Dev Blog 12: Getting to Know Bax, EoE Excerpt Pt. 4
InPraxis was effectively a front company dreamed up and established by the Agency. It was registered in the Cayman Islands and headquartered out of Dubai. It was more or less set up as a turnkey operation for Berg to transition to post-Delta retirement. I guess someone with some juice took notice of our efforts at the recce troop -- enough so that they went to a hell of a lot of trouble to secure those efforts at an elevated level. And if you want to bypass the Title 10/50 bullshit altogether, this is how it’s done.
And yeah, I know exactly what you’re thinking: “Just another sellout who turned his back on his duties and his country for the promise of a big payday.” Yeah, well fuck you. Excuse me while I go off on a tangent, but that shit seriously burns me up.
So listen... As far as the media and general public are concerned, the image of a CIA secret squirrel out there running, gunning, and spying in a foreign land is one to cheer for. He’s the American James Bond... someone you aspire to become... a credit to our great nation... worthy of being celebrated in the next Hollywood summer blockbuster.
Meanwhile, the image of a private military contractor running, gunning, and spying in some foreign land is one of the mercenary... the profiteer... the heavy-handed minion running amok in the name of some faceless evil corporation to further their grip on the industrial-military complex... murder for hire... worthy of being exposed in the next fear-mongering documentary.
Here’s the thing: out here, in the real world, in both cases:
It’s.
The.
Same.
God.
Damn.
Person.
And I don’t mean the same type of person. I mean the exact same individual. Jason Bourne exists, but his name is Raymond Davis. Get it? No? Well, allow me to break this down for you all nice and simple. These days, the distinction is almost entirely one of red tape. Simple bureaucratic bullshit.
When those airliners toppled the World Trade Center, the CIA was instantaneously thrust into the killing business. The problem was, the Agency wasn’t cut out for the mission. Yeah, there were plenty of myths floating around back then about the CIA’s Special Activities Division/Special Operations Group (SAD/SOG) -- and its Ground Branch in particular. You’d hear whispers that SOG was the ultimate superteam of high-speed, low-drag badasses. The rumors suggested they were the absolute cream of the crop collection of superspies -- damn near superhuman. Barrel-chested, lead-slinging, cyber-ninjas plucked from the best of the best at Delta and Six.
Nuh-uh.
The reality was that the CIA had long since largely abandoned its role in covert actions -- too often embarrassed by half-baked, ham-fisted operations. Its paramilitary capabilities had severely atrophied due to inattention and the remaining paramilitary operations officers under its employ were disparagingly referred to at Langley as the “forty forty-year-olds.”
In truth, they had some quality operatives at SAD/SOG. But the CIA recruited to best reflect its mission set, which meant looking for a wide range of talent so it could plug-and-play ad hoc teams... teams that could be custom assembled depending on what skills were needed for any given op.
And for that reason, SAD/SOG tended to recruit Army Special Forces types due to the money-waving form of UW (unconventional warfare) they practiced. They also had a disproportionate number of Marines, since that was a natural place to gravitate to from Force Recon, whereas SF and Rangers looking to take the next step in their career had Delta to shoot for, while regular SEALs had Six.
Like I said, SAD had some quality guys. But what it lacked was a cadre of personnel with Tier 1-level direct-action expertise -- exactly the kind of bad dudes the rumor mill had erroneously suggested Ground Branch was almost entirely composed of.
Of course, the game changed in ‘01. The U.S. government opened up its coffers and gave the CIA unlimited funding, along with a mandate to lay waste to everyone even remotely responsible for the attacks.
While flush with cash, there were still rules on how it could make use of this newly pumped-up budget. For example, they were strictly limited in how many full-time “blue-badged” staff officers could be added to the mix. Initially, the easiest way to get around this problem was by redirecting other funds to fill glaring needs by hiring scads of contractors. Keep in mind, this is all across the Agency -- not just with paramilitary contractors.
But it wasn’t just payroll issues. There were practical concerns as well and ones that weren’t going to go away any time soon. The CIA traditionally only hires applicants with a minimum of a bachelor’s degree and generally aims even higher than that. That rule was instantly outdated in this radically changed world. To get this particular job done, it didn’t need Dartmouth grads. Instead, the Agency was in desperate need of PhD-equivalents who studied surgical slaying at GWoT University. And by and large those candidates -- seasoned JSOC NCOs like yours truly -- did not come with bachelor’s degrees on their resumes.
Even if the CIA modified its hiring rules or looked the other way to navigate this obstacle, there were other issues as well. They were going to need a steady stream of Tier 1 talent for the foreseeable future. It became apparent almost immediately that this was destined to be a perpetual war.
At first, they sought out operators with the right background and negotiated contracts. But as more and more personnel were needed, it only made sense to uncomplicate the process.
Enter Blackwater and other military contracting firms. They essentially operated as glorified employment agencies for the CIA, DoD, and so on, recruiting talent and then subcontracting them out for use by the U.S. government. Most of these contractors were put to work in site and staff security roles, but the ones with the right skill sets were attached directly to the Agency in a more proactive capacity.
It also made sense on the other side. The operators used Blackwater et al like their own de facto union. There was power in numbers and by banding together they made sure they were able to secure the best deals and the appropriate compensation.
So that’s how it works. It pisses me off to see some of our nation’s greatest patriots treated as if they are piece-of-shit scum -- the modern-age bogeyman -- simply due to the red tape inherent in the system.
And the profiteer shit? Consider the training, the skills, and the experience required to do this particular job. And make no mistake, it’s a job America needs done. Now consider the massive risks that are incurred to perform it.
This is how life works for a CIA paramilitary contractor: You are given the most dangerous missions that exist. Why? Because you’re the only one (a) capable of actually pulling them off, who (b) is in a position to do so, even quasi-legally. But it also means that if you get shot risking your life in some godforsaken hole where we’re not technically supposed to be in order to prevent the next 9/11, there are two possibilities of what comes next. You either die out there and the CIA puts an anonymous star on the wall at Langley as a way of showing its appreciation. The ones with the star -- they’re the lucky ones. Because if you aren’t killed, well, you’re a deniable asset. That means you rot for the rest of your miserable life in some torturous pit while the government disavows you and your actions. You don’t even get the courtesy of a POW/MIA flag flown in your honor.
That’s no idle threat. This is a genuine possibility you must accept as evidenced by the OGA contractors out there who already have been written off in some third-world dungeon.
You think we do this to get rich? I mean the pay is probably more in line with what’s deserved, but we’re still talking less than half of what the Chicago Blackhawks’ worst defenseman earns in a season. So let’s have a little perspective.
And there’s no fame or glory at the end either. You have a limited shelf life as a contractor. And even if that career doesn’t end in death or imprisonment, there are no options to earn a living wage by signing autographs like skinny ex-offensive linemen and overweight ex-running backs do.
So why do it? While it’s nice to be appropriately rewarded for your talents and the risks you take, the fact is some of the bravest, most patriotic heroes that America will never know are its unseen force of contractors who are risking it all on behalf of its citizens.
