Frogman Stories, page 7
I will never forget our Commanding Officer (CO) walking into the Team room to brief everyone on what had happened. We had scheduled night parachute operations that same evening which he cancelled; I was grateful for that. Then he got into the meat of the briefing. The bottom line was that the incident was a training accident. No one had done anything wrong. The same scenario was utilized many times for many other training events with no problem. The only issue was there were no ballistic walls inside the inner room, which allowed the bullets to penetrate the wall and hit my partner. Simple and painful as that. The CO was briefing the Team to make sure they understood it was not my fault or anyone’s fault this had happened. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was protecting me. He did what any good leader would do regardless of the situation: take responsibility and communicate; answer questions and make a plan so this would never happen again. From that point forward, all walls and partitions inside the kill house were ballistically rated to stop virtually any type of ammunition. I miss my friend to this day and talk to him every morning while walking the dog.
CHAPTER 14
We Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts
One of the better training sites we had at SEAL Team SIX for quite some time was actually an old derelict ship. SS United Statesr had many claims to fame but, most importantly, it still holds the record for the fastest trans-Atlantic crossing by a passenger liner (set in 1952). It was a perfect training vessel for everything from diving, climbing, ship assaults, and sniping. It was our very own cruise liner tied up in the Port of Norfolk waiting to be assaulted over and over again. Assaulting a 990-foot ship with a small group of SEALs is no easy task. Every man must study the blueprints of the vessel in order to get to his individual targets. Clearing each room is not an option, so SEALs move to key areas of the ship and try to take control.
A typical method for getting on board a ship is called a caving ladder. Whether diving or surface swimming, the SEALs hook the ladder to the lowest available spot and begin a long climb on a flexible wire ladder that is about eight inches wide. Technique is everything. All loose gear must be secured for fear of getting caught on the ladder and slowing down the assault. There is nothing worse than slowing down your teammates on a ladder because you forgot to bungee cord your rifle to your body. Even the fittest SEAL can only hold onto a ladder for so long before “peeling off” and hitting a teammate or small boat below. One such night, a friend and boat crew member pulled out an old set of rubber (wetsuit) and didn’t notice until we were on site and getting ready to suit up. It was very cold outside, with the water temperature even colder, so entering the water without a wetsuit was not an option. The suit was too small for him. He was a small guy but muscular and the arms no longer fit. On this night, he was assigned as one of the lead climbers with the rest of us behind him. Because we operate at night, it was very difficult to see the hand in front of your face let alone the people above and below you. I remember distinctly hearing a loud splash and thinking that someone is a dumbass below me and would be ridiculed for a possible compromise. Better training than the real thing. As I climbed over the rail and took a cover position, I waited for everyone else to get on board before we commenced our assault. With everyone on board, we took a headcount to ensure we were ready. No one realized up until that point that our lead climber had actually peeled from the ladder and fallen over 75 feet into the water. Everything came to a stop so we could make sure our teammate was alright. As we looked over the side with our flashlights, we saw the climber with an arm through the ladder hanging on and floating to the best of his ability. Luckily, he had no major injures other than his pride. The too-tight wetsuit had actually torn apart upon entry to the water and he was shivering. Somehow, he had managed to fall all that way without hitting another SEAL, or anything else for that matter. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. We called over the safety boat, made sure he was picked up, and continued on with the training.
Another encounter on SS United Statesr that sticks with me to this day is actually a supernatural tale. The ship contained 693 suites on board. It is a great area for room clearance or close quarters battle training. You could literally train for weeks and never see the same room twice. As we started to clear lower and lower decks of the ship, we noticed the rooms were not as large, which is standard on cruise liners. The higher up you are on the ship, the more you pay and the nicer the state room. The other thing we noticed is that, along with state rooms at the lower levels, we also ran into service-related rooms such as the barbershop and medical clinic. What we did not expect to find, however, was a morgue. There were three or four caskets made entirely of metal, in case of a fire on board, and one small child’s casket with the outer lid formed in the shape of a small body. Very creepy. As we continued down into the bowels of the ship, the only light available came from the flashlights attached to our weapons which, in this case, were Heckler & Koch MP5s. I hoped my batteries held up because without light it would be impossible to get out of there quickly. We were SEALs and unstoppable, weren’t we?
Then the noises started; soft moaning sounds from in front of us. I clarify that because it would not be beyond someone in the group to make the noise intentionally. After about five minutes of soft moaning, the shadows down the hallway started to shift and move on their own no matter how the light from our flashlights played out. If that was not enough, there was a sudden drop in temperature which seemed to come out of nowhere. Not saying that anyone was afraid, but at that moment we all stopped what we were doing and, in a classic case of group thought, turned around and got out of the space. To this day, I am not sure what I saw or didn’t see but there was no need to ever go back down to that space again, especially when there were plenty of staterooms above the waterline with portholes and light. I never looked at SS United Statesr the same way again.
No matter how badass you think you may be, there is always someone or something that can kick your butt. I think it is healthy, both mentally and physically, to remember that statement, not to change your decisions, but to give you pause before making them.
