DET ONE U.S. Marine Corps_U.S. Special Operations Command Detachment, 2003-2006 PCN 10600001300

DET ONE

U.S. MARINE CORPS

U.S. SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND

DETACHMENT, 2003-2006

U.S. Marines in

the Global War

on Terrorism

DET ONE: U.S. MARINE CORPS U.S. SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND DETACHMENT, 2003-2006 Piedmont

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT A: Approved for public release, distribution is unlimited.

PCN: 10600001300

Cover: Det One prior to deploying to Iraq,

during the Capstone Exercise at Indian

Springs Auxiliary Airfield, Nevada, in

December 2003. Here members are being

briefed before the simulated and live-fire raid

mission. Detachment uniforms, weapons, and

equipment are shown to good advantage.

Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

Back Cover: The device reproduced on the

back cover is the oldest military insignia in

continuous use in the United States. It first

appeared, as shown here, on Marine Corps

buttons adopted in 1804. With the stars

changed to five points, the device has con-

tinued on Marine Corps buttons to the pres-

ent day.

DET ONE

U.S. MARINE CORPS

U.S. SPECIAL OPERATIONS

COMMAND DETACHMENT,

2003-2006

U.S. Marines in the

Global War on Terrorism

Lieutenant Colonel John P. Piedmont

U.S. Marine Corps Reserve

History Division

United States Marine Corps

Washington, D.C.

2010

Other Publications in the Series

U. S. Marines in the Global War on Terrorism

U. S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Anthology and Annotated Bibliography

U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Basrah, Baghdad and Beyond

PCN 106 0000 1300

iii

Foreword

The story of the Marine Corps U.S. Special Operations Command Detachment, which became known as Det

One, is an extraordinary tale. On its face, the story would not rate a minute’s glance. One small group of

Marines, about a hundred in number, formed, trained, and went to war. This all happened as the nation was

18 months into the Global War on Terrorism and as the Marine Corps was deploying I Marine Expeditionary

Force in Operation Iraqi Freedom. Yet the story behind the basic facts is not only far more intricate and fas-

cinating, with dramatic episodes and intrepid characters from the Pentagon to Camp Pendleton, it portended

great significance for the Marine Corps.

What makes the Det One story extraordinary is the shift in Marine Corps policy that brought it about, the

maturation of the special operations capabilities of forward-deployed Marine expeditionary units that made it

possible, and the patriotism, valor, fidelity, and abilities of the Marines and Navy Corpsmen who manned it.

Although Det One has passed now into the history books, its legacy survives in the formation of Marine Corps

Special Operations Command and in the lessons learned and experiences of its members, who now continue

to serve in dozens of units.

Lieutenant Colonel John P. Piedmont Marine Field Historian in Iraq in April 2004, saw the historical signif-

icance of Det One and decided to pursue its history as a project. Under the director of the History and Mu-

seums Division at the time, Colonel John W. Ripley, he was given permission to proceed with his collections

with a view toward turning them into a monograph. What follows here is the culmination of his efforts, the

product of two years’ work, more than 60 interviews done in Iraq, Washington, D.C., Virginia, and California,

and the collection of hundreds of documents.

Dr. Charles P. Neimeyer

Director of Marine Corps History

Preface

The story begins in the chow hall at Camp Fallujah on 30 April 2004. “Look, there’s Colonel Coates,” said

the Marine I was with, pointing to a colonel seated a few tables away from us. “Do you know who he is?”

“No, I don’t,” I replied. “Never heard of him.”“He’s the Det One commanding officer. If they’re here, things

will get interesting.” In fact, things already were as interesting as one might want. The first battle of Fallujah

had reached the now-famous cessation imposed from above. The insurgency soon boiled over, and I Marine

Expeditionary Force (I MEF) had its hands full from Abu Ghraib prison in the east to the Syrian border in the

west.

After I got a quick lecture on Det One, and guessing that Colonel Coates was someone I needed to talk to,

I got up and walked over to him. I introduced myself and told him what I was doing in Iraq and that I’d like

to talk to him if he had the chance. He looked up, paused, and said “send me an email.”

Well, there you have it, I thought to myself. “Send me an email” translated to “forget it, I’ve got other

things to do.” But on second thought, it sounded more like an order than a suggestion, so I did send him an

email, explaining in more detail what I wanted. Much to my surprise, I received an instant reply: “I will en-

thusiastically support the Marine Corps Historical Program.” And so he has, from that minute on.

Colonel Robert J. Coates, the Marine Corps Special Operations Command Detachment’s first and only com-

manding officer, was the first Marine I interviewed on the unit. He gave me a good hour in his office at the

I MEF G-3 and provided a detailed view of the unit as it stood then. (As we spoke, it was operating in Bagh-

dad.) He also pointed me to two other Marines who were instrumental in the formation of the detachment,

one of whom, by a fortunate coincidence, was also at Camp Fallujah.

Lieutenant Colonel J. Giles Kyser IV was then commanding officer of 2d Battalion, 2d Marines. As an ac-

tion officer at Headquarters Marine Corps, he had overseen the proposal and creation of what became Det

One, a move that reversed nearly 20 years of Marine Corps policy. I spent an enormously informative and

entertaining 90 minutes at his office near the south gate of Camp Fallujah. In his interview, he was remark-

ably candid, and our conversation helped me not only trace the unit’s development but understand some of

the deeper historical roots behind the relationship between the Marine Corps and Special Operations Com-

mand. Kyser told me that if I wanted to understand the nuts and bolts of how and why the unit was estab-

lished, I needed to speak with Master Gunnery Sergeant Joseph G. Settelen and Master Sergeant Troy G.

Mitchell.

Operational realities then put a stop to my Det One collections until I returned to the United States in July

2004. There, I contacted Settelen and Mitchell and arranged for interviews. Over the course of the next two

years, I interviewed several dozen members of the unit as well as other Marines who had some involvement

in the formation of the unit. The research and the writing together constituted, for me, a priceless professional

military education. I came away with a greater understanding and appreciation for the leaders and thinkers

who formed the modern expeditionary Marine Corps with its singular capabilities and ethos.

Likewise, the Marines of Det One stand out even among their peers. The most significant thing they told

me was that, yes, they were a special operations force, but from first to last they were Marines. From the Corps

they came and to the Corps they did return.

There are several people I must thank for their assistance in the preparation of this history. First and fore-

most are the Marines of Det One, with special emphasis on Colonel Coates, Lieutenant Colonel Craig S. Koze-

niesky, Major Jerry Carter, and Major M. Wade Priddy. All of them—and others who will be mentioned later

in the text—gave me time and attention, fielded repeated follow-on questions, and reviewed drafts of the

manuscript. They gave me “warts and all” access to the Marines of the detachment and to their records and

files.

Without Kyser, Settelen, and Mitchell, none of this would have been possible, both figuratively and liter-

ally. It is probably not possible for me to describe Settelen and Mitchell adequately because the details of their

careers will not be known for many years, if at all. Colonel Paul A. Hand told the tale from the point of view

of a Marine inside SOCom and helped me understand the inner workings of that command.

Commander William W. Wilson, USN, needs to be singled out for special thanks, not only because he gave

me a candid and open interview and answered multiple follow-on questions, but because he is central to the

narrative. The story of Det One probably would have been considerably different were he not involved.

Using h

is philosophy as a daily guide—“It’s good for SOCom, it’s good for the Corps, and it’s good for the

nation”—he significantly contributed to the success of the first Marine force unit to serve with SOCom.

At the Marine Corps Center for Lessons Learned—the organization formerly known as the EFCAT—several

Marines willingly lent me a hand, both at Quantico and in Iraq: Colonel Monte E. Dunard, Lieutenant Colonel

Jonathan T. Elliott, Lieutenant Colonel Scott Hawkins, Major Mike Dukes, and Colonel Peter A. Dotto. Lieu-

tenant Colonel Mark A. Hashimoto of Marine Forces Pacific also stepped up and sent me volumes of material

and answered questions.

At the History Division, I must thank the late Colonel John W. Ripley, USMC (Ret) and Colonel Nicholas E.

Reynolds who sent me to Iraq and gave me the freedom to operate. Lieutenant Colonel David Kelly (who

came out of retirement and a comfortable life in Philadelphia to go to Iraq), Colonel Nathan S. Lowrey, Lieu-

tenant Colonel David A. Benhoff, Lieutenant Colonel Craig H. Covert, Lieutenant Colonel Kurtis P. Wheeler,

Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey A. Riley, Major Stephen J. Winslow, and Chief Warrant Officer-3 William E. Hutson

all provided exceptional support in this and so many other matters. Finally, the Chief Historian of the Marine

Corps, Charles D. Melson, a man of boundless knowledge and many facets, helped turn a good idea into a

good product, with admirable assistance from editors Kenneth H. Williams, Gregory A. Macheak, and Wanda

J. Renfrow and designers W. Stephen Hill and Vincent J. Martinez.

John P. Piedmont

Lieutenant Colonel, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve

Quantico, Virginia

vii

Table of Contents

Foreword..................................................................................................................................iii

Preface.......................................................................................................................................v

Table of Contents....................................................................................................................vii

Chapter 1 Concept .................................................................................................................1

Chapter 2 Formation ............................................................................................................17

Chapter 3 Training ...............................................................................................................31

Chapter 4 Deployment ........................................................................................................47

Chapter 5 “Ops Normal”......................................................................................................55

Chapter 6 Direct Action .......................................................................................................65

Chapter 7 An-Najaf, “Z,” and Home ...................................................................................79

Chapter 8 A Proven Concept...............................................................................................91

Epilogue...................................................................................................................................99

Notes .....................................................................................................................................101

Appendix A Command and Staff List .................................................................................107

Appendix B Chronology of Significant Events ..................................................................109

Appendix C Lineage and Honors.......................................................................................113

Appendix D Individual Awards..........................................................................................115

ppendix E Navy Unit Commendation Citation................................................................117

Appendix F Meritorious Unit Commendation ...................................................................119

Index......................................................................................................................................121

viii

The Rise of U.S. Special

Operations Command

United States Special Operations Command—US-

SOCom, or simply SOCom—was formally established

in 1987 by the Nunn-Cohen Act, which amended the

1984 Goldwater-Nichols Defense Reorganization Act.

In the early 1980s, the nation not only faced the So-

viet-dominated Warsaw Pact and other major con-

ventional threats, but also a rising tide of terrorism

emanating from radical movements in Europe, as

well as a multitude of religious, ethnic, and political

movements in the Middle East. The new command

arose from the need to maintain capable special op-

erations forces in constant readiness for unconven-

tional warfare and counterterrorism, and to direct and

coordinate their employment. That need had been

bluntly articulated in a 1983 memorandum from Sec-

retary of Defense Caspar W. Weinberger, which stated

that the revitalization of special operations forces

“must be pursued as a matter of national urgency.”

The legislation that established Special Operations

Command did not merely create a new unified com-

batant command; it also created a position in the De-

partment of Defense to oversee the policy aspects of

special operations: assistant secretary of defense for

special operations and low intensity conflict. Further,

SOCom was imbued with certain armed service-like

aspects; alone among unified commands, SOCom

was directed to manage its own budgetary stream,

which enabled it not only to acquire special opera-

tions-specific equipment, but also to develop and test

that equipment.

In the years since 1986, this singu-

lar authority has provided Special Operations Com-

mand the means to equip its forces rapidly with

mission-critical gear, making it the envy of the other

armed services working under the more conventional

acquisition rules.

Once established, the individual armed services

contributed existing special operations units to

SOCom: the Army assigned the Special Forces, the

Rangers, and other units; the Navy assigned the Sea,

Air, and Land (SEAL) teams; while the Air Force con-

tributed its Special Operations Wings, including units

such as the combat search and rescue squadrons and

AC-130 gunships. Among the services, only the Ma-

rine Corps did not contribute forces.

There were several reasons that the Marine Corps

made this decision, but the essential point was that

the Marine leadership saw the Corps as a general-

purpose force with inherent special operations capa-

bilities that had to remain flexible in structure and

mar

itime in nature. To place Marine units under Spe-

cial Operations Command, or even to place SOCom

itself under the Marines (as one member of Congress

advocated), would have prevented the Corps from

carrying out its primary mission for the national de-

fense—providing maritime expeditionary forces in

readiness. Behind this point was a general unease

that an independent special operations command

might not be a successful venture. The 1980 debacle

at Desert One in Iran was a recent memory, and it left

lingering mistrust among the armed services.

Finally,

Marines viewed themselves as “special” in their own

right and did not see a need to attach themselves to

any command in order to gain in name what they

held in fact.

The Commandant Looks Inward

The decision not to commit forces to Special Op-

erations Command did not mean that the Marine

Corps did not adhere to the larger special operations

strategy. The October 1983 memorandum from Sec-

retary of Defense Weinberger ordered a comprehen-

sive improvement in the organization and direction of

special operations forces. The memorandum directed

each armed service to “assign special operations

forces and related activities sufficient resource allo-

cation priority.”