Lack of patriotism? Fucking bullshit. For myself and the guys I know, we all had our own particular reasons to go this route. But to a man, this was the way we could serve our nation and have the maximum impact.
Feels good to get that off my (barrel) chest.
***
Like I explained, InPraxis was registered in the Cayman Islands and technically based in Dubai, but it was founded, first and foremost, to execute a specialized mission deep inside Pakistan.
It wasn’t the only time this sort of work had been attempted. Everyone thinks of the bin Laden raid, but NEPTUNE and SPEAR were not the first two words thrown together to mask a classified mission across the border. There were plenty of others -- SCREEN and HUNTER, VIGILANT and HARVEST, and VIBRANT and FURY just to name a few.
We happened to be a subcompartment of one called QUIET STORM, which happened to be a subcompartment of yet some other random two-word nickname. This was late 2008, and the CIA was already deep in preparation for an expected alteration in counterterror calculus with the arrival of the new Commander in Chief.
And while I’m still on my elevated equine, let me quickly note that I’ve never really given a shit who was president during my time doing government work. They’ve got a job. I’ve got a job. And if my job changes as a result of the decisions made at the top, so be it. This guy. That guy. Who fucking cares?
To be frank, I’m not so much apolitical as I am anti-political. A number of my fellow operators put every political decision under the microscope. And as you might expect, most -- but not all -- tended to lean rather decidedly to the right. Me? I see the strict two-party system as counterproductive and effectively broken by its very definition. Citizens view themselves as having one of two choices. Ultimately, they pick a side almost like they would an NFL or MLB team to root for. At that point most are fully suckered in and turn off their brains. They allow their subsequent beliefs to be shaped by the views of their party of choice rather than attempt to shape the party -- or another party -- to better conform to their genuine beliefs and best interests.
Leadership on both sides define victory in terms of defeating the other “team” rather than by making actual progress for the people. And they are cheered along the entire time by their respective fandoms, blissfully blinded by their allegiance. Hell, even sports fans aren’t as collectively mindless; at least they recognize deficiencies in their teams and demand change.
Anyway, back to 2008. As incoming POTUS, Barack Obama had made plenty of noise about closing down GITMO and the network of black sites. That was going to mean a whole lot less spiriting bad guys away in the night so they could be interrogated and a whole lot more wholesale slaughter of any unlucky S.O.B.s who found themselves on the ‘Disposition Matrix.’ Kill or capture would simply became kill.
Bring on the drones.
As expected, drone strike statistics would soon go through the roof. In Pakistan, there had been something like ten total between ‘04 and ’07. There were almost forty in ‘08, more than fifty in ’09, and well over twice that number in 2010. But in order to unleash Hellfire down on someone’s head, you’ve got to know which head and where that head is at.
That wasn’t our job.
The CIA had agents -- Pakistani locals who had been recruited by cash, coercion, or whatever it took -- to help with that. The problem was that almost immediately these drone strike informants became an endangered species. They had a nasty habit of winding up in shallow graves before they could relay any actionable intel.
It was our job to keep that from happening.
During the time, InPraxis Solutions largely operated out of Peshawar. Our reach extended deep into the badlands of the Federally Administered Tribal Area (FATA). Officially, Boris, Mikey, myself, and a small handful of others had been contracted to consult for some IT startup in Peshawar -- which I’m sure was another CIA front -- but the reality was much different. Much grimmer.
QUIET STORM was set in motion to wipe out the death squads the Taliban, Haqqani Network, etc. sent after anyone they suspected of spying for the CIA -- and do so in a manner that left no evidence of our existence. As opposed to the GREYSTONE rendition days, we weren’t wheels down and wheels up in a country for hours at a time. Here we were embedded deep for weeks or months, working undercover.
Shit got a bit more complicated when we ultimately decided it might make more sense to fight fire with fire and eliminate those who were serving as the death squads’ informants. Let’s just say the Pakistani Inter-Service Intelligence wasn’t too excited when a handful of ISI Directorate S operatives ended up getting schwhacked in early 2010.
***
I’m not sure if Pakistan was considered too hot as a result, but it was around this time that InPraxis Solutions took on another no-bid contract with the Agency and shifted its focus to Africa. The spreading scourge of terrorism there -- as evidenced by the rise of al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) in Northern Africa, al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP) in Yemen, and Al-Shabaab in Somalia -- meant there was still plenty to keep us busy, regardless of what went down in South Asia.
Despite operating on an entirely new continent, life as an OGA goon squad contractor continued pretty much unabated. For the first couple of years, we bounced around, basing from a constellation of ‘lily-pads’ in the region, staging in Ethiopia, Kenya, Djibouti, and elsewhere.
We ran a number of low-vis ops in small cross-matrix “omega teams.” We hooked up with CIA case officers and JSOC tech geeks from the Intelligence Support Activity (ISA) to carry out a variety of objectives. They worried about things like making contact with a potential source or installing some equipment to intercept communications. Meanwhile, we were pretty much there for two primary reasons -- to make sure specific people stayed alive or make sure specific people ended up the opposite of alive.
Over time, Somalia became the focus of our efforts. The CIA and Activity operatives thought the idea of going deep behind enemy lines with just five or six other guys was pretty sketchy, especially as we only had an abbreviated Special Forces CIF company and a couple of MH-53 Pave Lows waiting at Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti as backup in case things went to shit. We got a kick out of that. That was cute. It was a marked upgrade from the conditions we had gotten used to in Pakistan, that’s for sure.
The shadow war versus Al-Shabaab intensified in late ‘11. Ethiopia and Kenya invaded Somalia in a joint campaign they called Operation Linda Nchi -- Swahili for “Protect the Country.” It was an attempt to help legitimize and entrench the transitional Somali government and put an end to the chaotic conditions that had allowed Al-Shabaab to thrive. Uncle Sam provided a helping hand by way of pinpoint drone strikes and some “on-site consultation” of the sort InPraxis was especially adept. We embedded with Ethiopian forces and served as, let’s say, a significant force multiplier.
The multi-pronged effort was pretty successful. By the time Operation Linda Nchi concluded in the spring of 2012, Al-Shabaab was reeling. It had been pummeled and left in a weakened state, largely driven back to its traditional hiding places in the jungles in the south of the nation.
That didn’t completely eliminate the threat, however. Quite the contrary, in fact. Al-Shabaab was now desperate -- a wounded and cornered animal. There was little doubt it would attempt to strike back in spectacular fashion, if only to show the world it hadn’t been rendered impotent.
JSOC licked its chops (as much as an organization can) at the prospect of cranking back up that industrial counterterrorism machine to prevent that from happening. The methodology had cut a swath through insurgents in Iraq and Afghanistan with devastating effectiveness. The idea of setting loose a somewhat scaled down, yet more refined, version in Somalia had JSOC’s flag officers practically salivating during the summer of ‘13.
Toward those ends, Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti was soon inhabited by a full squadron of operators from the Naval Special Warfare Development Group. You know -- DEVGRU. SEAL Team Six. ST6. Sixers. The boys from the beach. With ST6’s Blue Squadron in place, JSOC was ready to get to work.
