Dispatches from the front in Iraq

updated 5:10 a.m. ET July 10, 2005

About three dozen reporters, photographers and members of television crews are now embedded with American forces in Iraq, far fewer than the 700 journalists assigned during the invasion of the country two years ago.

They offer a close-up look at Iraq in turmoil; they give the folks at home an idea of what it’s like for their sons and daughters, a world away and in harm’s way.

Some recent reports from the front.

Skies of Baghdad safer than the ground
By Dave Hirschman
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
CAMP TAJI, Iraq, June 25 — The flares began popping from the Black Hawk helicopter over the slums of Baghdad’s Sadr City.

Intensely red and white, the fireworks would have been right at home in the night sky over any Fourth of July celebration back in the U.S.

But over Baghdad, they mean something far more menacing.

The flares pop out when someone electronically targets the aircraft — a possible prelude to a surface-to-air missile attack.

A mirrored sensor that looks like a 1970s disco ball on the back of the Army helicopter picks up the threat and sends cascading flares as aerial decoys for heat-seeking missiles.

Crisscrossing the skies of Baghdad
“The system has a mind of its own,” said Chief Warrant Officer Ruben Rivera, 31, of San Juan, Puerto Rico, the pilot. “Sometimes the flares surprise me, too. They go off all the time around here.”

The Black Hawks are regular visitors here, crisscrossing the Baghdad skyline dozens of times a day in a military shuttle service known as the “Marne Express.”

The name comes from the Fort Stewart-based 3rd Infantry Division, whose longtime nickname is “Rock of the Marne” (from a heroic stand it made during World War I). The division sends a pair of Black Hawks three times daily to about a dozen military installations around the city.

The Marne Express has become the main mode of travel for soldiers in the Georgia Army National Guard’s 48th Brigade Combat Team as they hopscotch from base to base.

The stench of poverty
Helicopters are preferred because they keep soldiers away from deadly roadside bombs that have become the weapon of choice for the insurgents.

No missiles arose from the sprawling slums this day, just the stench of poverty.

During a two-hour circuit around Baghdad this week, the view from the helicopter quickly changed.

The urban cityscapes gave way to lush palm groves and the blue Tigris River. From there, the fortress-like Green Zone appeared below before it was left behind for squalid slums and the arid wasteland south of the city where American bases are encircled by concrete barriers, dirt berms and miles of razor wire.

The helicopters are armed with machine guns and travel in pairs. They rarely fly more than 10 minutes between takeoffs and landings.

Mixing it up in the air
Each is equipped with a satellite Global Positioning System. But Rivera, a compact, self-confident flier in the midst of his second yearlong combat tour in Iraq, knows the area by heart and prefers to navigate by looking out the window.

He varies his route and schedule each day to make himself a less inviting or predictable target.

He also flies low and fast for the same reason, sometimes climbing to clear buildings and power lines.

The 11-passenger Blackhawks still come back with bullet holes, though. Fancy flares are powerless against plain, old-fashioned bullets — and the helicopters seem to attract more than their fair share. But, so far, all of the Marne Express flights have come home from their missions safely.

On this relatively clear morning, air traffic controllers informed Rivera and his crew that a portion of Baghdad’s airspace was off limits due to “multiple explosions.” Several suicide bombers blew up themselves and their cars, killing more than 40 people.

Another dull day at the office
Apache attack helicopters were prowling the area around the attacks. Black smoke was on the horizon.

Listening to the conversation between Rivera and his co-pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Brian Hegenbart, as they skimmed the hostile terrain, it sounded like a couple of guys enduring another dull day at the office, not two men risking their lives.

They banked hard over the Baghdad International Airport, passed by a huge minaret they call the Space Needle and dropped like an anvil into the Green Zone at a tiny, walled heliport with barely enough room for both Black Hawks and their spinning rotor blades.

Rivera’s helicopter shuddered as it hovered a few feet above the ground, then plunked down and rolled to a quick stop.

Three passengers scurried out and two more climbed in.

“Only six point six hours to go,” said Hegenbart, 30, a career soldier from Sacramento, Calif.

Rivera nodded in agreement.

“Do you want to fly the next leg or should I?” Rivera asked. “On a day like this, I could fly all day.”

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