In accordance with these instruc-

tions, the Marine Corps leadership examined the

Chapter 1

Concept

Desert One was the code name for the site inside Iran where in

April 1980 U.S. Air Force transport planes bearing the force for the

rescue of the hostages in Tehran were to transfer them to Navy

helicopters flown by Marines. The helicopters then were to refuel

for the next phase of the operation, dubbed Eagle Claw. Mechan-

ical problems with some of the helicopters and a collision between

a C-130 Hercules and an RH-53D Sea Stallion that killed eight air-

men and Marines caused the mission commander to abort. The

failure of the mission and the ensuing congressional investigation

highlighted joint operability issues within the special operations

community and was a primary factor in the creation of Special Op-

erations Command. The debacle at Desert One spawned bitter and

long-lasting recriminations among Army and Air Force personnel

on the mission and the Marines in the helicopter detachment.

issue thoroughly and formed a plan to leverage the

Corps’ existing structure in pursuit of enhanced spe-

cial operations capabilities. What resulted was the

“special operations capable” or “SOC” program.

On 14 September 1984, the Commandant of the

Marine Corps, General Paul X. Kelley, ordered the

commander of Fleet Marine Force Atlantic (FMFLant),

Lieutenant General Alfred M. Gray, to study Marine

Corps special operations capabilities and recommend

ways to enhance them. A group of officers under

Gra

y’s direction met at II Marine Amphibious Force

headquarters at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, from

19 November to 17 December 1984 and produced

“Examination of Marine Corps Special Operations En-

hancements.” This document reviewed the historical

aspects of Marines and special operations, discussed

current Marine Corps capabilities, and recommended

options for enhancing those capabilities. The study

group examination is remarkable in several aspects as

it concisely articulated Marine Corps views on spe-

cial operations and the Marines’ capabilities to con-

duct them.

The common theme of this study was that Marine

involvement in special operations was a historical

fact, be it by units or by individuals. In the report,

there was some discussion of dedicated Marine spe-

cial operations units, the Marine Parachutists and

Raiders from World War II, noting that their experi-

ences were not unqualified successes. Indeed, those

units rarely (in the case of the Raiders) or never (in

the case of the Para-Marines) were employed in the

roles for which they were formed. Both were dis-

banded long before the war’s end, and their Marines

were absorbed into conventional units. Individual

Marines distinguished themselves in the Office of

Strategic Services (OSS) during World War II, then in

Korea, and later in the Studies and Observations

Group in Vietnam. On the other hand, the report

noted that conventionally organized Marine air-

ground task forces routinely conducted certain spe-

cial operations, most notably noncombatant

evacuation operations (NEOs) and amphibious raids,

“by virtue of organizational flexibility and forward-

deployed posture.”

In framing its discussions, the study group stated

the Joint Chiefs of Staff’s definition of special opera-

tions, which, they noted, had recently changed from

“secondary or supporting operations”—what the ex-

amination study called “nebulous guidance”—to the

more decisive definition of “military operations con-

ducted by specially trained, equipped, and organized

Department of Defense forces.”

The examining

group compiled a list of special missions related to

naval operations and constructed three broad cate-

gories of special operations capabilities:

Type A. The capability to conduct special op-

erations tasks such as special purpose raids.

This capability required unique skills, highly

specialized equipment, and training far beyond

at normally provided conventional forces.

The forces involved were small, and were to be

used in operations of short duration.

Type B. The capability to conduct amphibi-

ous raids and support other special operations

missions with conventionally organized forces

(normally a unit of company-size) which have

been designated, intensively trained, and

equipped for special operations.

Type C. The capability to conduct amphibi-

ous raids, NEO operations, and support of other

special operations missions with a large, con-

ventionally organized and equipped combined

arms force.

Following the general theme of the background

discussion, the examination study observed that al-

though “certain Marine Corps units have a Type C,

or even B, capability, the study group found no evi-

dence that such capabilities are other than piecemeal.

Some Marine amphibious units can conduct raids;

certain units perform the reconnaissance/surveillance

tasks of special operations; to an extent helicopter

squadrons receive the kind of training required. But,

there is no cohesive approach to special operations.”

Significantly, the study also considered whether the

Marine Corps would be better served by retooling ex-

isting units or by creating something new.

The study group directed the discussion through

the issues of personnel, intelligence, training, logis-

tics, communications and electronics, aviation, com-

mand relationships, U.S. Navy perspectives (one

member of the group was a naval officer from the

staff of Second Fleet’s Amphibious Group Two), op-

erations and training, and the nature of hasty versus

preplanned response to a crisis. Given all aforemen-

tioned points of reference and discussion, the study

group examined the Marine Corps’ existing special

operations capabilities and came up with seven en-

hancement options. The underlying conclusions man-

dated an improvement in the overall training of Fleet

Marine Force units and an immediate, specific im-

provement in amphibious raid capability.

The study group recommended four of the seven

options for further review and action. The first was to

DET ONE2

Concept 3

maintain the current Marine amphibious unit struc-

ture and achieve Type C capability with one raid

company. The group viewed this option as “the quick

fix,” a way to show action, yet something that “can-

not be realized overnight.” The second recom-

mended option was to improve the existing Marine

amphibious unit to a uniform Type C capability and

achieve Type B capability with one raid company.

This option would have required a “quantum jump in

capa

bility and cost.” However, the study noted that

“FMF-wide benefits are manifest: ground and avia-

tion skills would be distributed as Marines rotated to

other units. At the same time, MAUs would be better

prepared to support Type A special operations.”

Option three included the second option with the

addition of the ground element of a small dedicated

Marine special operations unit of roughly 275 men, at

Type A capability, based in the continental United

States rather than forward-deployed.

“When fully ca-

pable, which conservatively would take two years,”

the study group explained, “the FMF could provide

Fleet commanders with the complete range of special

operations capabilities.” The study group observed

that “this alternative is appealing because it is all-Ma-

rine.”

Option four recommended adopting the second

option and adding to it not a small Type A special

operations unit, but a larger one, in this case roughly

1,000 men, with an aviation squadron containing

Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters and Lock-

heed C-130 Hercules transport planes. This option,

the study group noted, would probably take three

years to achieve and would be “the most radical ap-

proach and extremely costly.” It would contain the

advantages of a smaller force but “would meet the

full spectrum of special operations contingencies.”

Of the four, the study group favored the last op-

tion, “the most radical” as their examination study

called it.

In doing so, the members of the group

stretched the limits of their guidance since the force

they advocated was a unit potentially capable of du-

plicating other armed services’ special operations

forces.

The fourth option was no half measure; it

was an all-or-nothing proposition. It had marked ad-

vantages (“provides a highly skilled, substantial air-

ground force that can concentrate solely on special

ops missions”) as well as stark disadvantages (“re-

quires major additional force structure with signifi-

cant impact on existing USMC structure” and “has

potential for detracting from the FMF’s traditional am-

phibious role”).

It also contained the second option,

with its significant implications for the Marine am-

phibious units.

The special operations capable (SOC) program is

worth examining in detail as it illustrates the growth

of a complementary set of capabilities grounded in

historical Marine roles and missions. Background dis-

cussions on the relationship between the Marines and

the special operations community seldom delve into

the intellectual analysis behind the Marines’ decisions

to remain outside the SOCom command structure. As

a result, misconceptions on the special operations ca-

pabilities of the Marine Corps persist to the present

and certainly colored the issues surrounding the sub-

ject of this narrative. The importance of the special

operations capable program is not only that it signif-

icantly enhanced existing Marine Corps forces and

their capabilities, but also that it provided the Marines

a base of individual and organizational skills that

would enable the Corps to rapidly field a unit for

Special Operations Command when the time came

to do so.

Lieutenant General Gray Reports His

Findings

Lieutenant General Gray received the results of the

study group’s examination and on 26 March 1985

submitted his findings on it to Commandant Kelley.

Gray’s findings expanded on points made in the ex-

amination study, which were necessarily somewhat

discursive in nature, and placed on them the weight

and imprimatur of the operating forces. In its own

analysis, the report affirmed the examination’s con-

clusions, among them that the existing Marine air-

ground task force structure provided for a special

operations capability found in no other armed serv-

ice, by virtue of the “Marine air-ground task force

concept and the well established naval command and

control structure.”

The methodology in Gray’s Fleet Marine Force At-

lantic report was similar to the study group’s exami-

nation: the issue in question was stated, delineated,

defined, and discussed through several filters. The re-

port drew seven conclusions and made a three-fold

recommendation: that the Marine Corps held a

unique capability for maritime special operations; that

further developing the capability would have a pos-

This notional unit bears an interesting resemblance to what

would, 20 years later, become Det One, although it is larger than

Det One. The notes on its conceptual task organization include

some prescient language: “The S-2 support section of this com-

pany would be significantly larger than normal staff intelligence

cells and for good reason . . . the unit must be capable of receipt

of near real time intelligence and information, a high degree of

analysis and some fusion capability. ADP [automated data pro-

cessing] intelligence support will also be necessary to link the unit

to national databases.”

itive effect for the Corps as a whole; and that the

Corps could develop a full-spectrum capability in

consonance with current joint definitions. The report

concluded that the Marine Corps should develop a

specialized maritime strike capability based on exist-

ing doctrine; that this capability had to be in line with

the needs of amphibious command relationships; that

any Marine special operations force had to be com-

ementary to existing naval special operations or-

ganizations; and finally, that the development of this

capability was a crucial matter, given the world’s

prevalent threats.

The recommendation of the Fleet Marine Force At-

lantic report was that the Marine Corps develop a “vi-

able special operations capability in order to provide

fleet commanders a ‘total response’ capability.” The

three steps needed to achieve this goal were to de-

velop an “updated maritime special operations doc-

trine;” to provide “additional, standardized training”

for the air-ground task forces; and to create a “dedi-

cated special operations force within FMFLant and

FMFPac to conduct specialized missions requiring

highly skilled forces.” The study group’s preferred

option for an enhanced Marine amphibious unit and

a large, dedicated special operations force of Type-A

capability survived in a somewhat altered form; a dif-

ferent version of it was later offered as one course of

action to the Commandant. The updated doctrine in

the FMFLant report and additional standardized train-

ing were fully in line with the study group’s second

option.

The final paragraph of the report’s cover letter por-

tended a significant change in Marine Corps training,

organization, and capabilities: “The conclusions, rec-

ommendations, and implementation proposals, if ap-

proved, require an extensive effort to develop a

unique and viable potential that exists within our cur-

rent MAGTF structure. FMFLant is prepared to im-

mediately initiate and develop this potential.”

The Commandant Decides

On 27 April 1985, Lieutenant General Gray met

with General Kelley to review the special operations

study group’s findings and Gray’s Fleet Marine Force

Atlantic report. They discussed three options for pro-

ceeding with Marine Corps special operations en-

hancements. The first was to make no change, clearly

not an acceptable alternative given Secretary of De-

fense Weinberger’s guidance. The second was to “de-

velop a dedicated special operations force,” while the

third was to “make the fleet Marine forces capable of

conducting a wide spectrum of special operations

with their conventional forces.”

Given that Lieutenant General Gray had stated that

his command was prepared to take action “immedi-

ately” on the issue, it is not surprising that he came

with detailed proposals. Gray’s preferred course of

action for a dedicated special operations force was

to create a 1,000-man Marine air-ground task force

complete with ground and aviation combat elements.

He included a timeline for its training cycle, a list of

its overall capabilities, and a scheme for a test bed

unit to validate the concept. The plan for the test unit

was a smaller version of the larger force, a unit of

289 men, with the ground combat element being a

reinforced Marine rifle company and the aviation el-

ement made up of four CH-53D or E helicopters. The

pros and cons of the plan echoed what the II Marine

Amphibious Force study group and the Fleet Marine

Force Atlantic report had stated: the dedicated special

operations unit would provide a substantial capabil-

ity, but it would have significant costs in time, money,

and negative impacts on the Marine Corps’ missions

and structure.

Lieutenant General Gray also had an alternative

plan: take what the Marine Corps had and improve it.

This plan had two goals. The first was to “standard-

ize/improve a Marine amphibious unit’s capability to

conduct doctrinal special operations.” The second

was to “avoid conflict with missions of other services’

special operations forces.” To address the first goal, a

third Marine amphibious unit would be established

within II Marine Amphibious Force. Training cycles

were to be expanded and standardized and the three

units would be set into a sustained rotation, ensuring

that one was overseas as Landing Force Sixth Fleet,

one was training to take over that mission, and one

was reorganizing for its training cycle, having just re-

turned from deployment. A notional chart showed

this plan at work, with continuous deployments

graphed out into late 1989 and specific units ear-

marked for service. “The Solution,” as the brief called

it, continued with specifics for training improve-

ments, including but not limited to “command and

staff planning and execution skills required for spe-

cial operations;” “development of infantry com-

pany/platoon skills necessary to provide a raiding

force assault element, covering element, or reserve

element;” and “development of aviation skills neces-

sary for penetration/covert approach, urban opera-

tions, and withdrawal.” The plan provided for a

broad and valuable capability, enhanced training

DET ONE4

If it appears that both documents took pains to state and restate

conclusions in a ponderous manner, consider that the language

was not used loosely. “Complementary,” “specialized,” “unique,”

and “maritime” were all employed in a manner calculated to state

accurately what the Marine Corps should and should not do.

