In the summer of 2003, not long after U.S. forces captured Baghdad, a group of Marines was clearing unexploded ordnance in central Iraq when one of the small grenades lying on the ground exploded.
It was an unexploded cluster munition left over from an American attack, the same type of weapon that the United States is now sending to Ukraine.
A Marine bomb technician lost his left hand, part of his right hand, his left eye and most of his right leg in the explosion.
Metal fragments were also blasted into the torso and neck of Lance Cpl. Travis J. Bradach-Nall, a 21-year-old combat engineer, who stood guard about six feet away. He died minutes later.
The Marines were experts in their field and trained for operations like this, and yet an accident still occurred. The cheaply made grenades they eliminated were more dangerous than many other types of weapons they might encounter on the battlefield—they were easily concealed by debris, dirt, or sand, and were equipped with simple fuses that could detonate them when struck .
Their task that day was made even more difficult by the sheer scale of the mess they had to clean up. A photo taken at the scene for an investigation shows an old wooden ammunition box full of about 75 similar unexploded American shells that the Marines had already brought to safety.
Cluster munitions of this type were mass-produced toward the end of the Cold War and disperse dozens or even hundreds of the tiny shells at a time. These shells were designed to destroy enemy tanks and soldiers deep behind enemy lines on land where Allied soldiers were never supposed to set foot.
U.S. government studies have found that the grenades have a failure rate of 14 percent or higher, meaning that for every 155-millimeter cluster grenade given to Ukraine and fired, 10 of the 72 grenades it distributes are likely to be fired , dangerous guys fall to the ground.
More than 100 nations have banned its use because of the danger it poses, particularly to children, but the United States, Russia and Ukraine have not.
In July, the Biden administration decided to send such artillery shells to Ukraine after officials in Kiev assured the White House that their forces would use them responsibly. Ukraine also promised to document where it used the shells for subsequent demining efforts.
The decision was frustrating and painful for some American civilians who were struggling with the consequences of their involvement in combat.
Lynn Bradach was driving near Portland, Oregon, in early July when she heard the news on the radio, almost exactly 20 years after the same gun killed her son, Lance Corporal Bradach-Nall.
“I thought, ‘I can’t believe this.’ It’s just absolutely crazy,” said Ms. Bradach, who campaigned for years for a global ban on cluster weapons after the death of Lance Corporal Bradach-Nall.
A few weeks ago, she said her final goodbye to her son on the banks of the Zigzag River in Oregon. She had scattered some of his ashes in places he loved in life and thrown the rest into the water.
The White House’s decision also reopened old wounds for some American veterans.
Early on February 27, 1991, with the ceasefire that would end the Gulf War just a day away, Mark P. Hertling, then a major, chatted with soldiers near his Bradley Fighting Vehicle.
“It was raining, it was dark as hell – no moon, and it was windy,” he said. “I heard five bangs in the air and thought, ‘What the hell was that?'”
It was the sound of friendly fire – artillery shells each firing their load of 88 shells overhead.
“The next time, within seconds, it was like popping in a popcorn machine,” he remembers.
Mr Hertling was one of 31 soldiers injured by the swarm of exploding shells, two of whom required medical evacuation. Several vehicles were damaged, but none were destroyed.
The soldiers moved on, but weren’t done dealing with the deadly debris of unexploded American cluster munitions before they could return home.
“We blew up weapons caches afterward, and there were unexploded DPICM bombs everywhere,” Mr. Hertling said, using the military’s name for the grenades, which are officially called improved conventional multi-purpose munitions. “I can’t put it any other way. We were driving through an area and there they were.”
For the rest of his career, Mr. Hertling, who retired as a lieutenant general, wore the Purple Heart Medal he earned in the attack for injuries sustained by an American cluster weapon.
Twelve years later, in the early stages of another war in Iraq, Seth WB Folsom was ordered to pull his lightly armored reconnaissance unit off the highway just hours after it left a makeshift camp near the town of Diwaniyah.
At that time, Mr. Folsom, a Marine captain and company commander, ordered a squad to quickly scan the area for potential threats before the rest of his Marines could abandon their vehicles.
Shortly after they set out on foot, one of the Marines on that patrol, Lance Cpl. Jesus Suárez del Solar died in an explosion.
“At first we thought it might have been a mortar or a hand grenade, but when we looked at his equipment and the wounds he had sustained, we realized he had hit his foot against something,” Mr Folsom said. “It tore his foot in half; his entire lower body was covered with wounds.”
“He suffered a fairly serious wound to the inside of one of his legs, severing his femoral artery,” he said. “All our efforts were to stop this wound.”
Mr. Folsom soon realized that he was surrounded by unexploded cluster grenades that had recently been used against Iraqi soldiers.
“Once you knew what to look for, you saw them everywhere,” he said.
According to procedures, everyone in the battalion should have been warned via radio of the use of cluster munitions in the area so that maps could be marked.
That call never came.
Corporal Suarez del Solar bled to death during the evacuation on March 27, 2003.
Darkness fell and the captain ordered his Marines to remain in their armored vehicles overnight until bomb technicians could arrive and blow up the remaining unexploded ordnance in the area.
“That 24 hours after the episode there was a lot of shock, a lot of sadness and a lot of anger that we had nowhere to direct,” Mr Folsom said. “When a Marine dies from enemy fire, you can direct that anger at the enemy.”
“If they are friendly guns, who do you direct your anger at?”
The episode stayed with Mr. Folsom for the rest of his infantry career as he gave safety briefings on subsequent combat missions. He retired as a colonel in January and observed the public discussions about sending the weapons to Ukraine.
“My feelings on this issue are very ambivalent,” he said. “I have very strong feelings for and against, and it’s all because I have a natural bias – I’m along for the ride.”
Mr. Folsom claims responsibility for the death of Lance Corporal Suarez del Solar.
“It’s something I can’t forget,” he said. “People really need to understand the human aspect of this decision that was made.”
Mr. Folsom and Mr. Hertling, veterans of multiple combat missions, both expressed concern that in the rush to supply Ukraine with artillery ammunition, the risks associated with cluster weapons could be glossed over.
“What disgusts me is the whataboutism that focuses on the fact that Russia has been using these weapons since the beginning of the war,” Folsom said. “So what? That doesn’t make it right.”
Mr. Hertling said he understood the Pentagon’s decision if there was a shortage of regular high-explosive shells for Ukraine’s counteroffensive that began this summer.
But he’s frustrated with people who minimize the danger.
“There are already millions of unexploded munitions in Ukraine; There are thousands of mines laid by the Russians,” he said. “What we’re hearing from people now is, ‘Oh, what the hell – a few hundred thousand more USDPICM, it’s no big deal.'”
“Yeah, it’s not a big deal – until a kid picks it up and says, ‘Hey, look at this,'” he said.
Mr. Folsom wants Ukraine to take back its sovereign land, but he knows the risks the shells will pose to Ukrainian soldiers and civilians in the coming years.
“I just hope they understand what they’re asking for,” he said.