Insider Threat: The Mogadishu Diaries 1992-1993

by E. Clay

  “Gunny T. When death knows your name, you cannot escape it. Death does not care if you are old or young, Black or White or if you are ready or not. You cannot pray your way out of death and you cannot cheat it. You may think that I am blessed, but there are times when I feel I am cursed.”

  “But you escaped death four times. For some reason God protected you. How can that be a curse?” I asked.

  “God could have made a better choice, I am sure of it. I ask myself all the time …why me? There are times when the guilt is too much to bear. Do you have any idea what it is like to be on an aircraft falling from the sky? First, you hear the Captain over the intercom give the command “Brace, brace!” Then the oxygen masks fall from their compartments. When the plane begins its free fall, you just hope and pray that somehow the plane will stabilize. At some point the overhead luggage comes crashing into the aisles; that’s when pandemonium breaks out. It’s pure hell, screaming, praying and crying…everyone. When the weak spots in the hull buckle under extreme pressure, you lose all hope and you say your goodbyes. I have seen mothers desperately clinging to their children with all of their strength, only to see them sucked out of the aircraft through a hole no bigger than a foot in diameter. To experience that once is too much. I have endured that agony four times. That’s too much for any one person,” Howard said somberly.

  I had completely forgotten about the pain in my stomach from overeating and began to sense Howard’s pain. We stopped for a moment and sat on the stoop outside work. I was emotionally spent just listening to his personal account.

  As he explained it to me, I was visualizing the graphic portrayal in my head in 3D. It was terrible, some of the things he said could not fit in my head and my mind blanked them out.

  I was on the same plane as Howard from Camp Pendleton to Mogadishu, but I would make damn sure I would not be on the same return flight.

  Chapter 20

  Anatomy of an Interview Part I

  27 February 1993

  Five thirty am. I hardly slept. My counter- intelligence interview would be in less than six hours and I felt like crap. The lasagna didn't settle with me and I spent a good portion of the night in the latrine. I shouldn't have eaten so much. I also noticed every twenty minutes or so I felt a wave of nervousness in my stomach and that was unusual for me. I chalked it up to anxiety having to sit for the board. The conversation I had with Howard didn't help things either. It left me feeling depressed. I needed a pick me up.

  After the 0700 morning meeting, I noticed the nervousness in my stomach was slightly more intense and the waves became more frequent. I needed something to take my mind off the interview. Eric was having a conversation with the Logistic Officer so I waited for him inside the Ops Center. Eric and I were similar in that we were both “easy come, easy go” and generally optimistic. I figured a light conversation with Eric would take my mind off things.

  “Eric. So how are things with Tootie?”

  Immediately Eric perked right up. He could go on all day about Tootie. It was always Tootie this and Tootie that.

  “Things are great, they couldn't be better. Last night I wrote a poem for Tootie, can I read it to you?” asked Eric as he reached in his trouser pocket to retrieve a folded piece of paper.

  I wasn't really in the mood.

  “Do you have to?” I replied.

  Eric's enthusiasm faded for a second, before I conceded.

  “Just kidding. Go on.”

  He read the poem with such emotion, like he was reading it to her in person. If I wasn't his best friend I would have run for the hills mid-way through the poem. But I endured and even gave a convincing response.

  “Wow. That was amazing. You even found something that rhymes with Somalia,” (I'll follow ya).

  “Yeah, I didn't know I was a poet. Must have been a hidden talent.”

  “So, when will you see her again?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow for sure,” Eric said as he folded up his masterpiece and stuck it in his cargo pocket.

  “I do not believe it. A Tootie-free day. I thought you were seeing her every day,” I replied.

  “I don't want to risk it. Today is a bad day and I don't want to tempt fate,” Eric said as he pointed to the calendar on the wall.

  I didn't have a clue what he was talking about so I approached the calendar.

  “Eric. I'm looking right at the calendar, what?”

  “Dude, you must be blind. It's Friday,” Eric said as he pointed to the date.

  “So. So what?”

  Then Eric grabbed a black marker and circled the date.

  Then it clicked. It was Friday the 13th.

  “Damn,” I said under my breath.

  Then my nervousness came back with a vengeance.

  The pit in my stomach and the doubt in my mind worsened.

  “You know, Eric, you could have kept that to yourself,” I complained as I looked at my watch. The countdown in my head had begun, but it seemed more like a time bomb waiting to go off. I had thoughts of backing out of the interview but I was committed and there was no turning back.

  At 1100 hours I knocked on the green door. By that time, I no longer felt the waves of anxiety, because it had become constant. My breathing was off and my palms were sweaty and clammy. The door slowly opened and it was Gator.

  “Double damn,” I thought to myself as I walked towards the conference table where I would be boarded. Major Haycock, Master Gunnery Sergeant Pritchard, Lieutenant Stein and Gator would decide my fate.

  As I walked to the table Gator had a few words of encouragement.

  “The big guy is here (Major Haycock). Don't choke.”

  If I had a shred of confidence before he spoke, it evaporated. How was I going get through this?