Concept 5

across the board, and could be accomplished within

the existing structure of the Marine Corps.

On 7 June 1985 in a memorandum for the record,

General Kelley adopted the plan to enhance Marine

Corps special operations capabilities by improving

the existing structure. He directed Fleet Marine Force

Atlantic to begin the program, using a Marine am-

phibious unit as the test bed, stating that “this Marine

Amphibious Unit will be tentatively designated as ‘—

Marine

Amphibious Unit (Special Operations Capa-

ble).’” He included specific guidance on what the

new unit, the “MAU (SOC),” was to accomplish in

terms of optimal organization; a training program fo-

cused on the all-important traditional Marine roles;

any force augmentations for special missions beyond

the unit’s normal capabilities; special equipment; and

a concept for operations with “Joint Special Opera-

tions Command (JSOC) and/or the other services” on

“occasions when mission requirements dictate.”

Two weeks later, General Kelley communicated

this initiative in writing to the Joint Chiefs of Staff and,

in a separate message containing the identical text,

to the regional combatant commanders and others,

including the forerunner of SOCom, U.S. Commander

in Chief Special Operations. Both documents clearly

stated what the Marine Corps was undertaking and

why—a comprehensive program to enhance existing

capabilities in order to field a complementary mar-

itime capability—and what it was specifically not

doing: encroaching on the roles and missions of “spe-

cial purpose organizations such as JSOC, Special

Forces, SEALs or Special Operations Wings.”

A formal implementation plan followed in No-

vember 1986 embodying the experiences of the first

special operations capable Marine amphibious unit.

Continuous refinements and improvements took

place, with the experiences and skills of individual

Marines cross-pollinating the rest of the Fleet Marine

Force as units rotated in and out of the Marine am-

phibious units’ deployment schedule. The formal

schools of the Marine Corps responded to the re-

quirements of the program, and the rise of special

operations capable units coincided with renewed in-

terest in rigorous professional military education.

There were early instances of close, if unheralded,

cooperation between the Marine Corps and elements

of the new Special Operations Command, validating

the particular role of the special operations capable

Marine amphibious unit in opera

ting with dedicated

special operations forces.

At Camp Lejeune, North

Carolina, the Special Operations Training Group and

2d Force Reconnaissance Company fielded a direct

action force for the commander, U.S. Atlantic Com-

mand, known commonly as the “CINC’s In-Extremis

Force.” As the name implied, it existed as a comple-

mentary capability for the combatant commander,

available if certain special operations forces from

SOCom could not respond to a crisis. This standing

task force leveraged the particular maritime direct ac-

tion capability that the Marines developed through

the MAU (SOC) program and was linked directly to

SOCom through its training and evaluation.

On 5 February 1988, General Gray, who had suc-

ceeded General Kelley as Commandant of the Ma-

rine Corps, changed the designations of air-ground

task forces. “Amphibious” became “expeditionary,”

heralding both a return to the Marine Corps’ roots

and an emerging philosophical change. General Gray

noted that “the forces which we forward deploy

around the world are not limited to amphibious op-

erations alone.”

Overnight, the MAU (SOC)s became

MEU (SOC)s.

The decade of the 1990s cataloged a long list of

operations by special operations capable Marine ex-

peditionary units, some of which were undertaken

by MEU (SOC) alone, and some of which were un-

dertaken as part of joint operations. Marines con-

ducted noncombatant evacuations in the Balkans and

Africa, some with the involvement of SOCom units.

The 24th MEU (SOC) rescued downed U.S. Air Force

pilot Captain Scott O’Grady in Bosnia in 1994.

The

18-month U.S. involvement in Somalia provided a

venue in which virtually every MEU (SOC) capability

was employed, beginning with an amphibious assault

by 15th MEU (SOC) and ending with an amphibious

withdrawal by 24th MEU (SOC). In Somalia during

one deployment in 1993 that totaled just 48 days on

station, 24th MEU (SOC) conducted most of the SOC

mission essential tasks, including multiple amphibi-

ous raids by small boats and helicopters; coalition

One officer who will figure prominently later in this narrative,

Col Paul A. Hand, was a company commander in the 26th MAU

(SOC) in 1987 and remembers the unit working with “a lot of dif-

ferent organizations . . . including guys from Fort Bragg,” an

oblique reference to upper-tier elements of Special Operations

Command. “At the time,” he continued, “the relationship between

JSOC and the Marine Corps couldn’t have been any better . . . The

warfighters had figured out how to make it work.” Hand intvw,

26Aug05 (Marine Corps Historical Center [MCHC], Quantico, VA).

In the same vein were the highly successful maritime operations

mounted by U.S. Central Command under Gen George B. Crist in

the late 1980s employing elements of a MAU (SOC) with elements

of SOCom forces. Gen Crist described the force: “we had really

formed a new thing. It was a raid force that was totally integrated

with the army at night, with the SEALs, with the navy, and hooked

into air force reconnaissance, this little thing. It was a very sleek,

mean little outfit.” Crist intvw, 10Jan89, Gray Research Center,

Quantico, VA.

support operations; tactical recovery of aircraft and

personnel; numerous humanitarian relief missions;

and one direct action raid by the maritime special

purpose force.

Operation Eastern Exit, the January 1991 evacua-

tion of the U.S. embassy in Mogadishu, Somalia, il-

lustrated how MEU (SOC) training standards had, at

an even relatively early date, permeated the entire

Fleet Marine Force. In the operation, the 4th Marine

Expeditionary Brigade, afloat in the Arabian Sea for

Operation Desert Shield, rapidly task-organized a

small force to begin the evacuation of the embassy

while the ships of the amphibious ready group closed

the 450-mile distance. Every element of the opera-

tion was rooted in MEU (SOC) doctrine and experi-

ence: rapid and effective command and staff actions;

a helicopter detachment that flew a task-organized

force (including nine Navy SEALs) over open water at

night, refueling in air more than once; and well-exe-

cuted actions on the ground that accomplished a

highly sensitive mission.

The decade of the 1990s, however, also marked a

decline in relations between the Marine Corps and

Special Operations Command. A chasm developed

between the Marine Corps and the special operations

community that widened year by year. Although

many Marines served in individual billets in SOCom

and performed well, there was little or no interoper-

ability between the theater special operations com-

mands and the deployed MEU (SOC)s. “Love the

Marines, hate the Marine Corps” attitudes persisted,

often reciprocated from within the Corps. A service-

level link, the SOCom/USMC board, which could and

should have identified and fostered several points of

common interest, lapsed into dormancy around 1996,

severing all cooperation on acquisitions, training, and

operations. Early unit-level initiatives such as joint op-

erations between elements of SOCom and the de-

ploying MAU (SOC)s and the Camp Lejeune-based

CINC’s In-Extremis Force also ended. By the onset of

the 21st century, the U.S. Marine Corps and U.S. Spe-

cial Operations Command were no longer institu-

tionally engaged.

11 September 2001: The Landscape Changes

In the summer of 2001, Lieutenant Colonel J. Giles

Kyser IV assumed the duties of head of the Marine

Air Ground Task Force (MAGTF) special operations

section in Plans, Policies and Operations at Head-

quarters Marine Corps. His position encompassed all

things related to the MEU (SOC) program as well as

all things related explicitly and implicitly to special

operations. He was well suited for the task. In addi-

tion to a standard infantry career, he had served as

operations officer of 2d Air Naval Gunfire Liaison

Company and executive officer of 2d Force Recon-

naissance Company. While a student at the U.S.

Army’s Advanced Infantry Officer Course, Kyser had

met several Army Special Forces and Ranger officers.

He found that he, as a Marine officer, was much more

at home with them than he was with his more con-

ventional army counterparts. Among other things,

Kyser recognized that their thoughts on approaching,

analyzing, and conducting missions were closely

aligned with Marine Corps thinking.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser’s subsequent staff tour at

Special Operations Command Europe (SOCEur) ex-

posed him to a special operational environment and

confirmed the opinions he had formed at the Army’s

advanced course. One of the first things he learned

was that for Marines working in special operations,

personal relationships were essential. The people on

the other side needed to get the measure of an indi-

vidual Marine and trust him; once that acceptance

was in place, the possibilities for joint operations

grew dramatically. Kyser observed special operations

forces in Europe operating in task-organized units not

unlike Marine air-ground task forces but yet lacking

the synergistic integrity of the Marine organizations.

This experience implanted in his mind the idea that

the Marine Corps had something concrete to offer

Special Operations Command, namely a self-con-

tained, task-organized air-ground force capable of a

wide range of missions and imbued with an expedi-

tionary, combined arms ethos.

By the late summer of 2001 while assigned to

Plans, Policies and Operations at Headquarters Ma-

rine Corps, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser worked on the

reinvigoration of the dormant training relationship

between the MEU (SOC)s and SOCom, which had

DET ONE6

Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont

LtCol J. Giles Kyser, shown here in May 2004 as com-

manding officer, 2d Battalion, 2d Marines, in Camp

Fallujah, Iraq. As MAGTF Special Operations action

officer at HQMC from 2001 to 2003, he oversaw the

creation of the first Marine force contribution to

SOCom, the unit that would become MCSOCOM Det

One.

Concept 7

lain fallow for several years. At that time no one con-

templated, much less advocated, a step as radical as

contributing Marine forces to SOCom.

The task at

hand was simply to reengage the special operations

community for the mutual benefit of the Marine

Corps and Special Operations Command. But, as

Kyser later pointed out, “the complexion of that land-

scape changed dramatically on September 11th.”

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser Goes to Tampa

Shortly after the attacks on 11 September 2001,

Lieutenant General Emil R. Bedard, deputy comman-

dant for plans, policies, and operations (PP&O), di-

rected Lieutenant Colonel Kyser to go to Special

Operations Command headquarters in Tampa,

Florida, and begin repairing the long-broken rela-

tionship. His mission was to reestablish the moribund

SOCom-USMC Board. Kyser’s first act was to check in

with the senior Marine in SOCom, Colonel Paul A.

Hand, who only a few months before had written an

“it’s-a-good-idea-but” answer in Marine Corps Gazette

against establishing a Marine Corps force within

SOCom. Hand was an infantry officer with a con-

ventional background—company command in a

MAU (SOC), Amphibious Warfare School, Command

and Staff College, battalion command—but no Ma-

rine reconnaissance or Special Operations Command

experience. Hand regarded his background as an

asset rather than a limitation. Although he reported to

SOCom, Hand had received instructions from Bedard

similar to Kyser’s: improve the relationship; get the

SOCom-USMC board going again; find ways to work

together

These efforts were underway before the at-

tacks of 11 September, but those momentous events

hastened the progress.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser next went to see

SOCom’s director of operations, plans, and policies,

U.S. Army Major General Eldon A. Bargewell, for

whom he had worked during his SOCEur days and

with whom he had excellent personal rapport. Kyser

discussed with Bargewell the probability that as the

war on terrorism progressed over what promised to

be a long time, there would be opportunities for

more cooperation between Marine units and special

operations forces, based primarily on the Marine Ex-

peditionary Units’ forward presence and unique ca-

pabilities. He knew what the Marines could offer

special operations forces in the prosecution of the

war on terrorism and was determined to make the

case.

During the fall of 2001 and early winter of 2002,

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser became a shuttle diplomat,

th one week in Washington and the next week in

Tampa. He found willing allies inside Special Opera-

tions Command and ran into ironclad opposition

there, too. The same was true at Headquarters, U.S.

Marine Corps. Colonel Hand was busy shepherding

the placement of two Marine officers in the SOCom

operations center. Shortly after 9/11, Lieutenant Gen-

eral Bedard had asked his counterpart at SOCom

what immediate assistance the Marine Corps could

provide. The answer was intelligence officers. The

Marine Corps offered two, and SOCom accepted. En-

trenched anti-Marine attitudes in SOCom resurfaced,

however, and the two Marine officers waited with

bags packed until the highest levels of the SOCom

command structure cleared the way for them to be

assigned.

Ultimately, the two were so successful that

they proved what might be called Hand’s corollary

to Kyser’s law of Marine and special operations rela-

tions: get good Marines in, let them go to work, and

everything else will work out.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser found that the prevail-

ing argument inside Special Operations Command

against any Marine Corps force contribution ran along

old familiar lines: “You [Marines] have your box, we

have our box, stay the hell out. . . . You decided back

in 1986 you didn’t want to play.”

