BEHIND THE HEADLINES: Six minutes of nonstop gunfire reveal Iraq's heart of darkness

February 13, 2004
Associated Press
By JOHN BURNS

A brazen attack hit an Iraqi civil defense compound in Fallujah just as the top U.S. commander in the Mideast, Army Gen. John P. Abizaid, arrived Thursday. This is a firsthand account of the assault by a reporter who was in the convoy with Abizaid and his fellow soldiers, who escaped injury.

FALLUJAH, Iraq - I was standing in an open courtyard as three explosions boomed nearby and machine guns rat-a-tatted in response. It didn't take a genius to figure out I had a problem.

But what to do?

During six minutes of continuous gunfire, blazing from directions I could not discern, I thought more than once: Should I be doing something? Like ducking for cover or slipping into a doorway?

I looked at the faces of the senior staff members of Gen. John Abizaid's party - soldiers, most of them. I saw no panic, nor any sign of whether they thought this perilous moment might get worse.

As the crescendo of gunfire grew, it seemed that it had.

Being a journalist, I carried no weapon. As I had many times before while traveling in Iraq or elsewhere with a senior military officer or senior Pentagon civilian, I was counting on the soldiers around us to keep all safe. This was the first time that I was caught in a real gunfight.

It was scary.

I peeked at my watch: 1:35 p.m.

I edged closer to the wall of the low-slung building, just a few steps away. I felt a little less vulnerable, but not much.

More soldiers, weapons at the ready, seemed to be scrambling toward the rear of the compound, which housed the headquarters of a newly formed battalion of the Iraqi Civil Defense Corps. That's a sort of militia the Americans are creating throughout the country to put more responsibility in the hands of the Iraqis.

I remembered I had a tape recorder in my backpack. I pulled it out and turned it on as the gunbattle raged. I guess it gave me a sense of purpose. Not much else I could do just then.

I was wearing an Army-issue helmet and body armor, although the armor did not have the ceramic plates that all troops in Iraq now have as added protection. The feeling of fear and helplessness at that moment was not unlike what I experienced at the Pentagon on Sept. 11, 2001, after the plane attack chased us outside and police used bullhorns to warn that another plane was coming.

Sometimes there's just no place to hide.

At one moment during the gunbattle in Fallujah, I recall thinking it odd that some of the Iraqis were strolling through the courtyard, AK-47s in hand, as if they hadn't a care in the world. No expression on their faces.

Then came a shout from a U.S. soldier: "Hold fire."

Silence, just for a moment. A short time later, more small-arms fire rang out, but it was brief.

A new problem, though a lesser one.

How the heck would we get out? Once again, I had to put my trust in the soldiers. They had gotten us here, and they would have to get us back. They were battle-hardened. They knew the turf.

Abizaid was walking about, seemingly unfazed, talking to some of the Iraqi Civil Defense Corps members he had come to visit. I grabbed my camera and began shooting pictures of him talking to an Iraqi commander. I noticed that Abizaid, an expert in Arab affairs, was speaking in Arabic. He told me later that the commander said, with regard to the attack: "This is Fallujah. What do you expect?" Suddenly came the word: Saddle up, we're getting out of Dodge.

Along with Navy Cmdr. Hal Pittman, the Central Command public affairs officer who rode with me to the compound, I jumped back into the same vehicle we arrived in, a Humvee that looks like a modified pickup truck. It has an open back end, except for thin steel slabs on the sides, and a .50-caliber machine gun mounted right behind the cab. Not the kind of vehicle that a sensible civilian would necessarily want to be sitting in the middle of a city that is a hotbed of insurgents.

I felt like a sitting duck. Not far away was a mosque where some of the shooting had been coming from.

Our vehicle rumbled out of the compound and stopped right in the middle of the busy street. Our mission, unbeknownst to Hal or me, was to hold a blocking position at the most vulnerable point, so that Abizaid could move out.

There we sat, waiting.

I held my head a little lower than normal.

It seemed like an eternity but was probably no more than five minutes, as we waited for Abizaid and his convoy to pull out into the street. Finally, they came. And when they went, Hal and I assumed we would go with them, taking up the rear, as we had on the way here.

No such luck.

Hal howled: "We've got to get with Gen. Abizaid!"

Instead, the driver reversed course back into the compound. Stranded.

We leapt out of the back of the Humvee and began insisting to soldiers that we had to get out in order to accompany Abizaid for the rest of his Iraq trip. He was heading to a helicopter, and we were stuck. Too bad, they told us. It's too dangerous now. Then came a radio call from Abizaid's staff: Get those two out, "ASAP."

Another Humvee was called in. Hal and I stood behind a large concrete barrier near the street and waited for the signal. "Go, go!" We jumped into the back seat of the Humvee as it slowed in front of us. Then it roared across the highway median and raced out of town.

Right past the gunman's mosque.