Honor and Betrayal : The Untold Story of the Navy Seals Who Captured the Butcher of Fallujah -and the Shameful Ordeal They Later Endured (9780306823091)
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This book is based on actual events that occurred when three US Navy SEALs, part of the Special Forces Team that captured Iraq’s most wanted terrorist in 2009, faced courts-martial on charges relating to allegations of prisoner abuse. It is the story of those brave SEALs and the subsequent ordeal they suffered, including their courts-martial. As with many such trial proceedings, conflicting accounts of what actually happened were presented. Honor and Betrayal is told from the perspective of the defendants and reflects the opinions of the author, who is a devoted advocate for all US Navy SEALs and for these three SEALs in particular. Some names have been changed, and some dialogue has been reconstructed.
Copyright © 2013 by Patrick Robinson
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Set in 12-point Dante by Jane Raese
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CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Prologue: Open Letters to Admiral Pybus
1.The Butcher on the Bridge
2.“We’re Navy Seals—and We Never Screw It Up!”
3.Echo Platoon in Battle Mode
4.We Want This Maniac Alive
5.A Presumption of Guilt
6.Scapegoats of Empire
7.Sound and Fury in Congress
8.The Outrage of the American Public
9.US Government Denies Immunity
10.Denied in Favor of the Defense
11.Two Verdicts in the Iraqi Courtroom
12.The Green Light from High Command
Epilogue
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Almost a decade has passed since the world first saw those shuddering pictures of the burned bodies of American security officers swinging from the iron bridge over the Euphrates River in Fallujah. It brought perhaps a new dimension to the fiendish cruelty Iraq’s jihadists were carrying out in the name of the Prophet.
But, curiously, when a Navy SEAL Team finally went in and grabbed the perpetrator after five years, the aftermath of that event caused an almost bigger sense of outrage. Because the US military authorities decided to court-martial the men who had carried out the raid—for “prisoner abuse.”
The US public rose up in protest. Literally hundreds of thousands of people signed petitions. I was among a few writers and historians requested to join the uproar and contribute words and/or cash to the SEALs’ defense.
From that moment I followed the scant accounts of the legal process, making notes, tracking the three Special Forces heroes all the way to their respective military trials. And the only thought I ever had was: these men deserve vindication. The media did their best, but they didn’t bother much to investigate whether the alleged assault actually happened. Who cares?
Well, for a start, I cared. And in the spring of 2012 I decided to lay out the complete story, making clear the precise differences between “not guilty” on a point of law, “not guilty” because the case was not proven, and “not guilty” because the crime was never perpetrated in the first place.
I knew that all three of the SEALs were still in the Navy, but I nonetheless reached out to them, trying to find out what really happened. One of them, a devoted member of the Team, could not reveal very much. The other two confessed that the trials had devastated them and that they would both be leaving the Navy with the utmost sadness.
They had much to say but could not recount anything until they were no longer wearing dark blue. The process was long and sometimes arduous. The iron grip of secrecy imposed on all US Special Forces could not easily be pried open. The reason there are almost no accurate renderings of modern court-martial proceedings is because the military will not allow it. There are massive restrictions on the media, with bans on photographic and recording equipment in the courtroom.
However, even though I say it myself, I have sought the truth. Working closely with the defense lawyers, I have turned this saga into a fly-on-the-wall look at this most notorious court-martial. It’s a unique account of how a “politically correct” government works when confronting the inflammatory words, “prisoner abuse.”
I’ve read about a zillion words on the subject of courts-martial, and from this research I present the most dramatic story of a military trial since The Caine Mutiny, Herman Wouk’s 1951 Pulitzer Prize–winning novel.
Slowly, piece by piece, this sometimes-heartbreaking story of courage, loyalty, and dedication has evolved into a blow-by-blow courtroom drama, in which I take an unprecedented look at what can happen to innocent men when caught up in a system bent on destroying them. And, indeed, what it took to protect them.
I hope I have done the story—and the SEALs—justice and that the US Navy will understand I have tried to be scrupulously fair and have made absolutely sure that no SEAL battlefield secrets have been disclosed.
Throughout the manuscript I have deliberately withheld surnames of many US Navy SEALs and, in some instances, altogether altered their names and, occasionally, ranks. This, of course, applies particularly to those who are still serving.
All actions SEALs have undertaken are classified, and I have meticulously not revealed any strategies or tactics that may prove to be in any way useful, revealing, or helpful to US enemies. Further, in some instances I have deliberately obscured accurate revelations about enemy strongholds or garrisons. This is not detrimental to the narrative, but it does add an extra layer of secrecy regarding US Special Forces’ knowledge of various areas.
Only foreign terrorists or other fanatics will concern themselves with these geographic details. But should they decide to mount any attack based on “knowledge” discovered in this book, they will find themselves an impossibly long way from their intended target.