But the facts were

that the SOCom and Marine Corps “boxes” had no

significant points of connection, no places where the

one’s capabilities could be set to cover the other’s

limitations.

Anti-SOCom attitudes within the Marine Corps

were just as entrenched, and in light of the events of

9/11, every bit as outdated. As recently as the spring

of 2001, an unsolicited offer by Joint Special Opera-

tions Command to work more closely again with the

deployed Marine expeditionary units foundered.

The Marine refrain that Lieutenant Colonel Kyser

often heard was that “we don’t need special opera-

tions forces, we can do it ourselves, there’s nothing

they can do that we can’t do.” From Kyser’s own

knowledge of SOCEur units in action, he knew this

argument simply was not true. SOCom’s training

processes and resources provided for capabilities that

the Marine Corps did not possess. Kyser recalled in

2004 that “all of the bravado and all of the talk in the

world didn’t change the facts: enthusiasm does not

equal capability.”

He also had to face age-old Ma-

rine arguments against contributing forces: if the Ma-

The Marine Corps Gazette printed a brief exchange on a Marine

force contribution to Special Operations Command in the April

and July 2001 issues. The proposal for a force contribution was

written by a student at Amphibious Warfare School; the riposte,

detailing why a force contribution was not in the interests of the

Marine Corps, was written by Col Hand, the chief of the training

division at SOCom’s center for operations, plans, and policies.

rine Corps gives a unit to SOCom, they will have lost

control of it and will never get it back, and such a

commitment will bleed the Corps of high-value

Marines.

In time, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser would turn all

these arguments upside down, but the task at hand

was to seize a beachhead, to gain a foothold with his

audience. The objective was the SOCom/USMC

board; the Marine Corps needed to engage SOCom

institutionally, on a broad front, on everything from

MEU (SOC)/theater special operations interoperabil-

ity to equipment acquisitions to intelligence support.

In the days before 11 September, interoperability be-

tween deployed MEU (SOC)s and theater special op-

erations forces was never put to a true test, although

an event like Operation Noble Obelisk, the 1997 non-

combatant evacuation in Sierra Leone conducted

jointly with special operations forces, proved that

working together was not only possible but opera-

tionally enhancing. This operation, however, was the

exception to the rule. That state of affairs may have

been lamentable, but too few decision makers saw it

as a potentially fatal weakness. Following 9/11, an

entirely different light shone on the issue. The emerg-

ing fact was that in a war in which special operators

had a leading role, the dysfunctional relationship be-

tween Special Operations Command and the Marine

Corps threatened not only to keep the Marines’ role

in the shadows but also to deprive the nation of the

well-refined capabilities of Marine expeditionary

forces.

The Commandant Changes Course

By the end of 2001, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser’s

shuttle diplomacy and Colonel Hand’s internal pres-

sure were showing signs of success. Applying the les-

sons learned from their careers, they leveraged

previous personal relationships to build new ones.

Kyser in particular had a small network of allies and

supporters wearing several uniforms who kept him

abreast of developments and attitudes across the

armed services and Special Operations Command.

More importantly, they soon had in hand a memoran-

dum of agreement, signed on 9 November 2001 by the

Commandant, General James L. Jones Jr., and the com-

mander of SOCom, General Charles R. Holland. This

memorandum resurrected the SOCom-USMC Board

and paved the way for a greater level of cooperation.

In the first week of January 2002, Lieutenant

Colonel Kyser briefed General Jones and selected

senior officers as a preparation for the first SOCom-

USMC board scheduled to begin shortly thereafter.

He wanted the Commandant’s approval before he

proceeded. Kyser discussed the plan for engaging

Special Operations Command across a range of is-

sues,

including logistics, aviation, and others. As he

recalled, when the brief concluded, the Commandant

expressed approval of what he had heard and seen,

then sat back and said, “If we really want to show

that we are committed to this, we need to think about

committing some forces to SOCom.”

The remark

was a complete reversal of the long-held Marine

Corps position.

In fact, General Jones had made an early offer of

a Marine force to Special Operations Command in the

immediate aftermath of 9/11. He called General Hol-

land at SOCom and offered him a force reconnais-

sance platoon. Holland instructed the Naval Special

Warfare flag officer in charge of SOCom’s resources

and requirements directorate to talk with Colonel

Hand and figure out exactly what Jones’s offer meant.

Hand received a phone call from Lieutenant General

Bedard confirming the offer and then began answer-

ing the multitude of questions from SOCom.

How

this initial offer was examined and handled fore-

shadowed the later discussions of a larger force con-

tribution and revealed how things might have turned

out differently in one major respect.

Shortly after the first SOCom-USMC board meet-

ing in January 2002, Colonel Hand briefed Special

Operations Command general officers on General

Jones’s offer of a force reconnaissance platoon. Army

Special Operations Command and Naval Special War-

fare Command debated where the unit would best

fit. Both groups made good cases. Hand remembered

that the commander of Naval Special Warfare imme-

diately voiced the opinion that the Marine unit should

align with the Navy, due to its maritime roots. The

commander of Army Special Operations disagreed.

Hand made no move in either direction but in retro-

spect said this was the first and best opportunity for

the Marine Corps to have jumped ship and cast its lot

with the U.S. Army Special Operations Command.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser took General Jones’s in-

structions not just as an order to devise a Marine

force contribution to Special Operations Command,

but to have it ready for the first SOCom-USMC board.

Fortunately for Kyser, he was a step ahead, having

come to the conclusion that autumn that SOCom’s

tasks in the emerging war on terrorism eventually

would outstrip its capabilities. He had a clear idea

DET ONE8

These two objections had been raised before, even long before

the founding of Special Operations Command. For an interesting

discussion of the deeper historical roots of the issue, see Maj

Robert E. Mattingly, USMC, Herringbone Cloak—GI Dagger:

Marines of the OSS (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Marine Corps History

and Museums Division, 1989).

Concept 9

that the Marine Corps could fairly quickly field a

unit—more than a force reconnaissance platoon—

that would alleviate the troop-to-task burden and

cover some of the missions in which SOCom units

were engaged. Better still, Kyser had two Marines

working for him who also knew SOCom from the in-

side and who could sit down and turn out a well-

crafted and well-reasoned proposal.

The Marines Come Up With a Plan

Master Gunnery Sergeant Joseph G. Settelen III

was the MAGTF special operations chief, working for

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser. Before the attacks on 11

September, he was involved in the Reconnaissance

Operational Advisory Group, commonly termed the

“fix recon initiative,” which General Jones had estab-

lished to restore Marine reconnaissance units to a po-

sition where their particular skills and training could

best be used in support of the Marine operating

forces.

Settelen enlisted in the early 1980s as an infantry

Marine. He moved into the reconnaissance field in

1987 and served with 2d Force Reconnaissance Com-

pany. In 1997 he left the Corps for a classified billet,

returning in 2000 as a master sergeant and was as-

signed to the special operations section at Head-

quarters Marine Corps. He was as uniquely qualified

and fortuitously placed as Lieutenant Colonel Kyser

to deal with these issues. Settelen understood the op-

erational aspects of Special Operations Command

from personal experience, knew Marine operations,

and was fully cognizant of the current state of the

Marine reconnaissance community.

Master Sergeant Troy G. Mitchell was also an orig-

inal member of the fix recon initiative. He had served

in several reconnaissance units and, like Settelen, had

done a “dark side” tour with SOCom. He had been

selected in February 2000 specifically for the Recon-

naissance Operational Advisory Group and was fully

engaged with that program when Kyser called on Set-

telen and him to draw up a plan for the first Marine

unit to be assigned to SOCom.

The two questions governing the size and shape

of the still-unformed unit were what would it look

like, and how quickly could it be formed? Lieutenant

Colonel Kyser knew that Special Operations Com-

mand would not want any more of what they already

had. What SOCom needed was something different—

a Marine air-ground task force, a flexible, powerful

unit that would be so much more than the sum of its

parts. But a full-scale task force needed too much

support across the Marine Corps. Kyser, Settelen, and

Mitchell determined that a task force without the avi-

ation combat element was an answer to the require-

ment and was doable. As Kyser put it, “What I

MGySgt Joseph G. Settelen III, the MAGTF and Special

Operations Chief at HQMC. Working under LtCol

Kyser’s direction and using his extensive knowledge of

both the Marine reconnaissance field and the special

operations community, he and MSgt Troy G. Mitchell

designed the structure and manning of Det One.

Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont

MSgt Troy G. Mitchell, the reconnaissance field mon-

itor at Manpower Division, HQMC. He found the

“structure,” the actual manpower billets, that could

be drawn from existing units to stand up Det One.

Not only did he find the structure, he helped craft the

requirements for each reconnaissance Marine.

wanted was a uniquely Marine unit that was self-suf-

ficient and could be employed on its own . . . that

was focused on special operations mission areas that

we had capability in today, right now.”

Looking

back on his time in SOCEur, he identified four mis-

sion areas where this unit could make an immediate

contribution: direct action, special reconnaissance,

foreign internal defense, and coalition support.

According the Department of Defense dictionary,

direct action is defined as “short-duration strikes and

other small-scale offensive actions conducted as a

special operation in hostile, denied, or politically sen-

sitive environments and which employ specialized

military capabilities to seize, destroy, capture, exploit,

recover, or damage designated targets. Direct action

differs from conventional offensive actions in the

level of physical and political risk, operational tech-

niques, and the degree of discriminate and precise

use of force to achieve specific objectives.” Special

reconnaissance comprises “reconnaissance and sur-

veillance actions conducted as a special operation in

hostile, denied, or politically sensitive environments

to collect or verify information of strategic or opera-

tional significance, employing military capabilities not

normally found in conventional forces. These actions

provide an additive capability for commanders and

supplement other conventional reconnaissance and

surveillance actions.” Foreign internal defense is de-

fined as “participation by civilian and military agen-

cies of a government in any of the action programs

taken by another government or other designated or-

ganization to free and protect its society from sub-

version, lawlessness, and insurgency.” Coalition

support involved the provision of personnel and

equipment to allied forces to assist them with inte-

grating their operations into the U.S. command and

control system, and gaining access to supporting

arms.

The Marine Corps had an excellent record of

coalition support capabilities due in large part to units

like its air and naval gunfire liaison companies (AN-

GLICOs).

The prospective Marine unit for Special Operations

Command needed to be able to operate alone, with

conventional forces, with other special operations

units, with foreign units, or with any combination

thereof. It needed to have particular intelligence ca-

pabilities. Task organization would be its strength;

combined arms would be its operating principle.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser called in Master Gunnery

Sergeant Settelen and Master Sergeant Mitchell and

told them to design a unit that fit these criteria. Set-

telen remembers Kyser giving Mitchell and him the

task at about 1100 one day, to be due at 1600: five

hours to construct a unit completely from scratch,

one that would need to be drawn “out of hide,” taken

from the existing Marine Corps structure, be able to

depl

oy and operate on its own, and that would offer

SOCom something it did not have. The finished pro-

posal would go straight to Lieutenant General Be-

dard. Settelen and Mitchell put about 40 years of

combined knowledge to work in the cafeteria of the

Navy Annex with butcher-block paper, pencils, and a

pot of coffee.

Three hours later they emerged with

a plan and handed it to Kyser.

In some respects, the unit Settelen and Mitchell

conceptualized was a special-purpose Marine air-

ground task force without the aviation. It had a re-

connaissance platoon and a robust support structure,

including a large intelligence element. In other ways,

the unit was like MEU (SOC)’s maritime special-pur-

pose force, although much more capable. It had or-

ganic fires, radio reconnaissance, and

counterintelligence sections, areas in which the Ma-

rine Corps possessed special skills, as well as the nec-

essary staff sections that would enable it to conduct

stand-alone operations. Settelen and Mitchell not only

wrote down rough numbers and organization, they

filled in the ranks and military occupational special-

ties for each billet. They designed the unit to be

manned by senior Marines with many years of serv-

ice and several deployments, not enthusiastic first-

termers. They also intended for its members to rotate

in and out of the unit and back to the regular Marine

Corps, thereby addressing the old concern that the

Corps would lose high-value Marines forever. In Set-

telen’s words, the unit would be a “900-pound go-

rilla that could do surgery.”

The original Settelen-Mitchell plan showed a unit

of around 110 Marines and sailors. Word came back

quickly that 110 was too many, so the two Marines

pared the number to 86 but advised that they were

cutting into the support functions that would gird the

unit’s core capabilities.

As Settelen pointed out,

“When you get into logistics and planning, you have

to have specialists, and they don’t all do the same

job, so we knew support-wise we were going to

need some tail to [go with] the teeth.”

Although the unit was conceptually a Marine air-

ground task force, aviation was conspicuous by its

absence. Kyser, Settelen, and Mitchell knew that avi-

ation personnel and equipment pipelines, especially

for a special operations unit, were so tightly scripted,

DET ONE10

Settelen and Mitchell knew what they were talking about. Det

One, when it deployed in April 2004, mounted out at 99 strong.

