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On a recent night, Ahmed met seven other men at a safe house in Fallujah a few blocks from two sites the cell had decided to target: the mayor's office and an adjacent building once belonging to the Baath Party but now used by provisional Iraqi officials and, on this night, U.S. soldiers. As Ahmed tells the story, sometime after midnight he retired to a bedroom in the safe house and prayed for a few minutes "until my heart rested." Then he rejoined the others and stole out into the night. The posse split up, says Ahmed. Five moved on foot, and three rode small motorcycles. At about 1 a.m., they attacked from two directions, opening up with Kalashnikovs and firing two rocket-propelled grenades at the buildings. Ahmed says that the U.S. soldiers returned fire and that the next day they left the compound. "Every time they retreat it is a victory," he says.
American soldiers in the mayor's compound that night mostly confirm that version of events but quibble on the timing of the assaults. Captain Jay Persons, a spokesman for the 1-505, who was in the mayor's office during the fighting, says four soldiers were injured, two when a rocket-propelled grenade exploded beside them on the roof of the building they were guarding and two from small-arms fire. He also confirms that the U.S. left the compound the following day. "We're a real attraction whenever we're a fixed target," says Persons. "So we're handing over security [at the compound] to the Iraqi police."
The soldiers of the 1-505 are on the alert for people like Ahmed at all times. Bear and his colleagues patrol the streets and highways around Fallujah and try to provide security for convoys whenever soldiers travel to another base. In September, Bear was in the last humvee of one such convoy crossing a bridge over the Euphrates when a roadside bomb blew up in front of him. The convoy stopped and within seconds was taking light arms fire from three directions. "We did what we are supposed to: we all faced out, said, 'This is my wedge of the arc,' and started shooting," says Specialist Brian Saladin, 27, who was in the vehicle in front of Bear's. "You go on automatic pilot," says Bear. "I didn't have time to think about my wife, my kids, my cat, my dog. It's not until afterward when you say, 'Wow, we were getting shot at and blown up.'"
Bear tries to keep thoughts of mortality at bay, not an easy thing to do when comrades are dying daily: 16 U.S. soldiers in Fallujah perished last week when a Chinook helicopter carrying them was shot down by what American military officials believe was a surface-to-air missile; six more soldiers died last Friday when their Black Hawk helicopter was brought down, apparently by a rocket-propelled grenade; an additional 10 soldiers died in other attacks over the course of the week. "It's not all-consuming," says Bear of his fears. "I don't sit on my bed for 12 hours and pray." But like his enemy Ahmed, Bear asks God for help before every operation as he stands with his buddies to listen to the commander's orders and spit chewing tobacco into the dust. "You say a little prayer and ask that your family is taken care of if something happens," says Bear. "You say, 'Lord, you took care of me before. Take care of me now.'"