Not so fast.
The CIA had the lead in Somalia, so while JSOC was allowed to assemble its forces and implement its plan, it had to agree to a small number of nonnegotiable conditions. JSOC could run the show so long as it acknowledged the CIA’s authority. The SEALs had to be “sheep dipped” -- that is, technically placed under the temporary control of the Agency -- for the extended run of the campaign. And finally, the CIA insisted that it integrate a handful of its own personnel to take part in every aspect of the operation, from mission planning to execution on the ground. InPraxis was that integration.
Soon, we were all up in Djibouti too. Why? I don’t know exactly. Maybe it was so the CIA bigwigs could feel as if they had a bit more ownership here than they did in NEPTUNE SPEAR -- another CIA op that had made SEAL Team Six famous. It felt like the CIA wanted to be able to claim bragging rights with some semblance of a straight face. Whatever. Like I said before, there’s always an ulterior motive in play whenever you deal with the Agency. Eventually you learn it’s better to focus on not getting burnt than attempt to suss it out.
The SEALs knew the drill; they had worked alongside the CIA almost as much as the Unit had over the years. Of course, that made them naturally suspicious of our presence. We were in effect proxy CIA Ground Branch officers, and the way they saw it, we were either there to babysit them, spy on them, set them up to take the fall should anything go wrong, or any creative combination thereof.
As a result, we took to wearing our OD green InPraxis Solutions tees around the base, just as a friendly reminder that we were actually OGA contractors. Unlike in the outside world, that distinction actually earns you cred in these sorts of elite circles. That logo didn’t just serve notice that we were all former Tier 1 guys ourselves, but former Tier 1 guys accomplished enough to merit recruitment by a very selective firm. InPraxis had quickly built a rep among insiders for only taking on experienced recce snipers or senior assaulters and then using them to pull off the most impossible assignments.
While an upgrade versus being perceived as some CIA lackey, our Unit backgrounds didn’t automatically make us blood brothers with the Beach Boys. And it’s fair to say that bad blood flowed in both directions. Remember when I said that Delta and the SAS had an intense but healthy rivalry? Well, we were never in direct competition for missions with the Brits -- at least not very often. Throw that into the equation -- as was perpetually the case with ST6 -- and things tend to get more intense and unhealthy in a big hurry. There’s some oil and water there too. The SEALs do things differently than what we’re used to -- their training, tactics, tech... the whole deal. That’s not to say they weren’t motivated or talented, because clearly they were. It was just different.
And I have to say, it didn’t help that they were strutting around like they ruled the world. Organizationally, ST6 had developed a bit of a Napoleon complex after playing second fiddle to the Unit pretty much since it was conceived. Now they were acting as if those roles had been reversed due to a couple of high-profile ops that fell in their laps. Never mind the fact that they did so directly as a result of playing second fiddle to Delta and just being in the right place at the right time.
I wasn’t immune to feeling the effects of the enmity. But I could usually look past it, and I had no problem seeing the SEALs as individual operators and assessing each of them for their respective merits. I actually already knew a handful of these guys from years back. Joint Unit/DEVGRU training sessions had become a pretty common occurrence. And they had some badasses over there, no doubt about it. There were some cool guys too, especially among the Black Teamers -- their recce snipers. I think maybe there was a little more maturity there along with some shared experience.
Of course, Mikey got along with them famously -- as he does with practically any mix of personalities.
Foggy -- well... let’s just say, Boris Berg isn’t the biggest SEAL cheerleader out there. I honestly didn’t know if we were going to be able to work side-by-side for an extended run at first. He holds some serious grievances against them, and it’s a feud that goes way back. Foggy dates back to days when the two units’ relationship was at its most strained, and his personal opinion had only continued to sink to lower and lower depths over the years.
GWoT brought the two units generally closer together, especially as there was enough work to go around. However, General McChrystal may have overreached at first with his ambitions of increased inclusiveness. Before reconsidering, he wanted the units to become mirror images of one another and pushed us to operate side-by-side in the field. His hand was forced on that count when the Unit’s casualty rate placed a significant percentage of our operators on the shelf or in the ground. In response, some ST6 SEALs were embedded with the Unit to act as temporary replacements.
However well intentioned, those differences I mentioned before can have catastrophic consequences. There were some blue-on-blue incidents -- SEALs unintentionally shooting Unit operators -- as a result of the operational contrasts.
A caustic man by nature, Foggy reserved rare bile for the occasions that “SEAL. Team. Six.” lurched off his tongue. It was as if the combination of words alone forced him to gag.
“Their selection procedure is seriously lacking.” “Their training methods, tactics, and tools are archaic.” “Fueled by ego, they are out-of-control and more dangerous than ever.”
Let’s just say, he hadn’t sent a self-addressed stamped envelope to join the SEAL Team Six fan club. And he didn’t make much of an effort to hide that fact with our new running buddies. But, like I said before, his skills were such that people wanted to be on his team. And he managed to bite his tongue -- just enough -- to allow us all to go out there and do our jobs.
***
Camp Lemonnier is located just south of the Djibouti-Ambouli International Airport. It’s 500 acres of spartan accommodations -- endless rows of pre-fab shipping container-based housing and work units, which stand as the highlight of the base’s featureless terrain of sand, dirt, and concrete. It’s home to a few thousand troops, civilians, and contractors.
The CIA/JSOC hunter-killer contingent was confined to a secluded corner of the base. And while to us on the inside, there were two distinct factions split by neatly drawn lines, to anyone else at Lemonnier who may have caught a glimpse of the secretive goings-on in our corner of the base, we likely all looked pretty much the same... and very different from them.
One of the SEALs joked that, to the Marines and the sailors, we probably looked like a rampaging horde of Vikings. Maybe, but I figured it more along the lines of Pantera roadies with worse attitudes or Hell’s Angels with better weapons. On the whole, we were big, burly men -- most of us in our thirties or forties -- with even bigger, burlier beards. The SEALs and InPraxis contractors certainly didn’t meet the conventional notion of what a soldier is supposed to look like. I imagine to the untrained eye, we looked more like a hodgepodge, rag-tag assortment rather than a collection of the most highly trained and proven warfighters the world has ever produced. We generally wore mismatched camouflage -- there was a selection of AOR1, AOR2, Multicam, along with some older or less common patterns -- with little apparent rhyme or reason for which were worn as tops or bottoms. Our weapons looked worn down and beat up -- marked with ugly homemade tan and brown paint jobs, each one different from the next.
Someone with a bit more knowledge would likely pick up on the fact that this was some seriously go-fast gear -- although pretty homogenous past the surface-deep differences of custom paint. The SEAL assaulters were mostly armed with HK416 carbines along with a few MP7 submachine guns. Their snipers carried 7.62x51mm-based rifles -- mostly KAC SR-25 variants with Nightforce optics. The majority of the SEALs also carried HK45C sidearms, although a few still held onto their trusty old Sig P226 9mms.
