Last stand in streets stinking of death

11-18-2004

Focus: Zealot tells of last stand in streets stinking of death
An injured, abandoned insurgent talks from the battered heart of Falluja to Hala Jaber
Sunday Times
November 14, 2004

Wounded, probably dying, Abu Jarrah is an Iraqi insurgent hiding somewhere inside the hell of Falluja. On Friday I was put in contact with him by telephone through other insurgents who had fled the city but were still in touch with fighters holed up inside.

In a desperate, bitter call, Jarrah described how he had led a band of 18 men who had been sent into the city to resist the American attack - and how nearly all of them had been wiped out.

Though weak and at times choking with tears, he remained defiant. "We die with dignity and honour," he said, "whereas their (American) soldiers die in a dishonourable manner because they are the attackers and wrongdoers."

Jarrah and his band of young Iraqi men, some Sunni, some Shi'ite, had been dispatched to Falluja a week last Saturday. They were mostly in their twenties and came from different towns, including Mosul and Kirkuk.

One was a teacher who had turned down the chance to become an officer in the new Iraqi National Guard. Instead of a decent job with good pay, he had chosen to fight the Americans and the "occupation". Another was a man called Abu Qais, who had arrived in Iraq only a week earlier from Austria where he had been living and working for five years.

The emir or senior commander of the insurgent group was called Abu Omar; he ordered Jarrah and his band into the Jolan district of Falluja, an area that would be one of the first to be targeted by US forces. But they believed they were protected by a front line of fighters ahead of them.

The group was assigned two houses to which they were meant to retreat when not fighting in the streets.

After the arrangements were made, Omar left the city and took up a position a short distance away. The insurgents had a three-pronged plan: resistance inside Falluja; harrying the surrounding American lines from behind; and a wave of attacks in other cities.

"Allah was on our side," said Jarrah, speaking from inside the city. "The aggressors will never win, victory was guaranteed to the oppressed, and that was us."

By 10pm on the evening of the assault, an air of confidence still persisted among the insurgents in Jolan. But by 1am Jarrah and his group suddenly found themselves alone. Other cells that had been in the area seemed to have melted away.

"All the others appeared to have withdrawn without even warning us," said Jarrah. "So we split up and retreated to the two houses and decided to have our sohoor (a last meal before fasting) and stay put until morning.

"The next thing we knew something was very wrong was when a shell landed in our midst."

The young teacher who had forsaken his chance in the Iraqi National Guard was sitting next to Jarrah. He keeled over, mortally wounded. "He whispered, 'There is no God but God', as he slumped on my chest where I heard his last gasp before he died," said Jarrah.

"I started calling 'Allahu akbar'. There was a lot of smoke in the air and I was searching for the others, but they were all dead."

Jarrah ran to the second house where he found two other members of the group, called Sofian and Sami. "The three of us agreed to go out and try to attack the tank which had fired on our house and killed our friends.

"We took what weapons we needed but as we tried to advance to attack the tank a sniper shot at Sofian and Sami. Sofian was killed instantly, a bullet in the head, he fell to the ground.

"Sami was also injured and he and I crawled to a ditch on the side of the road and lay in it, water and all, to avoid the sniper's fire.

"A bomb was fired at us and I heard more shooting. Sami was killed, too.

"I left the ditch and started to run in retreat. A sniper shot me in the thigh, shoulder and lower abdomen."

Badly wounded, Jarrah lay by the side of the road until about 9am. Then he managed to get himself into a nearby house where an old civilian man was hiding with his younger son.

They treated his wounds: one bullet had gone through his shoulder and out the other side; another bullet had lodged in his thigh; the wound in his stomach had, by Friday, become infected. It was making Jarrah feel feverish.

He refused to name those who had abandoned him and his group in the face of the American onslaught. But he believed it had been an act of treachery.

His plight is grim, judging by the scene inside the city described by an ordinary resident whom I also managed to contact late on Friday.

The man, who asked not to be named for his own safety, had sent his wife and children out of Falluja weeks ago, but stayed with his father to protect their family homes. The pall and devastation of battle were horrific, he said.

"We are unable to breathe," he said. "The stench of gunfire is mixed with the stench of dead bodies. Bodies are everywhere on the streets and pavements and are beginning to decompose. Imagine the stench of a dead cat and then multiply it over and over and add the smell of fire, smoke and gunpowder and maybe then you will get a sense of what it smells like here."

The dead are either in the streets or the houses where they were killed.

Though the Americans still call upon the civilians to leave the city, the man does not dare step outside his door for fear of the snipers.

He does not even dare to go into his garden to retrieve a bottle of gas for his cooker: the snipers are all around.

"It's a disaster," he said. All the smart insurgents had left long ago. Only the zealots obsessed with becoming martyrs for Allah were left.

The man said he and his father had not heard from his wife and family since the start of the battle.

As the battle continued and the Americans cornered the last insurgents in the south of the city, he asked me: "Can you find my wife and children - and tell them that we are still alive."