  Gator stepped behind the table and sat down in his seat.

  “Sir. Gunnery Sergeant Thompson reporting as ordered sir,” I said from the position of attention nervously.

  Major Haycock stood and had a few remarks before the board convened.

  “At ease. At ease. Gunnery Sergeant Thompson you are being considered for a position of trust and responsibility as a Counterintelligence Specialist.

  Consider this a board to assess your personality and suitability. Do you have any questions?” Major Haycock asked with a clipboard in hand.

  “No. No sir.”

  “Then you may be seated and let the board commence.”

  I immediately looked over at Lieutenant Stein. I knew he was reading my body language and assessing my mental state. That made things worse for me.

  Pritchard started off the questioning.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Thompson, why should we favorably approve you as a candidate for counterintelligence?”

  “You should pick me because....ah...uhmm. Can I get back to you on that?” I said as my voice wavered.

  The meltdown had begun and it was embarrassing as hell.

  Pritchard was annoyed. He went to bat for me and I was falling on my face miserably.

  “Okay. What is the Marine Corps order for counterintelligence?” Pritchard asked.

  “The Marine Corps order for counterintelligence is 3850. I mean, 3580. It’s one of those... I think.”

  Somebody just shoot me in the face. Put me out of my misery.

  By then frustration was felt among all the board members and they stopped taking notes. I was hoping they would just stop the board. It was obvious that I was way off my game. But Pritchard pressed me for another question.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Thompson. What is the Sixth Counterintelligence team motto?”

  “Uhmm, uhmm. Detect, deny and...conceive.”

  By that time I had completely checked out mentally and I was having an out-of -body experience.

  Pritchard whispered something to Major Haycock and then he addressed me.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Thompson. I really don't know what your major malfunction is, but I am recommending we have a recess, especially after that last response. Do you think you can
get your shit together by let's say 1330?”

  I took a very deep breath of relief. No more questioning for the time being.

  “Yes,” I responded avoiding eye contact.

  “Okay then. We will see you at 1330 sharp.”

  I had about two hours to pull myself together. Or I could leave and never return. The latter seemed much more appealing than the former.

  Chapter 21

  Intermission

  27 February 1993

  I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. My confidence was shot and I was disgusted with myself for performing so poorly. I had always prided myself for rising to the occasion and delivering. Today, I failed. How could I face those guys again? Gator probably laughed his head off after I left. As I stood outside the JTF building, a crowd of senior officers was heading out the building. I saw Dr. Gaye amidst the crowd chatting with the U-3 (Unified Operations Officer). As soon as I saw him I looked away and walked ahead hoping he didn't see me. Too late.

  “Gunny T. Gunny T.” Dr. Gaye called out as he concluded his conversation.

  “Dr. Gaye, I think I see more of you at the JTF than at MARFOR.”

  “I'm dual hatted, so I have obligations here and there. The Commander here is advising our Colonel, that he should appoint a Deputy. Major Lewis and I are on the short list.”

  That’s all I needed.

  “Really? Major Lewis will have more influence than he already has,” I commented.

  “I really don’t have time to take care of my own duties. The Deputy position would put an unnecessary strain on my work load. If they offer it to me, I will probably pass. As a State Department Liaison Officer, that would really muddy the waters. It should go to a senior officer by all respects. But because the Commander JTF considers me a Subject Matter Expert, they could bend the rules. I am sure that is what is happening.

  “However, I do have some good news,” Dr. Gaye said as we walked towards our MARFOR workspaces.

  “I'm all ears. I could use some good news,” I replied.

  “Well, beginning tomorrow we will have a laundry service.”

  “That is good news. I am constantly washing my T-shirts and underwear. Who will be doing that?”

  “Three Somali Clans petitioned for the contract. I was asked to assist in the vetting process. If the wrong Clan had won the contract it may have upset the political equilibrium in the city,” said Dr. Gaye.

  “Okay. I will pretend like I understood what you just said.”

  “I recommended a neutral Clan that was not affiliated with Aidid or Mahdi; although if I had to choose among the two, I would choose Mahdi.”

  “Why is that?”

  I was confused because our security briefings portrayed them both as warlords.

  “Mahdi's representatives view the U.S. as guarantors of their country’s sovereignty. Aidid see us as a threat.

  Aidid was a top Army General who also directed the Somali intelligence services. Ali Mahdi was a politician. Neither will disarm because of reprisals from the other. We need to tread lightly and strike a balance of neutrality.”

  Dr. Gaye invited me to his tent to eat lunch. He traded MREs with the Australians the day prior during a liaison visit. I accepted his invitation. I wasn't really hungry but I would take one with me and eat it later. It was common knowledge that the Aussies had the best tasting MREs of all the coalition troops in Somalia.

  The worst MRE in all of Somalia was Chicken Ala King, courtesy of the U.S government. I have seen malnourished Somalians reject Chicken Ala King while on patrol.

  Chicken Ala King was more like “vomit in a vacuum- sealed pouch,” but not as tasty.

  “So what happened to forced fun? You seem preoccupied?” said Dr. Gaye.