That same person who figured all of that out might even be able to pick out the InPraxis Solutions contractors... maybe even guess our Delta sniper heritage. Like the SEAL snipers, we drove weapons chambered in 7.62x51mm, although we preferred Schmidt & Bender scopes. Being the old school master that he was, Foggy’s pistol of choice was “God’s gun” -- a Colt M119A1 .45 ACP. Mikey Garriga represented the modern-day Delta operator with his Glock 22 .40 S&W. Meanwhile, I holstered an HK45 on the front of my body armor -- the full-sized beast, not the compact version the Blue Squadron SEALs carried.
Now an experienced gunsmith would see past the similarities that the semi-trained observer was hung up on and recognize just how special this armament truly was. While there were a lot of HK416s and SR-25s floating around in our combined group, each and every one had been so heavily modified that it barely even qualified as the same weapon any longer. The weapons were all expertly customized and lovingly assembled by the finest craftsmen to suit the particular needs and desires of each individual operator. There was a life-and-death story behind the selection and positioning of each gun’s attachments over in that exclusive corner of Camp Lemonnier.
Let’s consider my primary weapon as an example. It was a fully-customized, lightweight KAC SR-25 variant with an accurized 14.5-inch barrel and fixed suppressor -- everything match grade and blueprinted. On top sat a prototype Schmidt & Bender 5-20x50 PM II Ultra Short telescopic sight with a clip-on thermal sight. Cantered off to the side was an Aimpoint Micro T-1 red dot sight set on a KAC 45-degree offset mount for when things got up close and personal. And course there was an AN/PEQ-15A dual beam aiming laser and all sorts of other goodies -- from a one-off collapsible stock to suit my style and a trigger requiring a precise pull weight. Every choice had been mulled over, considered, and shaped by thousands of hours on the range and more than a thousand real-world operations. And it was all in the pursuit of the most efficient and precise application of violence possible.
But nothing was sacred, so the package was ever-evolving. The campaign against Al-Shabaab had been as bloody and brutal as anticipated. I ditched my standard 20-round KAC magazines and bummed some 25-round Magpul PMAGs off of “Qwerty” -- Josh S. -- one of the SEAL recce snipers I got to know pretty well while we were living at Camp Lemonnier. Fuck, five rounds can mean all the difference when things get kinetic, especially when you are pulling the trigger as frequently as we did during those months. As much as I enjoyed shooting my HK45 pistol on the range, I greatly preferred that it stayed in its holster when hot lead was streaking in both directions.
Even though we had applied the hurt to Al-Shabaab, they still managed to wreak havoc. The Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi was targeted as retribution for Kenya’s role in Operation Linda Nchi the previous year. The toll in dead and wounded was nearly unfathomable.
Exactly one week after the siege ended the shooters from InPraxis and the team leaders from one of the Blue Squadron assault troops assembled to lay out the particulars of some serious payback.
As usual, the assault troop’s lieutenant commander was present and ostensibly managing the session. Also present were a handful of ancillary support personnel -- some who would assist us from afar and others who would be with us on the ground. Meanwhile, some bigger fish were paying more attention than usual; the squadron commander and the task force commander were in the room observing while even some DoD and Agency higher-ups were wired in via teleconference.
I’m sure it was quite the show for those unacquainted with our mission brainstorming sessions. It’s pretty much the same at the Unit and ST6 -- it’s a bottom-up process. Everything’s on the table and anything goes. Mission planning and post-mission hotwash briefings were the time and place to call out each other’s bullshit -- ruthlessly -- to ensure nothing had been overlooked and no contingency was unplanned for.
I’m not alone in having a “healthy disrespect for authority.” It’s actually a very common trait among operators in both Tier 1 units. In no way do these men sit back and allow their Os tell them what’s what. If anything, it’s the other way round. The officers were present to make sure things stayed on track, but the enlisted men ran the briefings.
I think it was during these sessions that I was most reminded that the operators from the Unit and ST6 are a lot more alike than they are different. At the core, we’re cut from the same cloth. We would almost certainly be brothers if not for the myriad of forces beyond our control that habitually pit us against one another.
Even the obvious priority of our upcoming mission didn’t make the proceedings any more formal. In fact, it probably just added a layer of adrenaline and a measure of extra determination to cut through the shit and make sure we had a solid plan in place.
Unsurprisingly, Foggy relished the sessions. It was his officially sanctioned opportunity to vent -- the ideal stage to share his unique brand of antagonism. However, on this day he was unusually reserved. I think that made the SEAL assault element team leaders appreciate the importance of what we were about to face together.
However, just as we were satisfied that everything was in order and about to scatter to whatever individual rituals we go through to mentally prepare for an operation of this magnitude, Boris spoke up in his most exaggerated mocking tone:
“Before we break, I gotta ask just one thing. None of you SEALs are going on CNN tonight to preview this op for Anderson Cooper, are you? Flex that media training I can only assume is mandatory during BUD/S? Because if you are, I gotta set my DVR, ask for an autograph, and suggest we change tactics before any more of us die because you clowns can’t keep your fucking mouths shut.”
Over a small chorus of “fuck yous,” one of the SEALs spoke up in response. “Man, you’re just fucking bitter because you can’t accept that it’s our time now. You Hardy Boys had a nice run of things back in the ‘80s or whatever. But don’t feel bad, Berg, just because your D-boys haven’t done shit lately.”
“Haven’t done shit? Haven’t done shit? That’s what you really think, motherfucker? Yeah, that’s rich, boy.”
Then another SEAL stood up and casually strolled over toward Berg. The tension was such that I could have sworn I heard that clichéd record scratch sound in the background. And it wasn’t just that a SEAL was about to challenge Foggy but which SEAL in particular. I had been aware of Steven L. by reputation for years. The senior chief’s operational reputation was much the same as Berg’s, in fact. Word was he was a tactical wizard. The other SEALs called him “Capex” because he was a walking capability exercise -- an regular reminder of what’s (in)humanly possible. I actually hadn’t learned much more since we started working together in Somalia, however, because these were to be the first words I’d hear emerge from his mouth. ‘Laconic’ doesn’t begin to do him justice. Still, the other SEAL assaulters clearly deferred to him. I guess there’s something to be said for leading by example.
He had angular features wide open to view due to a shaved head and lack of beard, and a wiry, triathlete’s frame. So while he may have been his operational equal, he provided a visual contrast to Berg at least. He smirked and patted the volatile InPraxis boss on the shoulder.
“Come on now, big man. Don’t be jealous. It doesn’t suit you.”
I was all too ready to be pulled into barroom-style brawl where the numbers were most decidedly not on our side. That would have been real productive, not to mention classy, just hours ahead of one of our most important ops in years and with all the higher-ups watching on, let me me tell you. But fortunately -- and somewhat surprisingly -- Bo didn’t fully take the bait. He did his best to ignore the brazenness of Steven L. -- that Godzilla vs. Megalon showdown that would have to wait -- and instead spoke to the entire room:
“Let me clue all you ignorant dumbasses in on a little something: the fact that you think the Unit isn’t doing anything is not only evidence that it is, it’s proof those boys are doing it the right way. You shitheads could stand to learn from the example.”
