[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 149 (2003), Part 8]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 10588-10589]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




     TIME MAGAZINE REPORTER JIM LACEY EMBEDDED WITH 101ST AIRBORNE

                                 ______
                                 

                            HON. GENE TAYLOR

                             of mississippi

                    in the house of representatives

                          Tuesday, May 6, 2003

  Mr. TAYLOR of Mississippi. Mr. Speaker, I submit the attached report 
of Time Magazine correspondent Jim Lacey for the Congressional Record.

     Time Magazine Reporter Jim Lacey Embedded With 101st Airborne

       Since returning from Iraq a short time ago I have been 
     answering a lot of questions about the war from friends, 
     family, and strangers. When they ask me how it was over there 
     I find myself glossing over the fighting, the heat, the 
     sandstorms, and the flies (these last could have taught the 
     Iraqi army a thing or two about staying power). Instead, I 
     talk about the soldiers I met, and how they reflected the 
     best of America. A lot of people are going to tell the story 
     of how this war was fought; I would rather say something 
     about the men who won the war.
       War came early for the 1st Brigade of the 101st Airborne 
     when an otherwise quiet night in the Kuwaiti desert was 
     shattered by thunderous close-quarters grenade blasts. Sgt. 
     Hasan Akbar, a U.S. soldier, had thrown grenades into an 
     officers' tent, killing two and wounding a dozen others. 
     Adding to the immediate confusion was the piercing scream of 
     SCUD alarms, which kicked in the second Akbar's grenade 
     exploded. For a moment, it was a scene of near panic and 
     total chaos.
       Just minutes after the explosions, a perimeter was 
     established around the area of the attack, medics were 
     treating the wounded, and calls for evacuation vehicles and 
     helicopters were already being sent out. Remarkably, the very 
     people who should have

[[Page 10589]]

