Senate Floor Speech
Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison
April 2, 2003 -- Page: S4654

MRS. HUTCHISON. Mr. President, I thank the Senator from Idaho for sharing that story with us. It reminds us of what is being done that we might not see over here, but it is those one-on-one things that that Iraqi father is going to remember.

I want to do another story from the field. This one is written by Julian Barnes of U.S. News and World Report. He is with the 101st Airmobile Division Apache Pilots. Here we have the picture of an Apache helicopter firing an antimissile flare. This was taken April 7. The story:

Chief Warrant Officer Ted Hazen has been flying attack helicopters for years. Last week, he finally flew one into combat. ``It was everything I expected,'' he says, ``and not anything like I expected.'' It was the first deep-strike attack by the 101st Airborne Division, and Hazen was at the controls of the command chopper, helping direct the fleet of Apache Longbows into battle some 50 miles south of Baghdad. In front of him, the other pilots locked on the Republican Guard tanks and armored vehicles and let loose their hellfire missiles. ``I saw that first shot go out and bang, hit,'' he says. ``Then there was a hellacious secondary explosion. Flames went 100 feet into the air.''

After engaging the first tank, the Apaches' fuel began running low. A squadron of British Harrier jets continued the attack as the Apaches turned south, back to base. But heading home is almost as tough as attacking. Powerful tailwinds can cause blinding brownouts. The first two of the 101st's Apaches crashed while trying to land. Hazen is philosophical. After all, it's tricky business trying to land a big chopper totally blind. How tricky? ``The best thing to say,'' Hazen mused, ``is open your garage door, turn your lights off, line yourself up, go 20 miles per hour and hit your brakes and see if you stop in time.''

That sort of thing brings it home.

I wish to read an article about the 173rd Airborne Brigade. This is a picture of the paratroopers who took the airfield in northern Iraq. A U.S. soldier stands guard next to his colleagues digging in near the Harir airstrip. They are excavating earth into trucks northeast of Arbil in northern Iraq. Harir airfield is in Kurdish-controlled northern Iraq where U.S. soldiers from the 173rd Airborne unit parachuted into position.

The article is by Bay Fang, U.S. News & World Report. He is with the 173rd Airborne Brigade:

The man is covered in mud. ``I landed in a puddle,'' he says sheepishly. ``It was a great landing, other than where I landed.'' He and the other members of the 173rd Airborne Brigade dropped into northern Iraq the night before, but they still have not had a chance to clean up. They are fanned out across the airstrip here, dun-colored figures dotting the lush green fields, diggings foxholes, setting up their guns.

Another paratrooper checks a jeep-mounted machine gun and gestures at the fields and mountains shrouded in mist. ``I have total sympathy for the men in Vietnam, walking through the rice paddies,'' he says. ``I don't see how they did it. This isn't half as bad. And it's tough, this terrain out here.''

Up the road, a special forces officer haggles over a truckload of wood his men need for heat. They chose to send the troops in by parachute rather than plane, he says, for reasons of both efficiency and psychological impact. ``It sends a dramatic message to the whole region that U.S. forces are here,'' he says. ``I think we can say that the northern front is already underway.''

The north has indeed begun to move. Late that afternoon, I hear that Iraqi forces have pulled back from the ridge overlooking Chamchamal, the frontline town where I have been staying, to positions just outside Kirkuk. Kurdish fighters, known as peshmerga -- described as "those who face death"-- and curious townspeople have rushed up the mountainside. Some are here to inspect the area inhabited by their enemy for the past 12 years. Some have come to loot. But most are simply tourists, hoping to visit places once forbidden to them.

Arivan Ahmed stands on the remains of a hilltop bunker. He used to pass through this place every day on his smuggling run from Kirkuk to Chamchamal and bribe the soldiers at what was called the Challenger checkpoint. ``They sometimes took my shoes from me, so I would have to go back barefoot to Chamchamal,'' he says. That was before the American bombing started and all traffic stopped. ``I used to be very afraid every time I came through here. Now I am just happy to stand here on this ground.'' He holds a rusty hammerhead in his fist that he scrounged from the rubble, and says that is enough of a memento for him.

The road is now open 12 miles deep into what was Iraqi territory. All along it, I see scenes of defiance and celebration. A man drives a bulldozer into a cement plaque in the middle of the road. It bears pictures of Saddam Hussein--wearing a western-style suit on one side, and Kurdish dress on the other. It takes him 15 minutes to topple the plaque, and he wipes the sweat off his forehead with a laugh. ``It is very strong--he spent all of Iraq's money on plaques like these!'' he says. I just wish I could go to Baghdad and do the same to the man himself.''

The peshmerga express the same impatience with beginning the drive down south. But their commanders, sensitive about being seen to cooperate with America, make sure we understand that their forces will not move in unilaterally. It is not the peshmerga taking the newly vacated regions, they say, it is the people themselves. ``These areas we are moving into, they belong to us,'' says Gen. Rostam Hamid Rahim, the top peshmerga commander from Kirkuk. ``The citizens have moved back to the liberated area, and we are just protecting them.''

At the end of the newly opened road, Kirkuk shimmers like a mirage on the horizon, still about 12 miles away. ``It is the Jerusalem of Kurdistan, and we would like to be free,'' says the mayor of Chamchamal, walking briskly toward it as the sun sets. He and everyone else here want to return soon, fighting their way through if necessary. But they have a new phrase for their suppressed hopes: Instead of inshallah, meaning ``God willing,'' it is Insha-Bush.''

This is the picture taken that first day after the paratroopers landed in the north of Iraq.

I will show a few more pictures because I do believe that pictures say a thousand words. A lot of people have seen the pictures from the field of our troops in combat doing everyday activities. I want to show some pictures about what life is like over there for our soldiers.

Here our soldiers are sleeping next to their tanks on a highway that they have taken. They just laid down on the cement, covered their heads, and are taking what I am sure is a long hoped for respite right in the middle of the day because they have been moving at night. They are taking the rest when they can get it. We see a couple of soldiers just cannot sleep. They are awake and talking. But some of them are sleeping with their rifles on and their boots on the ground.

This is another picture showing soldiers sleeping. This was during that sandstorm that many of us saw. These soldiers are wrapped up, trying to protect their faces, their noses from inhaling that dust and sand. We see one soldier sleeping sitting up with a rifle on his lap, and we see another soldier laying down also with a face mask on trying to protect from that dust. Clearly, they are so tired that they will sleep anywhere.

These are troops digging trenches, trying to set up for potential warfare. They, too, are trying to rest before the battle that might ensue. We see them sleeping in their trenches, standing in their trenches that they just worked so hard to dig. We see the trucks that are lined up to protect them in case there is an enemy out there.

That is a fitting end to showing what our troops are enduring every day as they are on the front lines fighting for every one of us, fighting for our way of life, fighting for our right to speak on the Senate floor, the right to be in the Galleries listening, the right to watch C-SPAN2 cover the Senate every day. They are fighting for the right of each of us to kiss our babies in the morning as we go off to our jobs or as we give them the chance to play with some of their friends. Every one of the activities we are doing every day is being protected by those men and women in the field as we speak today.

We are starting the Senate every morning with 1 hour of tribute to our troops, talking about something that has happened that shows American values shining through to the people of the world. We are doing this to honor our troops, to let their families know we will not forget them for 1 minute, and that we appreciate what they are doing every single minute of the day.