The Hawija Prison Raid: Courage in the Shadows

In the early hours before dawn, under the thin light of a half-moon, the sound of rotors beat against the cold Iraqi sky. Deep in ISIS-held territory near the town of Hawija, a joint team of U.S. Delta Force operators and Kurdish Counter-Terrorism troops were inbound on one of the most daring hostage-rescue missions of the war. Inside a makeshift prison compound—a converted school—dozens of men were awaiting execution. Freshly dug graves outside its walls left no doubt about their fate.

For weeks, intelligence analysts and Kurdish sources had tracked movements at the site. Prisoners were heard pleading through concrete walls; gunfire punctuated the night as ISIS guards carried out executions. When reconnaissance flights and intercepted communications confirmed that another mass killing was imminent, the Kurdistan Regional Government requested immediate American support. The U.S. Special Operations Command answered the call.

The operation would be fast, surgical, and ruthless if necessary. It was not meant to be a conventional battle but a desperate rescue. Yet in the chaos of war, plans rarely survive first contact.

The Mission Plan

The target was located roughly 7.5 miles north of Hawija, an ISIS stronghold in northern Iraq’s Kirkuk Province. The compound was surrounded by walls and guard towers, with limited entry points. Overhead surveillance showed around 70 hostages held inside—many of them Iraqi security personnel captured in earlier battles. The execution timetable appeared to be within hours.

Under a plan coordinated between Kurdish intelligence and the U.S. Joint Special Operations Command, two CH-47 Chinooks and supporting Black Hawks lifted off from an undisclosed base in the Kurdistan Region. A combined assault team of around 30 Kurdish soldiers and several dozen American operators from Delta Force were onboard. Coalition aircraft struck road intersections nearby to cut off potential ISIS reinforcements.

The Americans were officially in an “advise and assist” role, meant to remain behind the Kurdish lead elements unless the situation required direct engagement. But those on the ground knew better: once the first shot was fired, there would be no observers—only brothers in the fight.

Contact

It was roughly 4:00 a.m. when the helicopters touched down in clouds of dust and darkness. The assault team sprinted toward the compound, breaching charges ready. Almost immediately, gunfire erupted from the towers and adjoining buildings. The Kurds took the initial lead through the outer gate, but resistance was heavier than expected. ISIS fighters poured automatic fire into the entryway, detonating suicide vests and throwing grenades from rooftops.

As the Kurdish front line stalled, the Delta Force operators surged forward to regain momentum. Breaching teams used explosives and ladders to scale the walls, punching through reinforced doors. Inside, the corridors were thick with smoke and chaos—shouts in English, Kurdish, and Arabic cutting through the gunfire. The assault teams moved room to room, clearing each sector with ruthless precision.

Within minutes, Delta operators located the hostages—men packed into small, windowless rooms, hands bound, blindfolded, and terrified. Many believed they were about to die. One freed prisoner later recalled hearing Americans shout, “We’re here to get you out!” and realizing for the first time that his life might continue past that night.

The Battle Inside

In one of the buildings, the situation deteriorated fast. ISIS fighters had barricaded the main entrance and were firing through murder holes in the walls. Delta breacher teams used explosive charges to open new entry points, blasting through concrete and smoke. As the first operator entered, he was struck by gunfire and went down. Another fought to pull him back under heavy fire.

Among the team leaders pressing the assault was Master Sergeant Joshua L. Wheeler—a veteran of more than a dozen deployments, widely respected for his calm under fire. Seeing the Kurdish troops pinned down and hearing calls for help from inside, Wheeler didn’t hesitate. He led his men through the breach and into the storm.

Eyewitnesses recall him sprinting across open ground without cover, firing as he went, shouting for others to follow. His leadership broke the stalemate. Moments later, hostages began pouring out through the opening—shackled men stumbling into the night, many barefoot, some crying, all in disbelief.

Then came the worst news: Wheeler had been hit. Despite efforts to stabilize him, his wounds were fatal. He was the first American service member killed in combat in Iraq since the campaign against ISIS began in 2014.

The Extraction

Even as medics worked to save their fallen comrade, the mission continued. More hostages were found in secondary buildings, guarded by smaller groups of ISIS militants. Some of the prisoners were members of the Iraqi army or police, held since 2014. Others were local residents accused of “collaboration.” All bore signs of torture and starvation.

