My reports caused the FBI to keep a closer eye on the Blind Sheikh and his circle of followers. Roughly a year and a half later, on February 26, 1993, a 1,336-pound car bomb went off in the underground parking lot of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, killing six people and injuring hundreds more. It was intended to topple the North Tower and send it crashing into the South Tower.
On June 24, 1993, Rahman and nine of his lieutenants were arrested for the role they played in planning the bombing. A year later he was convicted of seditious conspiracy. He died on February 18, 2017, while serving a life sentence at the Butner Federal Medical Center in North Carolina.
CNN correspondent and journalist Peter Bergen called Rahman “the ideological architect or the spiritual guide of 9/11.” At a meeting of bin Laden and his lieutenants in 1998, Rahman’s sons passed out laminated cards with a fatwa (Islamic religious ruling) from their father that read, “To all Muslims everywhere: Destroy their countries. Tear them to pieces. Destroy their economies, burn their corporations, destroy their businesses, sink their ships, and bring down their airplanes. Kill them in the sea, on land, and in the air.”
It was signed, “Your brother Abdel Rahman, from inside American prisons.”
During my FBI assignment, I was also sent to record the comings and goings from an Iranian government safe house several blocks from UN headquarters on First Avenue. Most of what I heard had to go with the arrival of various Iranian government officials and what they were going to say at the UN.
I wasn’t an expert, but the results of the Iranian surveillance seemed mundane compared to the hatred that was being spewed at the Sunni mosques in Queens and Brooklyn. The latter struck me as alarming.
* * *
When the FBI assignment ended in April 1993, I returned to Fort Campbell, Tennessee, and was quickly dispatched to Somalia as a member of ODA 596. Accompanying us were two additional ODAs from 3rd Battalion 5th Group. Our mission was to help secure the US Embassy and provide security to humanitarian groups (known as NGOs—nongovernmental organizations) who were delivering food to starving civilians caught in the country’s civil war.
Somalia, a country of 10 million on the Horn of Africa, had been slipping toward anarchy since the overthrow of dictator Mohammed Siad Barre in January 1991, who ruled since 1969. Adopting the name Comrade Siad, he instituted a form of scientific socialism based on the Quran and the writings of Karl Marx. But his oppressive style of rule, which pitted one clan against the other, and his harsh treatment of political opponents eroded his support.
By the late 1980s, armed opposition groups started to challenge the Siad Barre dictatorship. Prominent among them was the paramilitary United Somali Congress (USC) made of up Hawiye clansmen from southern and central Somalia, which included the capital, Mogadishu.
Following Siad Barre’s ouster at the end of 1991, the USC also disintegrated into two major factions. One, led by warlord Ali Mahdi Mohammed, controlled the northern part of Mogadishu and parts of central Somalia. The second, commanded by Mohammed Farah Aidid, ruled the rest of the capital city and most of southern Somalia. Their factions were the most prominent of at least sixteen other warlords vying for power.
The Army Times of December 14, 1992, listed the major warlords and their organizations:
Somali National Movement—Abdul Rahman Tur
Somali Salvation Democratic Front—Colonel Tusuf
United Somali Congress—General Mohammed Farah Aidid faction
United Somali Congress—Ali Mahdi Mohammed faction
Somali National Front—General Mohamed Said Hersi Morgan
Somali Patriotic Movement—Colonel Omar Jess
Fierce fighting among these armed groups and others destroyed much of Somalia’s agriculture. As famine spread, hijacked food provided by international relief organizations under a United Nations program known as UNOSOM (United Nations Operation in Somalia) became a means of power and a weapon used by warlords to win the allegiance of clan and subclan leaders. According to one estimate, 80 percent of internationally provided relief food to Somalia was being stolen by the end of 1992.
Relief agencies estimated that as many as half a million Somalis were in danger of dying from starvation. In response to the growing humanitarian disaster, the UN Security Council unanimously adopted Resolution 794 on December 3, 1992, which authorized the use of “all necessary means to establish as soon as possible a secure environment for humanitarian relief operations in Somalia.” The result was the creation of a US-led, UN-sanctioned Unified Task Force (known as UNITAF). President George H. W. Bush launched what was dubbed Operation Restore Hope, and the first US Marines landed in Somalia one week later.
Over subsequent weeks and months, an international coalition similar in composition to the one used in Desert Storm arrived in the northeast African country. Though the US provided the bulk of UNITAF’s total force (25,000 out of 37,000), other countries, including Australia, Canada, Egypt, France, Germany, Tunisia, and Zimbabwe, also committed troops.
The operation was under way and, in the assessment of UN secretary general Boutros Boutros-Ghali, was having “a positive effect on the security situation in Somalia and the effective delivery of humanitarian assistance” when I arrived with ODA 596 in Mogadishu in early April 1993. We joined around 300 Rangers and bunked in a huge US compound that had been built on the beach, three miles from the city center and near the international airport, secured with barbed-wire fences, concrete barriers, and guard towers.
Teal-blue waters of the Indian Ocean sparkled to the east. Heat waves rose from the desert due west. In the constant heat, with sporadic fighting in and around the city, our job was to escort convoys of food and medicine from the port to various refugee centers outside the city. We traveled in desert cammos with five Humvees, our weapons fully loaded. Early in the morning, we’d drive northeast up London Road to the port, which was guarded by Rangers.
There we’d join a convoy of four to ten trucks carrying relief supplies from UNICEF, USAID, CARE, the Red Cross, Catholic Relief Services, or one of the other NGOs and form an escort, two Humvees armed with .50 calibers in front, one in the middle, and two in the rear. The rides were tense as we weaved through streets filled with garbage and rubble and passed through checkpoints manned by armed clansmen.
The refugee centers were sprawling tent cities with primitive sanitation, populated almost exclusively with women and children, with a sprinkling of old people. Throngs of kids greeted us with big smiles on their faces. I kept the pockets of my fatigues packed with hard candy to hand out to the kids.
From a distance, the ancient port of Mogadishu with its Spanish tile roofs and white-towered mosques promised sleepy postcolonial charm. But once we entered, that expectation quickly disappeared and was replaced with deep sadness and alarm as we confronted a catastrophic picture of the complete degradation of political order. It was Mad Max without the imaginative production design. Gritty, ugly, rat-infested, and disturbingly bleak.
Most of the auburn-hued buildings had huge holes ripped into them or were no longer standing. Those still intact were pockmarked with bullet holes. Stores, businesses, hotels, and banks had been completely looted down to the doorknobs and bathroom fixtures. Statues in public spaces had been torn down, leaving stone platforms covered with graffiti. The few governmental and university buildings still standing were populated with refugees and armed clansmen, most of whom were wild-eyed high on qaat (or khat), a leafy plant that, when chewed, induces euphoria and excitement like that of a mild amphetamine.
Side effects include mouth disease, tooth loss, psychosis, and depression. Signs of these were everywhere we looked, from the wired, jumpy armed clansmen who cruised the dirt streets in technicals—Toyota pickups with .50 caliber machine guns mounted in their beds—and who were supplied with khat by their leaders, to the stained teeth of women, to toothless, withered old men who wandered the alleys looking lost. Most women chose to chew the bark instead of the leaves, becaus
e they believed that the bark made their teeth clean and strong.
Mog, as we called Mogadishu, had been without electricity and running water for months. At night, campfires built in the streets, and sometimes fueled by animal dung, gave the place a weird, eerie glow. The smell these fires gave off wasn’t pleasant.
Throughout the spring and most of the summer, Coalition soldiers seemed to suffer more from the wilting heat, bad water, and insect-borne illnesses than the trigger-happy gunslingers. Our leaders warned us that Somalia was home to more than fifty-eight varieties of viruses carried by the ever-present mosquitoes and flies. Other major disease threats included malaria, which is transmitted by mosquitoes, sandfly fever, and leishmaniasis. The last two were spread by the tiny black sandflies that came out at night.
Despite these dangers, the relief mission proceeded throughout the spring and early summer with few incidents of violence. Meanwhile, we observed that life in and around Mogadishu started to assume a measure of normalcy. Markets reopened, more people ventured out into the streets, and there was even some talk of re-forming a Somali national police force.