CHAPTER 15
When All Else Fails, Go to the Water
My time in a sniper team assigned to Task Force Rangerr in Somalia will forever be etched in my memory. The time we spent in Mogadishu was in many ways a culmination of my training and the entire Navy SEAL lifestyle. We had been recalled for the mission at least three separate times leading up to the ultimate deployment. At the time, our sniper team was supposed to be seen as a gesture of goodwill between SEAL Team SIX (ST-6) and our U.S. Army counterparts. Our inclusion was meant to appease many an ST-6 assaulter who did not get the call. We didn’t care, we were going, and that was all that mattered. When we arrived in country, however, we realized we would never be fully accepted or trusted to be part of an Army unit. Their question, and rightfully so, was “Why didn’t we take more of our own teammates who we know and train with, rather than these SEALs?”
As it turns out, the Army didn’t have to put up with us too long before we were given our first mission. Our team of four was summoned to the quarters of our Commanding General. Not typical at all to have the general hand out orders so we thought we had done something wrong and were being sent back to the States. Seemed a bit extreme just because we were Navy guys. Instead, he gave us a few hours to pack and move to a CIA base located on the airfield. Our mission: move to a CIA safehouse in the middle of Mogadishu and protect CIA personnel and others from any potential Somali attack. We could do that, good deal. We soon realized how naive we were; not only were we the only white guys in town with guns, but we were located in a three-story building in the middle of a very congested section of Mogadishu, making it fairly difficult to hold off any type of organized attack on our position. We decided to take the high ground and make the roof our first line of defense. We were all snipers and would be able to put up one hell of a fight until we ran out of bullets or decided to get the hell out. Any good SEAL will tell you, “When all else fails, go to the water.” That was exactly what our plan was. We were about a half a mile away from the Indian Ocean where we could actually swim to the Mogadishu airport and our base if we had to. Better than trying to drive or hoof it back to base through the city. Who knows, maybe we could steal a boat. We set up our little base and proceeded to fall into a routine. Two SEALs were always on the roof awake and on guard. Two were either asleep, eating, or working out to stay in shape. We practiced many different contingency plans in case of attack. Guard duty is boring, but it can become the most stressful job you can have within seconds. I have been fortunate to work with many great agents from the Secret Service and I don’t know how they do it. No one I know would take a bullet for another guy intentionally. Our motto is to shoot the bad guy before they can shoot you. There are always exceptions to that rule but, for the most part, we are going down fighting.
One of our duties while stationed at the safehouse was to accompany the agent in charge on trips out in town and provide security for him while he paid off various warlords who were friendly to Americans. The “good” warlords also helped to protect the house we were staying at and were to give us a heads-up should any of the “bad” warlords choose to attack. The bailout plan remained the same: make your way to the water; take the money if possible. No one is going to leave a suitcase full of cash if they can help it. Of course, we would have turned it in anyway. Luckily, we were never attacked during one of these movements. Splitting the force is never a good move, especially when our numbers were so small. Life went on and we did our job for the next few weeks until we got word that one of the paid assets providing information and looking out for us had turned up dead the night before. Time to get out; pack everything you have, leave nothing behind.
It was like a movie: pack your things in the middle of the night under the cover of darkness; load up all the equipment and personnel into a piece-meal convoy; and drive a few miles to an abandoned soccer field for helicopter extraction. The road all the way back to the airport had become too dangerous at this point. We waited for the birds to get close and then marked the landing zone with infrared lights in an area big enough to land two Black Hawks at once. The entire operation took 20 minutes to pull off, which is a huge failure when trying to get in and out of an at-risk area, but that wasn’t our call. The SEALs were positioned in the stands in order to have clear fields of fire should anything happen. Luckily, nothing did, probably because it was the middle of the night and all the fighters were high on khat, the drug of choice for the Somalis (I found it interesting that drugs could always be found even when food could not). The extract went smoothly, and we landed back at the Task Force Rangerr compound at the Mogadishu airport. Of course, there was no one there to meet us so we grabbed our gear and started walking to where we thought everyone had set up camp. It didn’t take long to stumble across a few hundred of our closest U.S. Army buddies. Fortunately, we ran into a few of our Air Force combat controllers and pararescue friends that set us up with spare cots to get some rest for the night. Tomorrow was a new day and totally new mission.
