by Oliver North
Growing up in Long Beach, California, Mike as a typical all-American kid: he played football in high school, rode motorcycles, loved to spend time at the beach, and enlisted in the Navy a few months before September 11, 2001. The terror attacks that terrible day changed him forever.
After a tour in Italy as a Navy Quartermaster, Monsoor tried out for the SEALs in 2004, but a broken heel kept him from earning the SEAL trident. Undaunted, Mike recovered and went back to BUDS again in 2005, this time graduating at the top of his class. A year later, as a member of the SEAL Team 3, he deployed to Iraq as a heavy weapons machine gunner.
The team threw itself into the Ramadi mission. They mentored Iraqi military units, conducted nighttime operations into insurgent strongholds to capture or kill high value targets (HVTs), spent endless days and nights in covert observation posts and countless hours in sniper “hides.” In more than three dozen combat missions, nearly three out of four resulted in enemy contact.
U.S. Navy SEAL Mike Monsoor
On several operations, Monsoor had to fire so many rounds through his MK-48 machine gun, the barrel had to be replaced. During their deployment to Ramadi, Mike’s team killed dozens of enemy combatants and captured dozens more.
On one nighttime mission into the heart of the city, the SEALs were ambushed and one of them went down in the middle of the street, shot though the thigh. Monsoor immediately charged in to save his wounded comrade, holding down the trigger on his MK-48 with one hand while dragging the wounded operator to safety with the other. He continued fighting while the team medic worked to stop the bleeding, then helped load his buddy onto a Humvee before rushing back into the fight. For his actions that day he was awarded the Silver Star.
His mates say the recognition didn’t change him a bit and he continued as before, serving as both machine gunner and communications specialist. This meant he often would end up carrying well over one hundred pounds of ammunition and communications gear, all day in temperatures well above one hundred ten degrees. Nobody ever heard him complain.
It isn’t uncommon for seasoned warriors to reflect on the things most important to them before they go into battle. After all, those who face death on a daily basis ought to make a person more spiritual than others engaged in a more sedate line of work.
Mike Monsoor was no different. An ardent Catholic, he made a habit of attending mass before each mission. On the morning of 29 September 2006 that’s where he was, praying alongside the chaplain, Father Paul Halladay, shortly before the SEALs headed out on a mission code named Kentucky Jumper.
A large combined-force operation involving the U.S. Army Combat Brigade, the Marine Battalion, the SEALs, and Iraqi Army units, the goal was to establish new security posts in the heart of insurgent-controlled territory and neutralize any pockets of resistance.
The SEALs were given the mission of protecting the most endangered flank of the U.S. and Iraqi ground forces as they entered the heart of the city. Twelve men—four SEALs and eight hand-picked Iraqi soldiers were to covertly take up a position on a rooftop inside one of Ramadi’s worst neighborhoods and ensure the heavy U.S. and Iraqi column moving into the city wouldn’t be hit by a surprise counter-attack from the west.
Under cover of darkness, the SEALs and their Iraqi counterparts moved quickly and quietly to occupy the designated rooftop. As anticipated, the location afforded good visibility over routes the enemy might use as the operation went forward. As soon as the sun came up, the SEALs on the exposed rooftop quickly became hot—but their vantage point was too good to vacate seeking shade.
As the main column slowly approached the heart of the city up “Route Michigan”—the main road through the center of Ramadi—the SEALs spotted four insurgents carrying AK-47s. They appeared to be scouting the American-Iraqi advance. The SEAL snipers engaged, killing one, and wounding another but the two remaining fighters managed to escape—and the SEALs knew they had announced their presence in a very unfriendly neighborhood.
The word spread quickly. In a matter of minutes, they could see people out blocking off streets and alleys leading to their position. Their escape routes soon closed. Then came the eerie sound of a loudspeaker in a nearby mosque, calling all fighters to repel the Coalition forces.
With the eight Iraqi soldiers guarding the street-level doors and windows below them, the four SEALs knew they would be in for a very lopsided fight if the insurgents decided to obey the local imam. All of them hoped the approaching U.S. forces—and the sniper “hits” would be enough to discourage an attack on their position.
Their hopes were dashed when a carload of armed thugs came speeding toward their building, already firing at them from open windows. Monsoor and the others on the roof opened up on it with everything they had. Then, a rocket-propelled grenade came streaking toward them from one of the barricades down the street. The SEALs and their Iraqi counterparts were stunned as the missile impact shook the building. Before the dust cleared, the SEALs resumed firing, breaking the attack.
The team commander was running out of options. Their position was now completely compromised and they would continue to be targets as long as they stayed. But their escape routes now appeared to be sealed. And abandoning their position would put the left flank of the advancing column of U.S. and Iraqi troops at greater risk. So despite the danger, the team decided to stand and fight.
Monsoor and two SEAL snipers positioned themselves at a rooftop corner to gain a better vantage over the most likely avenue of approach. Behind them as they faced outward, there was a doorway leading downstairs from the rooftop. Monsoor was surveying the street below with a tactical periscope when an insurgent somewhere below hurled a grenade onto the rooftop. It struck Monsoor in the chest and dropped down in the midst of his fellow SEALS. Since he was standing only a few feet from the doorway leading off the rooftop, he could have easily dived through it and saved himself from the blast.
