The riveting account of how one brigade turned Iraq's most violent city into a model of stability Colonel Sean MacFarland's brigade arrived in Iraq's deadliest city with simple instructions: pacify Ramadi without destroying it. The odds were against him from the start. In fact, few thought he would succeed. Ramadi had been going steadily downhill. By 2006, insurgents roamed freely in many parts of the city in open defiance of Iraq's U.S.-backed government. Al-Qaeda had boldly declared Ramadi its capital. Even the U.S. military acknowledged the province would be the last to be pacified. A lanky officer with a boyish face, MacFarland was no Patton. But his soft voice masked an iron will and a willingness to take risks. While most of the American military was focused on taming Baghdad, MacFarland laid out a bold plan for Ramadi. His soldiers would take on the insurgents in their own backyard. He set up combat outposts in the city's most dangerous neighborhoods. Snipers roamed the dark streets, killing al-Qaeda leaders and terrorist cells. U.S. tanks rumbled down the streets, firing point blank into buildings occupied by insurgents. MacFarland's brigade engaged in some of the bloodiest street fighting of the war. Casualties on both sides mounted. Al-Qaeda wasn't going to give up easily. Ramadi was too important. MacFarland wasn't going to back down either. The two sides had fought to a stalemate. At least until Sheik Abdul Sattar Bezia al-Rishawi emerged. A minor tribal leader, Sheik Sattar had earned his reputation as a smuggler. He carried a large six-shooter on his hip and had a taste for whiskey. But he hated al-Qaeda and was watching MacFarland's brigade as they battled militants toe-to-toe. This was a different group of Americans, Sattar thought. Sattar approached MacFarland and said he was ready to join with the Americans and fight al-Qaeda. Other officers might have kept their distance. MacFarland didn't hesitate. He promised Sattar his support. What followed was one of history's unlikeliest -- and most successful -- partnerships. Together, the Americans and Sattar's growing band of fighters drove al-Qaeda from Ramadi. A Chance in Hell is compelling tale of combat leadership and how a handful of men turned the tide of war at a time when it looked most hopeless. "Michaels...deftly explains how the so-called Anbar Awakening emerged from this seemingly hopeless set of circumstances...." -- The Wall Street Journal "Michaels shows that ideas can win wars or lose them, often by the narrowest of margins." -- Ken Allard in New York Journal of Books "Many of the events in the book...will captivate readers...." -- Army Times "A Chance in Hell is one of the most important books written thus far on Army operations in Iraq." -- Lou DiMarco in the blog, A Horse Soldier's Thoughts "It is one helluve story that has been told brilliantly by Jim Michaels." --Jim Lehrer, author and anchor of PBS Newshour JIM MICHAELS is a military writer for USA Today and an experienced war correspondent, who has made dozens of reporting trips to Iraq, Afghanistan and other war zones. A former U.S. Marine infantry officer, he lives in Falls Church, Virginia. 1 Hero Flight Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night. —HENRY V The doors opened, spilling a pool of yellow light into the darkness. Four stretcher bearers came out with the remains of Private First Class Brett Tribble, zipped into a black plastic body bag. The soldiers stood in two ranks, lining the gravel road in front of the makeshift morgue—a plywood building equipped with extra air conditioners to keep the bodies cool. First Sgt. David Shaw called the men to attention and the soldiers saluted as the stretcher bearers moved slowly down the ranks. It was silent, except for the scrape of the litter-bearers’ boots against the gravel road. Capt. Artie Maxwell, the battalion chaplain, recited the Twenty-third Psalm: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .” The stretcher bearers—four noncommissioned officers from Tribble’s company—placed his body carefully in the back of a waiting field ambulance. The two ranks then closed into one and formed a pro cession behind the ambulance, which turned left and drove slowly toward the helicopter landing zone, about a hundred yards away. Small green chemlites placed on the side of the road marked the path dimly. The drone of the helicopters grew deafening as the birds approached the landing zone. A pair of Marine Corps CH-46s closed in, their gray drab airframes barely lighter than the dark sky. In 2006, most helicopters in Anbar Province flew at night with their running lights off to avoid ground fire. They didn’t remain on the ground long. The camp was often the target of enemy rocket and mortar fire. The helicopters hovered briefly and then settled on the sand, squatting in the darkness as their blades continued to turn, violently stirring the warm air and sending out a blast