Well, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade or something like that. We decided to make the most of our time knowing we would not be included in any of the main mission planning or actual work. SEALs, if nothing else, are resourceful and think in the gray area most of the time. When we saw helicopters flying every night that belonged to the 10th Mountain Division and were not part of Task Force Rangerr, we had to check it out. As fate would have it, one of the pilots from the 10th Mountain was a former SEAL who left the Navy in order to fly helicopters. He also happened to be flying a mission called “Eyes over Mogadishu” which basically put snipers in the air over the city each night to quell any violence directed at the airport where most U.S. forces were staying. Perfect job for trained ST-6 snipers who conducted this type of training regularly with night-vision and laser-equipped sniper rifles. All we had to do at this point was talk our Army chain of command into letting us participate. As it turned out, it wasn’t hard at all. The 10th Mountain had been using snipers equipped with Barrett 0.50-caliber sniper rifles that are hard to shoot and control on the ground let alone in an aircraft. The shock wave inside the helicopter must have rattled the pilots pretty good each time the weapon fired. Our weapon of choice for this mission was an old school M14 with laser and optics. Accurate, easy to maneuver, and plenty of knockdown power. Now we get to the Rules of Engagement (ROE), something every Special Forces member knows very well. I’m not sure when they started, I only know I have dealt with them my whole career. True professionals learn to deal with the ROEs and adapt. People outside the circle view them as an unnecessary interference from politicians rather than military leaders. Regardless, we wanted the mission. The ROEs for the “Eyes over Mogadishu” mission were straight forward. You could shoot if someone was shooting at you or setting up to shoot at American forces. It was common to be mortared at the airport on a regular basis. If you happened to catch an enemy mortar team in the open, they were fair game. Typical shot was 100–200 yards max, at night. This was a city, missed shots and collateral damage were unacceptable. We did our job and we did it well; so well in fact that, after two weeks flying the mission, our Army counterparts were concerned we were causing poor morale since we were going out every night and accomplishing something while they mostly sat around waiting for the big raid. That was their job, not ours. It didn’t matter, we were scrubbed off the “Eyes” mission and actually given a role in future raids into the city. Win/win.
A direct-action raid is a very complex mission when dealing with different types of aircraft, ground convoy coordination, and different units from different services. Good training and practice are key to success. Since we were no longer flying with the Army, our job was now basically to support our Army counterparts as they conducted the assault operations on whatever the target happened to be that day. What does that mean? We would drive an unarmored HMMWV (High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, better known as a “Humvee”) from the Mogadishu airport to the target site in a large vehicle convoy. The helicopters would go in first to gain the element of surprise followed by groups of soldiers, via ground, assigned to set up security around the target site. Our specific job was to drive directly to the target, set up and wait for any runners the Army would flush out, and check any outbuildings near the main target. Driving the streets of Mogadishu is no easy task. No street signs, no GPS, no real structures that weren’t falling in the road, if you could call them roads at all. The roads were mainly narrow dirt paths which sometimes would only be wide enough for one vehicle at a time to pass. Our small part of the convoy consisted of two vehicles: three SEALs and one Army guy in one HMMWV and me and three Army guys in the other in order to better communicate between the units. It was always our standard operating procedure to carry all our equipment in the HMMWVs, including extra water, ammunition, and night vision, no matter what time of day it was. Unfortunately, not everyone did the same and it turned out to be a huge issue as the upcoming battle progressed from day to night and back to day again.
As we drove into the target area, we immediately began to receive incoming small-arms fire, which was expected, but perhaps a bit heavier than we had received on previous missions. As we took up our final positions, the fire increased and we were forced to exit our vehicle and take up cover anywhere we could find it. I ended up in an alleyway with another SEAL exchanging gunfire with some Somali fighters when my teammate was struck in the leg by either a bullet or fragmentation. He went down and called for help. I immediately laid down a base of fire so I could move to his position and assist him. When I moved the approximately twenty yards, I had a thought. It is weird what you think about sometimes in the midst of battle, at least for me. I had carried two fragmentation grenades on my battle vest for as long as I could remember. I had never used one before other than on a controlled explosive range back in the United States. This was my chance. I looked down at my wounded coworker, let him know what I was doing, and made sure we had enough cover to protect us from my own grenade. Messing with grenades is a serious business. I had heard stories of guys accidentally dropping their grenade at their feet or forgetting to pull the pin. I was determined not to let that happen to me. There are actually two safety devises on fragmentation grenades. A safety clip, which we had removed before leaving on the mission, and the actual pin, which you pull, that releases the spoon, giving you four seconds before it explodes. The grenades themselves are heavy, about 14 oz, or nearly a pound, and must be secured to your vest so they don’t fall out. I carefully released the tape I had holding the grenade to my vest, pulled it out of my vest, put the spoon portion of the grenade in the palm of my hand and, with the other hand, prepared to pull the pin. The entire action I described above seemed a lot longer than reality (which was probably thirty seconds). I was now ready to go. I took one last look down the alley—nothing worse than fragging your own people—pulled the pin and then remembered, this is not like a baseball. You can’t just chuck a hand grenade without throwing out your shoulder. Do I throw underhand? The alley was narrow. What if it hits something and bounces back? I would have to expose myself to throw overhand and who really knows how far it would go. I went with underhand. Low with little arc and hoped it would roll like a bowling ball down the alley. That’s what I did. Once it released from my hand, I ducked back behind cover and waited for the blast which happened right about four seconds later. I had always been taught that if you can see an explosion, it can see you which meant, if I was watching, there was a chance I could frag myself. Not going to happen. However, because I didn’t watch, it really became anti-climactic. I had built up this moment in my mind only to be disappointed. Oh well, at least it created enough dust in the air to allow us to get out of the alley.
