Equipment for Iraqi security forces is in short supply. Deputy police chief Josef Hussein, working out of a compound in Qayyarah that is within blocks of several police stations destroyed in attacks, complains that his troops lack transport, radios and machine guns. American officers in Qayyarah have promised Hussein that they will do all they can to meet Iraqi forces' needs. But privately, the same officers admit to me that funds are short.

Equipment shortages have plagued Iraqi forces since the first new army units were stood up in the fall of 2003, according to Michael O'Hanlon, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution. In stark contrast to American soldiers, almost all of whom have their own body armor (even if they have had to pay for it themselves), many Iraqi soldiers share a limited number of armor vests and often go without. And while U.S. forces travel in up-armored Humvees, Strykers and other armored vehicles (in some cases also of their own furnishing) that protect them from snipers and roadside bombs, Iraqi forces rely on trucks -- or simply walk.

O'Hanlon questions why outfitting the Iraqi forces hasn't been a greater priority. "There's no good reason why Iraqis can't be equipped," he says. More than two years into the reconstruction, the Bush administration seems to agree; the president will soon sign an $81.3 billion "emergency" war spending appropriation approved by Congress last week, which includes $5.7 billion for training and outfitting Iraqi troops.

Equipment issues aside, hiring trustworthy natives willing to stand up to insurgents is one of the U.S. military's major challenges in Iraq -- especially when it comes to the Iraqi police. Despite their importance and the heavy casualties they've suffered, the police -- especially those in Sunni towns -- are widely considered the most corrupt and least reliable of the Iraqi security forces. After decades of being mere cogs in an authoritarian system, most of Iraq's regular police are incapable enforcing the law, U.S. soldiers say. Unlike the Iraqi army, which was completely disbanded, then re-formed and trained by U.S. forces, many of the Iraqi police on the streets today are the same cops that served under Saddam Hussein. That means a lot of the Saddam regime's thuggish habits are still at work in many towns.

"The Iraqi police are corrupt as hell," says 38-year-old Master Sgt. Justin Lucios from the German-based 1st Infantry Division, which occupied Baquba until February. Lucios says old-school Iraqi police are more likely to flee than fight, just as they did in Q-West and Samarra last fall.

Even harder than motivating individual police and soldiers has been finding able leaders. Two Iraqi army battalion commanders in Q-West deserted their units last fall. To fill the gap, Becker awarded a colonel's commission to Ra'ad, a Kurdish private security contractor who voluntarily fought insurgents during the meltdown. Ra'ad has done a fine job since then, according to Becker, but he's the exception to the rule, and Americans continue to lead Iraqi units in all but the most permissive of environments. During the January elections, 1st Infantry Division officers in Baquba took charge of poll security at many locations despite repeated promises to let the Iraqis handle it themselves.

According to several Army officers I spoke with, U.S. soldiers across Iraq continue to take the lead even in small-scale combat operations -- a tacit admission that Iraqi forces simply aren't up to the task. Often this means that individual American noncommissioned officers, or NCOs, sideline their Iraqi counterparts. From January to May this year, I often saw this taking place while patrolling with U.S. and Iraqi forces in the Sunni triangle, and in northern and eastern Iraq.

On one Jan. 26 patrol in the town of Kanan, 1st Division Staff Sgt. Joshua Marcum, 25, led a joint U.S.-Iraqi force on a door-to-door search of Iraqi homes looking for insurgents who'd been shooting at polling places. At one home, while Marcum's translator cowered outside for fear of being recognized by insurgents, Marcum could only gesture the other Iraqi soldiers who accompanied U.S. soldiers inside the house. He motioned for them to stand guard over the residents in the living room while he and his American troops went room to room with a flashlight, opening drawers and cabinets and checking under furniture for any evidence of wrongdoing. Marcum told me he didn't trust his Iraqi comrades with any but the simplest of tasks.

O'Hanlon of the Brookings Institute says that the pecking order between U.S. and Iraqi forces will not change anytime soon. "Leadership is not do-able in 12 months. [It] grows in five- to 10-year increments, and it can take up to 20 years to train a senior NCO. They're the linchpin of a military."

Nevertheless, the U.S. military is making efforts to train Iraqi NCOs as quickly as possible. Becker's troops in Q-West have recently opened an NCO academy staffed by American trainers and have begun seeding Iraqi army units with graduates. But even providing candidates for this school is a challenge when so many Iraqi men are unfit for military service after decades of difficult living and malnourishment. All new Iraqi army recruits must endure a tough three-week basic training run by U.S. forces. In late March, more than 10 percent of one recent basic training class in Q-West failed the physical requirements, according to Becker.

At a March meeting with U.S. and Iraqi officials, Col. Ra'ad pleaded for local sheiks to recommend able-bodied young men to the Iraqi army. "We have the best instructors in the coalition," Ra'ad said, referring to Becker's soldiers. "But please, do not put a man's name on the list if he is physically unfit."

Poor leadership, a lack of equipment and fit recruits, and a culture of corruption in some sectors don't bode well for the ability of Iraqi forces to handle the country's security on their own, says Pike of GlobalSecurity.org. In the meantime, a steady stream of Iraqi recruits -- many of them foremost in need of a way to feed their families amid the country's broken economy and infrastructure -- risk their lives simply waiting in line to apply for thankless, dangerous jobs in Iraq's deadly cities.

Back in Baquba, in the wake of the suicide bombing that gravely injured four Iraqi cops, Army reporter Sgt. Kim Snow from the 1st Infantry Division watches Iraqi police recklessly roar up and down the street in their pickup trucks, firing their weapons at nothing. It's become clear that the sole suicide attacker, who now lies in pieces among the burning wreckage, was the only threat in the area. The rounds from the Iraqis' weapons rain down on the surrounding streets, where civilians are quickly scattering into buildings.

Snow grimaces at the spectacle. "Business as usual," she says.

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