The East Greenwich-based 173rd Long Range Surveillance Detachment spends its days and nights alternately building trust with Iraqis and keeping a sharp lookout for insurgents.

11:07 AM EDT on Monday, May 9, 2005

BY JOEL RAWSON
Journal Executive Editor

Joel Rawson, executive editor of The Providence Journal, lower right, and John Freidah, staff photographer, are on assignment in Iraq to cover the 173 Long Range Surveillance Detachment of the Rhode Island National Guard. Photo slideshow: Unit works on building trust while keeping a sharp lookout More...

SAMARRA, Iraq -- The four armored Humvees trailed dust yesterday as they drove down a narrow dirt farm road near Samarra. The commander, Capt. Michael Manning, is returning to a shepherd's home, where two weeks ago his vehicles became stuck in the mud and tore up the shepherd's road and field.

Journal photo / John Freidah

Sgt. Josh Heywood, a Johnston police officer, accepts a glass of sweet tea from an Iraqi near Samarra after his 173rd Long Range Surveillance Detachment team stopped on a goodwill mission yesterday.

Manning means to make restitution.

The Humvees are manned by soldiers of the 173rd Long Range Surveillance Detachment of the Rhode Island National Guard. In the second Humvee are Sgt. Josh Heywood, of Johnston, the vehicle's commander; Specialist Dave Santos, of Kearny, N.J., driver; and Specialist Juan Ventura, of Waterbury, Conn., gunner. Each of the three other Humvees are similarly manned.

The soldiers park the vehicles along the road. Manning, Sgt. 1st Class Robert Saquet, of Brockton, Mass., Sgt. Wayne Lynch, of Tewksbury, Mass., Heywood and an interpreter walk across open fields past the ruts in the mud about two feet deep.

As the soldiers approach a low house made of mud brick, three men -- an older man, his son and a cousin -- dressed in ankle-length robes, come out to greet them.

Manning and Saquet explain that they were in the area and thought they'd drop by to see how things were going. Saquet is carrying cash.

The older man -- a shepherd -- leads the group around his house, past where his sheep are penned, and invites the visitors inside. There are mats on the floor arranged in a U, and the shepherd and his son and the soldiers all sit.

Saquet lays his weapon on the mat and takes off his helmet and body armor. He sits next to the interpreter, Sammy Uleiman of Tampa, Fla., a civilian contractor.

The shepherd looks to be in his mid-50s. He asks the cousin to get tea, which is served in small glasses on saucers. Manning declines but Saquet and the interpreter each take a glass. It is hot and sweet.

Have they had problems with the road, the shepherd and his son are asked.

No problems.

Could you find someone to fix the road?

They say it would be hard to find somebody.

The shepherd shows them a small black box labeled Nomec Super and says he needs medicine for his sheep. The box costs about 17,000 Iraqi dinars or about $10. The medicine is for parasites, and one box will treat about 50 sheep. The shepherd says he needs to inject the sheep about every 21 days.

Saquet says, "Tell them we'll let the colonel know about the problems with the sheep." The interpreter translates.

Manning says to the shepherd, "We're trying to identify what the problems are for the Iraqi people and help them."

The shepherd speaks, and the interpreter says, "I don't know what the problems are in Iraq." Then the shepherd says the problem is foreigners from places like Jordan and Syria. He saw them on TV.

Would you see them if they were in the area?

Don't know, he says. He sees cars on the canal road.

He is asked who lives on the northern side of the canal road. What family?

He says he doesn't know them.

The shepherd is asked about Samarra, now that the Iraqi police are in charge. There is an issue with long delays at checkpoints.

Saquet says, "We have talked to the colonel and he will work on it. The United States Army values your opinions."

The shepherd says bandits forced his truck over and stole it. He says the Iraqi army found it and the truck is now at the "silo," the Forward Operating Base where the 173rd is stationed. It was once a large grain storage facility.

Saquet asks him if he can describe the truck.

The shepherd says it is white.

Manning asks whether there are any other problems. Any problems with security?

Saquet writes a note in English for the shepherd to present at the gate to the base. It says this man claims his truck was stolen. The recipient of the note should contact Saquet or Manning.