A second louder chorus of “fuck yous” rang out, along with a handful of laughs as the tension dropped back down to more manageable levels. The group quickly dispersed, with everyone off to focus on getting their minds right for the evening ahead.
Well, other than Foggy, who just had.
And yeah, I know exactly what you’re thinking: “Just another sellout who turned his back on his duties and his country for the promise of a big payday.” Yeah, well fuck you. Excuse me while I go off on a tangent, but that shit seriously burns me up.
So listen... As far as the media and general public are concerned, the image of a CIA secret squirrel out there running, gunning, and spying in a foreign land is one to cheer for. He’s the American James Bond... someone you aspire to become... a credit to our great nation... worthy of being celebrated in the next Hollywood summer blockbuster.
Meanwhile, the image of a private military contractor running, gunning, and spying in some foreign land is one of the mercenary... the profiteer... the heavy-handed minion running amok in the name of some faceless evil corporation to further their grip on the industrial-military complex... murder for hire... worthy of being exposed in the next fear-mongering documentary.
Here’s the thing: out here, in the real world, in both cases:
It’s.
The.
Same.
God.
Damn.
Person.
And I don’t mean the same type of person. I mean the exact same individual. Jason Bourne exists, but his name is Raymond Davis. Get it? No? Well, allow me to break this down for you all nice and simple. These days, the distinction is almost entirely one of red tape. Simple bureaucratic bullshit.
When those airliners toppled the World Trade Center, the CIA was instantaneously thrust into the killing business. The problem was, the Agency wasn’t cut out for the mission. Yeah, there were plenty of myths floating around back then about the CIA’s Special Activities Division/Special Operations Group (SAD/SOG) -- and its Ground Branch in particular. You’d hear whispers that SOG was the ultimate superteam of high-speed, low-drag badasses. The rumors suggested they were the absolute cream of the crop collection of superspies -- damn near superhuman. Barrel-chested, lead-slinging, cyber-ninjas plucked from the best of the best at Delta and Six.
Nuh-uh.
The reality was that the CIA had long since largely abandoned its role in covert actions -- too often embarrassed by half-baked, ham-fisted operations. Its paramilitary capabilities had severely atrophied due to inattention and the remaining paramilitary operations officers under its employ were disparagingly referred to at Langley as the “forty forty-year-olds.”
In truth, they had some quality operatives at SAD/SOG. But the CIA recruited to best reflect its mission set, which meant looking for a wide range of talent so it could plug-and-play ad hoc teams... teams that could be custom assembled depending on what skills were needed for any given op.
And for that reason, SAD/SOG tended to recruit Army Special Forces types due to the money-waving form of UW (unconventional warfare) they practiced. They also had a disproportionate number of Marines, since that was a natural place to gravitate to from Force Recon, whereas SF and Rangers looking to take the next step in their career had Delta to shoot for, while regular SEALs had Six.
Like I said, SAD had some quality guys. But what it lacked was a cadre of personnel with Tier 1-level direct-action expertise -- exactly the kind of bad dudes the rumor mill had erroneously suggested Ground Branch was almost entirely composed of.
Of course, the game changed in ‘01. The U.S. government opened up its coffers and gave the CIA unlimited funding, along with a mandate to lay waste to everyone even remotely responsible for the attacks.
While flush with cash, there were still rules on how it could make use of this newly pumped-up budget. For example, they were strictly limited in how many full-time “blue-badged” staff officers could be added to the mix. Initially, the easiest way to get around this problem was by redirecting other funds to fill glaring needs by hiring scads of contractors. Keep in mind, this is all across the Agency -- not just with paramilitary contractors.
But it wasn’t just payroll issues. There were practical concerns as well and ones that weren’t going to go away any time soon. The CIA traditionally only hires applicants with a minimum of a bachelor’s degree and generally aims even higher than that. That rule was instantly outdated in this radically changed world. To get this particular job done, it didn’t need Dartmouth grads. Instead, the Agency was in desperate need of PhD-equivalents who studied surgical slaying at GWoT University. And by and large those candidates -- seasoned JSOC NCOs like yours truly -- did not come with bachelor’s degrees on their resumes.
Even if the CIA modified its hiring rules or looked the other way to navigate this obstacle, there were other issues as well. They were going to need a steady stream of Tier 1 talent for the foreseeable future. It became apparent almost immediately that this was destined to be a perpetual war.
At first, they sought out operators with the right background and negotiated contracts. But as more and more personnel were needed, it only made sense to uncomplicate the process.
Enter Blackwater and other military contracting firms. They essentially operated as glorified employment agencies for the CIA, DoD, and so on, recruiting talent and then subcontracting them out for use by the U.S. government. Most of these contractors were put to work in site and staff security roles, but the ones with the right skill sets were attached directly to the Agency in a more proactive capacity.
It also made sense on the other side. The operators used Blackwater et al like their own de facto union. There was power in numbers and by banding together they made sure they were able to secure the best deals and the appropriate compensation.
So that’s how it works. It pisses me off to see some of our nation’s greatest patriots treated as if they are piece-of-shit scum -- the modern-age bogeyman -- simply due to the red tape inherent in the system.
And the profiteer shit? Consider the training, the skills, and the experience required to do this particular job. And make no mistake, it’s a job America needs done. Now consider the massive risks that are incurred to perform it.
This is how life works for a CIA paramilitary contractor: You are given the most dangerous missions that exist. Why? Because you’re the only one (a) capable of actually pulling them off, who (b) is in a position to do so, even quasi-legally. But it also means that if you get shot risking your life in some godforsaken hole where we’re not technically supposed to be in order to prevent the next 9/11, there are two possibilities of what comes next. You either die out there and the CIA puts an anonymous star on the wall at Langley as a way of showing its appreciation. The ones with the star -- they’re the lucky ones. Because if you aren’t killed, well, you’re a deniable asset. That means you rot for the rest of your miserable life in some torturous pit while the government disavows you and your actions. You don’t even get the courtesy of a POW/MIA flag flown in your honor.
That’s no idle threat. This is a genuine possibility you must accept as evidenced by the OGA contractors out there who already have been written off in some third-world dungeon.
You think we do this to get rich? I mean the pay is probably more in line with what’s deserved, but we’re still talking less than half of what the Chicago Blackhawks’ worst defenseman earns in a season. So let’s have a little perspective.
And there’s no fame or glory at the end either. You have a limited shelf life as a contractor. And even if that career doesn’t end in death or imprisonment, there are no options to earn a living wage by signing autographs like skinny ex-offensive linemen and overweight ex-running backs do.
So why do it? While it’s nice to be appropriately rewarded for your talents and the risks you take, the fact is some of the bravest, most patriotic heroes that America will never know are its unseen force of contractors who are risking it all on behalf of its citizens.
Lack of patriotism? Fucking bullshit. For myself and the guys I know, we all had our own particular reasons to go this route. But to a man, this was the way we could serve our nation and have the maximum impact.
Feels good to get that off my (barrel) chest.