The firefight lasted about two hours. By dawn, coalition aircraft circled overhead, and the extraction began. Nearly 70 hostages were evacuated by helicopter to Kurdish-controlled territory, where they received medical treatment and debriefing. Coalition forces then destroyed the compound with precision airstrikes to prevent it from being reused by ISIS.

Approximately 20 ISIS fighters were killed in the battle, and several more captured. No hostages were lost.

A Hero’s Legacy

Master Sergeant Joshua Wheeler, 39, was born in Roland, Oklahoma. He enlisted in the Army in 1995, served in the 75th Ranger Regiment, and later joined the Army’s elite Delta Force. Over his two decades of service, he had deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan multiple times, earning 11 Bronze Stars, four of them for valor.

His actions at Hawija saved dozens of lives. His wife later described him as a man who “ran toward the sound of danger his entire life—not because he wanted glory, but because he couldn’t bear to see others in harm’s way.” His sacrifice resonated deeply across the Special Operations community.

In 2020, another participant in the raid, Sergeant Major Thomas “Patrick” Payne, was awarded the Medal of Honor for his heroism during the same operation. Payne repeatedly entered burning buildings to free captives trapped inside, cutting through locks while under fire. Together, these men and their teammates exemplified the best traditions of their service—selflessness, courage, and devotion to others.

The Broader Significance

The Hawija raid was more than a tactical victory. It signaled a turning point in the campaign against ISIS, demonstrating that coalition forces could strike anywhere, anytime. It also highlighted the effectiveness of U.S.–Kurdish cooperation—a partnership built on trust, professionalism, and shared sacrifice.

Strategically, the operation delivered valuable intelligence. Documents and computer drives recovered from the site provided insight into ISIS command structures, logistics, and execution practices. Politically, it reaffirmed the U.S. commitment to protect civilian lives and assist allies facing brutal terrorist regimes.

Yet the mission also reignited debate over America’s role in Iraq. Officially, U.S. ground troops were in “support” roles, but Hawija showed that when allies are pinned down and lives are at stake, those distinctions blur. For the men on the ground, it was never about policy—it was about duty.

Inside the Compound

Later investigations revealed grim details of what the prisoners had endured. The facility had once been a school before ISIS transformed it into a killing ground. Cells were windowless and overcrowded, with prisoners beaten daily. Kurdish officials said that hours before the raid, guards had begun transferring captives to the courtyard for execution. Fresh graves dug outside the walls confirmed that death was only moments away.

The speed of the rescue was the only thing that saved them. Many of the freed hostages later credited the American and Kurdish troops not only for their liberation but for giving them back their faith in humanity after months of captivity.

Brotherhood in the Fire

Accounts from that night emphasize not only the bravery of individual soldiers but the unity between the Kurdish CTD and U.S. operators. Language barriers were overcome by shared purpose and battlefield instinct. At one point, Kurdish fighters carried ammunition for their American counterparts; in return, U.S. medics treated wounded Kurds side by side with their own.

One Kurdish commander later said, “When the fight came, we were one force. They fought for our people as if they were their own.”

That sentiment lies at the heart of the Hawija raid’s enduring legacy. It was not merely an operation—it was a human act of defiance against terror, a moment when men from different nations chose to risk everything for strangers whose names they would never know.

Aftermath

In the days following the raid, news of the mission spread rapidly across the world. Iraqi officials celebrated the rescue, calling it a “historic blow to ISIS brutality.” U.S. Defense Secretary Ash Carter confirmed that intelligence pointed to an imminent mass execution, validating the decision to act.

For the families of the rescued, it was nothing short of a miracle. For the family of Joshua Wheeler, it was a devastating but proud moment—a final chapter written in courage.

ISIS propaganda channels attempted to downplay the loss, but the psychological impact was immense. The raid shattered the myth of ISIS’s invulnerability inside its own territory. It proved that precision special operations could reach deep into their strongholds and dismantle their machinery of terror, one compound at a time.

Remembering Hawija

Today, the Hawija prison raid stands as one of the most successful and courageous special operations of the anti-ISIS campaign. It was a mission born of urgency, executed with skill, and paid for with blood.

For Ghosts of the Battlefield, the story embodies everything our museum strives to preserve—the quiet valor of those who serve in the shadows, the alliances that transcend borders, and the price of freedom paid by those who never make it home.

When visitors stand before the displays that honor modern-era warriors—Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq—we hope they see not just weapons or uniforms, but human stories: men like Master Sergeant Joshua Wheeler, who ran into the fire so that others could live.

Because in the end, that is what remembrance truly means.