Augmentations came during the training phase when it became

apparent that the modified structure of 86 was too slim.

Concept 11

and due to the “naval” nature of the aviation force—

not completely under Marine control— that trying to

include an aviation combat element in the unit would

cripple its chances to form up quickly, train, and de-

ploy. Kyser forwarded the recommended unit struc-

ture to General Jones, who gave his assent

immediately. From idea to concept to rough plan in

remarkably short order, Kyser had in hand an organ-

iza

tion he could present to SOCom.

Special Operations Command Reacts

Rough plan in hand, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser

traveled to Special Operations Command headquar-

ters in Tampa in late January 2002 for the first

SOCom-USMC board. In front of the future concepts

working group of the board, he laid out a presenta-

tion of SOCom missions and other activities and

showed how, if under a reasonable assumption that

its task load increased, its tasks would soon surpass

its capabilities. In his words, “SOCom would run out

of Schlitz.”

Without a pause, Kyser continued with

one small step for a Marine but one giant leap for the

Corps: “In the Marine Corps, we have some forces

that can do some of these specific things.” “Immedi-

ately,” he said, “red star clusters went up

—

‘No! You’re

not SOF! You can’t do these things!’” Kyser patiently

answered, “Well, look, I think we can.” And he pro-

ceeded to show how.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser, Master Gunnery Ser-

geant Settelen, and Master Sergeant Mitchell knew the

special operations world as well as the SOCom peo-

ple did. They had anticipated the objections and were

ready to counter each one. Kyser fired back with a

counter barrage of logical arguments. His offer to

provide a ready-built force that would take on four

mission areas—direct action, special reconnaissance,

coalition support, and foreign internal defense—and

relieve other SOCom units to focus on more pressing

missions proved persuasive. Arguments old and new

against a Marine unit in SOCom would continue to

arise during the following months, but Kyser had

made his point. He had his beachhead.

Both Colonel Hand at SOCom and Lieutenant

Colonel Kyser at Headquarters Marine Corps drafted

summaries of the minutes of the board meeting.

Drafting was one thing; releasing was another. Ac-

cording to both officers, they wrote and rewrote their

summaries several times, only to have them sat upon

at SOCom. It took four months until SOCom released

the executive summary in May 2002.

On a positive

note, the summary specified leveraging the “unique

capabilities of each organization” and pushing for-

ward with interoperability between forward-deployed

MEU (SOC)s and special operations forces based in

the U.S. and overseas. On the less positive side from

the Kyser/Hand point of view, the executive sum-

mary referred to the Marine force contribution as

“possible,” “notional,” and “a pilot program.”

In discussions that followed between Colonel

Hand and Lieutenant Colonel Kyser about the nature

the Marine unit, Hand, remembering General

Jones’s earlier offer of a single force reconnaissance

platoon, wanted to keep the unit simple and small.

He wanted to send it right out to whatever compo-

nent of SOCom was going to sponsor it and get it op-

erating, believing that the operator-level relations

would be a runaway success and that a small force

would be more workable. Instead, Kyser’s plan won

the day; the Marine force contribution to SOCom was

to be more than one platoon of reconnaissance

Marines.

Once again, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser shuttled be-

tween Headquarters Marine Corps and Special Oper-

ations Command much as he had done the previous

fall. He and Colonel Hand were busy not only with

selling the force contribution, but also with shep-

herding all the initiatives between the Marines and

SOCom. As they worked trying to sell the individual

service components on the potential of the Marine

force contribution, Kyser still had his network of

sources telling him who was saying what about the

Marine unit and taking bets on when it was going to

be killed off and on who would deliver the blow.

The SEALs Volunteer to Help

It was plain to Colonel Hand and Lieutenant

Colonel Kyser that the center of gravity of opposition

to any Marine force contribution was Naval Special

Warfare. Some individual SEALs were receptive, but

their command appeared to be institutionally op-

posed.

A portion of the opposition was rooted in

fierce protection of roles and missions, and therefore

funding, a reaction common to every service. The

SEALs had built a substantial special operations ca-

pability on their own over the course of decades and

were justifiably proud of it. But protectionism was

not the only factor in SEAL opposition; there also was

a persistent institutional memory of the 1987 deci-

sion. According to the SEALs, the Marines did not

want a part of SOCom then, and they should not be

Col Hand achieved the release through another direct personal

appeal to Special Operations Command leadership. As the weeks

went by and the minutes of the meeting went unsigned, he re-

ceived phone calls from LtGen Bedard asking pointed questions

about the document. Hand eventually went to see MajGen Eldon

Bargewell and told him bluntly that not releasing the minutes was

“destroying my reputation.” Hand intvw, 26Aug05 (MCHC).

given a part of it now. That viewpoint suggested an

equally persistent and widespread misunderstanding

of what the Marines had to offer—a unique, comple-

mentary capability instead of a tardy knock-off—an

issue that dated back at least to 1987, if not earlier.

Determined to press ahead and not let anyone kill

the issue with delaying tactics, Lieutenant Colonel

Kyser wanted the future concepts working group to

meet again as soon as possible to discuss the force

contribution. But, as he recalled, Naval Special War-

fare unexpectedly proposed that it act as executive

agent within Special Operations Command to handle

the issue—the Marines are a naval force, the SEALs

are a naval force; there is a natural marriage.

(Colonel Hand had experienced the same line of rea-

soning when he had discussed General Jones’s offer

of a force reconnaissance platoon.) To Kyser, the

Navy position was not the welcome development it

first appeared to be. He remembered Machiavelli’s

dictum to keep your friends close but your enemies

closer. Kyser and Hand reckoned that Naval Special

Warfare wanted to gather the Marine unit under its

wing not to grow it, but to kill it, or at the very least

force it to serve its purposes. Both counseled against

accepting the proposal.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser and Colonel Hand, how-

ever, also knew that in Special Operations Command,

the commander and the chiefs of the individual com-

ponents (including Joint Special Operations Com-

mand) made the key decisions in council and that

the votes might not be in the Marines’ favor. Kyser

and his team calculated that the commander of

SOCom was on their side, and by extension the head

of Air Force Special Operations Command. Army

Special Operations Command was a maybe. The Joint

Special Operations Command and Naval Special War-

fare were thought to be opponents. “So we figured

we got two definite yes’s and two that could possibly

be no’s,” Kyser recalled, “and in order to get Naval

Special Warfare to allow this thing to go forward, we

said OK, we’ll go ahead and acquiesce to this.”

Kyser thought they could have swayed Army Special

Operations Command or Joint Special Operations

Command and thus gotten what they wanted without

the Naval Special Warfare’s approval, but they de-

cided to cast their lot with the SEALs. So Naval Spe-

cial Warfare was designated as SOCom’s executive

agent regarding the issue of a force contribution from

the Marine Corps.

In March 2002, Colonel Hand and Lieutenant

Colonel Kyser were invited to a meeting at Coron-

ado, Califor

nia, home of Naval Special Warfare, for

further discussions on the nature of the force contri-

bution. Hand called the meeting “The Coronado Ac-

cords.” For both officers, it was soon clear what the

agenda was going to be. “One of the first things they

wanted to do was take us in and give us the training

film on BUDS,” Kyser remembered. “The message

was clear: ‘You’re not special operations forces.’. . .

Then

we got a briefing from one of their teams that

had been in Afghanistan on individual initiative, cre-

ativity, and small-unit leadership. Those were the

strengths of special operations forces. The unspoken

message was, ‘they’re certainly not your strengths.’”

Nevertheless, Hand and Kyser pressed ahead,

briefing Lieutenant Colonel Kyser’s plan and main-

taining the Marine Corps’ position on what the force

would look like, what it would do, and what it would

not do. It was evident that the SEALs liked the sup-

port and staff functions but not the platoon of re-

connaissance Marines. The urge to treat the unit’s

support and staff capabilities as a toolbox for higher

headquarters would become a critical matter up to

and through its deployment in 2004.

Finding the Money in the Marine Corps

With Colonel Hand and Lieutenant Colonel Kyser

fighting the deep battle, they handed the close fight

to Master Gunnery Sergeant Settelen and Master Ser-

geant Mitchell. Settelen and Mitchell had put together

a well-reasoned and detailed proposal, but the time

had come to turn it into an executable plan. There

were plenty of questions to answer at Headquarters

Marine Corps. What was the table of organization?

What was the table of equipment? Who was going to

pay for it? Where were these Marines coming from,

and how would they be selected? The Marine Corps

had not formed a new unit in years. Settelen and

Mitchell had their work cut out for them, as every

man and every penny was going to have to come out

of the existing Marine Corps structure.

The two Marines took what they had done and

quickly filled in the detail to get an idea of what the

Marines in the new unit would require to accomplish

their missions. What would each Marine need to

carry? What would the reconnaissance teams need?

What would the radio reconnaissance teams need?

What sort of equipment would the intelligence ele-

ment require? As the answers emerged, Settelen and

Mitchell realized that some of the gear the unit would

DET ONE12

Paradoxically, when Col Melvin G. Spiese was assigned to Spe-

cial Operations Command in 1995 to serve in approximately the

same billet Col Hand would fill later, he had found that Naval Spe-

cial Warfare personnel were among those most receptive to greater

cooperation with the Marine Corps—and some of those most op-

posed to it were Marines. Spiese intvw, 16May05 (MCHC).

Concept 13

need to work in the special operations realm, prima-

rily weapons and communications equipment, was

not anything that could be found within the Marine

Corps. Special Operations Command was not going

to give it to them; part of the bargain struck by the

Marine Corps and SOCom was that the Marines

would fund the unit’s start-up costs. The price tag

was going to be substantial, and many of the acqui-

sitions would have to be made outside the normal

supply ch

annels.

Master Gunnery Sergeant Settelen tackled the table

of equipment and the budget.

Although he had ex-

perience at Marine Corps Systems Command, the

Corps’ acquisitions branch, he did not know the first

thing about creating a table of equipment, or a

budget on this scale. He cast around for help. When

he called Installations and Logistics, “I didn’t get a lot

of love over there,” Settelen recalled, noting that In-

stallations and Logistics had to worry about support-

ing and sustaining the whole Marine Corps instead

of just one strange new unit. So Settlelen looked else-

where. At Marine Corps Combat Development Com-

mand he found Mr. Robert Merle, the expert on tables

of equipment. Settelen’s previous experience in Ma-

rine Corps Systems Command began to weigh in on

the acquisitions end. At Programs and Resources at

Headquarters Marine Corps he found Mary Cooney,

who taught him how to do an entire budget submis-

sion package and then served as his sanity check. She

looked for fat and redundancy and made sure that

the numbers made sense. As Settelen compiled the

budget, he estimated that it would cost $17 million to

put the unit together. Including the deployment

phase, down to airlift in and out of theater, he put

the final price tag at $27 million.

Master Sergeant Mitchell handled the table of or-

ganization. Working within the limits of the original

86-man structure, he had to balance the needs of

teeth and tail, to build enough structure to support

the operating elements—enough, but no extra. It was

his job to find the billets and take them out of some-

one else’s unit; as he put it, “It hurt other units to

stand up this Det.”

Billets and structure eventually

meant real people, in this case high-value senior

Marines who were going to be taken out of units that

needed them.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser Keeps the

Pressure On

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser and Colonel

Hand were advancing on multiple lines. Since they

had been the subjects of widespread opposition to

any Marine involvement in Special Operations Com-

mand, they believed that they could mount a broad

counteroffensive to get their points across. Kyser

called it “an assault from all different quarters.” He

began lobbying the office of assistant secretary of de-

fense for special operations and low intensity con-

flict, Michael A. Westphal, a former Marine, not only

to garner Department of Defense-level support for

the pro

spective Marine unit, but also to show broad

progress in increasing the Marine Corps’ ties with

SOCom beyond a force contribution.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser wrote the Marine Corps’

response to a Department of Defense study on the

future of special operations forces, demonstrating that

the Marines were supporting several SOCom initia-

tives and programs and contributing to the effort.

*50

As of July 2002, Kyser was able to detail several areas

in which the Marine Corps was directly providing

help to SOCom. “Some of the support,” he noted,

“has historical precedence and some is a direct re-

flection of actions taken since September 11th [2001].”

Among the contributions were approximately 100

Marines filling billets directly supporting the Special

Operations Command; liaison officers to SOCom and

SOCCent for operational and planning assistance; op-

erations by Task Force 58 (the 15th and 26th MEU

[SOC]s) in Afghanistan, including tactical recovery of

aircraft and personnel, close air support, and provid-

ing quick reaction forces; and Marine KC-130 support

to Task Force-160, the Army’s special operations avi-

ation unit. SOCom apparently deemed continued KC-

130 support so important that it had been mentioned

in the executive summary of the first SOCom-USMC

board.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyser also honed his approach

to Naval Special Warfare. He used a senior SEAL of-

ficer assigned to the Pentagon with whom he had

served before as his sounding board to craft the ar-

guments the Marine Corps would offer in discussions

concerning the unit’s prospective deployment and

employment overseas.

