Honor and Betrayal : The Untold Story of the Navy Seals Who Captured the Butcher of Fallujah -and the Shameful Ordeal They Later Endured (9780306823091)

by Robinson, Patrick

  And in there they had their first encounter with another SEAL, Master Chief Lampard, the commander’s right-hand man. The word “encounter” is used here under advisement from Matthew McCabe and Jonathan Keefe. According to both SEALs, Lampard had already made up his mind about something.

  “This was no exploratory chat,” says Matt. “This was us four, facing an accuser. This character had made some kind of decision, and he immediately ordered us to be stripped of our weapons, body armor, pistols, and combat knives.”

  Right here it should be recorded that to strip a US Navy SEAL of his armaments is almost to strip him of his birthright. These men have darn near killed themselves to earn the right to serve their country. To line them up and remove their ever-present combat gear was also to strip them of their dignity, pride, and honor.

  The enormously popular hospital corpsman, Paddy, later confided, “I honestly thought all three of them might explode when that happened to them. I had never known anything like it. And none of us had yet been told what we’d done wrong. It was as if that master chief had just pronounced a death sentence on us.”

  And so they handed over the tools of their trade. As Matt said later: “So far as I could see, we were being accused by some kind of a nutcase and a mass murderer. But no one had yet mentioned precisely what we were alleged to have done.

  “The surrender of our combat gear was tantamount to finding us guilty—guilty of something. And for us, there could have been no harsher punishment. We just stood there—me, Jon, and Sam. We were actually in shock.”

  Having reduced them to a lower form of life, Commander Hamilton ordered the SEALs and the medic to be escorted to a conference room, and there, in company with the master chief, he seated himself at the head of a long table. They were ordered to line up and take their places down one side while on the other sat Brian Westinson, who had suddenly reappeared.

  Jon remembers Brian sitting bolt upright opposite him and wearing dark sunglasses in this gloomy room. His folded hands were clad in carbon-fiber knuckle gloves, and on his face there was a strange expression of deadly seriousness, perhaps even defiance. None of them had ever noticed that before. But then MA3 Westinson had never faced three angry Navy SEALs across a table before.

  The master chief spoke first. He looked down the SEALs’ side of the table and announced: “There have been allegations against the four of you concerning prisoner abuse.” He did not mention who had done the alleging, but the motionless Brian was providing an unmistakable clue, sitting on the wrong side of the table, as it were, facing the senior petty officer on the base, Sam Gonzales, who, in the early hours of Wednesday morning, had demanded to know why he was not at his post.

  “My advice to you is,” continued the master chief, “tell the truth at all times and to cooperate. That way everything will be taken care of. We understand, as you should, that you are all innocent until proven guilty.”

  Which Matt and Jon both thought was pretty rich, as in the past half-hour they had been treated like common criminals and punished in a way that they believed was unthinkable—stripped even of a reasonable sense of self. In their own eyes, disgraced.

  All four of them felt as though they had already been found guilty of some crime. But even now none of them knew exactly what it was.

  Matt’s mind raced. Every instinct was telling him to stand right up and yell back at these two comedians that he had never done one wrong thing and neither had his buddies. And if some higher authority was going to treat them like this, then someone better be ready to step up and prove their “crimes,” right here and now, or shut up. “Even a terrorist has those rights,” he nearly muttered.

  But his brain won the battle against his heart. This was, after all, the military. And SEAL petty officers do not question commanders and master chiefs. It’s all about respect for rank, and this was no place for a row. So Matt decided to shut himself up and get a grip, to stay calm and watchful. His long battlefield training was calling him from afar. Same with Jon and Sam.

  Nonetheless it was a perfectly chilling experience. For the first time in their naval careers, Matt, Jon, and Sam felt a cold sense of loneliness, that there were massive forces raging against them, that men who had once seemed senior, strong, and protective were now becoming enemies, answering to a different God.