Then they do business and settle on a payment of $260 for the damage to the road. Saquet pulls a roll of U.S. bills out of his pocket and hands the money to the shepherd.

The small room has a concrete floor and is relatively cool. The ceiling is made of poles, with the bark peeled off, covered with palm fronds. A new white electric fan hangs from the ceiling with new wires that lead to a fluorescent light fixture and new switch boxes.

Outside, an electric line leads to a plug that is not connected to anything. The shepherd had said it would cost $1,100 to have the electric line run from the road to his house.

Heywood and Lynch have been outside, watching things. A teenage Iraqi girl has been in the doorway of the main house, watching them.

EARLIER, Manning had explained the role of the 173rd "lers" -- which rhymes with "hers" and is short for Long Range Surveillance. The detachment has 56 men, all of whom are paratroopers, and nine of whom are Rangers. There is one Special Forces soldier in the unit. All of them are volunteers and they all had to apply to get in. It is competitive. Their headquarters is in East Greenwich.

Capt. Michael Manning, 30, is from North Kingstown, where he lives with his wife, Meg, and their three children. He served in the Army before joining the Rhode Island National Guard. He is a full-time Guard officer.

The 173rd's job is to gather information. They were trained to go 100 kilometers (62 miles) behind enemy lines and watch and report. Under the old rules, the mission would have been considered compromised if they made contact with the enemy and had to fight. But Iraq is an insurgency, Manning explained, with the enemy nearby, and he and his soldiers have had to adapt.

They can shoot if they can positively identify an enemy taking action against the Army, such as planting a roadside bomb. There are 20 trained snipers in the unit.

Thirty-six men are at the core of the 173rd: six 6-man teams, each led by a sergeant. At any time, two teams are in the field doing surveillance, two are getting ready to go, and two are down, resting.

The teams in the field work on "sets." They pick a spot and watch for enemy activity. They can be out for days, moving at night and laying up during the day. They operate where there are no other U.S. units, providing what Manning says are the eyes and ears of the 42nd Infantry Division, based out of Tikrit. The 173rd is currently assigned to an armor battalion near Samarra.

The teams perform two types of reconnaissance. Offensive reconnaissance is when the teams go on sets. Passive reconnaissance is what Manning was doing yesterday: going out to look at the country and try to develop contacts and goodwill with the people.

The technique is relatively new and it takes time. Saquet, a Brockton police officer, said people "are not going to kiss you on the first date." And they laugh because "kiss" is not the word they normally use.

Of the enemy, Manning said: "They're smart. The stupid ones are already dead." He says the Americans are trying to win over the Iraqis' "hearts and minds."

ON THE WAY BACK to the base, the unit encounters an old man beside the road. On the way in, they had stopped by what they believed was his trailer, but he wasn't there. Now, they find him waiting for them.

Sgt. Bob Carrigg, of Merrimack, N.H., approaches the man. Carrigg has pinned his silver jump wings to his shoulder so the old man will think he's a colonel. Nobody wants to talk to a sergeant, Carrigg says.

They talk. The man is 82. He needs something for his wife's arthritis. Carrigg had given him Motrin during a previous encounter. Sgt. Chet Crowell, of Cranston, the gunner on a Humvee, fishes around in a pack and comes up with a plastic bag of 800-millgram Motrin tablets.

The old man keeps negotiating. He owns 1,000 acres, we are told, and has traveled the world. He wants cigarettes. Saquet makes a show out of sneaking him a pack of Camels.

ON THEIR WAY to the shepherd's house, the unit had spotted three boys digging a hole alongside the road. The soldiers stopped and approached the boys, who were hacking with a pick axe at the gravel between a railroad track and the blacktop road. The boys looked to be between 10 and 13 and their faces were tense when confronted by the men in uniform.

Asked what they were doing, they pointed to an old length of thick copper cable they were digging up. They said somebody asked them to get it for him. Who? They don't know.

Manning approached them with his palms up. "Guys," he said, "when Americans drive by and see you digging a hole, they get nervous. We need you to know that."

The interpreter spoke and Manning watched the boy's reactions. They were afraid.

"No problem guys," Manning said in an even, friendly voice. "I just want you to know why we stopped."

As they drove off, the boys went back to digging.