The Bremer Detail

by Frank Gallagher,John M. Del Vecchio

  June 2004

  Blackwater lost another four guys on BIAP road. They were killed as they were making their way back to the team house after a run to the airport. A vehicle sped past their two-car motorcade, stopped a few hundred yards ahead of them, and set up a blocking force. The bad guys opened fire. A second later a second team of bad guys opened up on the cars from the side—a classic L-shaped ambush. One of the survivors had been with us a few months earlier. Condolences again came my way, and once again I explained they were not my guys. They were on a different contract. Eight Blackwater contractors had now been killed in action.

  The announcement came that Ayad Allawi would be Iraq’s next leader. As a result he became the second-most-threatened man in the country. DOD decided keeping him alive was vitally important, so they assigned him a U.S. military security detail made up of active-duty SEALs. In their former careers as active-duty SEALs or Special Boat Team members, many of my guys had worked with these guys. I made sure we shared any and all information with them. There was the usual military versus contractor distrust, but these guys were professional and the distrust quickly disappeared. Blackwater teams protecting various diplomats, and the SEALs protecting others, would be at many events together over the coming months. There was no room or time for a dick-measuring contest. We realized that when we were together we became a force multiplier for each other.

  Bremer’s rescheduled lunch with Hussein al-Sadr quickly approached. Again I expressed my concerns to the ambassador, and again he said that he was going. He told me to do whatever I had to do to make the visit happen. I met with Sax. We talked at length about how to keep the ambassador safe. Working on the DOD contract I knew we could request just about any asset I felt necessary to support our mission. Up to this point I had kept requests to a minimum because I knew the assets were in use supporting our ground troops. I didn’t want to put our forces in jeopardy. But this time it was different. The Iraqi bad guys had vowed that the ambassador would not live to see 30 June. I was determined to make sure that he did.

  Sax did a very thorough map study and selected a route to the ayatollah’s house that we had never used before. We decided we needed additional traffic control points at various spots to make sure the motorcade never stopped. We discussed potential choke points and possible attack locations. Then we made a wish list. We checked it several times to make sure it was comprehensive and complete. There was no way I could present a list, get it approved, and then go ask for additional assistance. The initial list had to be correct.

  Adding it all up we needed seventeen additional up-armored Humvees with heavy weapons, three Apache gunships, and two F-16 fighter jets. I put in the request and held my breath. A few hours later Brian called and laughed and said that we had been given everything we had asked for. Next we coordinated with the various groups, explaining to each exactly where we would be, the overall plan, and what we needed them to do. As usual, the communication aspect created the most difficulties. The tactical commander was going to have his hands full.

  Fortunately for me, the TC at this time was HB. HB held an advanced degree in nuclear physics. He was smart, probably the smartest man on the team. He was also a stud of the highest order, having been a Division One soccer player from the University of Texas. For him handling six radios and remembering who he was talking to would be a walk in the park. Like most others on the team he was incredibly quick witted and sarcastic to the nth degree. His insights and opinions were always valuable to me. Like a few others, once he arrived he never left. A great deal of the team’s success is owed to him.

  The routes were explained, and positions were assigned. The Humvees would take up positions around potential choke points and block all traffic as we approached so we did not have to stop or even slow down. We wanted smooth sailing. The Apaches would fly off to our flanks to keep an eye out for potential attackers that might be approaching as we moved. The F-16s would fly “top cover,” and be on standby to bring the “pain” if we did get attacked. For the first and only time, I told the Little Bird pilots that all three birds would be flying in support at the same time. Each would have two shooters onboard. I wanted the Little Birds as close to the motorcade as I could get them. The idea was to make the bad guys think several times before making an attempt on this day.

  Sax and the advance team went out and set up the traffic control points, then went to the ayatollah’s house. The dog teams did a complete sweep around the neighborhood looking for explosives devices. Any vehicles parked in the area were checked and were noted as checked. They blocked off the street and prohibited additional vehicles from driving down or parking on the street. The MP CAT guys set up positions around the block and barred entry to areas already swept by the dogs. Sniper teams were deployed. Sax apologized to the al-Sadr team for our disruptions. They told us to do whatever we had to do. They knew their man would also be in immense danger once the ambassador showed up—the safer the ambassador, the safer the ayatollah. We had to work together, and we did.

  Sax called and said he was set. I went to the ambassador and relayed that we were ready whenever he was. He grinned and said he would leave in two minutes. The motorcade rolled out of the palace area. We were on our way.

  My guys were tense as hell. My guts, too, were tight. I said a little prayer asking for the day to go smoothly. About three hundred yards out my window I could see an Apache flying alongside us. What a beautiful sight! I could hear the Little Birds overhead. The F-16s had been asked to make some low-altitude flyovers to let everyone know they were in the area, and they did so about every thirty minutes. Everything was going according to plan.

