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Combat Heroines
Pvt. Teresa Broadwell is in the middle of the maelstrom, standing on tiptoe in the turret of a Humvee in a vain attempt, at 5 feet 4 inches tall, to see through the sight of her M-249 machine gun. American soldiers are down in the street. Iraqis are firing at her truck from the rooflines and alleyways along Highway 9 near the center of this dusty city an hour south of Baghdad.Lt. Col. Kim Orlando, commander of the 716th Military Police Battalion, parent unit of the 194th Military Police Company, had come to Karbala that day to review intelligence indicating that tensions in the city were surging, following a shootout between religious factions four days earlier. Orlando, 43, of Nashville, was riding along on a routine patrol through Karbala when he and soldiers in three Humvees saw dozens of heavily armed guards for Sheik Mahmoud Hassani standing near the sheikâs compound on either side of Highway 9. Hassani, a Shiite religious leader who had recently moved to Karbala from Najaf and set up a headquarters there, was not enamored of the U.S. presence in Iraq. The Americans had already had run-ins with his men and told them they could not carry arms on the street. But here they were again, in open defiance of the weapons ban. The Americans, led by Orlando, stopped their vehicles, got out and started walking toward the Iraqis. One of them motioned for the Americans to lay down their weapons before coming any closer. As the Iraqi motioned, he started to swing his AK-47 into firing position, according to 1st Sgt. Troy Wallen, and either that Iraqi or another one fired a shot. Orlando was hit almost immediately and fell to the ground. "Then all hell broke loose," says Wallen, who was standing next to Orlando. In retrospect, it seems like a well-planned ambush, given the large number of Iraqis on both sides of the highway firing from rooftops, storefronts and alleys. "That one individual decided he wanted to fight that night," Wallen said. "We outgunned them â thatâs the only way we got out of there." If Broadwell and her comrades "hadnât fired that night, none of us would have made it out." Orlando didnât. He died on his way to the hospital, the highest-ranking officer killed by hostile fire in Iraq. When the fighting erupted, Broadwell was part of a three-truck patrol a short distance away. Their radios crackled with a call for help, and her patrol arrived on the scene within three minutes and drove smack into the middle of the killing zone. Lt. Guerrero jumped out of his Humvee, almost into the arms of Iraqis firing AK-47s and rocket-propelled grenades at his convoy. Before they could shoot him, Guerrero heard short, controlled bursts from Broadwellâs machine gun. The Iraqis ducked for cover. Since Broadwell wasnât quite tall enough to see through the weaponâs sight, she was gauging the accuracy of her fire with tracer rounds â every fifth bullet in an M-249âs ammunition belt ignites a phosphoric compound that leaves a luminescent trail to help gunners see where they are firing. She remembers feeling terrified, but somehow fighting through it and "walking tracer rounds," she says, into her targets. Somehow, no rounds or shrapnel hit Guerrero, down on the street, or Broadwell, up in the Humveeâs turret, although she badly bruised her back after being thrown back in the turret after explosions hit the front of her vehicle. Guerrero credits Broadwell with saving his life. "She was up there doing what we trained her to do as a gunner," he said. "She kept their heads down." "She was on top of it," adds Pfc. Jonathan Rape, who was driving their vehicle that night. "If she were two inches taller, it would have helped, but you couldnât expect anything more. All I could hear was that SAW [squad automatic weapon] going off. She seemed so calm. It was three- to five-shot bursts, like she was taught. That told us she wasnât freaking out and holding the trigger down and spraying. She covered the whole right side of our truck." Tracie Sanchez, the mother of four who was a gunner on the patrol Orlando was riding with, never got off a shot. As soon as the firing started, a round cracked her Kevlar helmet; then a grenade went off a few feet away from her truck, knocking her out of the turret. She collapsed inside the vehicle and credits her driver, Spec. Woodrow Lyell, with treating her wounds and, more important, calming her down. Out on the street, a combat medic, 25-year-old Sgt. Misty Frazier of Hayden Lake, Idaho, found herself dodging bullets and running from wounded soldier to wounded soldier in a way she can hardly believe in retrospect. "Thatâs the first time I had ever heard gunfire and rocket-propelled grenades go off that close, knowing they were shooting at us," she said. "I was very lucky." The final woman in action that night, Spec. Corrie Jones, 27, of Shreveport, La., pulled up as part of a three-vehicle patrol to back up Broadwellâs patrol, which she could see up ahead in the middle of the "kill zone." She began firing at the Iraqi attackers. The battle soon ended. But in a moment, she had resolved the question that haunts soldiers who have yet to experience combat: How will they react under fire? "I donât think itâs something anybody knows," she says. Now, she adds, "I know how strong I am." For two days afterward, Broadwell couldnât sleep. She couldnât eat. "All I could do," she says, "was sit back and cry." She still has dreams about the firefight, not because she froze in battle, but because she didnât freeze. She knows she shot and killed at least one Iraqi, possibly more. Her commanders believe she and her fellow MPs killed more than 20 Iraqis during the battle. "That was something I never thought I would have to do," Broadwell says. "I never thought I would have to take somebodyâs life, but I had to. It was kind of a shock. I wish there was something we could have done differently, but there was nothing we could have done." For her role in the Oct. 16 firefight, Broadwell was awarded the Bronze Star with V for Valor. Maj. Gen. David Petraeus, commander of the 101st Airborne, pinned it on her uniform, along with the Purple Heart, in a recent memorial ceremony honoring Lt. Col. Orlando and two others killed during the firefight, Staff Sgt. Joseph P. Bellavia, 28, of Wakefield, Mass., and Cpl. Sean R. Grilley, 24, of San Bernardino, Calif. Broadwell was close friends with both men. Posted by: Chuck Simmins 2004-01-05 |
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