MOSUL,
Iraq — By the time little Amira, just a year old, reached the field
clinic near the front line in Mosul, she was already dead. All her
father could do was bundle her up in a golden blanket, carry her to a
nearby mosque and bury her.
When
a Humvee pulled up to the door of the clinic, a young boy in the back
was draped over a man’s body. “My father, answer me!” he cried. “My
father, answer me! Don’t die!” But he, too, was already dead.
It
was barely noon on Wednesday, and eight bodies had already arrived at
the clinic, an abandoned house where medics provide a minimum of
treatment, just enough to keep the lucky ones alive long enough for the
hourlong drive to a trauma center.
The battle for Mosul, which started six weeks ago, aims to evict the Islamic State from its last major stronghold in Iraq. But civilians are paying a growing price, with more and more dead flowing out of the dense, urban combat zones each day.
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The
carnage, along with significant military casualties, has prompted some
military officials to second-guess their initial strategy, which asked
residents to stay in their homes and rise up against the Islamic State.
There has been no uprising, and civilians are dying at home, all of
which is fueling concern that the campaign could become a quagmire.
The
Iraqi authorities are also considering greater firepower. But
introducing new weapons that may be more effective against Islamic State
fighters, like artillery and tanks, also risks putting civilians in
even greater danger.
For
now, most of the civilians killed are casualties of Islamic State
artillery and snipers, soldiers say. The rising civilian toll has ground
the fight to a crawl, as Iraqi forces are unable to make substantial
progress and protect civilians at the same time. The government is
considering a mass evacuation, but even that might make civilians more
vulnerable if the Iraqi military were to change its tactics.
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In
a bid to regain some momentum, the American-led coalition on Wednesday
bombed another bridge over the Tigris River in Mosul, leaving only one
intact. The goal is to prevent the Islamic State, also known as ISIS or ISIL, from resupplying its forces in east Mosul, where Iraqi forces have bogged down.
Humanitarian
workers, already fearing a siege of Mosul’s city center that could drag
on until the spring, are drawing up plans for airdrops or sending food
into the city on boats up the Tigris.
“What
we’re seeing is terrifying,” said Lise Grande, the top United Nations
humanitarian coordinator in Iraq. “ISIL is intentionally targeting
civilians, firing directly at them. Scores of people, including young
children and women, are arriving daily in hospitals. Their injuries are
horrific. The wounded are traveling for hours to reach proper care.”
She
said that if the Iraqi security forces start using heavy artillery,
“there is no doubt civilian casualties will increase exponentially.”
“We
cannot rule out that Daesh will push people into the firing zone,” she
added, using the Arabic acronym for the Islamic State. “The result would
be catastrophic.”
Many
are questioning the wisdom of the Iraqi government’s decision, before
the battle began, to drop millions of leaflets over the city imploring
civilians to remain in their homes. The objective was to avert a
humanitarian crisis set off by hundreds of thousands of civilians
fleeing, but instead civilians are increasingly dying as they are caught
in the crossfire while soldiers make their way, house by house, through
densely populated neighborhoods.
“The
problem is all the civilians,” Brig. Gen. Fadhil Barwari, a special
forces commander, said in an interview. “I can’t use my tanks, I can’t
use my artillery.”
Another
problem is that the pre-battle intelligence the Iraqis relied on was
wrong. Iraqi intelligence officers had predicted that once security
forces reached Mosul, civilians, including tribal fighters who had been
feeding information about the Islamic State from inside, would rise up,
and that the city would fall quickly.
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Brig.
Gen. Abdul-Wahab al-Saadi, another special forces commander, said he
had known from the beginning that no one would rise up.
Iraqi
officials had hoped that keeping civilians in their homes while
counting on residents to rise up would also avert the type of
destruction in Mosul that was seen in Ramadi, another Islamic State-held
city, which was liberated at the beginning of the year but was reduced
to rubble. Now, as military officials consider whether to try evacuation
to allow a greater use of artillery and more airstrikes, they worry
that Mosul, too, could look like Ramadi once the battle is finished.
Amid
the chaos on Wednesday, as the bodies were flowing into the field
clinic, Lt. Gen. Stephen J. Townsend, the top American military
commander in Iraq, landed in a helicopter to meet with the Iraqi
officers leading the battle. One, Brig. Gen. Sami al-Aridhi, said that
at the emergency meeting, the Iraqis implored the Americans to do more
to target Islamic State artillery positions and car bombs from the air.
“The Americans promised us today they would send more drones,” he said.
He
also said the government should shift tactics and order civilians to
leave their homes, even though in some neighborhoods where Iraqi forces
have tried to evacuate families, the civilians have refused, saying they
do not want to live in tent camps.
“We have tried so hard not to harm them,” he said.
At
the field clinic in Mosul on Wednesday morning, trucks and Humvees
arrived one after the other, carrying the wounded and dead. Medics said
they needed more of everything — bandages, antibiotics, fluids for IV
drips. “It gets worse every day,” said an Iraqi colonel who gave only
his first name, Khalil. “There are lost legs, chest wounds, head wounds.
Daesh has begun to target the people.”
Adding
to the chaos, groups of civilians fleeing the fighting are constantly
approaching the clinic, setting the soldiers scrambling to keep them
away, rifles raised, out of fear of suicide bombers. On Wednesday, one
man, insistent on reaching the soldiers, stopped in the distance and
raised his gown to show that he was not strapped with explosives.
After
a first stop at the field clinic, many of the wounded go to Erbil, the
Kurdish capital, where trauma centers and hospitals are overwhelmed and
running low on medicine and other supplies. There are also not enough
doctors, and those working have not been paid for months because of a
financial crisis brought on by low oil prices.
“It’s
24 hours a day,” said Dr. Hassan Mercalose, 29, who works at West
Hospital in Erbil. The last time he was paid was in August, and that was
only 30 percent of his salary. With fighting intensifying in Mosul, he
said, “the situation is going to get worse. I know that.”
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On
Tuesday night, nearly every room was full of civilians who had been
hurt in Mosul. The halls were filled with patients on gurneys, awaiting
surgery.
In
one room was Khalid Majid, 40, whose 5-year-old son, Hamoudi, was
killed that morning in an explosion in Mosul and whose wife, with back
wounds from the same explosion, was lying on her stomach and crying out
for her son.
“This
is the problem with the government,” Mr. Majid said. “They asked us to
stay home and this is the result. It’s not just me. There are so many
families.”
Upstairs
in Room 218 was Rahma Idriss, a 16-year-old girl who had just lost both
of her legs. It was especially tragic, her family said, because she was
not married and now no one would want to be her husband.
Down
the hall was her brother Farris, 42, who lost his left leg in the same
attack that wounded her. He had a smile on his face and warmly welcomed a
visitor, which is normal for Iraqis. Even under the saddest of
circumstances, the hospitality they are famous for shines through. He
said he had showed up in just his underwear, and had no pillow until a
friend gave him one.
“We
were brought up in great families,” he said. “This forced us to be
generous, and to deal with people in a good way.” He said that even the
foreign Islamic State fighters who lived in his neighborhood were
“surprised when they saw our traditions.”
Downstairs
at the hospital, Mohammed Abdulmunum, 53, stood in a hallway and ticked
off his losses that day — four family members killed, his wife wounded
and probably paralyzed, his house destroyed — and then turned
philosophical.
“I have lost all of my life,” he said. “There is nothing more to be afraid of.”
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