  We entered the Red Zone and headed to the lunch meeting. Our MP CAT rolled hard. About five minutes before we reached each choke point they coordinated with their brothers and sisters. As we approached each control point the additional MP assets stopped traffic to make sure we could sail though unmolested. It was like clockwork. As we hit the first choke point one of the F-16s buzzed overhead at about three hundred feet. The noise was wonderful. Q and the team had the ECMs working at full capacity. At designated spots and times the driving crew jammed all frequencies. No signal was going to get through if we could help it. We left nothing to chance.

  As we rolled it occurred to me we just might survive this mission. Then I thought, we still have a few weeks to go so I told my brain to shut up, concentrate, and quit the idle chatter. We arrived at al-Sadr’s house without incident. Everyone involved did exactly what they were supposed to do. I could not have been happier. The ambassador went in, and I went to meet Sax to check on things.

  A small crowd gathered at the end of the street. Knowing that the ayatollah’s men knew everyone in the area I went over to one I trusted and asked him to come with me to see if these people were local. He walked over with me and assured me that they were from the neighborhood and meant no harm. They were just curious as to what was going on. Even in the USA this would have happened. I told my guys to watch them, but to not be stupid.

  The first hour passed. It was hot—like hell hot. The dogs were taking a beating and had to be rotated in out of the air-conditioned vehicles every thirty minutes. The guys were tense and sweating heavily in the heat. Everyone felt the tension. The entire team had locked the street down, staggering themselves at five- to ten-yard intervals. We had complete 360-degree coverage. No one could get the drop on us. With the exception of a few onlookers the area was eerily quiet. That’s an attack indicator: when an area is devoid of people, or activity, you had better be ready. Jad, one of our Arabic speakers, had overheard some local nationals talking. He understood them to say that everything was ready. An intel report came in over the net. If it was going to happen, it would be soon. The Little Birds rotated in and out as they had to refuel. The Apaches radioed and said they had to refuel. I asked them to go as fast as they could and held my breath as they headed out. The Apache pilots did me one better. As they left th
ey contacted another pair of Apaches that had been operating in the area and asked them to cover for them while they refueled. And they did. The gods of war were smiling upon us.

  The F-16s continued their low flyovers. It was loud. Really LOUD. One hour turned into two. The second hour became the third hour. The longer we were there, the more chances we had to get hit on the way home. Al-Sadr’s lead security guy finally came out and said they were finishing up. We hugged and wished each other well, knowing full well that this was probably the last time that we would see each other.

  The ambassador came out. We loaded up for the ride home. The same tactics we employed on the way to the event were utilized on the way back, except on a different route. Again I hoped it would be a smooth trip out.

  I worried about the advance team, which as usual would be the last to leave. On the last trip they had been attacked on the way home. I had told Sax to get out of there as quickly as possible after we left. I kept waiting for his call that they were moving. After about five minutes out, he called and said they were rolling. So far, so good. Nothing had happened on the trip out or at the arrival and departure. Now we just had to get back to the palace.

  The MP CAT teams were taking zero chances. We could smell the finish line. The traffic control points were working perfectly. The Little Birds were right on top of us. I saw the checkpoint for the entrance to the Green Zone, and then we were in. We had made it. Everybody took an audible deep breath. We rolled up to the palace, and the ambassador went to his office. I felt good. As always, the question remained: Did we not have a problem today because of the efforts we put forth, or did nothing happen because nothing was planned? Either way, we had allowed the ambassador to accomplish a key mission. And we got him back safely. Once again, under very trying and difficult circumstances, we had not fired a shot.

  Q and his guys departed the next day. I needed new drivers for the last month. Quite frankly, that scared the shit out of me. Instead of slowing down, Ambassador Bremer kept a more frenetic pace. Sue called multiple times each day with new places or meetings someone insisted the ambassador must attend.

  “Frank,” Sue would say, “Chicken Balls is trying to get Jerry killed again.”

  I would laugh, then talk to the intel guys and get a pulse reading. More often than not, Sue’s instincts were right on. Many of the proposed visits were not feasible in any way, shape, or form. Sue would dismiss them as quickly as she could.

  After Q and his team departed, Jadicus came to me and asked if he could become a driver. He had been in the Little Birds, on the detail team, and on the advance team, but he had never driven. He wanted to give it a try. Fortunately by this time I had two additional medics, and after his meritorious service up to this point, I felt that I owed him the chance. I said okay. That evening Jad drove the limo from the palace to the villa—a two-minute move at most. Jad pulled up perfectly. We loaded the ambassador into the vehicle. We began to roll. Jad pulled up the proper distance behind the lead car. Everything was going well. Then Jad missed spotting a speed bump. At the last possible second he jammed the brakes. The vehicle hit the bump hard at about 20 mph, jolted up six inches off the ground, slammed back down. The ambassador groaned. It was a pretty good hit. I got the ambassador into the villa and headed back to the car.

  Jad: “Frankwater, I know.”

  Me: “Hope you enjoyed your driving experience.”

  Jad just laughed. So did I.

