Chapter 3

The day following the crowd incident, we made preparations to move inside the airfield perimeter and take up residence in the Delta Force/Ranger hanger. About two days after we moved in, we began receiving daily mortar fire that lasted for about five minutes. After a week of this, several of us ran a suggestion up the flagpole to 'remove' this problem. Of course it was only pure coincidence that it happened after we left our strongpoint outside the perimeter. Some of the D boys and Rangers had thought along those same lines. After putting in the proper paperwork and getting it signed off by all the command staff present, none other than Defense Secretary Aspin vetoed it. He stated that it would be an unnecessary escalation in force and that other means were being sought as well as stating that the special operators in theater should be more concerned about mission planning to garner positive results about Adid's whereabouts. So in other words, we were to endure the daily mortar barrages and hope that none of us bought the farm prematurely due to unnecessary escalation. Too bad Mr. Aspin didn't inform the Somali mortar team about this, as I'm sure they would have viewed it from his perspective. With nothing left to do but sit around the hanger, we amused ourselves with card games, basketball, shooting matches with Delta and the Rangers, and cleaned our equipment daily to kill time between ducking when we heard the crump of the mortar. It wouldn't have been so bad if the hanger doors were able to close and it didn't face the perimeter fence, which was only 100yards away. Any skinny who could get on a roof or a hilltop could look right in at us, give them a good set of binoculars and they could watch us preparing for operations.

We sat for weeks with no mission tasking and finding make do jobs around the airfield. Clint and I would go to the tower and take turns looking for that mortar team and betting on where they would set up next. We would watch the 160th SOAR shuttle D-boys and Rangers over the city on patrols and insert them in suspected Adid hideouts. It was a total waste of effort and time. I walked by the comm shed one day and popped in to see if maybe they needed a hand.

It was a madhouse as the operators tried to facilitate the constant requests from general officers and coordinate the activities of the UN forces. I watched as General Garrison micro managed Colonel McKnight endlessly. It was an exercise in futility. Out of the 15,000 servicemen in theater, just under 2000 were actual Special operators. That small number is about right for a light colonel to command and the last thing he needs is a two star bucking for three, looking over his shoulder and double-checking everything he does.

I casually flipped through the dispatches and noticed that no fewer than five admirals were off shore or rotating through theater. When you're the only game in town, everybody wants a piece of the action.

The pilots from the 160th were the best I have ever worked with. Their aircraft were constantly being fine tuned by the mechanics; every time they flew they put themselves at risk. The militia forces in Somalia had no anti-air capability but made up for that with initiative. They would watch our tactics and adapt to them. My teammates and I discussed this at great length nightly and came to realize that our forces were ill equipped to handle this type of guerrilla fighting. You can't roll into town with lightly armored vehicles, large helicopters, limited air support and expect the opposition to lay down their arms and go back to being a docile population. Officers and civilians who haven't studied military history, or know anything the military, contrived all the tactics for this operation. All the Ranger deployments to locate and capture Adid were done in broad daylight in the middle to late afternoon so CNN could broadcast it and that guaranteed the population had scored their drugs and were stoned. When you have access to some of the finest night vision technology in the world, and your enemy has no night vision capability, why conduct operations in daylight? This was a guerrilla skirmish and the only way to out G a G is to become one yourself. All the missions started the same way everytime; helos take off followed by a combined convoy of Humm-vees and five-ton trucks. We commented that that style of operating leaves a 'footprint' but those comments fell on deaf ears, but it made great news footage. Adid was no idiot; he had attended numerous foreign war colleges and studied every conceivable form of warfare. He realized he couldn't defeat us in a conventional conflict but he stood a chance with unconventional tactics. But the powers that be all suffered from CRS, Can't Remember Shit disorder. It was either the career enhancement light in overdrive that blinded them or just plain stupidity.

Clint put in for permission to go with the Rangers on their seventh, so far, fruitless capture Adid mission. My team was leaving the next morning so the rest of us packed up and sat around while the D-boys and Rangers had their briefing and prepared to go. I sat on my gear and watched the helos leave followed by the convoy.

Clint had wrangled a ride in one of the Hummers assigned to the support column. I dozed in the heat, relaxing with nothing to do, totally unaware that the heat was about to get turned up.

