Part 4: “Securing the Rubble: Final Push and Aftermath”

Introduction — The City Breaks, but the Fight Lingers

The City’s Backbone Shattered, But Not Silent

By November 18, 2004, much of Operation Phantom Fury’s fiercest fighting had passed. The Jolan District and industrial zone were under U.S. control, and key roads were secured—but Fallujah was far from fully taken.

To grasp what remained, it helps to revisit the battle’s earlier chapters. Parts One through Three cover the initial assault, brutal house-to-house fighting, and the courage that carried Marines through.

Now, in Part Four, the focus shifts to the city’s southern pockets—last holdouts hidden in tunnels, fortified homes, and collapsed mosques. This wasn’t a typical battlefield but a maze of traps and fierce resistance.

If you’re new to the story, start at the beginning—where the fight for Fallujah truly began.

U.S. Marines from the Light Armored Reconnaissance company of 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines, clear houses at the location where four insurgents launched a deadly counterattack on November 23, 2004, in Fallujah, Iraq, resulting in one American killed and several wounded (Scott Peterson/Getty Images)

The Nature of the Final Fight

The battle entered a new phase: not sweeping assaults, but methodical operations. Marines and Army soldiers transitioned from high-tempo block clearing to a more surgical form of warfare. Every abandoned structure became a puzzle, every quiet street a potential ambush.

Snipers lingered in shadows. Traps lay beneath floorboards. In some sectors, gunfire still echoed through the ruins. What looked like a city under control was, in truth, a fractured maze of unfinished business.

Clearing became less about advancing and more about confirming—searching homes already passed through, checking rooftops, re-securing areas previously “cleared.” The enemy, ever fluid, exploited every lapse in security.

Iraqi Forces Step In

For the first time since the initial assault, Iraqi troops began playing a more prominent role. Trained by coalition advisors and deployed under joint command, they patrolled streets, manned checkpoints, and led searches in neighborhoods familiar to them in ways no American could fully understand.

Their presence marked the beginning of a new chapter in Fallujah—one focused not only on firepower, but on legitimacy. Iraqis securing Iraqi ground.

Still, progress was uneven. Some Iraqi units operated with discipline and resolve. Others lacked cohesion or struggled to maintain morale amid the wreckage. But their role, symbolic and practical, could not be understated. Fallujah would not be held by foreign boots alone.

Iraqi Army Battalion members in late 2004

The Weight of a Wounded City

For many coalition troops, the endgame brought little relief. The tempo slowed, but the danger remained. Death came more randomly—one more booby trap, one last sniper, one final grenade tossed from a rubble-strewn alley.

Exhaustion was total. For Marines and soldiers who had fought through the city’s furnace, the psychological toll was immense. Days blurred together. Nights offered little rest. The war was no longer about seizing ground—it was about surviving long enough to hand that ground over.

And beyond the uniformed toll lay the unseen wounds of Fallujah’s civilians. Families had been displaced. Homes reduced to dust. Schools turned to bunkers. Mosques to battlegrounds. Even in "victory," the cost was staggering.

A U.S. Marine throws a grenade down a stairwell to clear the floor below during the Second Battle of Fallujah, Iraq, on November 25, 2004 (Scott Peterson/Getty Images)

From Battle to Occupation

With the city mostly under control, the mission shifted once again. Intelligence teams, explosive ordnance disposal units, and civil affairs officers began arriving behind the riflemen. Their tasks: uncover insurgent networks, defuse leftover traps, and begin the slow, uphill work of rebuilding trust with a traumatized population.

This would not be clean. Nor easy. Fallujah, in its silence, still pulsed with danger.

Southern Resistance — Clearing the Last Redoubts

The Southern Sector: A City’s Last Stand

As November waned, the battle for Fallujah compressed into its southernmost neighborhoods—a tangle of alleyways, crumbling facades, and fortified homes. This was the final redoubt for the remaining insurgents. Many had retreated from earlier engagements, regrouping here with the intent to bleed coalition forces in a last, desperate stand. Unlike earlier phases of the battle, where movement surged in coordinated waves, the south demanded a slower, more cautious grind. Every corner was a potential kill zone.

A U.S. Army soldier stands watch over the burned-out remains of a military ammo truck after an attack in Fallujah, Iraq, on October 19, 2003 (Khalid Mohammed/AP)

Tactics of the Cornered

The enemy adapted with brutal efficiency. Rooftops served as both sniper nests and escape routes. Small holes punched between homes allowed fighters to maneuver unseen. Booby traps and hidden IEDs became more frequent, planted behind false walls or inside household items. Dead ends were often deliberate—funneled spaces designed to trap Marines in ambushes from multiple directions. These weren’t random acts of desperation. They were the last plays of an enemy that had learned to weaponize the terrain.