My advisers during the months when I was preparing this manuscript, both of them loyal and patriotic Navy personnel, always stressed they would not tolerate one word uttered against the “SEAL Teams.” Neither would they contribute a word that may assist any terrorist with bad intentions toward the United States of America.
I found them to be without rancor or bitterness, though the attitudes of certain members of the Navy High Command did mystify them somewhat. Even more so by the somewhat careless lack of consideration they received from the Army Special Forces High Command.
None of the three accused SEALs will ever quite understand why no one believed their truthful accounts. And none of them will ever understand why they, above everyone else
, should have been selected for such ruthless accusation.
Their three “not guilty” verdicts were gratifying. But the scars were too deep to be eradicated altogether; even in the case of Sam Gonzales, who is still in the Navy. Matt and Jon have walked away, much more in sorrow than in anger.
As Matthew McCabe said, “I’m over it now. I’m never going to think about it again.”
And, as Jon Keefe once replied somewhat wryly: “Yeah, right. Of course you’re not.”
—Patrick Robinson
PROLOGUE
Open Letters to Admiral Pybus
Rear Admiral Sean A. Pybus
Commander
US Navy Special Warfare Command,
Garrison/HQ
Naval Amphibious Base
Coronado, San Diego
Dear Admiral Pybus,
I formally left the United States Navy this week, after serving for nine years, as a SEAL for the last six of them. You probably heard my name a few times during 2009/2010 when they court-martialed me for abusing a prisoner, failing to protect him, as was my duty, and making a false statement. Not too bad, right? A proud US Navy SEAL, branded a bully, idler and a liar, on the word of a mass murderer and terrorist.
You will understand, as a career SEAL officer, that I could not possibly have been guilty of any such thing. SEALs do not behave like that. Certainly I never met one who did.
I was, of course, found not guilty, after a four-day criminal trial, which, incidentally, almost broke my family’s heart, as they watched my humiliation in the courtroom. I was not just found “Not Guilty” by the jury, I was completely exonerated. Mostly because I was completely innocent, but partly because I was represented by one of the finest military lawyers in the world, the former US Marine Lieutenant-Colonel, Neal A. Puckett, of Washington, DC.
Happily, a massive public subscription saved me from financial ruin, but I doubt I’ll ever recover from the experience. Because the SEALs were my life. I was Team Leader in the mission which captured the most wanted man in the Middle East. And no one was remotely surprised when he claimed to have been abused. That’s what they do. Everyone knows that.
The shocker was, the US military believed him. And essentially, they fell over themselves backwards with political correctness, and hung me out to dry, along with my equally innocent teammates, Navy SEALs Jonathan Keefe and Sam Gonzales, two of the best people I ever met. We were, of course, all exonerated by the courts, every charge dismissed.
Admiral Pybus, I am writing this open letter to you, my most senior commander, only to let you know that I finished with the Navy not for any selfish reason, but for the sake of my “Brothers” in the Teams. After my acquittal, I tried very hard to put it all behind me and I accepted an II-month deployment to Afghanistan.
But ever since they charged me, I have not been able to sleep. In Afghanistan I was never so sharp, and I could not find the same drive, the same determination. I was not even such a good marksman as I once was. Secretly, I think I was just afraid I might let the guys down.
I don’t believe anyone knew I was no longer the warrior of old. But something had gone drastically wrong for me, and, try as I did, I could not recover. It was probably the injustice, that utterly undeserved court-martial; that chilling moment when I read the charge sheet, THE UNITED STATES V. S02 MATTHEW V. MCCABE. I still wake up thinking about it.
Nonetheless, I still want to thank the US Navy, and especially the SEALs for teaching me darned nearly every worthwhile thing I know: discipline, loyalty, truthfulness, patriotism, courage, skills, and the creed of the team player. I’ll never forget those things, and I’ll be forever grateful for the opportunity the Navy gave me to be a part of it.
In my mind, I’ll always be a SEAL. And, for the rest of my life, I expect I’ll be asked, over and over, how long I would have stayed, as an elite American combat warrior, but for the court-martial. And my answer will always be the same: about a thousand years.
Yours Sincerely,
Petty Officer Matthew V. McCabe
Formerly Echo Platoon,
SEAL Team 10,
Little Creek, Virginia
Rear Admiral Sean A. Pybus
Commander
US Navy Special Warfare Command,
Garrison/HQ
Naval Amphibious Base
Coronado, San Diego
Dear Admiral Pybus,
This is a letter of both appreciation and regret. You may perhaps recall that I was one of three members of SEAL Team 10 who faced court-martial in the Spring of 2010, in connection with the alleged abuse of the Iraqi prisoner, Ahmad Hashim Abd Al-Isawi, a killer and terrorist by trade.