  “Looking back,” says Matt, “That was the moment when I suddenly sensed this was more trouble than I could deal with. I sensed they were about to charge us with some god-awful crime which we had not committed. And for the first time in my life I felt helpless. And scared.”

  It was by now apparent that the “victim” was this Al-Isawi, who all the SEALs had been taught for months was the Prince of Darkness himself. And Matt saw the deep irony of the situation. “I could have blown his fucking brains out,” he said. “Shot him dead, right there in his apartment, since he was armed, with a record of crime and violence which would’ve made Genghis Khan look like Mr. Rogers.”

  As he says, no one would have cared or questioned his judgment. Instead, however, Matt had run a textbook-perfect attack, brought the prisoner in alive and unharmed for interrogation, and was now about to be pilloried by the US Navy for cruelty.

  “Holy shit,” Matt later said. Because of the events of the few minutes in that room, he now regarded himself as a military prisoner, unable to leave this building and certainly not this command area. Stripped of his weapons, he assumed, correctly, that he was banned from fulfilling his normal duties. As if in confirmation, the men were formally read their rights. But not Westinson, who, Matt decided, had enough rights already to last him a lifetime.

  After that the four “prisoners” were separated, and the executive officer and a lieutenant commander took them to a conference room one by one. There they were each asked whether they were planning to call in lawyers.

  Because no charges had yet been leveled at them and no one thought they had anything to defend, they all, quite independently, declined. “Our overall opinion was that since we were entirely innocent,” said Matt, “to announce we wanted lawyers would, if anything, make us look guilty. So we all said no, and they very quickly made us sign papers to that effect.”

  The SEALs had difficulty accepting that someone was somehow trying to hang them. And what about this Lampard? Whose side was he on? Could he be believed? No one had missed his assurance in the CO’s office that if they only told the truth, everything would work out.

  And now they wanted full statements from everyone, and Matt and Sam had only mild reservations about this. Jon, however, had a very serious objection. “I have already given a written, truthful account of what happened. I will not write a new statement because that’s dumb. They must be the same.

  “I know nothing about law, but I know you are just trying to find a discrepancy. You want something new from me, and you will not get it unless I have the original statement right next to me to copy.”

  The big SEAL complied, with the old statement on the desk, confirming that, of course, yes, they had all briefly seen Al-Isawi in the holding cell and that no, no one had touched him or seen anyone else touch him.

  Back at Schwedler, other statements had been taken from every SEAL who had wandered in to see their “celebrity detainee.” And they all said more or less the same. Several of them also added that they would have been astounded if the serious and efficient Matthew McCabe had suddenly lost it, sneaked down to the holding cell, and punched the handcuffed and hooded prisoner on the nose (or wherever).

  Al-Isawi had already said the punch was on his lip, plus face, chest, ribs, and body. Westinson had said it was in the stomach. But the men from Echo Platoon all suggested that no one from the SEAL Team 10 would dream of doing anything so unimaginably stupid as to go down and illegally attack the al-Qaeda commander.

  “All I can say,” said Matt, “is that if I’d whacked this terrorist in the face, he would have come up looking a whole lot worse than that tiny cut inside his lower lip. As for the sugges
tion that a group of SEALs knocked him down and then kicked him around on the floor, well, that was just crazy. Because that would have put him in either a coffin or an intensive care unit.

  “And the guy did not have a mark on him. Just the lip.

  “We’re not thugs. We’re hand-picked elite troops, and we have enormous responsibilities. Every one of us is conscious of how we are expected to behave, on and off the battlefield. Not just by our commanders but by the American public. We represent our nation, and we are taught to serve with the greatest pride and to treat prisoners as we would hope to be treated should we ever be taken alive by an enemy.”

  The SEAL statements were taken in the small hours of that Friday morning, and the proceedings were concluded at around 0400. Matt, Jon, and Sam were given a small room together with three beds. And now they realized for certain that they were in lockdown, confined to the base, and sleeping in an area reserved for the Iraqi workers on the base. Ultimately they would do the same work as the Iraqis. It is almost impossible to describe the sense of shame and disgrace this would mean to members of the US Navy’s most elite fighting force.