But that wasn’t Michael Monsoor.
Instead, the young SEAL shouted “Grenade!” and dropped on top of the device just as it detonated. The explosion threw up a cloud of dust and when it cleared, Monsoor lay mortally wounded, having saved the lives of his teammates. The two snipers were both hit by shrapnel, but they survived because of his heroic sacrifice.
Mike Monsoor was a fighter. Despite his horrific wounds, he stayed alive for half an hour after the blast—long enough to be evacuated to a field hospital and one last visit with Father Halladay, who administered last rites before he died.
Those who served with Mike Monsoor knew his selfless sacrifice was an incredible gift. Every man on the rooftop that day remains convinced they would have died had Monsoor not intentionally jumped on that grenade. But Monsoor’s heroism extended far beyond just those whose lives he saved on that rooftop. Having been in the company of such a hero is itself an amazing privilege—one acknowledged by hundreds of SEALs on the day of his funeral at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego, California. After his mother was given the carefully folded flag that draped his casket, a long line of his SEAL brethren stepped forward to pound their gold tridents into the polished wooden lid. It was a powerful testament—one reflected in the eulogy one of his fellow SEALs offered at the funeral: “Mike Monsoor’s service to the band of brothers is a part of our unit history that will never fade. His contribution is as good a part of our history as any of the streamers that hang from our colors.”
Mike Monsoor was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star and Purple Heart. Then, in 2008, President George Bush presented the twenty-five-year-old Petty Officer’s parents with their son’s Medal of Honor—our nation’s highest recognition for valor.
Michael A. Monsoor, recipient of the Medal of Honor, the Silver Star, the Bronze Star, the Purple Heart, and a Combat Action Ribbon, is the most highly decorated sailor since the 9/11 attack.
MEDAL OF HONOR:
MASTER-AT-ARMS SECOND CLASS (SEA,
AIR, AND LAND) MICHAEL A. MONSOOR, UNITED STATES NAVY
For service as set forth in the following Citation: for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as automatic weapons gunner for Naval Special Warfare Task Group Arabian Peninsula, in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom on 29 September 2006. As a member of a combined SEAL and Iraqi Army sniper over-watch element, tasked with providing early warning and stand-off protection from a rooftop in an insurgent held sector of Ar Ramadi, Iraq, Petty Officer Monsoor distinguished himself by his exceptional bravery in the face of grave danger. In the early morning, insurgents prepared to execute a coordinated attack by reconnoitering the area around the element’s position. Element snipers thwarted the enemy’s initial attempt by eliminating two insurgents. The enemy continued to assault the element, engaging them with a rocket-propelled grenade and small arms fire. As enemy activity increased, Petty Officer Monsoor took position with his machine gun between two teammates on an outcropping of the roof. While the SEALs vigilantly watched for enemy activity, an insurgent threw a hand grenade from an unseen location, which bounced off Petty Officer Monsoon’s chest and landed in front of him. Although only he could have escaped the blast, Petty Officer Monsoor chose instead to protect his teammates. Instantly and without regard for his own safety, he threw himself onto the grenade to absorb the force of the explosion with his body, saving the lives of his two teammates. By his undaunted courage, fighting spirit, and unwavering devotion to duty in the face of certain death, Petty Officer Monsoor gallantly gave his life for country, thereby reflecting great credit upon himself and upholding the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.
Signed, George W. Bush
COOPER’S LITTLE BIRD
TALIL, IRAQ
This is it. This is how it ends.
David Cooper knew today was his day to die. Strangely enough, while the thought scared him at first, the fear was replaced by a strange sense of calm and a burning desire to provide those who were trying to kill him their own trip to the afterlife.
The mission should have been simple. As the lead pilot of a flight of six Hughes 500 helicopters, Cooper was supposed to accompany a Special Operators task force into a very bad neighborhood north of Baghdad. The ground troops were to ride to the objective on four modified MH-6s, kick in the door of a wanted “foreign fighter facilitator,” take him into custody, and head home. In and out in only a few minutes, while Cooper and his wingmen in their AH-6s bored holes in the sky overhead, each with a full load of fourteen 2.75-inch rockets and two thousand rounds of 7.62-mm for their minigun, just in case.
But they never made it that far. They were en-route to the objective, the two attack helicopters bristling with rockets and miniguns and the four troop-carrying Little Birds following behind. Each of the Little Birds had side pods carrying several men in full combat gear, their legs dangling in the breeze. A Black Hawk helicopter carrying more SOF forces brought up the rear. Twenty operators and fourteen pilots. The day was cool by Baghdad standards, only eighty degrees and a cloudless sky overhead. A perfect day for flying. Then, Cooper’s radio crackled to life with the one word no aviator wants to hear.
“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday!” The call was coming from the second AH-6, flying beside him.
“We’re hit!” the pilot continued. “RPG!”
