Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | No sniping, mortars, or tracer. And no sign of the dreaded Republican GuardNo sniping, mortars, or tracer. And no sign of the dreaded Republican Guard
James Meek near Numaniya, Iraq
Thursday April 3, 2003
The Guardian
The first American pontoon raft slid into the river Tigris with a slosh and a clatter at 4.30pm yesterday, and young Iraqi men watched from both banks, curious, timid and passive, as a grubby horde of US marines prepared to bridge their ancient waterway.
There was not the slightest opposition to the river crossing; no tracer, no mortar rounds, no sniping, not even a shouted curse against the invading Yankees from these fit young locals who were not in the least bit interested in fighting for Saddam Hussein.
An F-18 fighter swooped low overhead and, seeing the marines surging across the legendary river, could not resist an exuberant roll. The Iraqis on the far bank flinched visibly in terror, fearing they were about to be bombed. When they weren't, they carried on watching.
In three days, these marines have pushed forward 75 miles against the most ephemeral resistance. They have become accustomed to Iraqi guerrilla tactics of shoot and flee, and the Iraqis, confusingly, seem to have nothing else to offer.
The Iraqis have not blown up a single one of the numerous bridges US and British forces have had to cross to get this far. The marines were only building the pontoon bridge across the Tigris - due to be finished by the time this is printed - because they did not trust the undamaged regular bridge at the town of Numaniya would bear the weight of their tanks.
The marines are now pushing up against the territory supposedly defended by the dreaded Republican Guard. Yet there is no sign of them; their menace seems to constantly recede, and with the marines now about 60 miles from Baghdad, they have less and less room for manoeuvre. Similar reports of a melting enemy are coming from the US army in Najaf and Kerbala and from other marines at Kut, downstream of Nassiriya.
Late on Tuesday night the Guardian's car joined a convoy of US marines travelling towards Numaniya. The convoy, as usual, travelled almost without lights, just tiny cat's-eye dots of red and white. At one point the dark, purposeful stream of heavily armed vehicles passed an Iraqi town blazing with lights.
Everyone was indoors, cooking, watching television, sleeping. They must have heard the rumble of the convoy as it passed but no one came out, much less fired shots; it was as if the two worlds, America and Iraq, were ignoring each other, even as they were supposed to be at war.
Yesterday afternoon the commander of a company of marine infantry and tanks, Captain Ted Card, was standing at a defensive position he had set up near the pontoon bridge on a road to Numaniya. He was having a half-full/half-empty sort of time with the war. He had not lost any of his company, which was good, because he was the man who would have to write the letters to next of kin. But nor had he seen much in the way of combat.
The company had been shot at that morning, in a desultory way, from a gigantic munitions storage base nearby, even though the base had been battered by B-52 strikes. "We were a little bit surprised to get some fire, but we fired back. It only lasted five minutes," Capt Card said. "These guys are cowards. None of them fight. This is boring. I'm surprised I'm not in Baghdad already."
The unit has long since ceased to collect prisoners. "It's just, 'See you later,'" the captain said. "I thought we were going to have some heavier resistance and we certainly haven't. All my tanker guys and all my marines are always asking me when they're going to see some action. We trade rounds every day but in all this time I haven't taken a single casualty.
James Meek near Numaniya, Iraq
Thursday April 3, 2003
The Guardian
The first American pontoon raft slid into the river Tigris with a slosh and a clatter at 4.30pm yesterday, and young Iraqi men watched from both banks, curious, timid and passive, as a grubby horde of US marines prepared to bridge their ancient waterway.
There was not the slightest opposition to the river crossing; no tracer, no mortar rounds, no sniping, not even a shouted curse against the invading Yankees from these fit young locals who were not in the least bit interested in fighting for Saddam Hussein.
An F-18 fighter swooped low overhead and, seeing the marines surging across the legendary river, could not resist an exuberant roll. The Iraqis on the far bank flinched visibly in terror, fearing they were about to be bombed. When they weren't, they carried on watching.
In three days, these marines have pushed forward 75 miles against the most ephemeral resistance. They have become accustomed to Iraqi guerrilla tactics of shoot and flee, and the Iraqis, confusingly, seem to have nothing else to offer.
The Iraqis have not blown up a single one of the numerous bridges US and British forces have had to cross to get this far. The marines were only building the pontoon bridge across the Tigris - due to be finished by the time this is printed - because they did not trust the undamaged regular bridge at the town of Numaniya would bear the weight of their tanks.
The marines are now pushing up against the territory supposedly defended by the dreaded Republican Guard. Yet there is no sign of them; their menace seems to constantly recede, and with the marines now about 60 miles from Baghdad, they have less and less room for manoeuvre. Similar reports of a melting enemy are coming from the US army in Najaf and Kerbala and from other marines at Kut, downstream of Nassiriya.
Late on Tuesday night the Guardian's car joined a convoy of US marines travelling towards Numaniya. The convoy, as usual, travelled almost without lights, just tiny cat's-eye dots of red and white. At one point the dark, purposeful stream of heavily armed vehicles passed an Iraqi town blazing with lights.
Everyone was indoors, cooking, watching television, sleeping. They must have heard the rumble of the convoy as it passed but no one came out, much less fired shots; it was as if the two worlds, America and Iraq, were ignoring each other, even as they were supposed to be at war.
Yesterday afternoon the commander of a company of marine infantry and tanks, Captain Ted Card, was standing at a defensive position he had set up near the pontoon bridge on a road to Numaniya. He was having a half-full/half-empty sort of time with the war. He had not lost any of his company, which was good, because he was the man who would have to write the letters to next of kin. But nor had he seen much in the way of combat.
The company had been shot at that morning, in a desultory way, from a gigantic munitions storage base nearby, even though the base had been battered by B-52 strikes. "We were a little bit surprised to get some fire, but we fired back. It only lasted five minutes," Capt Card said. "These guys are cowards. None of them fight. This is boring. I'm surprised I'm not in Baghdad already."
The unit has long since ceased to collect prisoners. "It's just, 'See you later,'" the captain said. "I thought we were going to have some heavier resistance and we certainly haven't. All my tanker guys and all my marines are always asking me when they're going to see some action. We trade rounds every day but in all this time I haven't taken a single casualty.
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