RKG’s and Bomb Squad Tick Tocking
14 years ago today, I was on a patrol in Baghdad Province headed to a meeting with an Iraqi commander. Our convoy was attacked by someone who lobbed 2 RKGs at us!
These are tank killing grenades that use drogue chutes to target the tops of armored vehicles. The combatant underhand lobs the grenade. It looks a bit like an Afuche Kabasa.
Our convoy speeds along at 5–10mph.
The countermeasure for these grenades, if you see it, which is not likely, is a shotgun blast as it descends. However, it’s not in the air long; maybe 3 seconds. One Mississippi, the turret gunner has to see it, Two Mississippi, change from the main gun, likely a 50 cal MA2, to her shotgun, Three Mississippi, then acquire the target and get off a round just before the thing hits the vehicle.
Our patrol is 4 up-armored HMMWVs (Hummer). I’m in the command vehicle. We’re 2nd in a column of four. The windows on our vehicles are about 10 inches square. It’s hard to see anything out of them.
*BOOM*
One of the RKG 3s explodes.
We, Of course, don’t know anything yet. Just a boom, then light debris sprinkles our HMMWV. Other than pebble splash we seem to have survived whatever exploded. However, we don’t know what’s next Everyone is looking out to help determine what is happening and most importantly, what’s next.
The Boss asks the vehicles to check in. Vehicle 4 Good, Vehicle 3 took the hit, but are UP (all good) and ready, we are Vehicle 2, and Vehicle 1 is good. The order is “push through.” We ignored the attack and continued the mission.
We arrive at the local Iraqi HQ. The IQ Colonel there greets us, the US Battalion Commander and me, warmly. The COL already knows about the attack and comments on it. It’s a joking couple of moments. Off handedly the Iraqi commander notes that the attack was 2 RKG 3s. We didn’t realize this. We only knew about the one explosion. The IQ commander says, the other, RKG-3, did go off and was recovered by his troops. My boss says, “Interesting, I’d love to see it.” We put the events of the patrol behind us and begin our meeting…
Several minutes later, a young Iraqi soldier was summoned into the room. Aloft, he held the unexploded RKG3!!! This is serious business. A man carrying a live bomb has just walked into the room.
The Iraqi COL using his Arab magic, had, w/o us noticing, ordered his staff to satisfy my Commander’s off handed request to “see the thing.” The active tank killing grenade is now 10 feet from us. The LTC and I each peel left off the couch to gain distance, but there’s really nowhere to go…The Iraqis in the room mock our retreat.
Iraqis have ZERO fear of unexploded ordnance. None, not, a, bit. It is nothing for them to walk up to a bomb they find, pick it up and stride away with it in their arms. In the Iraqi mind, bombs pose no threat until it is triggered. Further, they hold an unfailing belief that a dud is always a dud.
The Iraqi COL waves the infernal device out of the room. The LTC and I try to get our hearts back into our chests… The American commander asks that the grenade is taken out to the parking lot so that we can deal with it. This request is partly because of an Army policy that demands if you find it, you own it. It’s also the American commander trying to keep the Iraqi’s dismissive bomb stance from killing one of them.
It’s a “Yom Aswad” Arabic for “Black Day” AKA hot as fuck outside. Now that we own this unexploded RKG-3 we have to come up with a plan to dispose of it. In a line unit, combat arms, there’s always a guy with some C4 and a desire to blow shit up. Our patrol has such a fella.
After our meeting, the Boss and I discovered the grenade gently placed at a safe distance from our vehicles. The Patrol NCOIC (convoy commander) says, “Sir, that grenade has a centrifugal switch, once it’s thrown it can’t be made safe. SGT XXXXX has C4 and can destroy the grenade, however, we don’t have the proper protective gear to do it safely.”
The Boss orders that we call the boys in the bomb disposal unit, “They need the work.” We all internally groan. We don’t show our disappointment, we don’t complain. Once the Boss decides, that is what we are doing. He knows we are hot, tired and want to go home. For now, we are going to sit in a parking lot and kill time.
It’ll take hours for them to spin up and drive to us. On TV the bomb squad arrives in moments…in reality, it’s hours upon hours.
Our patrol is mostly buttoned up in our vehicles. Every driver is at the wheel ready with the engine running, and each gunner is similarly alert and scanning. For these 8 soldiers, there is always something to do…and we are relying in them to keep us safe. The rest of us are sucking in whatever cool air our vehicle’s AC can provide, it’s never enough.
Others are out smoking and joking. As always, a few troops take the chance to get some sleep. Soldiers can sleep anywhere and on anything. Since we’re on an Iraqi post, our body armor is nearby but not on our backs. This is a blessing because we aren’t leaving for who knows how long. Body armor is great at destroying your body, it’s also sort of comfortable to sleep on/in if one is exhausted enough. So, the patrol waits, and waits.
Indeed, hours and hours later the bomb squad arrived. They built a small sandbag ring, three sacks high, around the RKG3. The bomb squad NCOIC let us know we’ve done the right thing by calling them. Our C4 guy, unimpressed, did the Army version of the smirk and eye roll. He, skeptically mmm hmm’ed, spat tobacco into his spitter, and walked away.
Moments later a cacophonous boom. The RKG3 is no more. Our Patrol NCOIC yells, “mount up.” We did.
40 mins and 5 miles hence we returned.
It’s curious, in the real world, I’d survived a planned attack with more than one brush with lethality. Yet, what stands out, is the hours and hours spent waiting on the bomb squad. The RKG3 attack and return became a joke. This is how combat warps minds, time, and norms.