  Before they turned in for the night they were told that they were not going back to Camp Schwedler. And here they were—no gear, no washing or shaving kit, no change of clothes.

  Their room was no bigger than a cell. They appeared to have no rights whatsoever. They were no longer armed Navy SEALs; some higher authority had condemned them, and they were now at the mercy of people they did not know and who appeared not to care what the hell might happen to them.

  As the hours passed, the situation grew worse. The three SEALs were banned from using the same gymnasium as their sister Team 10 Platoon, Foxtrot. They had to train separately from everyone else. There were no arrangements to get them clean clothing. And so far as they could tell by asking around, Westinson and, of course, the monumental al-Qaeda-trained liar, Al-Isawi, provided the only “evidence” against them.

  They had not been informed of any of the other sworn SEAL statements, which, incidentally, uttered not one word against them. Lieutenant Jimmy’s stated, “I was surprised when Westinson made the allegations against McCabe, [Jon, and Sam] ... they are all level-headed professionals.”

  The other Objective Amber SEALs, asked by the investigating officer whether they had seen anyone abuse Al-Isawi, all answered with a flat no.

  Jason, having confirmed his LTJG rank and top-secret security clearance, concluded his sworn statement with: “I was surprised to hear about the allegations against McCabe, and Keefe, and [Sam and Paddy], these men have been under my command for approximately two years, and in that time I have never had any disciplinary issues with any of them.”

  At that point Jason was asked, “Did you at any time abuse detainee Ahmad Hashim Abd Al-Isawi, or did you witness any abuse of Ahmad?”

  ANSWER: NO.

  The immensely well-respected HM1 Paddy had the following exchanges in his statement:

  Q: What was the condition of the detainee at the time of the medical exam?

  PADDY: Fine. No visible deformities or trauma.

  Do you know of any reason why you would lie about the incident?

  No.

  Do you think someone from your detachment abused the detainee?

  No.

  Jon added at the foot of his statement: “I am 100 percent confident that the men I work with would never do anything illegal such as detainee abuse.”

  In his statement Sam confirmed Lieutenant Jimmy’s observations: “The only physical thing I saw was the cut on his lip. He was standing upright and showed no physical pain. We then walked him out of the front gate towards the ISWAT vehicles. At that point he began continuously spitting with some blood and moaning. He was also bent over, as if in pain, and speaking to the Iraqis, almost mumbling.”

  Q: DO you think anyone at the camp abused the detainee?

  SAM: NO.

  There were also suggestions in the statements that Brian Westinson was carrying a heavy workload that may have been too much for him. At least one SEAL said the young master-at-arms became stressed out under pressure.

  But on the same night the three SEALs made their statements, Brian too put his thoughts into writing, citing events after he returned to his post in the holding cell for the second time, now without his rifle:

  I looked in and saw [Sam], McCabe and Keefe standing near the detainee. I walked in and stood next to them. It was at this time when SO2 McCabe struck the detainee (who was standing) and knocked him to the ground.

  They saw the reaction on my face and reminded me that the detainee had killed several Americans. Shortly after, I noticed small amounts of blood on the lips of the detainee. ...

  Q: Did the three SEALs you saw in the room threaten you in any way after you witnessed the strike?

  WESTINSON: NO.

  Q: Why did you wait three days to report it?

  A: I was completely dumbfounded by the incident. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to make a wrong decision. I talked to two of my immediate seniors for advice and talked to [the lieutenant] shortly after.

  Q: When did you notice he was bleeding?

  A: After I picked him up off the floor.

  Aside from Al-Isawi’s claims, Brian Westinson’s statement was the sum total of the case against the SEALs. There was nothing else. But it was already obvious that senior command and Master Chief Lampard believed the master-at-arms’ words.