***
Like I explained, InPraxis was registered in the Cayman Islands and technically based in Dubai, but it was founded, first and foremost, to execute a specialized mission deep inside Pakistan.
It wasn’t the only time this sort of work had been attempted. Everyone thinks of the bin Laden raid, but NEPTUNE and SPEAR were not the first two words thrown together to mask a classified mission across the border. There were plenty of others -- SCREEN and HUNTER, VIGILANT and HARVEST, and VIBRANT and FURY just to name a few.
We happened to be a subcompartment of one called QUIET STORM, which happened to be a subcompartment of yet some other random two-word nickname. This was late 2008, and the CIA was already deep in preparation for an expected alteration in counterterror calculus with the arrival of the new Commander in Chief.
And while I’m still on my elevated equine, let me quickly note that I’ve never really given a shit who was president during my time doing government work. They’ve got a job. I’ve got a job. And if my job changes as a result of the decisions made at the top, so be it. This guy. That guy. Who fucking cares?
To be frank, I’m not so much apolitical as I am anti-political. A number of my fellow operators put every political decision under the microscope. And as you might expect, most -- but not all -- tended to lean rather decidedly to the right. Me? I see the strict two-party system as counterproductive and effectively broken by its very definition. Citizens view themselves as having one of two choices. Ultimately, they pick a side almost like they would an NFL or MLB team to root for. At that point most are fully suckered in and turn off their brains. They allow their subsequent beliefs to be shaped by the views of their party of choice rather than attempt to shape the party -- or another party -- to better conform to their genuine beliefs and best interests.
Leadership on both sides define victory in terms of defeating the other “team” rather than by making actual progress for the people. And they are cheered along the entire time by their respective fandoms, blissfully blinded by their allegiance. Hell, even sports fans aren’t as collectively mindless; at least they recognize deficiencies in their teams and demand change.
Anyway, back to 2008. As incoming POTUS, Barack Obama had made plenty of noise about closing down GITMO and the network of black sites. That was going to mean a whole lot less spiriting bad guys away in the night so they could be interrogated and a whole lot more wholesale slaughter of any unlucky S.O.B.s who found themselves on the ‘Disposition Matrix.’ Kill or capture would simply became kill.
Bring on the drones.
As expected, drone strike statistics would soon go through the roof. In Pakistan, there had been something like ten total between ‘04 and ’07. There were almost forty in ‘08, more than fifty in ’09, and well over twice that number in 2010. But in order to unleash Hellfire down on someone’s head, you’ve got to know which head and where that head is at.
That wasn’t our job.
The CIA had agents -- Pakistani locals who had been recruited by cash, coercion, or whatever it took -- to help with that. The problem was that almost immediately these drone strike informants became an endangered species. They had a nasty habit of winding up in shallow graves before they could relay any actionable intel.
It was our job to keep that from happening.
During the time, InPraxis Solutions largely operated out of Peshawar. Our reach extended deep into the badlands of the Federally Administered Tribal Area (FATA). Officially, Boris, Mikey, myself, and a small handful of others had been contracted to consult for some IT startup in Peshawar -- which I’m sure was another CIA front -- but the reality was much different. Much grimmer.
QUIET STORM was set in motion to wipe out the death squads the Taliban, Haqqani Network, etc. sent after anyone they suspected of spying for the CIA -- and do so in a manner that left no evidence of our existence. As opposed to the GREYSTONE rendition days, we weren’t wheels down and wheels up in a country for hours at a time. Here we were embedded deep for weeks or months, working undercover.
Shit got a bit more complicated when we ultimately decided it might make more sense to fight fire with fire and eliminate those who were serving as the death squads’ informants. Let’s just say the Pakistani Inter-Service Intelligence wasn’t too excited when a handful of ISI Directorate S operatives ended up getting schwhacked in early 2010.
***
I’m not sure if Pakistan was considered too hot as a result, but it was around this time that InPraxis Solutions took on another no-bid contract with the Agency and shifted its focus to Africa. The spreading scourge of terrorism there -- as evidenced by the rise of al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) in Northern Africa, al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP) in Yemen, and Al-Shabaab in Somalia -- meant there was still plenty to keep us busy, regardless of what went down in South Asia.
Despite operating on an entirely new continent, life as an OGA goon squad contractor continued pretty much unabated. For the first couple of years, we bounced around, basing from a constellation of ‘lily-pads’ in the region, staging in Ethiopia, Kenya, Djibouti, and elsewhere.
We ran a number of low-vis ops in small cross-matrix “omega teams.” We hooked up with CIA case officers and JSOC tech geeks from the Intelligence Support Activity (ISA) to carry out a variety of objectives. They worried about things like making contact with a potential source or installing some equipment to intercept communications. Meanwhile, we were pretty much there for two primary reasons -- to make sure specific people stayed alive or make sure specific people ended up the opposite of alive.
Over time, Somalia became the focus of our efforts. The CIA and Activity operatives thought the idea of going deep behind enemy lines with just five or six other guys was pretty sketchy, especially as we only had an abbreviated Special Forces CIF company and a couple of MH-53 Pave Lows waiting at Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti as backup in case things went to shit. We got a kick out of that. That was cute. It was a marked upgrade from the conditions we had gotten used to in Pakistan, that’s for sure.
The shadow war versus Al-Shabaab intensified in late ‘11. Ethiopia and Kenya invaded Somalia in a joint campaign they called Operation Linda Nchi -- Swahili for “Protect the Country.” It was an attempt to help legitimize and entrench the transitional Somali government and put an end to the chaotic conditions that had allowed Al-Shabaab to thrive. Uncle Sam provided a helping hand by way of pinpoint drone strikes and some “on-site consultation” of the sort InPraxis was especially adept. We embedded with Ethiopian forces and served as, let’s say, a significant force multiplier.
The multi-pronged effort was pretty successful. By the time Operation Linda Nchi concluded in the spring of 2012, Al-Shabaab was reeling. It had been pummeled and left in a weakened state, largely driven back to its traditional hiding places in the jungles in the south of the nation.
That didn’t completely eliminate the threat, however. Quite the contrary, in fact. Al-Shabaab was now desperate -- a wounded and cornered animal. There was little doubt it would attempt to strike back in spectacular fashion, if only to show the world it hadn’t been rendered impotent.
JSOC licked its chops (as much as an organization can) at the prospect of cranking back up that industrial counterterrorism machine to prevent that from happening. The methodology had cut a swath through insurgents in Iraq and Afghanistan with devastating effectiveness. The idea of setting loose a somewhat scaled down, yet more refined, version in Somalia had JSOC’s flag officers practically salivating during the summer of ‘13.
Toward those ends, Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti was soon inhabited by a full squadron of operators from the Naval Special Warfare Development Group. You know -- DEVGRU. SEAL Team Six. ST6. Sixers. The boys from the beach. With ST6’s Blue Squadron in place, JSOC was ready to get to work.
Not so fast.