  “Is it that noticeable? I'm trying hard to fake it,” I said as I sat down opposite Dr. Gaye in his private tent.

  “Very noticeable.”

  “Well. I had a chance to advance my career in a brand new field, and I blew it big time.”

  “What field were you considering?

  “Too late now, but I was looking to cross train into counterintelligence.”

  Dr. Gaye almost choked sipping from his canteen before responding.

  “Oh, I see,” he said as he cleared his throat.

  “I choked during the board, in fact I redefined the word ‘choked.”

  “We all endure rough patches; no one is without a weakness. It is important that we recognize them so we can address them. Tell me one of your weaknesses and I will share one of mine with you.”

  In my mind, Dr. Gaye was the embodiment of perfection. I could not imagine him having a single flaw.

  “Oh that's easy...unhealthy relationships. The more toxic, the more I am drawn to them. I am a magnet for women who are just wrong for me.”

  “Have you asked yourself why that is the case?”

  “I think I set myself up for failure at a young age. It probably started my freshman year in high school. I was with someone I shouldn't have been with; it was taboo.”

  “Taboo. You mean she was White?” Dr. Gaye asked.

  “No. She was forty and I was fifteen. Her name was Marlene. She was in the booster club at school when I was on the freshman wrestling team.”

  “Was she married?'

  “Separated. She was divorced by the time I was a sophomore. You are the first person I've told. But I think she's dead now.”

  “Dead?”

  “While I was in basic training, Marlene sent me a letter telling me that she was diagnosed with breast cancer and it was malignant. In her letter, she said that she didn't look the same anymore after her chemotherapy and she didn't want me to see her that way. She enclosed a picture in the letter for me to remember her. She moved away and I never heard from her again. I still have her picture.”

  For a moment, I was able to reflect on a memorable time in my life and not think about my recent implosion.

  “Your turn. Tell me a flaw,” I demanded.

  “Fair enough, you confided in me, now it's my turn.

  My flaw is I do not forgive and I never forget. If a person betrays my trust just once, they will never reclaim it. No matter what. It's finished. I am working on it but not very successfully.

  “Clay. Enough about me. Talk to me about the board.”

  “Not much to say. They want me to come back after lunch but that's a negative. I'm done with it. Stage fright got the best of me and that's not like me at all.”

  My last comment provoked an interesting discussion that gave me some insight.

  “Let's call it like it is. Stage fright or fear of public speaking are misnomers. I would define it as fear of rejection or fear of failure. No one is fearful of speaking.”

  “I'm a confident person...I just lost it,” I commented.

  Dr. Gaye sat back in his chair and I could tell he was in deep thought. My dad had that same look when he weighed his thoughts.

  “Confidence is one thing and harnessing it is another. Are you feeling adventurous? Because I have a dare for you.”

  “Uh oh. Not really, but what is it?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Years ago, my uncle had this saying that inspired me and has stayed with me ever since.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Dr. Gaye leaned forward, almost invading my personal space looking me straight in the eye.

  “Sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Twenty seconds of foolish bravery ...and with that, great things can happen. Try it, I dare you,” Dr. Gaye said enthusiastically.

  “What happens after the twenty seconds?”

  “Give me twenty seconds first; worry about the rest later. That's all I am asking.”

  “Just twenty seconds? I can do anything for twenty seconds. Okay.”

  Wow. It never ceases to amaze me how a few words from a concerned individual can mean so much. I looked at my watch and I had twenty minutes before my interview. I was remotivated. We both stood and stretched and I gave him
a bro hug. Dr. Gaye once again helped me and somehow a handshake didn't seem to adequately reflect my appreciation. Game on.

  Chapter 22

  Anatomy of an Interview Part II

  27 February 1993

  Twenty seconds? Let's do this.

  “Sir, Gunnery Sergeant Thompson reporting as ordered, sir!”

  I noticed Major Haycock was not present, but his absence took some of the pressure off. Gator, Stein and Pritchard presided over the board. Pritchard sat in the middle, Gator was to his left and Stein to his right.

  Pritchard kicked it off as soon as I was seated.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Thompson, why should we accept your application for counterintelligence training?”

  “Master Gunnery Sergeant Pritchard. You should accept me because I am tenacious, resourceful, and I am a team player. I get the job done.”

  My confidence was increasing and it relaxed the board members. Pritchard commented.

  “Okay. Gentlemen, looks like we have a board. I have a few more questions, then the other board members will follow.”

  “In the counterintelligence field, we attract quite a few A-type personalities, some of which can be off- putting and abrasive. Have you ever worked for an asshole?

  “If I can be honest and candid...I'm working for one now at MARFOR.”

  “How is your relationship with him or her?”

  “Strained at times, but not to the detriment of the mission.”

  “Alright. If you were Commanding General for a day, what would you do to improve the security of our troops?”

  “If I were General for a day, I would reverse policy and arm our interpreters. If we trust them enough to provide us with intelligence support, then I feel we should trust them enough to carry weapons, especially in situations where they may be subjected to enemy fire. The current policy is a morale killer for them.”