Matter of fact, I helped capture him. I was Point-Man in the Platoon that crossed the desert and stormed into his al-Qaeda stronghold. None of us abused him. He was a professional liar, obeying his jihadist training manual.
Anyway, after several months of hell, coping with the threat of disgrace and financial ruin, we were all three exonerated in court, Not Guilty, Case Dismissed. I just thought you should, as my superior Commander, be reminded of the dreadful consequences which befall a falsely-accused Navy SEAL.
Firstly, something dies. With me it was the will to strive to be the best, as I’d always done before. My motivation was way down. On training trips I was dragging my feet. I’d simply lost that SEAL ethos, that sense of feeling unstoppable. And I could not get it back.
It’s hard for me to write this, because we were all taught in the Teams: never make excuses, only solutions; always be accountable for your own actions; aim for perfection, and never stop learning.
But that court-martial floored me. It forced me into some kind of limbo for months on end. All three of us were outcasts, there was no longer any opportunity for me to better myself. My lofty ambitions to become a SEAL officer were shot to pieces.
Then Matthew McCabe and I both went on that II-month deployment to Afghanistan. And it was out there, often in real danger, I first realized I was too much going with the flow. I was following orders, and trying my hardest, but not wanting to be noticed.
I was still ready to put my life on the line for any one of my Brothers, as they would for me. But something I could not grab, was missing. The flame which had always burned within me, had dimmed, and if I was not very careful, might die altogether.
It was out there, deep in Taliban country, that I knew I had to go. Because suddenly an average-to-good showing in combat seemed okay. It had never been so before, because I’m a SEAL, and average is never okay. SEALs, as you well know, don’t do average.
Well, I finally left the Navy last month, and I hope I’ll find new paths to follow. And I’ll never forget how the Navy straightened me out when I was a kind of goof-ball college drop-out. And I’ll never forget the way my character was formed in the discipline of the Teams.
When I look back I hope to remember the good times. The days of triumph, when we were out in force, demonstrating on a daily basis, that we were indeed the front line of United States military muscle.
And yet, the specter of that cruelly unfair court-martial haunts me still. It nearly broke my mom’s heart. And when I think of those complacent prosecutors and investigators, deaf to our protests, I’ll always feel that rising anger I used to reserve for the enemy.
I can forgive. But I can’t forget the brutal unfairness of it all. And would I do it all again? Would I still put my life on the line for my country, for my SEAL Trident?
The question stands stark before me. Looking back, would you risk it all again? Just to have been a United States Navy SEAL, and the hell with the court-martial?
Admiral, the answer will always be, Yes.
Wishing you the very best, in Command of the greatest fighting force the world ever saw.
Yours sincerely,
Petty Officer Jonathan Keefe
Formerly Echo Platoon,
SEAL Team 10,
Little Creek, Virginia
1
THE BUTCHER ON T
HE BRIDGE
In the violent, blasted side streets of Fallujah, the demented Sunni killer Ahmad Hashim had assumed a loose and terrifying control.
Through millennia the ancient Babylonian city of al-Fallujah has shuddered from violent atrocities and deeply profound mysteries. Did the Persian hordes really slay the teenage Emperor of Rome, Gordian III, on the banks of the Euphrates in the year 244? Centuries later, in 1920, was the English government’s envoy, Lieutenant Colonel Gerard Leachman, truly beheaded with one swipe of a two-handed sword by Sheik Dhari, right here in the Royal Palace of al-Fallujah?
And who, on the night of March 31, 2004, was directly responsible for the medieval butchering of four American security officers—all of them burned alive, dragged through the town, and then strung up from the old bridge across the Euphrates, turning it into a grotesque iron gallows, before a roaring crowd of Iraqi fanatics?
The Persians swore that the young Caesar, Gordian III, was cut down in battle, whereas the Romans, claiming victory, deny it, stating the gallant Emperor died much later, way upstream.
In turn the Iraqis dismiss the very thought that Sheik Dhari would have stooped to any such barbarism as murdering a British colonel with a scimitar. Efficiently, they produce records to show that his son, demonstrating commendable chivalry, shot the colonel in the back.
But the ongoing mystery of who slaughtered the American security officers rumbles on, shaking and shuddering like the bolted iron girders of the old bridge when the heavy US armored vehicles roar daily over the river, west of the city.
This most barbarous act of the twenty-first century, almost eighteen hundred years after the demise of Emperor Gordian III, was more brutal, more primitive, and less human than anything that had ever happened before. And the US intelligence authorities were faced suddenly with near-incontrovertible evidence that another terrorist serial killer was emerging who was even more of a psychopath than the rising “star” of al-Qaeda, the thirty-seven-year-old deranged Jordanian jihadist, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi.