Soldiers of the 173rd Long Range Surveillance Detachment of the Rhode Island National Guard roll out for an orientation patrol of their new area.

09:12 AM EDT on Thursday, May 26, 2005

BY JOEL RAWSON
Executive Editor

BAIJI, Iraq -- Capt. Michael Manning, of North Kingstown, and Capt. Tommy Guthrie, of Smithfield, Pa., and the leaders of Teams One and Six stand in the middle of a dry wheat field and look at a highway 200 yards away that is frequently bombed.

Journal photo / John Freidah

Rhode Island National Guard members approach an Iraqi oil refinery,where a huge fire sends a plume of black smoke into the sky near Baiji earlier this week.The soldiers say they think the Iraqis were intentionally burning spilled oil.

"It's pretty open," says Staff Sgt. John Shimkus of Boxborough, Mass. "I'm surprised there are so many IEDs." The IEDs are improvised explosive devices -- roadside bombs.

"I know," Manning says. "Where are they coming from?"

He is talking about the bombers who plant the devices, typically old Iraqi artillery shells, beside the road and detonate them by remote control.

The country is open and flat, some of it desert, some of it planted in wheat, the stalks sparse in the hard gray soil. The country provides little cover for the bombers or for the soldiers who hunt them.

Guthrie is taking Manning and some of the soldiers of the 173rd Long Range Surveillance Detachment of the Rhode Island National Guard on an orientation patrol of their new area.

It is Tuesday, May 24, and it is their first time through the wire at Forward Operating Base Summerall.

The soldiers discuss ways to make the open view and fields of fire work for them. To the south, a large plume of smoke is barely discernible in the dust haze.

There is a large fertilizer plant about a mile to the east under the shadow of a bare mountain ridge.

"Do we know who owns that?" Manning asks Guthrie. Guthrie graduated from Roger Williams University in 2000. Now he's in the Pennsylvania Guard.

Guthrie thinks the plant is government-owned.

"This fertilizer plant is supposed to be huge," Manning says. "It employs half the people in the area. The guy who runs it has got to be a player."

It is their practice to seek out influential people and try to build relationships with them.

The patrol takes a road toward the mountains, turning around about two miles short of the 1,000-foot-high ridge. There are houses built along the ridge crest that would have a terrific view back to the Tigris River valley.

"Did you see all those structures on top of the mountain, sir?" says Staff Sgt. Michael Davis, of South Portland, Maine, the noncommissioned officer who coordinates artillery and air support for the unit.

"No, I didn't," Manning says.

"Somebody could just sit up there and blow people up all day," Davis says.

THE NIGHT before, Manning has called together the entire unit to talk to them. He tells them about enemy activity. Their base was hit by indirect fire, a mortar or rocket, a night earlier.

A vehicle bomber hit Army vehicles. The Humvees were going north, the bomb vehicle going south. The bomber pulled a U-turn across the median, came up on a Humvee and blew himself up. The Humvee gunner was down inside and is OK.

There have been 13 IED attacks in May and five vehicle bomb attacks, an average of one attack every day and a half.

The supply lines are getting hit. People are getting hurt and killed.

"The brigade commander wants Murphy to fix it," Manning says. Murphy is the unit's radio call sign. He says there are two particularly nasty towns along the route. "We're going to own it, guys," he says. "How are we going to do it? The same way we did . . . " and he names a supply route to the south.

He tells them the new base is excited to get a new set of eyes in the area and also somebody who can join the fight.

"The battalion C.O. wants to see some dead guys," Manning says.

THE FIVE Humvees on patrol approach an oil refinery, where a huge fire sends a boiling cloud of orange flame and black smoke into the sky. Two Iraqi fire trucks stand by. The soldiers think they are watching an intentional burn of spilled oil.

As the Humvees pass under the smoke, the sun disappears and the day becomes dark.

They come to a cut in the mountains made by the Tigris River. There is a high concrete highway bridge broken by a bomb, and a power plant with four stacks emitting heavy black smoke.

An oil pipeline crosses the river here and it is guarded by a small contingent of Iraqi soldiers in green camouflage uniforms. The soldiers say they are Kurds. The oldest looks about 30, the youngest 15. Their uniforms are new and clean. Davis points out that they have a motley collection of footwear, sandals, loafers and dress shoes. Their commander has a new pair of American desert boots.

Journal photo / John Freidah

At Forward Operating Base Summerall, near Baiji, Specialist Nathaniel Deitech, of North Kingstown, spends his first watch in a sniper post at the base perimeter. With binoculars and rifle scopes, Deitech and Specialist Seth Haynes, of Warwick, not shown, scanned the barren land outside the base for enemy activity.

They are friendly and offer the soldiers sweet tea, which is declined.

The patrol approaches the northern edge of Baiji, a town of about 140,000 people. They turn off the main road and skirt the city through several blocks of three-story project housing. The neighborhood is poor, bordered by a sprawling garbage dump.

Manning points down a street to the left. "That road will take you into Baiji proper. They call it RPG alley," Manning says, referring to rocket propelled grenades.

Sgt. Robert Sloat, of Bristol, an assistant team leader, follows the Humvee's progress against his map.

They loop around and come back through Baiji on Main Supply Route Tampa. The road is crowded in town. Shops line the road on the right, houses on the left. Lots of cars are parked at the shops. Pedestrians are everywhere.

The Humvees keep up their speed, depending on the Iraqis to get out of the way. Specialist Jason Dean of Amherst, Mass., tracks the cars at intersections with the turret gun.

As they clear the town, Davis says, "It would be cool hanging around town taking pictures if you didn't have to worry about being killed."

An untended white donkey wanders down the side of the busy highway.

THAT NIGHT, the men of the 173rd set up a sniper post looking out over the wire surrounding the base to the open land beyond.

Specialist Nathaniel Deitch, of North Kingstown, and Specialist Seth Haynes, of Warwick, scan the terrain with binoculars and rifle scopes. There is a curfew, but they cannot shoot somebody simply because they are out after curfew.

So there is no curfew, Deitch is saying.

Yes, there is, Haynes says. It just doesn't mean anything.

They are governed by the rules of engagement: they can only shoot if the target has hostile intent or is taking hostile action.

They discuss a single red light by a house.

"Can I shoot it?" Deitch asks.

"Not unless you feel threatened by it," Haynes says.

"It's ominous," Deitch says.

"No," Haynes says, and they both laugh.

It's a slow night. The smoke from the oil fire is the darkest part of a darkening sky.

A Muslim cleric begins to cry the evening prayer, a thin voice seeming to come from a long way away.

Digital Extra: Browse previous dispatches from Iraq by Journal Executive Editor Joel Rawson and photos by Journal staff photographer John Freidah, at:

http://projo.com/extra/2005/iraq/rawson/