Finding Little Resistance, Unit Leaves a Trail of Ruin

Cyclone Company lived up to its motto, “Tear It Up,” on Saturday, engaging in a second day of dawn-to-dusk destruction.

Following an innocuous-sounding itinerary of military objectives named Wendy, Max, Jake and Madigan, the 14-tank Army company -- along with other units from the 4th Battalion, 64th Regiment -- destroyed dozens of tanks, armored vehicles, towed artillery pieces, fuel tankers and ammunition trucks. They left a long trail of smoking wreckage, some of it exploding long after their tanks had left the roadways about 10 miles south of Baghdad.

Nearly all of the equipment appeared to have been abandoned before it was struck with high-explosive, armor-penetrating rounds from the tanks’ 120-millimeter guns. Only a handful of shots were fired from the Russian-made T-72 tanks, the most modern of Saddam Hussein’s arsenal and part of his elite Republican Guard.

By day’s end, it was estimated that Cyclone and a sister company had destroyed at least a division’s worth of Hussein’s best equipment.

By the time the companies hit their last objective, a garrison that was code-named Madigan, a sarcastic voice said over the company radio channel: “Why is it every time we visit, no one’s home?”

Wendy, the day’s first objective, was lined with tanks, artillery pieces and ammunition trucks. When the vehicles exploded, they briefly ignited the rucksacks and personal belongings of the Americans on passing tanks.

When Capt. Steven Barry, Cyclone commander, finally pulled to a halt on a rise overlooking a desolate and abandoned Medina Division base near Suwayrah, he shook his head in puzzlement. The base had been marked as Max and Jake, and had long been on his mind as the company’s toughest assignment.

“How much more do we need to do?” Barry asked. “These guys aren’t fighting.”

Throughout the base, not a soul stirred. Nearby, at a set of pale yellow headquarters buildings, the U.S. tanks stopped to refuel from their own tankers. A tank recovery vehicle throttled up and bore down on a brick entryway sign painted with Hussein’s bust, smashing it to the cheers of nearby tank-crew members.

It seemed that everyone, down to repairmen, got a shot at everything from tanks to buildings. Asked for a battlefield damage estimate, Sgt. 1st Class Robert Walker, a 16-year veteran and former drill sergeant, reported: “Four trucks, three antiaircraft guns and two Saddam signs.”

Soldiers took souvenirs: from berets to a 6-foot-square canvas portrait of Hussein. Barry had several artillery pieces towed away so they could be shipped to the 3rd Infantry Division’s base at Ft. Stewart, Ga., and placed in a museum alongside mementos of the 1991 Persian Gulf War.

“This has been the weirdest war,” said Jarrid Lott, a tank driver from Redding, Calif. “All this stuff we worried about, and now we just roll down the line. Brand new T-72s, just sitting there. People’s Kevlar [helmets], clothes -- they just dropped uniforms and took off.”

At Madigan, near a small town identified as Ash Shaykh Asim on military maps, Cyclone members found a “mother lode” of artillery pieces. Most were destroyed with 25-millimeter antitank rounds, though soldiers had to dismount and stuff grenades into some to finish them off. A handful of Iraqi fighters shot small arms at the tanks before running off into nearby fields.

On the way out, Staff Sgt. Jason Engler, 24, of Columbus, Ohio, fired into the forehead of Hussein’s image on a banner, shortly after Barry ordered him to “drive over it or something.”

Barry tossed a grenade at it, doing little damage, before Engler dispatched two of his men to cut down the black-and-white banner. They stuffed it into their Bradley fighting vehicle and headed back to the company’s home of late -- an empty patch of Highway 1, on the doorstep of Baghdad.