Abandoned in Iraq: Inside Two Soldiers’ Harrowing Escape

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In the orange light of late afternoon, a mile-long Army convoy of 33 heavily loaded trucks crossed a bridge over the Tigris River into the dusty, trash-strewn streets of Al Amarah, Iraq. Sgt. Stuart Redus was at the wheel of a boxy old big-rig, 28th in line, with Staff Sgt. Fernando Torres in the passenger seat. Plates of rusty steel were bolted to the doors, a kind of homemade armor, but the truck, hauling a shipping container full of weapons, was otherwise unprotected. They had no radio or satellite phone in the cab, just a store-bought walkie-talkie hanging from a bungee cord.

On a wide boulevard in the center of town, they heard a pinging noise, like the first drops of rain. Then it was like a thunderstorm broke open: Bombs exploded, and fire and smoke erupted from under the pavement, followed by the deep thumping of machine guns. Curses and static came over the walkie-talkie. Redus pinned the gas pedal to the floorboard as a rocket grenade exploded behind the cab, shredding the air lines to the rear axle and knocking both men unconscious. The tractor-trailer jackknifed and slammed sidelong into a Jersey barrier. Redus came to and tried to force the truck into gear, but it wouldn’t budge. He shouted into his handset, “Help, help, we’re hit!”

Up ahead, they saw the red taillights of the convoy bouncing away in a cloud of gun smoke and diesel exhaust. Directly behind them, a military dump truck neared their position, but rather than scoop them up, it blew past at top speed. As did the following Humvee, its machine-gunner cowering in the turret, then another dump truck and another Humvee. The last vehicle in line was an eight-wheeled wrecker, with a crew of three, whose job it was to recover disabled trucks. Each of them later told Army investigators that they didn’t see anyone moving in the downed rig, but Redus claims he locked eyes with one of them. The wrecker slowed, almost to a stop, then sped off, its tow tackle jangling empty.

Redus screamed into the walkie-talkie, but the convoy had gone out of range. Through the wreckage of the back window, Redus and Torres saw dozens of masked men streaming out of buildings and alleys, pumping their rifles and rocket launchers in triumph. Redus turned to Torres and said, “Grab all your fricking ammo, dude.”

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