The CIA had the lead in Somalia, so while JSOC was allowed to assemble its forces and implement its plan, it had to agree to a small number of nonnegotiable conditions. JSOC could run the show so long as it acknowledged the CIA’s authority. The SEALs had to be “sheep dipped” -- that is, technically placed under the temporary control of the Agency -- for the extended run of the campaign. And finally, the CIA insisted that it integrate a handful of its own personnel to take part in every aspect of the operation, from mission planning to execution on the ground. InPraxis was that integration.
Soon, we were all up in Djibouti too. Why? I don’t know exactly. Maybe it was so the CIA bigwigs could feel as if they had a bit more ownership here than they did in NEPTUNE SPEAR -- another CIA op that had made SEAL Team Six famous. It felt like the CIA wanted to be able to claim bragging rights with some semblance of a straight face. Whatever. Like I said before, there’s always an ulterior motive in play whenever you deal with the Agency. Eventually you learn it’s better to focus on not getting burnt than attempt to suss it out.
The SEALs knew the drill; they had worked alongside the CIA almost as much as the Unit had over the years. Of course, that made them naturally suspicious of our presence. We were in effect proxy CIA Ground Branch officers, and the way they saw it, we were either there to babysit them, spy on them, set them up to take the fall should anything go wrong, or any creative combination thereof.
As a result, we took to wearing our OD green InPraxis Solutions tees around the base, just as a friendly reminder that we were actually OGA contractors. Unlike in the outside world, that distinction actually earns you cred in these sorts of elite circles. That logo didn’t just serve notice that we were all former Tier 1 guys ourselves, but former Tier 1 guys accomplished enough to merit recruitment by a very selective firm. InPraxis had quickly built a rep among insiders for only taking on experienced recce snipers or senior assaulters and then using them to pull off the most impossible assignments.
While an upgrade versus being perceived as some CIA lackey, our Unit backgrounds didn’t automatically make us blood brothers with the Beach Boys. And it’s fair to say that bad blood flowed in both directions. Remember when I said that Delta and the SAS had an intense but healthy rivalry? Well, we were never in direct competition for missions with the Brits -- at least not very often. Throw that into the equation -- as was perpetually the case with ST6 -- and things tend to get more intense and unhealthy in a big hurry. There’s some oil and water there too. The SEALs do things differently than what we’re used to -- their training, tactics, tech... the whole deal. That’s not to say they weren’t motivated or talented, because clearly they were. It was just different.
And I have to say, it didn’t help that they were strutting around like they ruled the world. Organizationally, ST6 had developed a bit of a Napoleon complex after playing second fiddle to the Unit pretty much since it was conceived. Now they were acting as if those roles had been reversed due to a couple of high-profile ops that fell in their laps. Never mind the fact that they did so directly as a result of playing second fiddle to Delta and just being in the right place at the right time.
I wasn’t immune to feeling the effects of the enmity. But I could usually look past it, and I had no problem seeing the SEALs as individual operators and assessing each of them for their respective merits. I actually already knew a handful of these guys from years back. Joint Unit/DEVGRU training sessions had become a pretty common occurrence. And they had some badasses over there, no doubt about it. There were some cool guys too, especially among the Black Teamers -- their recce snipers. I think maybe there was a little more maturity there along with some shared experience.
Of course, Mikey got along with them famously -- as he does with practically any mix of personalities.
Foggy -- well... let’s just say, Boris Berg isn’t the biggest SEAL cheerleader out there. I honestly didn’t know if we were going to be able to work side-by-side for an extended run at first. He holds some serious grievances against them, and it’s a feud that goes way back. Foggy dates back to days when the two units’ relationship was at its most strained, and his personal opinion had only continued to sink to lower and lower depths over the years.
GWoT brought the two units generally closer together, especially as there was enough work to go around. However, General McChrystal may have overreached at first with his ambitions of increased inclusiveness. Before reconsidering, he wanted the units to become mirror images of one another and pushed us to operate side-by-side in the field. His hand was forced on that count when the Unit’s casualty rate placed a significant percentage of our operators on the shelf or in the ground. In response, some ST6 SEALs were embedded with the Unit to act as temporary replacements.
However well intentioned, those differences I mentioned before can have catastrophic consequences. There were some blue-on-blue incidents -- SEALs unintentionally shooting Unit operators -- as a result of the operational contrasts.
A caustic man by nature, Foggy reserved rare bile for the occasions that “SEAL. Team. Six.” lurched off his tongue. It was as if the combination of words alone forced him to gag.
“Their selection procedure is seriously lacking.” “Their training methods, tactics, and tools are archaic.” “Fueled by ego, they are out-of-control and more dangerous than ever.”
Let’s just say, he hadn’t sent a self-addressed stamped envelope to join the SEAL Team Six fan club. And he didn’t make much of an effort to hide that fact with our new running buddies. But, like I said before, his skills were such that people wanted to be on his team. And he managed to bite his tongue -- just enough -- to allow us all to go out there and do our jobs.
***
Camp Lemonnier is located just south of the Djibouti-Ambouli International Airport. It’s 500 acres of spartan accommodations -- endless rows of pre-fab shipping container-based housing and work units, which stand as the highlight of the base’s featureless terrain of sand, dirt, and concrete. It’s home to a few thousand troops, civilians, and contractors.
The CIA/JSOC hunter-killer contingent was confined to a secluded corner of the base. And while to us on the inside, there were two distinct factions split by neatly drawn lines, to anyone else at Lemonnier who may have caught a glimpse of the secretive goings-on in our corner of the base, we likely all looked pretty much the same... and very different from them.
One of the SEALs joked that, to the Marines and the sailors, we probably looked like a rampaging horde of Vikings. Maybe, but I figured it more along the lines of Pantera roadies with worse attitudes or Hell’s Angels with better weapons. On the whole, we were big, burly men -- most of us in our thirties or forties -- with even bigger, burlier beards. The SEALs and InPraxis contractors certainly didn’t meet the conventional notion of what a soldier is supposed to look like. I imagine to the untrained eye, we looked more like a hodgepodge, rag-tag assortment rather than a collection of the most highly trained and proven warfighters the world has ever produced. We generally wore mismatched camouflage -- there was a selection of AOR1, AOR2, Multicam, along with some older or less common patterns -- with little apparent rhyme or reason for which were worn as tops or bottoms. Our weapons looked worn down and beat up -- marked with ugly homemade tan and brown paint jobs, each one different from the next.
Someone with a bit more knowledge would likely pick up on the fact that this was some seriously go-fast gear -- although pretty homogenous past the surface-deep differences of custom paint. The SEAL assaulters were mostly armed with HK416 carbines along with a few MP7 submachine guns. Their snipers carried 7.62x51mm-based rifles -- mostly KAC SR-25 variants with Nightforce optics. The majority of the SEALs also carried HK45C sidearms, although a few still held onto their trusty old Sig P226 9mms.
That same person who figured all of that out might even be able to pick out the InPraxis Solutions contractors... maybe even guess our Delta sniper heritage. Like the SEAL snipers, we drove weapons chambered in 7.62x51mm, although we preferred Schmidt & Bender scopes. Being the old school master that he was, Foggy’s pistol of choice was “God’s gun” -- a Colt M119A1 .45 ACP. Mikey Garriga represented the modern-day Delta operator with his Glock 22 .40 S&W. Meanwhile, I holstered an HK45 on the front of my body armor -- the full-sized beast, not the compact version the Blue Squadron SEALs carried.