Life in ODA 596 settled into a routine: PT and patrols during the day; card games, reading, and bullshit sessions at night. For safety reasons, we tried to avoid the city after dark. On those occasions when we ventured far away and couldn’t return to our camp before dusk, we’d stay at the house of an older local man named Sheikh Abdullah who worked for the UN and lived near the football stadium.
Carefully written UNITAF rules of engagement reminded us that this wasn’t a wartime environment, that all persons were to be treated with dignity and respect, and that only the minimum force necessary for the mission was authorized.
From my standpoint, it was hardly needed. Militiamen generally watched us warily and left us alone. Most men seemed to lounge in front of their tin shacks in plastic sandals, chewing khat and doing nothing. The women, dressed in brightly colored robes and head scarves, did all the work, usually with a baby strapped to their back as they carried water or other supplies in baskets. As we passed, the kids waved and smiled, and some women grinned revealing mouths filled with gold teeth. Others were afraid to engage us.
The locals spoke a strange dialect of Arabic, which I found hard to adjust to at first. But soon I was communicating with people and making friends.
Given the improved environment in Somalia by mid-May 1993, the new administration of President Bill Clinton started to press the UN to assume leadership of the relief effort, allowing the US to draw down its forces and handle only limited aspects of security and logistics. Concurrently, a number of UN diplomats lobbied the international organization to assume a more active military role to include confiscating weapons and forcing major warlords to accept some kind of political settlement as part of a long-term solution to the situation.
UN Resolution 814 authorized military intervention under Chapter VII of the UN Charter, and UNOSOM slowly morphed into UNOSOM II with Turkish Lieutenant General Cevik Bir in command and US Army Major General Thomas M. Montgomery as his deputy. Retired Admiral Jonathan Howe assumed the critical role of UN envoy to Somalia. UN diplomats quickly identified warlord Mohammed Aidid as the biggest impediment to a political settlement.
Because Aidid controlled Mogadishu with his heavily armed militia, our mission in ODA 596 shifted in late May 1993 to include more frequent patrols in the city and house-to-house searches for explosives and weapons. Because I was the only one in my unit who spoke Arabic, I did most of the talking.
I’d greet the residents of every tin-roofed hovel we entered with Allah Akbar. Then I would quickly establish control and start giving orders, “Hold your hands over your head. Put the basket down. Stand away from the door!”
In between orders, I’d explain: “We have to do a search for weapons. We don’t mean any disrespect, but we have to be careful.”
Control and cooperation. Usually the response from the locals was Mafi muchahka (No problem).
Sometimes they would ask, “Why are you coming to kill us? We’re just poor people trying to survive. You’re making a bad situation worse.”
I always carried cookies and candies to hand out to the kids, and extra MREs for the adults. On a few occasions our patrols took fire from militiamen hidden on rooftops and in alleys, and we’d call for helicopter support. Minutes later a very intimidating MH-60 Black Hawk helicopter would swoop down with its M134 miniguns and M230 chain guns blazing, and the locals would scatter.
The more aggressive UN military posture didn’t sit well with warlord General Mohammed Farah Aidid of the United Somali Congress. On June 5, his forces ambushed and killed twenty-four Pakistani soldiers assigned to UNOSOM II and wounded forty-four more.
Aidid’s message was clear: I control this city. If you try to wrest power from me, you’ll pay a high price.
Tension and violence in and around Mogadishu mounted throughout the summer. I noticed the changed reaction we got from the locals. Before, as we passed on foot or in Humvee, they had responded with smiles, waves, and benign nods of their heads. Now men and women scowled, shook their fists at us, and shouted curses, and teenagers threw rocks.
Previously all the fighting had been between rival gangs vying for control of different neighborhoods. Increasingly UNOSOM II forces became the militiamen’s targets. Coalition forces struck back with AC-130 attacks on militia weapons-storage facilities and Aidid’s propaganda station Radio Mogadishu.
In mid-June Admiral Howe issued a warrant for Mohammed Aidid’s arrest and authorized a $25,000 reward for his capture. As a consequence, we were ordered to step up our patrols and be more aggressive. Aidid ratcheted up the violence, which included a mine attack on the US Military Police (MP) vehicle on Jialle-Siaad Street that killed four Americans MPs.
