!

The front page of the New York Times recently reported that U.S. commandos killed civilians during a raid into Syria. The thrust of the story was not the civilian dead (lamentably, civilian casualties stopped being news in 2001 when airstrikes commenced in Afghanistan). Rather, the story focused on the cross-border nature of the raid, likening it to increased “commando” operations in Pakistan. Not to demean the venerable NY Times, but cross-border commando ops in Syria aren’t news either. The military has been doing cross-border raids since we’ve been in Iraq. In fact, we’ve been doing it in the exact same spot as the most recent incident, namely where the Euphrates crosses from Syria in to Iraq.

Cross-border ops are no secret. Newsweek reported such operations in 2003, when elements from my unit chased suspected insurgents into Syria. Since it’s on the front page of the Times, it’s also no secret that U.S. commandos are venturing into Syria, and that their mission is to fight the influx of insurgents from Iraq into Syria.

Thus, because major publications have already blown the lid off any secrecy these missions may have had, I have no problem telling you about the foibles and follies of US commandos in Iraq:



On the base I lived on in far, far western Iraq, there was a road. This road was not quite a mile long, but it was straight, flat and well paved. It connected the two halves of the base, which themselves were essentially two clusters of concrete buildings separated by empty desert. There were 3 entrances to this road – one entrance at each end, and one near the middle.

On our base lived secret soldiers – the kind that have beards, wear baseball hats instead of helmets, and call themselves “Bear” and “Jackal” and “Dave.” Sometimes Bear and Dave and their compatriots would get nighttime deliveries, brought in by small planes. Think Cessnas – prop-driven, two-person, civilian-type aircraft. I can’t say for sure what was on those flights, but since I have a picture of one of my soldiers holding a Burger King Whopper – and there were no Burger Kings in Anbar province – you can guess what was usually on the plane. [FN 1]

Usually, when one of these burger-bearing birds was inbound, a call would go out on the radio telling all units to stay off the previously-mentioned road, because that is where the plane was going to land. Additionally, some secret soldiers would park their humvees at the road entrances, just to make sure no one went on the road. It was a good system all around.

However, secret soldiers, being secretive, stopped informing us lowly, non-special forces when their Whopper Express was inbound. Instead, they’d just send humvees out to block the road. Blocking the road was all fine and good, provided that all the entrances are blocked. You remember that there were 3 entrances to the road, right?

One night, in anticipation of some delicious cheesy burgers, America’s elitiest fighting force sent humvees out to close the road without telling anyone. They closed one end. They closed the other. They looked up in the sky and waited to Have It Their Way. No doubt they listened intently for the far-off drone of a propeller, because the plane would approach and land without lights - the friendly neighborhood islamofascists had taken to shooting at anything that flew, requiring lightless landings for aircraft. However, in their eagerness for fast-food goodies, the commandos forgot to close off the center entrance, which, as it happens, was where my soldiers accessed the road.

At about the same time as the incoming plane swooped in for its final approach, Sgt Hooper and Spc Kinsey [FN 2] hopped into a humvee, turned it on, put on the blackout drive lights [FN 3], and drove up to the road-cum-landing-strip. Spc Kinsey, the driver, looked left, then right, and saw nothing. Reasonably, he did not look up, likely having concluded that left and right were the only possibilities for approaching traffic. He stepped on the gas and pulled out onto the road.

Imagine Kinsey’s and Sgt Hooper’s surprise, then, when from the murky darkness in front them appeared two rubber tires, suspended in the air. They didn’t even have time to duck – the front landing gear bounced off the humvee hood, ripped through the center windshield, and tore off the canvas roof. Then, the plane landed safely! Even more unbelievable, Kinsey and Sgt Hooper’s heads were still attached. The landing gear had passed right in between them and converted the humvee to a drop-top, but had missed them completely. Other than scratches, bruises from the seatbelt, and the super-elevated heart-rate that one gets when the lizard part of one’s brain pumps out a quart of adrenaline, they were basically fine. It was basically a miracle that they were alive and that the plane had not flipped and crashed on impact.

Naturally, when a plane in flight collides with a humvee, it causes a commotion, as well as a number of investigations. The net result: no more night time flights bearing cheeseburgers for the super soldiers, and two soldiers had a pretty good story to call home with.

And that is how Spc. Kinsey and Sgt. Hooper became the only soldiers in Iraq to get run over by an airplane. The end.


FN 1: We don’t have universal health coverage, but gosh darn it, our special ops troops will have BK Broilers on demand.

FN 2: As you may have noticed, I do not use real names.

FN 3: Blackout drives are very low level lights on military vehicles that are barely visible to the naked eye, but shine like glorious Archangels if you wear night vision goggles.