An hour into the mission and already it was going bad. Over the comm net I was listening to Delta call in a negative package meaning that Adid had slipped past us yet again. I wandered over to the Ranger comm area and listened as a Medevac was called in because someone had fallen during the fast rope insertion. No wonder. The Blackhawk used is a very powerful aircraft, the down draft from the rotors can flat knock you on your ass if it hit you and considering that the streets were mostly sand and dirt, all that shit blowing around makes visibility next to impossible. I found out later that the helo were inserting the second Ranger chalk and because of the dust storm left by the previous bird, the second bird came in too high and one Ranger had dropped fifty feet when the rope ended and the ground wasn't there.

It soon went from bad to worse when vehicles and soldiers began taking serious hits. I listened for a few more minutes and then walked back over to my area, cutting through the Ranger bunk space. I couldn't help but notice that there were ballistic trauma plates from body armor lying on the cots and on the concrete floor, also a vast quantity of canteens and camel back hydration systems. I walked up to a Ranger who was sitting on his rack and asked him about the plates. He told me that they were under orders to remove the back plate from the armor to save on weight and the mission was a quick in and out so no need for extra water. I just walked away and shook my head. These kids were outfitted with some the best body armor ever produced and some suckhead ordered them to leave out the back panel. Made perfect sense in the great chaotic insanity that was unfolding. Now their armor would be like a screen door on their back, not likely to stop a forceful fart let alone a high-powered rifle round like they would be going up against. Another hour came and went, radio traffic had picked up. Part of the support column had broken off and was returning with the wounded and prisoners.

Within that second hour, a 160th Blackhawk was shot down and crashed in the city. Shortly after we got word of this, a second Blackhawk limped into view and set down on the airfield. We watched as the crew ran to another bird and went back into the fight. Nothing beats front row seats except maybe being there. As the third hour dragged by, Ell-tee came over to us. He told us that the support column was coming back in, mostly combat ineffective, there were two Blackhawks down, and the Rangers were facing a numerically hostile force. He looked around at us to gauge reaction, and then told us to grab everything that kills, we were mounting up and going to the Pakistani/10th Mountain Division cantonment area, which was a huge sports stadium. We suited up, full armor, extra magazines, grenades, medical supplies, and elected to wear the lighter weight Pro-tec helmet instead of the heavier K-pot.

Not having any vehicles of our own, Webb wandered over to the Ranger/160th motor pool and 'appropriated' a Hummer. We packed ourselves into it, which made a tight squeeze, and drove over to the stadium. Inside, it was a madhouse. Pakistani and Malaysian troops were running all over the place trying to get organized. Webb drove through them to the 10th Mountain area.

A relief convoy was forming but we still had no time frame for departure. We sat and waited just outside the line, talking amongst ourselves. Ell-tee had gotten out and was walking around watching the activity. He came back over to us and told us that the Hummer we had didn't have a mounted weapon. We de-assed it right there, taking all our gear and walked over to the 10th Mountain motor pool. In all the rush and confusion, they must have thought we were Delta, because the motor pool sergeant gave us two armored and armed Hummers. One had a M2.50 caliber and the other a Mark 19 40mm grenade launcher. Now we were in business. We drove over to their ammo supply point, backed in and Ell-tee got out. With the bumper numbers belonging to the 10th, he strode over like he was part of them and requested some supplies. He came back over and told us to load up everything we were going to need for the mounted weapons and ourselves. It was like winning the lottery and getting a shopping spree thrown in. I grabbed a pallet jack and off we went. By the time we were finished, we had the entire rear of each Hummer full of crated ammo.

We grabbed a few 'stray' armor vests and shoved them around the sides and rear of the ammo and on the floorboards. You could almost hear the engines strain a little, as we pulled back into the waiting line. Splitting up to put roughly an even number in each vehicle, gave us more room to divide the gear. Billy Rogers, our team commo man had been trying to reach Clint since this all went down. He had no luck and figured because Clint just had his personal radio with him and it was mostly short-range, he could receive us but not send. The overhead observation/comm relay helo didn't have our encryption key available so we couldn't bounce a signal off them and using the AWACS was not a good idea because they would have to bounce it back offshore then through JOC. The convoy formation continued well into the night as we heard the chatter over the SINGCARS radio from the Hummer. Several flights of AH-6 'Littlebird' helos flew over on their way to provide fire support to the besieged Rangers. I mentioned to Webb that they were using the Littlebirds, and he just shook his head. He commented on what a waste as we had Cobra gunships sitting on the runway that packed a heavier punch and were armored. To this day, I have no idea why Garrison didn't use those gunships and relied on inadequate, smaller, non-armored, lightly armed support craft.

Finally the convoy was ready to move out, only seven hours after the Rangers started getting hit. What efficiency.

We were sitting somewhere in the middle of the convoy. The Paki's had some armored vehicles, mostly Soviet BDRM and BMP vehicles with a few surplus U.S. M60A1 Patton tanks leading the way. Once we exited the stadium, we moved like a little old lady in heavy traffic, never going over 25mph. Webb was fuming behind the wheel. I was sitting behind him with Doc to my right. Matt Connors was standing up manning the MK19 and Billy Rogers, the team commo man, was sitting up front with Webb's 249 sticking out the window.

Ell-tee came over the team net and fumed about the lack of speed. Webb suggested that we break off and parallel the convoy. We peeled off at the next side street and raced down alleys and squeezed between buildings.

We made good time until we came to the first large roadblock. Sporadic small arms fire had come our way but nothing connected. Ell-tee's Hummer came to a sudden stop in front of us; Webb slammed on the brakes and skidded up to his bumper. Hannaberry manning the .50 on the other Hummer swung the heavy weapon over and raked a rooftop above us. Webb and Ell-tee conversed over the team net for a minute then both vehicles slowly backed up a few yards Hannaberry covering us and Connors dropping 40mm into the roadblock until a hole was big enough to drive through. It was still a narrow opening and it folded back the mirrors and scraped paint on both Hummers. We raced down the narrow streets, small arms fire now getting more intense, I was firing out my side, Doc laying down long suppressive bursts, Connors walking the MK19 around us, Rogers putting out fire on his side and Webb firing his M9 one-handed while driving. I'd yell out 'Loading!' whenever I'd drop out a spent mag and stick a fresh one in. There was no conversation besides each of us yelling out that word. Webb yelled back to me that he was out and handed me his M9 over his shoulder. I grabbed it, reloaded it and handed it back. Spent brass was flying around the inside of the vehicle and the occasional 40mm casing would drop down inside. We met up with the main convoy just past the K-4 traffic circle and the firing became intensive. It was like being inside a corrugated tin shed during a heavy hailstorm. I noticed that the Paki M60 tanks weren't with the convoy. We pulled up alongside the main force as they stopped and loaded up the wounded. Heavy fire was being directed our way and I was sending out a steady stream of 5.56 to any convenient target. To say we were surrounded would be an understatement; it was just a target rich environment. Tracer rounds, flares, RPGs, overhead gunship runs, it was a macabre Fourth of July in October.

The convoy moved out to the crash site after loading all the wounded at the first casualty collection point. Clint wasn't with this group. We moved further into the city, the skinnies coming out of the woodwork and sniping at us from every doorway, rooftop, window, alley and sidestreet we passed. Our Hummer was smoking when we rolled up to the crash site. BMP's provided some cover for loading the wounded. Ell-tee told us to establish a perimeter. I bailed out my side, amid a cascade of spent brass and Rogers bailed out the other. Doc stepped out and used the Hummer for cover as he leaned the 249 over the sloped back and put out fire. I scrambled for cover behind a pile of concrete and steel rubble and reloaded. Rogers ran over and joined me. The same cycle continued, I'd yell loading and drop behind cover and Rogers would cover fire until I came back on line, and I'd do the same for him. This went on for quite some time, Doc would cover us as we ran back to the Hummer to resupply and then back again to our little pile. Webb continued to fire out his side now using Doc's M4, while Connors walked 40mm along the roofs and buildings around us. It was getting pretty hairy when Clint limped over and dropped down beside us. I yelled over the firing what happened and he yelled back that he had taken a hit through the side door of his Hummer that had hit the knife on his left side and shattered the blade. I told him to see Doc and he just looked at me like I was crazy. Rounds were impacting all around us, our Hummer had been hit several times and three tires were flat. Holes in the armor were very apparent. The windshield had taken several hits and was starred.

Webb still sat there calmly reloading and firing, Doc still at the rear corner laying down fire with the 249, Connors MK19 had run dry and he was firing his M4 from the roof hatch, using the MK19 for cover.

It seemed an eternity as the wounded were loaded and cutting the flight crew out of the helo. It was just getting light when we got word we were moving out. The firing had died back a little and I took a quick inventory of my ammo. I had six mags left, 30rds each. Not looking good. Between Rogers, Doc, Clint and myself, we had all but exhausted the supply of 5.56 that was in our Hummer. Wounded had been loaded into the Hummers, which still sat idling, Webb behind the wheel calmly firing single shots out the driver's side. Connors had switched to single shot as well and was picking targets while trying to get really small behind the MK19. Ell-tee came over the team net and told us that we were pulling back to the Paki stadium using the vehicles for cover until we were out of the hot zone. The BMP's starting moving around and the Hummers and five tons that still ran were turning around to leave. I ran crouched over to our Hummer and yanked open the door, casualties were stacked inside and Doc was checking on them. I looked at him through the open doors and he passed me the 249. I reached up and grabbed Webb's shoulder and told him I'd be running out with the rest.

He yelled to me best of luck, slapped a fresh mag into his M4 and went back to firing. I slammed the door shut on my side and ran back to cover. In the last few hours, the street levels had been cleared out and now most of the firing was coming from the roofs and alleys. The vehicles began forming up when I grabbed Clint and told him we had to go. He winced when he stood and I put his arm over my shoulders and helped him up. His left leg looked stiff and Doc had slipped over earlier to clean and dress his hip and thigh. He was moving slowly so Billy Rogers came around the other side and propped him up. We moved like a big three legged race using the trucks and Hummers for cover firing on the go. The Paki armored vehicles led the way and once clear of the crash site slowed down and stopped to let us onboard. There wasn't much room but between Billy and I, we packed Clint inside the closest BMP and he passed us his full magazines before the door slammed shut. We took cover in a doorway and divided up the magazines as the vehicles pulled out yet again. Those of us on foot were a mixed bag of Rangers, Delta, 10th Mountain and of course SEALs. Webb waved as he roared past us on four flat tires, followed by Ell-tee's Hummer. We ran as fast as we could to keep up with the vehicles and just sprayed the alleys and streets as we passed. Once the convoy reached the K-4 circle and turned onto Halawadig Road, they increased speed and left us in the dust.

Now, alone, with no vehicle cover we came under fire from roving technicals and running groups of Somali's. Our group was firing in all directions and trying to keep together. The Rangers, who had been engaged since 1530 the previous day and all through the night, were keeping up but you could tell they were running on pure adrenaline and guts. The Delta boys were right there in a pinch putting down targets and providing suppressive fire.

Billy and I were shooting and scooting along the right flank of the gaggle when the 249 went dry. I let it hang on its sling and swung the M4 back into play. Even with both of us firing single shot and with Clint's mags, my M4 ran dry about four blocks from the stadium. I let it drop on its sling and drew my M9. When we reached the stadium, I checked my M9. There was one round in the chamber and two rounds in the magazine. I did the math later and realized that I had burned through twelve, fifteen round magazines of 9mm in those four blocks.

Once inside the stadium, medics and stretcher-bearers greeted us. Rogers and myself wandered over to the triage area to check on Clint. A corpsman walked up to me and told me I was hit. I looked at him strangely and asked where. He grabbed my right arm and showed me the blood. I glanced down; some shrapnel from an RPG had hit me in the back of my right biceps and hand. Blood had run down my arm to my wrist where it had dried and left a congealed, sticky, black and dark red crust. I holstered the M9 that I still held, and peeled off my glove. A small metal fragment had hit the back of my hand probably at the same time as my biceps. I hadn't noticed it because of the adrenaline high, it hadn't gone in deep and I could still use my hand and arm. It was strictly superficial but it was bloody. I walked over to Doc and showed him. He pulled out the small piece, wiped the area, and sent me on my way. No need for stitches just a little butterfly closure and good as new. The biceps wound was just a little bloody hole about the diameter of a pencil. A look into it and no metal so off I went with a Band-Aid. Clint got the worst of it. He was lying on his side as we walked up; an Army medic was probing for blade fragments in his leg. He looked up as we approached. The medic finished and began suturing the wound. We helped him to his feet and wandered around to find the rest of the team. The mess tent was filling up with soldiers and walking wounded.

We walked past it to the where most of the vehicles were parked. Webb, Connors, Ell-tee and the rest of team was sitting on or around our shredded Hummer. Connors was still standing in the ring mount leaning on the MK19, drinking out his canteen, Ell-tee was standing by the back talking to Webb, Hannaberry was looking at the door in front of where I had been sitting, wiggling it back and forth as it hung from only one hinge. The door panel had a big hole in the bottom and the Lexan window was shattered all over the inside with a thin strip still stuck in the window track, the back floorboard had a matching hole. If I had been sitting there, that would have been me.

Webb had a little cut on the back of his neck and earlobe. They were talking about a near hit from an RPG that impacted the road on that side of the vehicle. It had damn near flipped the Hummer. Connors was saying it was the strangest thing. The RPG warhead looked like a land torpedo as the shooter had been hit and triggered it on the way down. The warhead sped along at ground level and went off after it had gone under the Hummer and impacted with a large brick or something on the driver's side of the vehicle. Unreal. The vests on the floor had stopped the blast from getting in. Webb had just turned to look right when it went off, saving him from getting a face full of metal. The doorpost, his vest's high collar and the helmet did the rest. A little gallows humor about it not being our Hummer made us chuckle.

We found a truck heading back to the airfield and hopped a ride. It had been a busy weekend now it was Monday morning. The price for this mission was costly, 18 Rangers died and over 100 wounded. A majority of the wounded had laid in the dirt for hours and the wounds had become infected resulting in amputations for some, systemic infections for others. I believe that this could have been avoided if this mission had been planned properly. This was the only mission that an Air Force AC-130 gunship was not on.

This aircraft and all its firepower could have made a mile wide swath around the Rangers and using its onboard fire control systems, picked targets off for hours until relief arrived.

The Cobra gunships at the airfield should have been used, they were great equalizers and packed serious firepower. General Garrison was deputy commanding general of all UN forces in theater and it shouldn't have taken over seven hours to organize a relief convoy, all he had to do was pick up a phone and issue orders. The Blackhawk helo used in this operation is too large of an aircraft to have hovering overhead at 75feet.

Witnesses report over 200 RPG's were fired at the two Blackhawks that were shot down that day. That's the old theory of shooting fish in a barrel with a shotgun. Unlike some so-called investigative reports, the RPG warheads were not specially modified to hit their targets, just a massive fusillade at a semi stationary target. The Rangers that fought and died that day had been a part of the most decisive small unit battles in the history of warfare. Of course, the public will never know the level of their courage or valor as all records, transcripts, and camera footage is sealed inside the 75th Ranger Command at Fort Bragg. All they have to go on is eyewitness testimony, and a few books. Is anyone to blame for this fiasco? In my opinion, the list is long and distinguished and starts at the very top. But, of course that is only my opinion.

Coming back from Somalia, we stopped in Hawaii for a layover. Clint and I wandered around the airport killing time when I was paged to return to the USO desk for a phone call. As I walked back to the desk, my mind was slow in trying to figure out who would call me and why. The lady at the desk seemed very pleasant and directed me to the courtesy phones. I picked it up and a voice told me to wait. Stranger and stranger I was thinking when a different voice came on and identified itself as Master Sergeant Vaughn, 1st Special Forces Group. I almost answered with a 'yeah so what?' when he continued and asked me if I knew a Karen Vaughn. Affirmative I replied, and then he verified a few more questions that almost bordered on invasive before moving onto the reason he called. He was Karen's father, the girl I was seeing back in the states, and that she had been involved in a major car accident while visiting her parents in Washington. I was speechless. There was silence on my end long enough for him to ask if I was still there. I stammered out a yes and then listened as he went on. Apparently, Karen had gone home to visit and while waiting at a stop sign, had been rear-ended by a lifted, full size, 2ton, Chevrolet Suburban.

Her little Firebird hadn't been able to protect her enough resulting in several injuries and severe damage to her neck, shoulder, and thoracic spine. As he went on listing the injuries, my mind kind of blanked. The color drained from my face and Clint stepped over to shake my shoulder.

MSGT Vaughn finished up the call by telling me that she had been airlifted to Madigan Army Hospital, MAMC, as it was the closest trauma center and she being a military dependant. I hung up and sat down on the stool in a daze. Clint shook me a couple of times to see if I was OK. I didn't even hear him ask me. It seemed that time had stood still; I wasn't aware of much of the flight home until LT tried to talk to me and it took several attempts before he stepped into my face and got my attention. I explained to him what had happened and told him that before the Somalia deployment, I had planned to propose to her. I must have looked pretty bad because he pulled out emergency leave papers and sent me to Pineapple to have him walk them through the process then put me on a plane to Washington State.

While on the flight, I took a moment and read the orders, they had an open return date and a post it note with LT's private line, home phone and Pineapple's home phone as well as an additional sheet detailing the Naval support facilities in the area and the personnel to contact that were friends of LT and Pineapple.

I arrived at Sea-Tac, found the military assistance desk and made arrangements for transport to Fort Lewis. I was told to wait for the next shuttle bus to the downtown Greyhound station. A few hours went by when a shuttle bus from the Seattle MEPS stopped and disgorged its cargo of new recruits. I wrangled a ride from them to MEPS and from there, asked if anyone was heading south to Tacoma. As luck would have it, a Marine Gunnery Sergeant was heading that way on his way back to Portland.

We left about an hour later and talked along the way. He seemed to know I was in a bit of a hurry and managed to do about 70mph all the way there.

We pulled up to the Madigan Gate and were waved through due to the sticker on the car. He dropped me at the main entrance, I thanked him for the lift and he wished me good luck before driving off. I stood and looked up at the building. It was late and the flag outside was slowly wafting in the night breeze. I lowered my head and looked at the entrance. Only a civilian volunteer visible at the information desk. I reached down, grabbed my seabag and moved inside. I hadn't even changed into my dress uniform and had on a set of BDU's so the volunteer assumed I was Army. He told me that personnel assigned to the hospital had to report to the barracks located down the road. I looked at him and told him that was nice but I was here to see a patient and if I had the time I might think about checking out the barracks but as you could plainly see, I'm not Army.

It had been a long flight and I was a little testy. He looked closer at my uniform and apologized before asking whom I was here to see. I told him and he directed me to the correct elevator. The ride up took an eternity. I got off at the correct floor and walked over to the nurse's station. I was told that it was after visiting hours and ICU only allowed visitors during certain times. I then asked if any family members were still here.

The nurse behind the desk gave me The Look, like I was asking her for her first born before checking the clipboard. She notified me that a MSGT Vaughn had just left and was heading back to his unit just down the road. She gave me some vague directions to the 1st Group compound and I about faced and strode to the elevator. I had a purpose now, moving out of the hospital, I turned right, slung my seabag, and began a fast jog in that direction.

I found the correct street and headed down it before turning into the SF compound. I jogged up to the head shed and dropped my seabag in front of the CQ desk and asked for MSGT Vaughn. The CQ soldier really didn't know what to do with a Navy guy at his desk so he gave directions to the barracks buildings. I thanked him and jogged off in that direction. I found the building and it was locked with a cipher lock, so I rang the buzzer until someone wandered out of their room and opened the door. I checked the building roster, found the room and jogged up to it. I was just about to beat on the door when it opened. MSGT Vaughn stood there and looked me up and down. He motioned me inside and then said a few short words like 'Damn son, What'd you do? Run all the way from the airport?'. I assured him that I had only run from the hospital and he grabbed my bag and motioned me to the couch. He offered me a drink which I refused, he poured himself one and then we sat and talked about his life in SF, skirting the subject of his daughter until he finally set his drink down, looked me straight in the eye, and asked what my intentions were. I told him I was going to marry his daughter. He looked at me over the rim of his glass for a very long time. I returned his stare with one of my own before he quickly tossed back his drink, set the glass on the table and stood up. 'Oh Shit'. I was thinking as he moved towards me. I stood up as well. He looked like he wanted to hit something, his face unreadable. He stuck his hand out and told me welcome to the family, before muttering something about how the rest of the detachment would say about him having a fish fucker in the family.