Now an experienced gunsmith would see past the similarities that the semi-trained observer was hung up on and recognize just how special this armament truly was. While there were a lot of HK416s and SR-25s floating around in our combined group, each and every one had been so heavily modified that it barely even qualified as the same weapon any longer. The weapons were all expertly customized and lovingly assembled by the finest craftsmen to suit the particular needs and desires of each individual operator. There was a life-and-death story behind the selection and positioning of each gun’s attachments over in that exclusive corner of Camp Lemonnier.
Let’s consider my primary weapon as an example. It was a fully-customized, lightweight KAC SR-25 variant with an accurized 14.5-inch barrel and fixed suppressor -- everything match grade and blueprinted. On top sat a prototype Schmidt & Bender 5-20x50 PM II Ultra Short telescopic sight with a clip-on thermal sight. Cantered off to the side was an Aimpoint Micro T-1 red dot sight set on a KAC 45-degree offset mount for when things got up close and personal. And course there was an AN/PEQ-15A dual beam aiming laser and all sorts of other goodies -- from a one-off collapsible stock to suit my style and a trigger requiring a precise pull weight. Every choice had been mulled over, considered, and shaped by thousands of hours on the range and more than a thousand real-world operations. And it was all in the pursuit of the most efficient and precise application of violence possible.
But nothing was sacred, so the package was ever-evolving. The campaign against Al-Shabaab had been as bloody and brutal as anticipated. I ditched my standard 20-round KAC magazines and bummed some 25-round Magpul PMAGs off of “Qwerty” -- Josh S. -- one of the SEAL recce snipers I got to know pretty well while we were living at Camp Lemonnier. Fuck, five rounds can mean all the difference when things get kinetic, especially when you are pulling the trigger as frequently as we did during those months. As much as I enjoyed shooting my HK45 pistol on the range, I greatly preferred that it stayed in its holster when hot lead was streaking in both directions.
Even though we had applied the hurt to Al-Shabaab, they still managed to wreak havoc. The Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi was targeted as retribution for Kenya’s role in Operation Linda Nchi the previous year. The toll in dead and wounded was nearly unfathomable.
Exactly one week after the siege ended the shooters from InPraxis and the team leaders from one of the Blue Squadron assault troops assembled to lay out the particulars of some serious payback.
As usual, the assault troop’s lieutenant commander was present and ostensibly managing the session. Also present were a handful of ancillary support personnel -- some who would assist us from afar and others who would be with us on the ground. Meanwhile, some bigger fish were paying more attention than usual; the squadron commander and the task force commander were in the room observing while even some DoD and Agency higher-ups were wired in via teleconference.
I’m sure it was quite the show for those unacquainted with our mission brainstorming sessions. It’s pretty much the same at the Unit and ST6 -- it’s a bottom-up process. Everything’s on the table and anything goes. Mission planning and post-mission hotwash briefings were the time and place to call out each other’s bullshit -- ruthlessly -- to ensure nothing had been overlooked and no contingency was unplanned for.
I’m not alone in having a “healthy disrespect for authority.” It’s actually a very common trait among operators in both Tier 1 units. In no way do these men sit back and allow their Os tell them what’s what. If anything, it’s the other way round. The officers were present to make sure things stayed on track, but the enlisted men ran the briefings.
I think it was during these sessions that I was most reminded that the operators from the Unit and ST6 are a lot more alike than they are different. At the core, we’re cut from the same cloth. We would almost certainly be brothers if not for the myriad of forces beyond our control that habitually pit us against one another.
Even the obvious priority of our upcoming mission didn’t make the proceedings any more formal. In fact, it probably just added a layer of adrenaline and a measure of extra determination to cut through the shit and make sure we had a solid plan in place.
Unsurprisingly, Foggy relished the sessions. It was his officially sanctioned opportunity to vent -- the ideal stage to share his unique brand of antagonism. However, on this day he was unusually reserved. I think that made the SEAL assault element team leaders appreciate the importance of what we were about to face together.
However, just as we were satisfied that everything was in order and about to scatter to whatever individual rituals we go through to mentally prepare for an operation of this magnitude, Boris spoke up in his most exaggerated mocking tone:
“Before we break, I gotta ask just one thing. None of you SEALs are going on CNN tonight to preview this op for Anderson Cooper, are you? Flex that media training I can only assume is mandatory during BUD/S? Because if you are, I gotta set my DVR, ask for an autograph, and suggest we change tactics before any more of us die because you clowns can’t keep your fucking mouths shut.”
Over a small chorus of “fuck yous,” one of the SEALs spoke up in response. “Man, you’re just fucking bitter because you can’t accept that it’s our time now. You Hardy Boys had a nice run of things back in the ‘80s or whatever. But don’t feel bad, Berg, just because your D-boys haven’t done shit lately.”
“Haven’t done shit? Haven’t done shit? That’s what you really think, motherfucker? Yeah, that’s rich, boy.”
Then another SEAL stood up and casually strolled over toward Berg. The tension was such that I could have sworn I heard that clichéd record scratch sound in the background. And it wasn’t just that a SEAL was about to challenge Foggy but which SEAL in particular. I had been aware of Steven L. by reputation for years. The senior chief’s operational reputation was much the same as Berg’s, in fact. Word was he was a tactical wizard. The other SEALs called him “Capex” because he was a walking capability exercise -- an regular reminder of what’s (in)humanly possible. I actually hadn’t learned much more since we started working together in Somalia, however, because these were to be the first words I’d hear emerge from his mouth. ‘Laconic’ doesn’t begin to do him justice. Still, the other SEAL assaulters clearly deferred to him. I guess there’s something to be said for leading by example.
He had angular features wide open to view due to a shaved head and lack of beard, and a wiry, triathlete’s frame. So while he may have been his operational equal, he provided a visual contrast to Berg at least. He smirked and patted the volatile InPraxis boss on the shoulder.
“Come on now, big man. Don’t be jealous. It doesn’t suit you.”
I was all too ready to be pulled into barroom-style brawl where the numbers were most decidedly not on our side. That would have been real productive, not to mention classy, just hours ahead of one of our most important ops in years and with all the higher-ups watching on, let me me tell you. But fortunately -- and somewhat surprisingly -- Bo didn’t fully take the bait. He did his best to ignore the brazenness of Steven L. -- that Godzilla vs. Megalon showdown that would have to wait -- and instead spoke to the entire room:
“Let me clue all you ignorant dumbasses in on a little something: the fact that you think the Unit isn’t doing anything is not only evidence that it is, it’s proof those boys are doing it the right way. You shitheads could stand to learn from the example.”
A second louder chorus of “fuck yous” rang out, along with a handful of laughs as the tension dropped back down to more manageable levels. The group quickly dispersed, with everyone off to focus on getting their minds right for the evening ahead.
Well, other than Foggy, who just had.
No comments have been added yet.