Colonel Hand was working to get the first Marine

general officer, Brigadier General Dennis J. Hejlik, as-

signed to Special Operations Command. Although

not directly related to the establishment of the Ma-

rine force for SOCom, the assignment of a Marine

general to the command would signify that the

Marines had not only landed but were not going

When speaking of this period later in 2004, LtCol Kyser used an

example from the commanding general, 1st MarDiv: “Gen Mattis

likes to talk about how it’s difficult for a man to hate you when

you’ve just handed him a cold bottle of water and it’s 150 degrees

outside. Well, it’s difficult to make an argument against the Marine

Corps being part of SOCom when at the same time we’re provid-

ing assistance.” Kyser intvw, 25May04 (MCHC).

away. This assignment, like the placement of the two

intelligence officers after 9/11, was delayed until

Hand received a phone call from Lieutenant General

Bedard asking whether SOCom really wanted a gen-

eral officer. Tired of the delays, Hand went right up

the chain-of-command at Tampa and got a final, af-

firmative answer.

History Offers a Lesson

During the fall of 2002, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser

and his team traveled to Camp Pendleton, California,

and met with senior representatives from the intelli-

gence, fire support, and reconnaissance communi-

ties. They went through several hundred record

books and selected the people they wanted for the

new unit.

For the commanding officer they recom-

mended Lieutenant Colonel Robert J. Coates, recent

commander of 1st Force Reconnaissance Company

and at the time head of I Marine Expeditionary

Force’s Special Operations Training Group (SOTG).

Coates had a strong, positive reputation in the Ma-

rine Corps as well as in the special operations com-

munity. He had served in El Salvador in the 1980s as

an advisor and later with other government agencies.

As Lieutenant Colonel Kyser noted, “We discussed

five or six different names, but every time, we came

back to Lieutenant Colonel Coates. . . . Nobody could

question this man’s credentials. Nobody. He was ex-

actly the right guy at exactly the right time to put in

charge of this.”

To ensure the longevity of the unit, it needed a

lineage, according to Lieutenant Colonel Kyser. With

the permission of the Marine Raider Association, he

decided to put the raider patch at the bottom of the

detachment’s logo. Kyser saw that there was an “un-

deniable parallel” between the Marine Raiders of

World War II and the new unit.

By tying his unit his-

torically to the Marine Raiders, he sought to evoke

their role as a selectively trained and equipped strike

force, a unit that could hit the enemy where it lived

in a way conventionally organized units could not.

In order to combat the inevitable “elite within elite”

argument, Kyser intended for the Marines in the unit

to come from and return to the Marine operating

forces in a regular rotation. The Marine Raiders had

been disbanded and absorbed into conventional

units, a detail that was not lost on Kyser.

The Commandant Puts it in Writing

By the end of 2002, the Marine Corps’ first force

contribution to Special Operations Command was

about to become a reality. The unit’s proponents had

countered all arguments, surmounted difficulties, cre-

ated a structure, identified funding, named a com-

mander, and tied its lineage to one of the most

famous units in Marine Corps history. In late October,

the Commandant, General Jones, issued an executive

personal communication, known as a “personal for”

or “P4” message, to the leadership of Marine Corps’

operating forces and supporting establishment de-

scribing the unit being sent to SOCom, his intent for

its creation and employment, and what he expected

of those to whom the message was addressed. He

laid out how the logistical and personnel burdens

would be borne and how he wanted the unit to be

set up for success in material resources and training.

He linked the unit and its success to the whole range

of SOCom-USMC initiatives and to the continued “pri-

macy of the Marine Corps as the nation’s expedi-

tionary strike force.” Jones emphasized that “the

success of this unit is a priority for me,” as well as

for the secretary of defense, the secretary of the Navy,

and Jones’s designated successor as Commandant,

Lieutenant General Michael W. Hagee.

Two months after General Jones’s P4 message,

Marine Corps Bulletin 5400, dated 4 December 2002,

formally established the Marine Corps Special Oper-

ations Command Detachment as a two-year proof-of-

concept test, in furtherance of the goals set forth by

DET ONE14

Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont

Col Robert J. Coates, commanding officer, MCSOCOM

Det One, shown here at Camp Fallujah, Iraq, in May

2004, almost a year after the formation of the unit.

When the discussions were underway at HQMC on

who would be named to command this unit, LtCol

Kyser said that “We discussed several names, but every

time we came back to Coates.”

Concept 15

the USMC/SOCom memorandum of agreement

signed on 9 November 2001. The Commandant’s Oc-

tober message had provided the overview of how the

unit was to be created. The bulletin detailed the who,

what, where, and when of activating the unit. In ac-

cordance with the Commandant’s guidance, the bul-

letin listed 42 units from which existing structure

would be “temporarily realigned” to make the de-

tachment a reality. As might be expected, reconnais-

nce and intelligence units numbered about a third

of those affected, but the list covered a wide swath of

the Marine Corps; among other units, all three active-

duty force service support groups were listed. The

bulletin stated that “the purpose of this proof-of-con-

cept test is to determine the optimal structure and

equipment required to provide appropriate Marine

Corps operational support to USSOCOM.”

Thus was

born Det One.

More than a year’s worth of hard work by several

dedicated Marines at Headquarters Marine Corps,

Special Operations Command, and elsewhere had be-

come reality. The year 2003 would see the new unit

form up, receive millions of dollars’ worth of new

equipment, and begin to train for its historic deploy-

ment overseas.

The “One” in “Det One” does not appear in the “P4” message or

the 5400 bulletin; it does, however, appear on the unit’s first com-

mand chronology, covering the period 1 January–30 June 2003,

and in its subsequent reports. Command chronologies and reports

at Gray Research Center, Quantico, VA.

DET ONE16

To Prove the Concept

On 14 January 2003, General Michael W. Hagee

assumed the duties of Commandant of the Marine

Corps. Among the many pressing matters and ongo-

ing initiatives he inherited was the emerging détente

with the U.S. Special Operations Command (SOCom).

Relations between SOCom and the Marine Corps had

deteriorated since the mid-1990s, but the demands of

the Global War on Terrorism had forced the two or-

ganizations to resume closer ties, a development seen

by certain Marines as a welcome return to the origi-

nal intent of the Marine Corps policy that founded

the “special operations capable” program in 1985,

wherein the Marine Corps would not contribute

forces to Special Operations Command but would

maintain several points of contact with the command

to enhance operations and training.

Yet there was more afoot than a resumption of of-

ficial ties. Operations in Afghanistan and other places

brought the two organizations into closer coopera-

tion than had been the case since the late 1980s at

least. The most important of all the developments

was a force contribution to SOCom: the Marine Corps

Special Operations Command Detachment. As Janu-

ary and February 2003 progressed, Det One started

taking shape. “We were buying equipment,” recalled

Lieutenant Colonel J. Giles Kyser IV, “orders were

being issued to Marines, and the detachment was be-

ginning to form.”

Although the administrative works in Headquar-

ters Marine Corps were churning out the orders and

the funding to make the detachment a reality, not

everything was on autopilot. One looming obstacle

was the decision that had been made in 2002 to ap-

prove Naval Special Warfare as SOCom’s executive

agent for the Marine force contribution. This author-

ity, however, was not a blank check for SOCom or

the SEALs. On 20 February 2003, the Marine Corps

and SOCom signed a memorandum of agreement

codifying the nature of the force contribution—the

unit “shall be employed in such a manner as to fully

evaluate the MCSOCOM Det and its potential value to

SOCOM”—and clearly delineating who could do

what with the detachment, and when. The document

reads like a business contract between two reluctant

parties, full of tentative phrases and providing even

for unilateral termination of the agreement before its

expiration.

The memorandum provided no carte blanche for

Naval Special Warfare, nor did it give the Marine

Corps a free ride. It assigned definite authority to the

commander of the Naval Special Warfare squadron

to which

the detachment would be attached to task-

organize the force. The detachment’s commanding

officer, a colonel, would upon deployment step aside

in order to invest the Naval Special Warfare squadron

commander with full command and control authority.

On the other hand, the memorandum sought to pre-

serve the detachment as a unit in order to maximize

its potential. The letter and the spirit of the document

clearly were intended to protect the integrity of the

detachment while acknowledging operational reali-

ties. Each side would hold the other to the agreement

throughout the two-year period.

As early as December 2002, the press began to re-

port Det One’s formation. Marine Corps Times and

the San Diego Union-Tribune picked up the story

early. In the next few months, publications such as

Stars and Stripes and National Defense Magazine also

reported on the unit. Special interest journals such as

WAT Magazine and The American Rifleman eagerly

detailed the weapons and training of Det One.

The Command Element Forms

Personnel for the Det One command element (and

all officers) were directed by the 5400 Bulletin to re-

port to Camp Pendleton, California, no later than 1

March 2003; all other Marines and sailors had until 1

June 2003 to join. It was just as well that three extra

months were allotted for the bulk of the detachment

to muster as the Marine Corps was gearing up for

what would be Operation Iraqi Freedom. Many of

the Marines earmarked for the unit would be fighting

in Iraq while the command element was working to

put the detachment together and would be hurried

home at the end of combat. Several, in fact, ended up

joining later than 1 June.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert J. Coates reported for

duty on 1 March 2003. He did not have far to go to

report since I Marine Expeditionary Force Special Op-

erations Training Group (SOTG), of which he was of-

Chapter 2

Formation

DET ONE18

ficer in charge, was providing the temporary facilities

for the new unit.

Other principal staff members and

support section Marines soon began to check in.

Among the early arrivals, Sergeant Victor M.

Guerra, the network administrator, was one of the

most significant. The table of organization crafted by

Master Gunnery Sergeant Joseph G. Settelen III and

Master Sergeant Troy G. Mitchell anticipated the need

for a dedicated information technology Marine,

specifically a Marine fully qualified in his military oc-

cupational specialty who could be cross-trained in

other tasks. Guerra did not have a reconnaissance

background. He had spent his career in base opera-

tions at Okinawa, Quantico, and San Diego. But what

experience he might have lacked in combat arms

units he amply made up in network knowledge and

an exceptional work ethic. This last quality would

serve him well.

Sergeant Guerra initially was put to work not on

building or running a network, but on building and

running the detachment. The detachment’s commu-

nications officer would later call him “the center pole”

around which the detachment grew.”

Guerra helped

lay out the utility lines for the unit’s new compound

near the boat basin in Camp Del Mar. He arranged for

telephone service. He ordered radios and then had to

learn how to employ them. When Lieutenant Colonel

Coates told him to go learn the AN/PRC-148 hand-

held, frequency-hopping radio, the basic tactical

communications gear every Marine in the detachment

would be using, Guerra recalled asking himself, “OK,

what’s a PRC-148?”

Borrowing a set from Special Op-

erations Training Group, he pored over it for two

days and learned it, inside and out, on his own.

As the weeks passed, Sergeant Guerra began to

work more in information technology, his area of ex-

pertise, although not less in the other areas of general

support. He simply worked more at everything. As a

one-man show, he had to do many things himself or

they would not get done. Lieutenant Colonel Coates

empowered Guerra to “wear his rank” and solve the

problems. Guerra found himself in meetings—and

sometimes arguments—with I Marine Expeditionary

Force staff officers and base support sections, having

Col Robert J. Coates (far right) with Colonel John A.

Toolan, commanding Regimental Combat Team 1, (sec-

ond right) all shown outside Camp Fallujah in August

2004. With the Fallujah Brigade in the last days of its

existence, Col Coates had a leading role in the estab-

lishment of the Shahwani Special Forces that replaced it.

SOTG, and then 15th MEU (SOC), would house the detachment’s

command element for the first three months of its existence; SOTG

would even provide key personnel on loan to cover positions the

slim table of organization did not provide.

Photo courtesy of Col Robert J. Coates

Formation 19

to stand his ground and make sure the detachment

got what it needed. As he (and others) would find

out, it was not easy to get full support while virtually

all hands at Camp Pendleton were concentrating on

the war in Iraq.

On 17 March, Major Craig S. Kozeniesky reported

as executive officer. He came directly from his post as

operations officer at the Mountain Warfare Training

Center in Bridgeport, California, having previously

served as the operations officer at 1st Force Recon-

naissance Company from 1998 to 2000, when Lieu-

tenant Colonel Coates was commanding officer. In

addition to a strong U.S. Marine infantry and recon-

naissance résumé, he had served an exchange tour

with the British Royal Marines. By the particular

arrangements spelled out in the memorandum of

agreement with Special Operations Command, Koze-

niesky was designated to command the detachment

when it joined SEAL Team 1 for deployment to Iraq.

He was also assigned under the original table of or-

ganization as the detachment’s operations officer.