The Battle Near Fallujah General Hospital

One of the fiercest flashpoints came near the ruins of Fallujah General Hospital. Although it had been targeted and largely cleared during the battle’s opening hours, remnants of the insurgency had filtered back in. The hospital’s skeletal frame offered a tactical stronghold, with sightlines across several blocks and fortified positions inside former operating rooms. U.S. forces launched a concentrated effort to reclaim the structure, battling through debris-laden corridors and stairwells where ambushes awaited at every level. Once retaken, the hospital revealed a chilling stockpile of supplies—ammunition crates, rationed water, even makeshift stretchers—evidence that insurgents had intended to hold it as a last bastion.

Fortified Homes and Death Traps

Just blocks from the hospital, Marines uncovered row after row of booby-trapped homes. Some were rigged to collapse when doors opened. Others featured bedrooms with machine guns sandbagged into windows, firing lanes mapped to strike advancing squads. In many cases, insurgents remained inside, willing to die rather than flee. Patrols were met with bursts of automatic fire from closets, basements, and behind curtains. The very structure of the neighborhood had been transformed into a battlefield.

The Cost of Every Raid

With each raid, U.S. forces grew more methodical, more cautious—but even caution had its limits. Insurgents baited fireteams into courtyards before detonating hidden explosives. Marines learned to advance slowly, checking every stairwell, every hollow wall, every seemingly abandoned room. Some units called in tanks to level buildings rather than risk entering them. Progress was measured in feet, not blocks.

Casualties continued. Young men who had fought through the Jolan and the industrial zone now fell in narrow stairwells and shadowed alleys. Even as the city neared full coalition control, the dying had not yet stopped.

A U.S. Marine returns fire during a firefight in western Fallujah, November 13, 2004. (AP Photo/Anja Niedringhaus)

Tunnels, Traps, and Caches

A City Beneath the City

As Marines and Iraqi forces swept the southern districts, they discovered a hidden world beneath the rubble. Insurgents had constructed an elaborate network of tunnels—some stretching entire blocks. Dug beneath homes, courtyards, and streets, these passageways allowed fighters to appear and disappear at will. They used them to ambush patrols, evade airstrikes, and resupply frontline positions without exposing themselves to fire.

Some tunnels were as narrow as crawlspaces, others reinforced with wood or metal. In many cases, troops only discovered them after firefights—when a wounded insurgent would vanish through the floor or walls. Others were found collapsed, with bodies inside, either killed during combat or trapped after detonation.

Every Room a Risk

Beyond the tunnels, nearly every structure held danger. Weapons caches turned up in the most unexpected places. In one schoolhouse, Marines found an entire classroom converted into an armory, with AK-47s lined against chalkboards and ammunition cans stacked like books. In homes, rocket-propelled grenades were hidden behind curtains or beneath floorboards. In kitchens, troops uncovered plastic explosives stored in cereal boxes and under sinks.

Children’s bedrooms were no safer. Some were rigged with tripwires. Others concealed sniper perches above the closets or trapdoors leading to underground bunkers. A few rooms featured Qur’ans or family photos deliberately placed near bombs—hoping to deter a thorough search or cause hesitation.

Marines from Regimental Combat Team 7, working with Iraqi Army Emergency Response Unit troops, get ready to launch an assault on insurgents holed up in a mosque in Fallujah

Command Centers Disguised as Homes

In a handful of locations, Marines uncovered fully equipped insurgent command posts. These weren’t makeshift hideouts—they were hubs of coordination and communication. Some included satellite phones, captured U.S. maps marked with movements, and handwritten rosters of foreign fighters. In one building, soldiers found multiple passports, suggesting the presence of jihadists from Syria, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia.

The bunkers also held rations, water storage, and sometimes even video recording equipment used for propaganda. These discoveries confirmed what many had suspected: Fallujah wasn’t just a battlefield—it had functioned as the operational and ideological heart of a transnational insurgency.

Booby Traps and Psychological Warfare

Even after a cache was found, the danger lingered. Insurgents rigged storage areas to detonate if tampered with. Some bombs were triggered by cell phones or pressure switches; others used crude but deadly traps like grenades with pins tied to doors. Engineers and Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) teams were constantly on call, racing to disable devices before someone else triggered them.