  By this time, with the combat SEALs stripped of all their equipment, Brian was given his own car to get around the Ar-Ramadi base and was more than once seen in the company of Master Chief Lampard, who was walking with his arm around the young prison guard’s shoulders, in a thoroughly buddy-buddy manner.

  But the fact was that someone here was lying—either Westinson or every last one of the US Navy SEALs plus the Team’s chief medical officer. And it’s impossible to dispute the considered opinion of Matt and Jon: someone in a superior position had already made up his mind.

  “I can make one statement here which cannot be denied,” said Jon. “There was no serving Navy SEAL on that base or back at Camp Schwedler who believed we were guilty of anything. And a lot of them did everything they could to help and have these accusations overturned.

  “The guys at Schwedler drove up here with our clean clothing. They brought us toothpaste, toothbrushes, soap, socks, and deodorant. Because of our training, SEALs are among the most loyal and dedicated patriots in the country. Thus, for the moment at least, true anger was kept under tight control.”

  Sometimes the three of them slipped quietly over to the other base where the Team 10 guys of Foxtrot Platoon were. They were officially banned from doing this, but we must understand the full scale of their position: they were somehow in disgrace, and they had no one to speak to and no lawyers to help them. Those night sorties to confer with their brothers were their only source of information and support.

  And the words of Lampard remained strong their minds: “Don’t let us catch you over there.”

  But the semi-incarcerated SEALs badly needed to speak to men of their own kind. And the Foxtrot petty officers were sincerely worried about them and anxious to help. And a few of them were plainly angry that Matt, Jon, and Sam were somehow banned from seeing their closest brothers.

  That unseen bond between Navy SEALs is unbreakable, and the resident SEALs at Ar-Ramadi made it very clear that they did not approve of what was happening to the Echo Platoon three, and someone had better start proving something real quickly or else a lot of very smart and very tough men would want to know why.

  On Sunday, September 6, Matt was ordered to report to Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS), where Special Agent John Stamp was waiting. He videoed Matt and took fingerprints and a new statement based on the two previous ones.

  Then the agent read Matt his rights and told him he was being accused of the assault of a detainee. This was all recorded, and Matt, still fully cooperative and somewhat in disbel
ief at what was happening to him, took the pen and signed it.

  There was now no doubt in his mind: Westinson had concocted this whole bizarre story and, for some reason, was sticking to it. And Matt was within a whisker of being charged with a military crime that would surely end his career as a Navy SEAL. If found guilty, he might be incarcerated in prison.

  Jon and Sam were also called into the NCIS. They were not accused like Matt was, but the agent wanted new statements, and Jon was very unhappy with this procedure and asked for stuff to be crossed out. He told them he had never said those things. He told them he would not sign anything until it was accurate, and they eventually acceded to his wishes.

  He recalls that they kept telling him he need not worry about these minor details. They didn’t matter, they said. Big Jon, however, disagreed strenuously. He said they did matter, at one point even telling them he’d never heard of legal people saying details did not matter.

  One detail, which escaped no one, came when they were separated and then asked independently whether they were prepared to take a polygraph test, one that would demand them to answer, categorically, whether Matt had punched the prisoner and whether the other two had seen him do so.

  Matt replied, “Absolutely. But only if Westinson takes one.”

  A little later Jon agreed, telling them: “Of course I’ll take it. Any time you like.”

  Sam also responded, “No problem. I’ll do it right here.”

  They were, even by the standards of Camp Ramadi, scarcely the responses of guilty men. And for the record, Westinson was never required to take the polygraph.

  The polygraph (lie detector) team would be arriving in a few days, and all three SEALs signed a paper confirming they agreed to undergo the test.

  Back in their room they also agreed that this could really get out of hand. Sam said it was plain that these superior officers did not believe them. Westinson had made an insane accusation, and the senior naval authorities believed him. They did not believe the SEALs, collectively or singly, and this was why they were about to wheel in a polygraph machine.