  The ambassador continued to visit the Iraqis who had been instrumental in helping achieve all that had been accomplished to this point. Several times each day we made moves into the Red Zone, and each day the threat level seemed to rise. I was tired as hell, and exhaustion infected my Red Zone team. Based upon intel the bad guys were becoming ever more determined to disrupt the scheduled 30 June handover of sovereignty to the new Iraqi leadership.

  The ambassador spent a great deal of time with Ayad Allawi. Going to see him meant more interaction with the SEALs who were protecting him. We enjoyed going there. These guys knew they had a very tough job, and we spent a lot of time explaining and telling them the painful lessons we had learned and what we did to address certain issues. They did, in some respects, have an easier road to travel since they had the full backing of the U.S. military and could more easily get whatever assets they felt were necessary to accomplish their mission. And they were not viewed as dirty mercenary contractors, as we had been. The threat against their guy, Allawi, was extremely high. Many Iraqi factions had lobbied for others to be chosen. After the handover their lives would get harder as Allawi would become the number one target in Iraq. I did not envy them.

  30 June drew closer. I knew that getting the ambassador out safely was going to take a major-league effort on our part. The guys had to be firing on all cylinders on each and every mission. This was not the time for complacency or to be looking for the finish line. We all wanted to go home and see our families, but to do this we had to finish strongly. Exhaustion or not, there was zero time to relax.

  Guys began to ask about flight arrangements home, dates they would be leaving, possibly coming back, and all sorts of other issues I knew were important to them, but the questions and requests were driving me crazy. Throw in the fact that Blackwater had sent over a new guy to supervise the new team that would protect Ambassador Negroponte, and my ability to be all things to all people was tested to the extreme.

  The two DS agents who had been assigned to us were a great help in reassuring the guys that not much would change. The agents’ biggest concern was the loss of institutional knowledge that would occur as all the leadership elements of my team departed. In most cases these guys had been there for six months or more. They were anxious to head home. This meant that the DS guys had to identify and begin to groom the next shift leaders, advance team leaders, and drivers. And they had to do all this while we were running 100 mph around Baghdad. I felt bad that I could not be of more assistance to them.

  The guy who would become the Blackwater “detail leader” for the new team made a few runs with us, but he spent more time doing an inventory of what we had. Quite honestly, he would have been better off running with the advance team and learning the job so he could actually supervise what was going on, and not being quite so worried about how many Band-Aids and Blackwater T-shirts we had. He spent days counting things over and over again. Some of my guys who were going to stay decided against it after watching him concentrate on things that were not mission specific. The team was looking at him to be a buffer between them and the State Department. They were hoping that he would be able to cogently explain and defend why we did things a certain way. Instead, he announced (triumphantly) that he had completed the inventory and everything seemed to be in order.

  It got worse. Murph came to me and asked if I could stay on for another month to help with the transition. I told him that only Blackwater could make that decision. He said he was going to send them an e-mail and make the request. He copied me on the e-mail to Blackwater HQ. I was exhausted and I hoped that Blackwater would refuse it as my conscience would never have allowed me to leave any of my guys in the lurch, but I really needed some downtime. Blackwater responded that they had full faith in the new guy they had sent over. Murph was not happy. He was in a tough spot, but there was nothing that I could do to help him. The new guy was not winning hearts and minds—not a great beginning for the joint DS/Blackwater team. Fortunately, that would not be my problem.

  My problems were centered on continuing to get the ambassador and my team out alive. We had suffered zero casualties and still had not fired a single shot while protecting the boss. We had not killed a single man, woman, or child. I did not want that to change.

  Shootings by other PSD teams were making the news every day by now, and all were attributed to the big dog on the block—Blackwater. It was truly annoying; and it affected the new guys who were coming in to replace my guys. Anxiety etched their faces.
They knew the learning curve ahead would be steep.

  The intel guys continued beating down my energy reserves with their updates. The messages were always the same—You all are in extreme danger. I knew it, the team knew it, and the ambassador knew it. We just had to stay focused and take each mission as it came. If we made no mistakes, did our jobs, worked as a team, and stayed on point, we would be okay. It was my job to make sure that happened every day.

  Fortunately, with the huge influx of people, the pool parties continued unabated. The State Department folks now had a DJ every night playing music, had karaoke nights, and even sold beer. The women continued to hunt the Blackwater guys with a passion, so the guys did have a few distractions to keep the stress levels down. One day at the chow hall I sat down opposite a lady in her mid-thirties. There had been a mortar attack earlier that evening and she was visibly stressed.

  “Brenda, why don’t you get out of here and go home to your husband and three kids?”

  She reached across the table with her left hand, placed it over my right hand, and smiled at me. “Frank, I’m having sex with more men than I ever thought possible. I may never leave.”

  “Well, aah, all right then,” was all I could mutter. At least she was honest.

  We had a couple of boxes of Blackwater T-shirts that were all smalls and mediums. They were a highly prized item, sought after by most everyone in the palace. The guys started handing them out to women they slept with. I’m not sure if the ladies ever figured out why we thought it was so funny when they proudly wore their new shirts to the chow hall. Of course we always wanted to know with whom a woman had earned her shirt.