     been organizing all of this were the ones lying on the 
     stretchers, seriously wounded. It fell to junior officers and 
     untested sergeants to take charge and lead. Without 
     hesitation everyone stepped up and unfalteringly did just 
     that. I stood in amazement as two captains (Townlee Hendrick 
     and Tony Jones) directed the evacuation of the wounded, 
     established a hasty defense, and helped to organize a search 
     for the culprit. They did all this despite bleeding heavily 
     from their wounds. For over six hours, these two men ran 
     things while refusing to be evacuated until they were sure 
     all of the men in their command were safe.
       Two days later Capt. Jones left the hospital and hitchhiked 
     back to the unit: He had heard a rumor that it was about to 
     move into Iraq and he wanted to be there. As Jones--dressed 
     only in boots, a hospital gown, and a flak vest--limped 
     toward headquarters, Col. Hodges, the 1st Brigade's 
     commander, announced, ``I see that Captain Jones has returned 
     to us in full martial splendor.'' The colonel later said that 
     he was tempted to send Jones to the unit surgeon for further 
     evaluation, but that he didn't feel he had the right to tell 
     another man not to fight: Hodges himself had elected to leave 
     two grenade fragments in his arm so that he could return to 
     his command as quickly as possible.
       The war had not even begun and already I was aware that I 
     had fallen in with a special breed of men. Over the next four 
     weeks, nothing I saw would alter this impression. A military 
     historian once told me that soldiers could forgive their 
     officers any fault save cowardice. After the grenade attack I 
     knew these men were not cowards, but I had yet to learn that 
     the brigade's leaders had made a cult of bravery. A few 
     examples will suffice.
       While out on what he called ``battlefield circulation,'' 
     Col. Hodges was surveying suspected enemy positions with one 
     of his battalion commanders (Lt. Col. Chris Hughes) when a 
     soldier yelled ``Incoming'' to alert everyone that mortar 
     shells were headed our way. A few soldiers moved closer to a 
     wall, but Hodges and Hughes never budged and only briefly 
     glanced up when the rounds hit a few hundred yards away. As 
     Hodges completed his review and prepared to leave, another 
     young soldier asked him when they would get to kill whoever 
     was firing the mortar. Hodges smiled and said, ``Don't be in 
     a hurry to kill him. They might replace that guy with someone 
     who can shoot.''
       The next day, a convoy Col. Hodges was traveling in was 
     ambushed by several Iraqi paramilitary soldiers. A ferocious 
     firelight ensued, but Hodges never left the side of his 
     vehicle. Puffing on a cigar as he directed the action, Hodges 
     remained constantly exposed to fire. When two Kiowa 
     helicopters swooped in to pulverize the enemy strongpoint 
     with rocket fire, he turned to some journalists watching the 
     action and quipped, ``That's your tax dollars at work.''
       Bravery inspires men, but brains and quick thinking win 
     wars. In one particularly tense moment a company of U.S. 
     soldiers was preparing to guard the Mosque of Ali--one of the 
     most sacred Muslim sites--when agitators in what had been a 
     friendly crowd started shouting that they were going to storm 
     the mosque. In an instant, the Iraqis began to chant and a 
     riot seemed imminent. A couple of nervous soldiers slid their 
     weapons into fire mode, and I thought we were only moments 
     away from a slaughter. These soldiers had just fought an all-
     night battle. They were exhausted, tense, and prepared to 
     crush any riot with violence of their own. But they were also 
     professionals, and so, when their battalion commander, Chris 
     Hughes, ordered them to take a knee, point their weapons to 
     the ground, and start smiling, that is exactly what they did. 
     Calm returned. By placing his men in the most non-threatening 
     posture possible, Hughes had sapped the crowd of its 
     aggression. Quick thinking and iron discipline had reversed 
     an ugly situation and averted disaster.
       Since then, I have often wondered how we created an army of 
     men who could fight with ruthless savagery all night and then 
     respond so easily to an order to ``smile'' while under 
     impending threat. Historian Stephen Ambrose said of the 
     American soldier: ``When soldiers from any other army, even 
     our allies, entered a town, the people hid in the cellars. 
     When Americans came in, even into German towns, it meant 
     smiles, chocolate bars and C-rations.'' Ours has always been 
     an army like no other, because our soldiers reflect a society 
     unlike any other. They are pitiless when confronted by armed 
     enemy fighters and yet full of compassion for civilians and 
     even defeated enemies.
       American soldiers immediately began saving Iraqi lives at 
     the conclusion of any fight. Medics later said that the Iraqi 
     wounded they treated were astounded by our compassion. They 
     expected they would be left to suffer or die. I witnessed 
     Iraqi paramilitary troops using women and children as human 
     shields, turning grade schools into fortresses, and defiling 
     their own holy sites. Time and again, I saw Americans taking 
     unnecessary risks to clear buildings without firing or using 
     grenades, because it might injure civilians. I stood in awe 
     as 19-year-olds refused to return enemy fire because it was 
     coming from a mosque.
       It was American soldiers who handed over food to hungry 
     Iraqis, who gave their own medical supplies to Iraqi doctors, 
     and who brought water to the thirsty. It was American 
     soldiers who went door-to-door in a slum because a girl was 
     rumored to have been injured in the fighting; when they found 
     her, they called in a helicopter to take her to an Army 
     hospital. It was American soldiers who wept when a three-
     year-old was carried out of the rubble where she had been 
     killed by Iraqi mortar fire. It was American soldiers who 
     cleaned up houses they had been fighting over and later 
     occupied--they wanted the places to look at least somewhat 
     tidy when the residents returned.
       It was these same soldiers who stormed to Baghdad in only a 
     couple of weeks, accepted the surrender of three Iraqi Army 
     divisions, massacred any Republican Guard unit that stood and 
     fought, and disposed of a dictator and a regime with ruthless 
     efficiency. There is no other army--and there are no other 
     soldiers--in the world capable of such merciless fighting and 
     possessed of such compassion for their fellow man. No society 
     except America could have produced them.
       Before I end this I want to point out one other quality of 
     the American soldier: His sense of justice. After a grueling 
     fight, a company of infantrymen was resting and opening their 
     first mail delivery of the war. One of the young soldiers had 
     received a care package and was sharing the home-baked 
     cookies with his friends. A photographer with a heavy French 
     accent asked if he could have one. The soldier looked him 
     over and said there would be no cookies for Frenchmen. The 
     photographer then protested that he was half Italian. Without 
     missing a beat, the soldier broke a cookie in half and gave 
     it to him. It was a perfect moment and a perfect reflection 
     of the American soldier.

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