An unseen insurgent below loosed a rocket-propelled grenade at the passing formation. With no heat-seeking guidance system, the shooter’s chances of actually hitting one of the small, fast-flying helicopters were slim. But this time, he got lucky. And a lucky shot could kill you just as dead as a skillful one.
Chief Warrant Officer 5 David F. Cooper in an AH-6 Little Bird helicopter. Cooper is an AH-6 pilot and the Senior Warrant Officer of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne).
Cooper could see the craft next to him was missing its tail rotor. It could still fly without it, as long as it didn’t slow down. The problem was, landing a helicopter at seventy miles per hour, while not impossible, certainly isn’t ideal. Fortunately, Cooper and his fellow pilots were members of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, which boasts the best combat pilots in the world, bar none.
They spied a stretch of flat, open ground below. Time for an emergency landing. Though both pilots in the damaged bird sustained minor injuries from the RPG, they skillfully guided their wounded helicopter in for a landing, almost like a small plane would make. It touched down, bounced and skidded several hundred yards to a stop in the middle of the open area, about eight hundred meters from a group of houses. The rest of the choppers landed as well and the ground assault force took up a defensive perimeter around the downed chopper. The two wounded pilots were quickly put aboard the Black Hawk and flown back to base for treatment. The rest of the unit pulled security and waited while arrangements were made for a larger chopper to come and sling-load the broken AH-6 back to base. It would then be sent back to the States for repairs.
Then, somebody spotted approaching trucks. They were civilian pick-ups with large automatic weapons mounted in their beds.
CW5 Cooper could feel his day getting worse by the moment.
He grabbed his copilot and quickly fired up his AH-6. The trucks were still more than a kilometer from the crash site. Cooper intended to fly out to meet the trucks and see if they were friend or foe.
The Little Bird lifted off and flew toward the approaching vehicles. Cooper counted six of them, each mounted with a ZPU-12 anti-aircraft gun. Wonderful. Just great. Seconds later, the trucks opened up directly at him, lobbing what looked like flaming volleyballs in his direction.
The first helicopter Cooper learned to fly was the AH-64 Apache—an armor-plated marvel, bristling with advanced weaponry. A pair of them would have vaporized all six trucks in less time than it takes to write about it.
The Little Bird, on the other hand, was originally designed as an observation helicopter. In the Vietnam war, pilots flew them low and slow above the treetops in an attempt to lure the enemy into firing at them. If that happened, the “Cayuse” as it was called, would flit away and call in a real attack helicopter to destroy the enemy position.
Then someone got the bright idea to hang a few rockets and then a minigun on the little helicopter. Over the years, it got a bigger engine and more advanced electronics. But it still didn’t have a targeting reticle. No, for that, the pilot made a small “X” on the windscreen with a grease pencil, and simply pointed the whole helicopter at whatever he wanted to kill.
Cooper was one of the most experienced little bird pilots in the air. High-tech electronics or no, the Iraqi insurgents were shooting at the wrong pilot.
He juked the chopper left and right, up and down, drawing the enemy fire away from the small force on the ground. The sound of large-caliber bullets snapping past his windscreen sounded like popcorn, and he figured it was a matter of time before one of them struck home. But he knew the small ground force was exposed in the open field without cover. If the gun trucks got to them, the results would be catastrophic.
He lined up his Little Bird and made a run at the trucks, loosing off a burst with his 7.62-mm miniguns, which shredded the cab of one of the trucks. That got their attention. Cooper went at them again, this time firing off a couple of 2.75-inch rockets before changing course and eluding their antiaircraft fire once again.
“They’re shooting at us! They’re shooting at us!” his copilot yelled as they turned over a small group of mud-brick compounds.
“Yeah, I know they’re shooting at us, I can see them.” Cooper replied tersely.
“No, look down!” The copilot pointed to the houses. “Them! They’re shooting at us!”
Cooper looked down and spied at least twenty men running around the courtyard below with AK-47s and RPGs. This just wasn’t his day. Things were looking worse for the friendlies on the ground, t
oo, since the fighters at the house below were in range of the crash site.
He made another run at the gun trucks, miniguns blazing. Then he came back and fired a couple of rockets at the house. His copilot unstrapped his rifle from the seat and began firing out the open door as they zoomed past at rooftop level.
The radio crackled to life again. “QRF on it’s way.” the ground force team sergeant reported.
Rangers deploy on Little Bird helicopters.
Back at base, the black hawks landed and the slightly wounded pilots of the other MH-6 could see the Quick Reaction Force gearing up. They knew their friends were in trouble, so rather than report to the medical aid station to have their wounds treated, they ran back to their compound and hopped in another AH-6 attack helicopter. They were going back into the fight.
But it would take time to get there, and in the meantime David Cooper and his copilot were single-handedly holding off the enemy force. Low on ammo, he set down next to the downed AH-6. The men on the ground were exchanging fire with the insurgents in the house, but David ignored the flying bullets and grabbed a few guys to help him transfer the rockets from the disabled bird over to his own as it idled nearby. Rockets loaded and armed, he jumped back in and took off, continuing the fight.