These traps weren’t just tactical—they were psychological. They slowed every operation, forced caution at every turn, and reminded troops that the city itself had been turned into a weapon.

During Operation Al Fajr in Fallujah, U.S. Marines from I Company, 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines, 1st Marine Division uncovered weapons caches containing explosives, rifles, rockets, medical gear, electronics, long-range cell phones, and propaganda materials.

Iraqi Forces Take the Lead

A Shift in Strategy

By late November, as U.S. forces wrapped up major combat operations, the mission began to transition from sweeping assaults to stabilization and control. That meant Iraqi Security Forces (ISF)—including the Iraqi National Guard and newly trained police units—were pushed to the forefront. Their role became central to house-to-house patrols, holding cleared sectors, and interacting with returning civilians.

This shift was both symbolic and strategic: it signaled the beginning of a handover and aimed to foster a sense of Iraqi sovereignty in a city shattered by occupation and insurgency alike.

Learning Under Fire

Though often under-equipped and lacking combat experience, some Iraqi units performed well, especially when operating alongside U.S. advisors. They brought with them a critical edge—local knowledge. In neighborhoods where U.S. troops saw only wreckage, Iraqi soldiers recognized familiar landmarks, dialects, and even specific families. That knowledge helped identify holdouts and avoid some of the cultural pitfalls that had plagued earlier operations.

In a few cases, Iraqi soldiers led Marines to hidden tunnel entrances or pointed out known insurgent sympathizers. These moments of effective collaboration reinforced hopes that an Iraqi-led security apparatus might eventually take root.

Iraqi soldiers and U.S. Marines move room to room, clearing buildings in Fallujah during Operation Al Fajr (New Dawn), Dec. 10, 2004

Discipline and Doubts

Still, the performance of Iraqi forces was uneven. Some units lacked cohesion and discipline. There were reports of looting, rough treatment of civilians, or disappearing during critical operations. Others struggled with morale and logistics, especially after sustaining casualties. A few abandoned their posts entirely when confronted with sustained insurgent resistance.

Corruption also remained a concern. In some areas, U.S. forces had to double-check arrests and patrols to ensure detainees weren’t being released due to tribal pressure or bribes. It was a fragile experiment—one built on urgency and necessity rather than trust.

A Step Toward Stability

Despite the flaws, the integration of Iraqi forces was essential. Their increasing presence marked a turning point: Fallujah was no longer solely under American guns. It was an Iraqi city again—at least in principle. Patrols led by Iraqi soldiers helped rebuild some confidence among residents, even if that trust remained thin.

Ultimately, their involvement was not just a tactical necessity—it was a political and symbolic one. If Fallujah was to be more than a battlefield, Iraqis would have to be the ones holding it.

An Iraqi Army soldier armed with a 5.56mm Zastava M72 prepares to engage insurgents near a mosque during combat operations to clear enemy fighters from the city of Fallujah

Casualties, POWs, and Kill Counts

The American Toll

By early December 2004, the human cost of Operation Phantom Fury was no longer a grim abstraction—it was sharply etched into casualty lists and hospital ledgers. The U.S. military confirmed at least 95 American service members killed in action and more than 560 wounded over the course of the battle. These were riflemen, medics, tank crewmen, and engineers—many of them young, many on their first deployment.

Evacuation helicopters made near-constant runs, lifting the wounded from roof tops and cratered intersections. Navy corpsmen and field medics worked miracles under fire. Some Marines refused morphine so they could remain alert in case the fight came again before help arrived.

Enemy Losses and Foreign Fighters

Estimates of enemy losses varied, but most fell between 1,200 and 1,600 insurgents killed, with hundreds more captured. Among the dead were not just Iraqis—documents, passports, and physical identifiers confirmed the presence of foreign fighters from Syria, Saudi Arabia, Chechnya, Sudan, and Egypt.

These men had come to Iraq for a singular purpose: to die fighting Americans. Some operated in tightly knit cells, others fought as lone wolves embedded with local militants. Their presence reinforced what U.S. commanders had long suspected—Fallujah wasn’t just a stronghold, it was a hub of international jihadism.

A medical track from the 7th Cavalry, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Cavalry Division speeds through Fallujah on November 12, 2004, rushing wounded soldiers to care during intense fighting.

Prisoners of War

Those captured alive were few, and most refused to cooperate. Prisoners taken from rubble-strewn houses or pulled from tunnel entrances often showed signs of recent battle—burns, shrapnel wounds, or gunshots.