The original structure also did not provide for a

logistics officer, so Lieutenant Colonel Coates “temp

loaned” Captain Matthew H. Kress from Special Op-

erations Training Group. In keeping with an emerg-

ing pattern, the tall Captain Kress had been the lo-

gistics officer at 1st Force Reconnaissance Company

when Coates was commanding officer. Of the same

provenance was Gunnery Sergeant Monty K. Gene-

gabus, the logistics chief. Along with Major Ronald J.

Rux, on temporary duty from 11th MEU (SOC) as the

acting supply officer, Kress and Genegabus shoul-

dered much of the initial burden of ordering and ac-

cepting mountains of equipment, all of it new, and

much of it non-Marine.

The senior enlisted Marine, the sergeant major in

fact if not in name, was Master Sergeant James R.

Rutan. The Ohio native had enlisted in 1983 as an in-

fantryman and transferred to the reconnaissance field

in 1988, where he stayed for the bulk of his career.

He was involved with Det One from the beginning.

As the reconnaissance field’s first personnel monitor

at Manpower and Reserve Affairs, Rutan had been

part of the working group that sifted through the

stack of record jackets to find the best Marines for

the unit. Master Sergeant Mitchell had identified the

billets in reconnaissance units to source the detach-

ment while Rutan, the reconnaissance monitor, issued

the orders for individual Marines, with the last set of

orders being for him. (Mitchell succeeded him as re-

connaissance monitor.) In Det One, Rutan’s primary

task would be to serve in the unit’s training cell.

The

operations chief, Master Sergeant Thomas P. Mura-

tori, came to the detachment fresh from 1st Recon-

naissance Battalion and Operation Iraqi Freedom.

The communications officer, Gunnery Sergeant

James E. Wagner, joined the detachment in late May,

LtCol Craig S. Kozeniesky, Det One’s executive officer,

and initially its operations officer as well, is shown

here outside the detachment’s headquarters in Octo-

ber 2004. He came to the unit from the Marine Corps

Mountain Warfare Training Center and had been in

1st Force Reconnaissance under Col Coates. He had

also done a tour with the Royal Marines.

Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont

MSgt James R. Rutan, Det One’s de facto sergeant

major. As the reconnaissance monitor he cut the or-

ders for the Marines from that community to report

to the detachment with the last set of orders for him-

self. Together with Capt Stephen V. Fiscus, he ran the

detachment’s training cell, which focused on design-

ing, running, and evaluating exercises so that the

Marines could concentrate on training.

having been held up by the war in Iraq. A veteran re-

connaissance communicator, he had served in 1st

Force Reconnaissance Company for a considerable

length of time, “nine years, one month, one day,” in-

cluding the period when Lieutenant Colonel Coates

was commanding officer. He immediately took on the

tactical communications matters from a much-re-

lieved Sergeant Guerra and began to get the detach-

ment’s communications shop ready to support the

training ph

ase. When Wagner got there, the prover-

bial cupboard was bare: “Empty, zero . . . well, there

were a couple of radios.” There were actually more

than a couple of radios, as much of the detachment’s

tactical man-pack communications gear was on hand,

but the quip was essentially correct. There was a pile

of gear they did not need, and some of what they did

need. Wagner soon identified table of equipment

shortfalls and set about correcting the problems. As

time went on and they waited for deliveries of equip-

ment, he made do with what he had, borrowing from

1st Force Reconnaissance and other commands when

the situation demanded. Although he had worn the

uniform for almost 20 years, Det One was a new ex-

perience. “Never have I been anywhere else in the

Marine Corps where you walked into something and

started it from scratch,” he said. “We just pieced it all

together.”

The Reconnaissance Element

The initial Det One structure called for four re-

connaissance teams, each with six Marines and one

corpsman. With the platoon commander and platoon

sergeant, the reconnaissance element totaled 30. Late

winter saw the first reconnaissance Marines report for

duty. On 28 February 2003, Captain Eric N. Thomp-

son reported in as platoon commander. The San

Diego native had served in 1st Force Reconnaissance

under Lieutenant Colonel Coates and Major Koze-

niesky; from there he had gone overseas with 13th

MEU (SOC), a deployment he called “very frustrat-

ing,” as he watched the versatile Marine expedi-

tionary units operate on what he saw as the

periphery of the campaign in Afghanistan rather than

wade into the fight and employ the full spectrum of

their capabilities. Now with Det One, he would have

ample opportunity to redress that frustration. He was

assigned to the basic reconnaissance course at Expe-

ditionary Warfare Training Group Pacific when he re-

ceived a call inviting him to join the detachment.

Captain Thompson would be the first of several for-

mer members of 1st Force Reconnaissance Company

and Special Operations Training Group to fill out the

ranks of the Det One reconnaissance element.

Gunnery Sergeant Terry M. Wyrick was assigned

as leader of Recon Team 1. In addition to serving in

reconnaissance units on both coasts, the Missouri na-

tive had completed an exchange tour with the Royal

Netherlands Marines. He had also served with 2d

Force Reconnaissance Company in the 1980s when

that unit fielded the “CINC’s In-Extremis Force” for

the commander of U.S. Atlantic Command, and so he

was familiar with the requirements of operations at

the SOCom level.

Like Wyrick, Gunnery Sergeant Joseph L. Morri-

son, the leader of Recon Team 2 had also served in

2d Force Reconnaissance. Following a tour at the em-

bassies in Burma and the Netherlands as a Marine se-

curity guard, the slim Alabaman went west to

California and served in 1st Reconnaissance Battal-

ion, 1st Force Reconnaissance, and then the special

operations training group. In late 2003, he was get-

ting ready to retire but put off those plans when of-

fered the Det One opportunity.

The third team leader was a Californian, Gunnery

Sergeant Charles H. Padilla. He had served in 1st Re-

connaissance Battalion and 5th Force Reconnaissance

Company. The official detachment photo showed

rank on rank of stern-faced Marines, except on the

left flank where Padilla, bearing the colors, appears

to be not just smiling but actually laughing. Major

Kozeniesky recruited him for the detachment while

Padilla was in the United Kingdom on exchange with

the Royal Marines.

Gunnery Sergeant John A. Dailey headed Recon

Team 4, reporting directly from the staff of Special

DET ONE20

Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont

Capt Eric N. Thompson, shown here in October 2004

at the detachment’s compound at Camp Pendleton,

was Det One’s first reconnaissance platoon com-

mander.

Formation 21

Operations Training Group. The Virginia-born Dai-

ley—from a corner of the Old Dominion called

“Mosby’s Confederacy” after the hard-fighting guer-

rilla leader who operated there—had done a Marine

expeditionary unit deployment to Afghanistan and

had seen considerable action there despite the

Marines’ overall limited role.

Dailey had served with

another Det One reconnaissance scout, Gunnery Ser-

geant Sidney J. Voss, since they were riflemen in 3d

Battalion, 7th Marines. All four team leaders were

long-serving reconnaissance Marines, at or near 20

years’ service, and three had been in 1st Force Re-

connaissance Company under Lieutenant Colonel

Coates.

The reconnaissance element’s platoon sergeant,

Master Sergeant Keith E. Oakes, came directly from

his post with the U.S. Army Ranger Training Brigade

at Fort Benning, Georgia. He had served there for

four years, and in 2001 had won the prestigious “Best

Ranger” competition. He was also something of a rar-

ity in the Det One reconnaissance platoon—an East

Coast Marine. In terms of personality, Oakes was the

quiet match to the much more outwardly aggressive

and demonstrative Captain Thompson.

The Det One medical corpsmen were as well qual-

ified in combat skills as any of the Marines. Chief

Hospital Corpsman Eric D. Sine headed the medical

section. One reconnaissance corpsman was assigned

to each reconnaissance team: Hospital Corpsman

First Class Robert T. Bryan went to Team One, Hos-

pital Corpsman First Class Michael D. Tyrell to Team

Two, Hospital Corpsman First Class Matthew S.

Pranka to Team Three, and Hospital Corpsman First

Class Michael I. Arnold to Team Four. Pranka, as-

signed to Padilla’s team, came to Det One by way of

1st Force Reconnaissance, straight from duty in Iraq.

He was emblematic of his fellow corpsmen; his en-

tire career in the Navy had been with the Marines.

Pranka had served first with an infantry battalion and

then with several reconnaissance units and had done

two Marine expeditionary unit deployments and Op-

eration Iraqi Freedom. He had been through the

reno

wned U.S. Army Special Forces medical course

and had done a clinical rotation at a hospital emer-

gency room in Saint Petersburg, Florida.

No reconnaissance Marine was a shrinking violet,

and Det One gathered 30 of the most aggressive and

proficient from that community under one roof. Sev-

eral had been platoon sergeants in force reconnais-

sance companies and two had served exchange tours

with foreign militaries. More than one had left the

Marine Corps and came back on active duty specifi-

cally to serve with the detachment. All were well

grounded in conventional infantry service before they

set foot in any reconnaissance units; some had un-

usual life experiences as well. With a group like

that—30 chiefs and no braves—one might think there

might have been unseemly jockeying for position in

the war party. The Marines themselves say otherwise,

and the by-name selection process was designed

partly to net the right sorts of personalities, men who

were only focused on getting the job done. Gunnery

Sergeant Dailey, for one, decided early on that his

team would do whatever it needed to do to move

the unit forward. “From day one I told my guys, we’ll

do every mission we can in training, every varied

task,” he recalled. Staff Sergeant Chad Baker, a re-

connaissance scout on Padilla’s Team 3, echoed that

attitude: “I came here to be part of a team. I’ll sweep

floors, I’ll work on vehicles, I’ll be a point man, it

The reconnaissance element stands in formation dur-

ing the activation ceremony on 20 June 2003. Not all

the Marines had reported for duty; some were still in

transit from previous commands, and a few were en

route from combat in Iraq.

Photo courtesy of Maj Matthew H. Kress

doesn’t matter—whatever they need.”

The organic capabilities of the reconnaissance el-

ement were substantial. The average age was over

30. Each man had several deployments under his

belt. More than half were school-trained snipers; sev-

eral had been instructors at the Mountain Warfare

School or one of the Special Operations Training

Groups. Every team leader and assistant team leader

had been to Ranger School. The medical corpsmen

were skilled veteran fighting men in their own right.

The overall level of physical fitness was extraordi-

nary. As a unit, they were well prepared for what lay

ahead.

The Fires Liaison Element

One of the hallmarks of the Marine Corps’ force

contribution to Special Operations Command was the

capability to integrate all aspects of fire support—

planning, coordination, execution—into joint, com-

bined, and special operations. The Marine Corps has

a long history of fielding such a capability, notably its

air and naval gunfire liaison companies (ANGLICOs).

Composed of Marines from the artillery, communica-

tions, and aviation fields, ANGLICO supporting arms

liaison teams and firepower control teams provide

U.S. Army and foreign forces access to Marine and

Navy supporting arms. These collective experiences

proved critical for the Det One fires liaison element.

On 21 March 2003, Major M. Wade Priddy reported

as the Det One fires liaison element leader. An ar-

tillery officer with both a conventional and ANGLICO

background, he had been alerted to Det One’s for-

mation through an interest in the resurgence of the

active duty ANGLICOs. Priddy came to the detach-

ment from Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps duty

at Texas

A&M University. Later he would move more

into the role of detachment operations officer and

serve as Naval Special Warfare task group operations

officer in Iraq.

Joining Major Priddy as air officer in the fires liai-

son element was Major Thomas P. “Hobbit” Dolan, a

Bell AH-1W Super Cobra pilot and a serious triath-

lete. The pugnacious former enlisted Marine was not

an ANGLICO veteran, but he had been a forward air

controller for 1st Light Armored Reconnaissance Bat-

talion. He was working for Lieutenant Colonel Coates

at Special Operations Training Group when Det One

was formed, and he became the air officer.

What

Dolan brought to the fight was not just the ability to

call in air support, but also the ability to think as an

aviator, to grasp the aviation issues of a mission, then

advise, plan, and execute accordingly. Those were

skills not learned in any single certification course,

but over the course of a career in the air and on the

ground.

The fires liaison chief did not report until after the

conclusion of Operation Iraqi Freedom I. Gunnery

Sergeant Fidencio Villalobos Jr. came to Det One

from his post as the liaison chief of 1st Battalion, 11th

Marines, 1st Marine Division, fresh from the march

up to Baghdad. His career spanned 1st ANGLICO,

fleet antiterrorist security teams, and conventional ar-

tillery units. Villalobos also had been, in his words, a

“stealth member” of 1st Force Reconnaissance Com-

pany. After the 1991 Gulf War, he took the recon-

naissance induction test, passed it, and was assigned

to 1st Surveillance, Reconnaissance, and Intelligence

Group. From that unit he “walked over” to 1st Force

Reconnaissance Company, where, although there

were no billets for an enlisted artillery observer, he

lived the life of a reconnaissance Marine for four

years, even going to Ranger School. Later during Det

One’s deployment to Iraq, Villalobos—an enormous

man, with the call-sign “Big Daddy”—would take

over the fire support coordination duties for a U.S.

