MISSION: IMPROBABLE 221storm; it was impossible to gauge how fast we were moving, or if we were
even moving at all. On several occasions our sandstorm-experienced Iraqi
drivers narrowly avoided crashing into disabled vehicles, which appeared
like a flash out of nowhere as we swerved past, our headlights briefly illu-
minating the hopeless wreckage.
I later heard there were over fifty pileups on the road to Baghdad
during that day’s fierce sandstorm. There would have been many more
accidents and fatalities had traffic not been traveling on Saddam’s well-
paved, well-marked, straight-as-an-arrow divided highway. Two of our
escort vehicles were involved in accidents shortly after entering Iraq. Imad
insisted we leave them behind and press on, since to pause even momen-
tarily would invite the risk of being robbed or killed by the bandits lurking
in the desert. A few times we had to stop the vehicles completely because it
was impossible to see. I stepped out of the SUV once and was nearly blown
off my feet by the force of the winds. After a brief but intense sandblasting,
I returned to the relative safety, comfort, and quiet of the air-conditioned,
American-made Suburban.
The entire experience was surreal and nothing like the dust storms I’d
experienced growing up. There was a real chance we would be involved
in an accident and be attacked by armed bandits. I knew our remaining
armed escorts would do their best to protect us, but I was hoping to make
it to Baghdad without experiencing my first desert firefight. Being trapped
in the sandstorm on the lawless highway was nerve-wracking, much more
so than operating under “normal” wartime conditions, where at least a
person has some control over his environment. To their credit, my two
American war virgin colleagues were not as nervous as I was about the
perils we were facing that day on Saddam’s highway. The experience con-
firmed my belief, formed over the years in the former Yugoslavia, that one
of the most dangerous aspects of being in a war zone—as a civilian—is
driving through it.
Somehow, miraculously, after spending about fourteen hours on the
road, we made it as far as Ramadi before sunset. We would not make it to
Baghdad, another hour and a half away. By the time we pulled off Sad-
dam’s highway and turned south toward the welcoming date palms of
Ramadi, the storm had subsided considerably and visibility was decent.
Since Imad’s family compound had been recently destroyed, he put us up