Some stared blankly into the distance. Others spat, cursed, or smiled. One Marine recalled pulling an insurgent from a collapsed hallway, only to have the man whisper, “You lose eventually,” through broken teeth and bloodied lips.

These moments, while brief, lingered. They weren’t just psychological warfare—they were reminders that this wasn’t a war of land or logistics. It was ideological. Existential. Unforgiving.

A Marine from Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines pauses for a break in Fallujah, November 2004

A Humanitarian Wound

Civilians Trapped in the Crossfire

Though much of Fallujah’s population had evacuated before the main assault, thousands of civilians remained inside the city when the battle began. Some stayed behind out of fear, loyalty to their homes, or because they were unable to leave. Others were trapped deliberately—kept in place by insurgents who used them as shields or blocked escape routes. As coalition forces moved from house to house, they encountered more than armed resistance. They found families hiding in basements, many of them dehydrated, injured, and too frightened to speak. Some had survived for days without food or clean water, listening to gunfire and explosions shake the buildings above them.

Compassion Amid Chaos

Despite the ferocity of the fighting, American troops did what they could to care for the civilians they found. Field medics treated wounds whenever possible, often under dangerous conditions. Marines shared their food and water, giving up rations to help those who had nothing. In one instance, a patrol repaired a broken water pump to provide drinking water for a group of civilians discovered in a recently cleared neighborhood. Acts like these were small, improvised gestures, carried out in the middle of a war zone. They didn’t make headlines, but they mattered—to the people who received them and to the Marines who carried them out.

Iraqi National Guard and U.S. Marines, help pass out food and water to a civilian in the city of Fallujah, Iraq

Aftermath and Aid

Once major combat operations ended, aid organizations began arriving to assess the damage. United Nations teams and the Red Crescent moved through the city’s rubble, documenting what was left and what would be needed to begin recovery. Their early findings were bleak. A majority of homes and buildings had been damaged or destroyed. Power and water systems were nonfunctional. Entire neighborhoods had been reduced to ash and concrete. Tens of thousands of residents had no homes to return to, and those who did return found devastation waiting for them.

A City in Ruins

Fallujah was no longer a functioning city. It had become a shell of what it once was, marked by destruction and loss. For the civilians who had survived the siege, the cost was more than just physical—it was emotional and psychological. The trauma of hiding from mortars, living without basic necessities, and losing family members left wounds that would take years to heal. The battle for Fallujah had claimed insurgents and soldiers, but it had also carved a deep scar through the lives of the innocent.

Closing Reflection — Holding What Was Taken

A City Reclaimed, but Not at Peace

By early December, the shooting had mostly stopped. Fallujah was no longer an active battlefield, but it was far from secure. Insurgents who had slipped through the cracks regrouped on the outskirts, launching sporadic ambushes and IED attacks. Some returned at night through unmonitored routes, testing the perimeter and probing for weaknesses. Clearing the city had been an objective; holding it became a burden. Patrols continued. Outposts were fortified. Trust remained elusive.

Marines from Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines Regiment, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, preparing to launch a raid to clear houses and hunt down the remaining insurgents in Fallujah, 2004

The Ongoing Strain on Forces

For the Marines and soldiers who had pushed through the city’s heart, the transition from battle to occupation brought no relief. Exhaustion lingered. Units rotated out, replaced by fresh faces tasked with an even harder mission: stabilizing what remained. For those staying behind, the challenge shifted. The enemy no longer held buildings, but still held influence. Rumors of returning fighters kept security tight and tensions high. The line between combat and peace remained blurred.

Damage Beyond the Physical

Fallujah had been recaptured in military terms. Districts were marked green on tactical maps. Supply routes reopened. Convoys rolled in with rebuilding materials and humanitarian aid. Yet the soul of the city was fractured. Schools were gone. Mosques had been desecrated. Markets were dust and cratered concrete. The people who returned did so with caution, walking streets that now held ghosts. For many, liberation felt like a word detached from their lived reality.

Marines from 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines clearing buildings in Fallujah, Iraq

A Legacy Written in Blood and Ash

For the 1st Marine Division and 2nd Brigade Combat Team, Fallujah would remain etched in memory. It was a fight defined by intensity, sacrifice, and unrelenting pressure. They had taken the city at immense cost—but what they held onto in the aftermath was far less tangible. Victory had been achieved, but not easily defined. It could be measured in seized blocks and enemy dead, but not in the hearts of the displaced or the grief of comrades left behind.

Fallujah was no longer a battlefield—but it was not yet a home. The battle had ended. The struggle had not.