A U.S. soldier's 'ominous' feeling while on patrol in Baghdad -- then a blast

By KIM GAMEL

Associated Press Writer

BAGHDAD (AP) _ Men packed on a sidewalk outside a Sunni mosque for Friday prayers glared as we passed. The Humvee driver said he had an ominous feeling.

Less than a minute later: an explosion. The armored vehicle shook. It was swallowed by dust. We had been hit by a roadside bomb.

Nobody was wounded, but the vehicle was out of commission -- leaking gas and oil.

The soldiers of the 12th Infantry Regiment spent the morning patrolling one of the most dangerous sections of Dora, the district in south Baghdad known as a staging ground for Sunni insurgents. The day started with a rocket-propelled grenade attack and gunfire.

The bombing is a vivid reminder of what the Pentagon warns: that U.S. troops face increased vulnerability as they spend more time on the streets as part of the four-month-old security crackdown in Baghdad.

Before the blast, Company B soldiers visited homes to seek help from residents in tracking down insurgents and handed out cards with tip line information.

Battalion commander Lt. Col. Stephen Michael had just begun interviewing one family in their well-furnished green living room when explosions rang out nearby. Another U.S. unit was under fire from rocket-propelled grenades and small arms. He and his men dashed to lend support.

The gunbattle ended five minutes later, and the mission continued. Officers instructed Iraqi interpreters to broadcast a message over loudspeakers. It said insurgents were trying to make the neighborhood unsafe, that their attack on the U.S. soldiers failed and anybody who was wounded should go to an Iraqi army checkpoint for help.

The convoy then headed back to base after the five-hour patrol.

Local men were packed two abreast on the sidewalk outside a mosque as the sermon was broadcast over loudspeakers on a blue-tipped minaret. Several in the crowd glowered as the U.S. vehicles passed and turned a corner.

"I just had an ominous feeling going past those guys," said Pfc. John W. Needham, a 23-year-old Californian who was driving the Humvee.

The thunderous blast shook the brown vehicle and shrapnel peppered the underside, flattening all four tires and apparently puncturing the gas line and oil pan.

I was stunned and coughing after breathing the swirling dust that had filled the interior. The soldiers cursed, then made quick queries to make sure there were no injuries. Some of the men temporarily lost hearing.

The Iraqi interpreter, a 22-year-old Shiite from northern Baghdad who uses the pseudonym Renaldo, calmly asked me if it was my first improvised explosive device, military jargon for a roadside bomb.

"Yes," I answered as the smell of leaking oil grew overwhelming.

"Was it yours?" I asked.

"Seven," he said, then corrected himself. "Eight, seven in vehicles and one during a dismount (foot patrol)."

Pfc. Bryan Quick, the gunner, looked down from the turret and shook his head.

"It was my first, too. I was hoping to go 15 months without one," he said.

As we waited to be towed, Needham, of San Clemente, Calif., said it was his second. For 2nd Lt. Scott Flanigan, it was his third.

The bomb, a mortar shell wrapped in a white plastic bag, was the size of a football. It was hidden in a shallow manhole in the middle of the road.

Needham had not driven over it. That was fortunate. We avoided the full force of the blast.

Iraqi soldiers manning a nearby checkpoint later said they had received a tip that the bomb was being placed and Sunni insurgents had told storeowners to close their doors. The Iraqi soldiers said they had been unable to reach the American troops to tell them.

At their checkpoint, the Iraqis served us plates of rice. As I raised my fork, my hand was shaking.

The unit's medic insisted we all go straight to the first aid station when we returned to base -- a requirement for everyone who comes under a roadside bomb attack, regardless of severity.

We all got a clean bill of health and had a story to tell.