On August 22, newly appointed secretary of defense Les Aspin ordered the deployment of a Joint Special Operations Task Force (JSOTF, also known as Task Force Ranger) to Somalia. Its mission, code-named Operation Gothic Serpent, was to capture Aidid and his key lieutenants and turn them over to UNOSOM II. Our unit became part of Task Force Ranger, which consisted of 160 elite operators, including Rangers, Delta, Navy SEALS, and 160th SOAR helicopter pilots, commonly known as Night Stalkers.
The Night Stalkers were considered the best chopper pilots in the world and had been formed after the failed hostage rescue mission in Iran. They favored three varieties of helicopter—the troop-carrying Black Hawk MH-60, the Black Hawk AH-60 attack version, and smaller AH/MH-60 Little Birds.
Delta was a tier-one, high-speed team that fast roped in, seized or destroyed their targets, and exfilled quickly. Suddenly we were working with the best of the best, usually securing areas of operation and providing support while Delta swooped in and eliminated or captured targets.
During August and September, Task Force Ranger launched six such missions in Mogadishu, all of which were moderately successful. A raid near Digfer Hospital on September 21 yielded Osman Ali Atto, Aidid’s chief financial aide. But for the first time, we received massive RPG and automatic weapons fire from Somali militiamen.
Then at 0200 on September 25, as rain fell on the city, Black Hawk helicopter COURAGE 53 took off on a night surveillance mission to investigate the source of mortar fire near the city’s port area. As pilot Chief Warrant Officer Dale Shrader buzzed the Black Hawk low over rooftops at 100 knots per hour, an RPG round smashed into the right side of the aircraft and exploded. The blast and resulting fire knocked out copilot Chief Warrant Officer Perry Alliman and melted the sleeve of Shrader’s flightsuit onto his arm.
Still, he had the presence of mind to slow the careening craft and guide it past buildings. As it spun closer to the ground, COURAGE 53 grazed the top of a building, which shredded the rotor blades, then ricocheted onto a dirt street and slid a hundred yards before it came to rest against an embankment.
The three US soldiers aboard—twenty-one-year-old PFC Matthew Anderson and Sergeant Eugene Williams of the 101st Avi
ation Regiment and Sergeant Ferdinan Richardson of 10th Mountain, 25th Aviation—died in the explosion.
In the orange glow of the burning helicopter, a semiconscious Alliman turned to Shrader and mumbled, “Dale … I’m burned. I’m burned real bad.”
“Stay with me, Perry,” pilot Shrader moaned back. “We’re going to make it.”
Despite the fact that his arm was broken, Shrader managed to pull Alliman out of the burning wreckage and set him down in a dark corner of an alley. But when he went back to retrieve the other three crewmen, the craft was engulfed in flames.
Shrader hurried back to Alliman in the alley. As he leaned over him, he heard the click of an automatic weapon behind him and turned to see two Somali men with AK-47s running toward them. He raised his pistol, aimed, and counted his last breaths.
When they were within fifty feet, the Somalis turned into a side alley and disappeared. Shrader had no sooner breathed a sigh of relief when one of the Somalis returned running toward him holding a grenade. Shrader fired as the burning helo exploded behind him.
Stunned for several seconds by the blast, he opened his eyes to see the grenade lying two feet away. Shrader jumped back and muttered a quick prayer, thinking his life was over. But the grenade failed to detonate. He turned to see Perry slumped against the wall behind him, trying to load his pistol, and, because his hands were so badly burned, dropping the bullets.
As Shrader knelt beside his copilot to help him, a young Somali man ran into the alley from the opposite direction as the ones before, waving a flashlight. The man locked eyes with Shrader, shouted, “American boys!” and pointed to a street to the left.
Shrader wasn’t sure he could trust him. But absent of any better choice, he pulled Perry to his feet and helped him to the street, where he saw an armored personnel carrier manned with soldiers from the United Arab Emirates. The UAE soldiers, who spoke no English, helped the two Americans into the APC and drove them to a field hospital. Both men survived.
Full Battle Rattle Page 12