Sgt. 1st Class Daniel Reis has been a soldier in the Washington Army National Guard for nearly 20 years, deploying to Iraq twice. He began his military career in the infantry, and it was in that role that he embarked on his first deployment.
In 2004, 23-year-old Spc. Reis was deployed to Logistics Support Area Anaconda where he served with military police.
One of his platoon’s main responsibilities was route security around the base. They conducted four-hour patrols to make sure the roads remained clear of improvised explosive devices or anything that might hinder the safe passage of supply convoys in and out of the base.
One day his platoon was ordered to transport a detainee to a distant forward operating base. Their four armored Humvees rolled out, gun turrets on top. The first and last Humvee turrets were armed with .50-caliber machine guns, aimed at 12 and 6 o’clock respectively. The second vehicle gunner manned the M249 squad automatic weapon, covering the 3 o’clock. Reis aimed the M240B machine gun at the opposite side.
The trip to the detention facility was smooth, and the prisoner was delivered without incident.
But on the return trip, the strong potential for disaster loomed. Not long after the convoy began to return to base, Reis saw the flash of a rocket fly by overhead from his left, missing his vehicle by only 10 feet and striking an Iraqi civilian tanker truck.
A loud boom!
“What the — ” Reis cursed. He expected a massive explosion, a fireball. But there was little fire. No time to worry about it.
They engaged in a textbook “react to indirect fire” response. Since they couldn’t see the enemy in order to engage, and since a fight in that area would mean numerous civilian casualties, they were forced to withdraw.
The Humvee drivers put the pedal to the floor, moving like they owned the road. The convoy weaved through traffic, forcing Reis, with his upper torso out the top of the truck, to grip the gun handle in one hand and a diagonal support strut for the hatch lid with his other to keep himself steady.
Flying down the Iraqi freeway, struggling to clear the vehicles in their way, the convoy swerved across the grass median into oncoming traffic. As they were trying to get back into the correct lane, Reis checked behind him to see if there was enough room for the fourth Humvee to enter the road.
There was not.
An Iraqi truck was edging far too close. This was a problem because the truck might have been loaded with explosives and because the trucker wasn’t allowing room for the convoy to stay together.
Reis made eye contact with the driver and put his hand up, trying to tell him to back off.
The trucker continued.
Reis gave him the Iraqi hand signal for “stop.”
The trucker ignored him.
Reis cursed. “Fine! If that’s the way you want it!” He pulled his M4 rifle up from below and aimed it at the driver’s head, preparing to fire. He didn’t want to spin his turret and bring his machine gun to bear, a hatchet for the job of a surgeon’s scalpel.
Immediately, the driver threw his hands in the air and stomped his brakes, giving the last gun-hummer enough room to get back in line.
They cleared the area and returned to base. Reis would go on to complete the tour without ever shooting at anyone. “I feel OK about it,” he told me. He would have fired if necessary, but he said, “I’m sure it would’ve still affected me.”
He used the minimum force required to complete his mission. Fifteen years later, he still remembers.
In bestowing upon our soldiers weapons and the authorization to use them, our government burdens them with the weight of an awesome responsibility. Young Reis bore it well.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