Army cavalry battalion, bridging the divide between

special and conventional operations and highlighting

the singular capabilities of the Det One fires ele-

ment.

Rounding out the leadership of the fires element

was the communications chief, Gunnery Sergeant

Ryan P. Keeler. A communicator whose time in Ma-

rine operating forces was exclusively served in AN-

DET ONE22

Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont

Maj M. Wade Priddy, Det One fires liaison element

leader and later its operations officer. An artilleryman

with conventional and ANGLICO experience, he

helped to shape and train the fires liaison capability

that would prove its worth in Iraq.

Formation 23

GLICO, Keeler was as well versed in calling for fire

and controlling air strikes as he was at making sure

communications nets were set up and functioning.

He had served in a joint communications element

and in the headquarters of U.S. Central Command.

The Intelligence Element

When Lieutenant Colonel Kyser, Master Gunnery

Sergeant Settelen, and Master Sergeant Mitchell put

Det One together on paper, they intended for it to

have a “robust” intelligence capability, manned with

the complete range of intelligence capabilities the de-

tachment would need to operate independently or

jointly. They wanted a substantial presence from the

human intelligence (HumInt) and signals intelligence

(SigInt) disciplines, as the Marine Corps has unique

capabilities in both functions. Kyser, Settelen, and

Mitchell wanted a complete in-house analytical and

production capability. In terms of individuals, they

also had in mind a specific sort of Marine, not nec-

essarily a “snake-eater” but someone who was simply

very good at his job, and who could also then move

quickly into the special operations realm. The

Marines who joined Det One fit all of those criteria.

Lieutenant Colonel Francis L. Donovan, the unit’s sec-

ond executive officer, would call the intelligence el-

ement “the real strength of the detachment.”

Major M. Gerald “Jerry” Carter reported in as the

intelligence officer and intelligence element leader

on 24 March 2003. He came with an extensive ré-

sumé. Carter had been part of the initial radio recon-

naissance effort during his enlisted years, and he had

MEU (SOC) experience, including a recent tour in

Afghanistan. He also came with the one crucial item

for any Marine dealing with special operations

forces—by-name credibility. Carter had done a tour—

an operational tour—in SOCom. He knew the spe-

cial operations realm, and he was known in the

special operations realm. Both qualities would pay

immense dividends. Indeed, a SEAL officer he knew

and served with would later have a major role in the

detachment’s story.

The intelligence chief was a Texan, Master Ser-

geant Bret A. Hayes. Hayes had no SOCom experi-

ence, but he did have a wealth of time in Marine

Corps ground and air intelligence. He knew how to

run an intelligence section, with its several disciplines

and myriad detailed requirements. He was, in effect,

Major Carter’s assistant intelligence officer. The all-

source fusion chief was Gunnery Sergeant Kenneth C.

Pinckard, an Alabama native and a Marine tactical air

traffic controller before he became an intelligence an-

alyst. He reported to Det One in May 2003 following

a tour at Dam Neck, Virginia, supporting Naval Spe-

cial Warfare. As opposed to the duties of the intelli-

gence chief, who made sure that tasks got done, the

all-source fusion chief oversaw the analysts and made

sure that everything got put together.

A three-man signals intelligence support team and

a nine-man radio reconnaissance team provided the

Det One signals intelligence capability, each subdis-

cipline bringing its own particular capabilities. Major

Carter selected Gunnery Sergeant Adam C. Toothaker

as the signals intelligence support team chief. Carter

knew him from the 13th MEU (SOC) and gladly

tapped him for Det One. Although Carter did not

know Master Sergeant Hays B. Harrington, he learned

that Harrington had also done a tour in Special Op-

erations Command, and Carter knew that he was the

right man to head the detachment’s radio reconnais-

sance section. When Harrington reported for duty, he

discovered that life in Det One moved in double

time. The Mississippi native and 17-year veteran of

the Corps employed the time-honored stratagem of

checking in on a Friday afternoon, which usually se-

cured the Marine a weekend lull before he started his

new duties. But Harrington miscalculated, as he later

recounted, and the joke was on him: “I saw Colonel

Coates, and the first thing he told me was get my uni-

form on and go draw my gear, because I’m going to

the field.”

Harrington led a section of eight highly-

trained Marines, organized into two teams of four

men each.

The core of radio reconnaissance is electronic war-

fare, but radio reconnaissance Marines bring their sur-

Det One’s radio reconnaissance chief, MSgt Hays B.

Harrington, executes a magazine change during

Weapons and Tactics Package I at Range 130, under

the watchful eye of Patrick J. Rogers.

Photo courtesy of Det One

veillance capabilities to and beyond the front lines as

fully qualified reconnaissance scouts, going through

the basic reconnaissance course, airborne and dive

schools in addition to their own extensive training,

which could also include language instruction. A fully

trained “radio recon” Marine is a fighting man unique

in the Department of Defense; Det One’s radio re-

connaissance team formed a substantial part of the

it’s potent intelligence gathering and analysis ca-

pabilities, and it would have a profound effect on op-

erations in Iraq.

Captain Christopher B. Batts, a prior enlisted re-

servist and a career counterintelligence officer, led

Det One’s counterintelligence section. One day in

early 2003 while he was assigned to the National

Counterintelligence Center in Washington, D.C., Batts

called the Navy/Marine Corps Intelligence Training

Center at Dam Neck, Virginia, on a routine matter.

The Marine with whom he was talking asked him ca-

sually how he would like his new position—as the

Det One counterintelligence officer. Surprised, he

called and confirmed this assignment with Head-

quarters Marine Corps. Batts then got started on this

new position by calling Major Carter, whom he did

not know. He began to put together his part of the in-

telligence element, a six-man team, in much the same

way as Lieutenant Colonel Coates had put the key

leadership together—by seeking out known quanti-

ties, Marines he had served with before. He looked

for seasoned counterintelligence Marines and kept a

good balance between East and West Coast back-

grounds. One detail that assured Batts of a wide base

of experience was the Marine Corps’ requirement that

counterintelligence Marines come to the field only

after serving in other military occupational special-

ties; one of his Marines had been a heavy equipment

operator, another a mortarman. For counterintelli-

gence chief, he chose Gunnery Sergeant Matthew A.

Ulmer, a West Coast Marine with whom he had not

served before.

Counterintelligence Marines gather intelligence

from human beings. What they do is more properly

termed counterintelligence force protection source

operations. Although the title suggests only a force

protection task—and in fact that is part of their mis-

sion—counterintelligence Marines have evolved a

particular skill set in the intelligence world. This de-

velopment is due in part to the merging in the 1990s

of two military occupational specialties—counterin-

telligence and interrogator/translator—into one,

counterintelligence. The move ensured that all “CI”

Marines would have a strong background in both in-

terrogations and source operations. Where their

methods differ slightly with their counterparts in the

other armed services (and especially in the special

operations community) is that their operations are

rolled into the larger intelligence picture, no matter

at the mission or target. A good bit of what they

would do in Iraq resembled nothing more than old-

fashioned police detective work—the relentless pur-

suit of wanted men. Like their radio reconnaissance

brethren, most of the counterintelligence Marines

would be detached from Det One to other units in

Iraq, where all would make their marks.

Another Marine whom Major Carter was able to

secure for the detachment was Warrant Officer Kevin

E. Vicinus, a meteorologist serving in 3d Marine Air-

craft Wing. Vicinus provided a capability that was

well known and appreciated in the aviation commu-

nity, but less well valued by ground combat units—

tactically relevant forecasts. Instead of just providing

simple weather observation and passing on general

forecasts, he could accurately determine conditions

such as wind speed and direction at various altitudes,

visibility, and natural illumination, and then meld the

predictions with topographic and imagery analysis.

The resulting products allowed the staff to plan

routes and holding patterns for aircraft and vehicles.

Vicinus proved his skills to the detachment by pre-

dicting, almost to the minute, the arrival of a wind-

storm during the Capstone Exercise in Nevada,

enabling the team to avoid damage to communica-

tions operations center and loss of connectivity.

Equipping the Detachment

The decision to field the detachment involved pro-

viding new equipment at a cost of roughly $17 mil-

lion. The 5400 Bulletin, which had established Det

One, had made clear that “unlike personnel sourc-

ing, this equipment will not be sourced from existing

units.”

The 5400 Bulletin also declared that the

money would not come from SOCom. Because of

these restrictions, procurement had to come from

weapons and equipment in use nowhere else in the

Marine Corps, including one weapon built specifi-

cally for the detachment.

Early in the detachment’s formation, it became ap-

parent that the original table of organization was not

as generous as the table of equipment. The staff sec-

tions, and in particular the logistics section, were

thinly manned. Lieutenant Colonel Coates eventually

levied the Marine Corps to bring some men on board

to give the logistics section more depth and capabil-

ity. In addition to Captain Kress, Captain Olufemi A.

Harrison and Staff Sergeant Frederick L. Riano III

were brought on as supply officer and supply chief

DET ONE24

Formation 25

as the formation of the detachment progressed. An-

other specialist and key member of the logistics sec-

tion, Staff Sergeant Stuart C. Earl, joined as plans chief

in June 2003. His job was twofold: to ensure that the

embarkation and deployment plans were accurate,

up-to-date, and ready for execution by strategic lift

assets; and to serve as the duty “ops Marine,” organ-

izing and running the combat operations center.

When

he reported for duty, Staff Sergeant Earl was

greeted by his former drill instructor from Parris Is-

land, 1995—Master Sergeant Rutan, the detachment’s

senior enlisted Marine.

Beyond personnel needs, Det One logistical diffi-

culties ran from the general to the specific, or more

accurately, to the multitude of specifics. What set Det

One’s logistical challenges apart from any other unit’s

were, in the words of Captain Kress, “the timeline

and what we had to acquire. We didn’t have a piece

of gear to our name.”

Obtaining the needed equip-

ment was compounded by the demands of opera-

tions in Afghanistan and Iraq, and in many cases, by

specific shortages of special operations gear. Mun-

dane issues bedeviled Det One’s logistics section. The

allocation of ammunition to Marine Corps units is

governed by Marine Corps Bulletin 8011, which for

budgetary reasons is planned many months in ad-

vance. When the 8011 Bulletin for 2003 was being

planned, there was no MCSOCom Detachment One.

Therefore, no ammunition was allocated for its use.

Laying legitimate claim to ammunition in the large

quantities it would need for training would be a

major hurdle for the logistics section.

Another persistent problem in equipping the de-

tachment was the process of open-purchase, which is

the method by which a unit can legally buy a partic-

ular item rather than wait for its procurement and

issue through normal channels. Due to its mission,

the unit needed specific items, and substitution of

similar items was not acceptable. Kress was asked the

same question repeatedly: “Why can’t you accept this

thing instead of that thing?” The answer was that the

table of equipment specified the one instead of the

other, and the table of equipment was built around

the demands of the mission. That answer did not al-

ways satisfy the questioner, who might have had a

hundred M4 carbines available for issue and could

not understand that it was M4 SOPMOD (for “special

operations modified”) carbines that Det One needed.

The detachment’s ultimate weapon in any dispute

about resources and priorities was the Commandant’s

P4 message of December 2002. Kress used it when

the situation warranted, yet he preferred other, “less

kinetic” solutions. Like any good logistics officer, he

liked to turn to the people he knew and work the

system. As he put it, to say that he strained previous

personal relationships in his quest to ensure support

for the detachment “would be an understatement, to

y the least.”

In another example of how much effort and fore-

thought went into building Det One, Master Gunnery

Sergeant Settelen had obtained a research, develop-

ment, test and evaluation charter for the unit. In a re-

lated move, Headquarters Marine Corps also secured

the services of an official at Soldier Systems Com-

mand, Natick, Massachusetts, to help identify the best

equipment available, push through its critical acqui-

sitions, and then evaluate the gear’s performance.

Jonathan Laplume, a former Army Ranger, worked

closely with the detachment’s logistics section and

was responsible for getting most of the first-rate gear

the unit received. He later accompanied the detach-

ment on its major exercises and even deployed with

it to Baghdad. In order to assist Laplume in the early

stages of the unit’s formation, Lieutenant Colonel

Coates sent out Gunnery Sergeant John Dailey from

the reconnaissance element. Dailey had been in-

volved in the development and acquisition of indi-

vidual equipment for the reconnaissance community

in the 1990s, and he knew how the system worked.

One of the key pieces of equipment that the orig-

inal table of equipment did not allow for was a com-

mand and control system that could provide the

detachment with its own link to national intelligence

assets and communications pipelines. Major Carter,

sitting one day in a planning conference on detach-

ment communications, listened to extensive conver-

sation about man-pack radios, but precious little on

serious command and control systems. As he put it,

“no one talked about how we were going to move

electrons across the battlefield.”

When he suggested

that they needed to get a system called Trojan Spirit,

he was greeted by polite silence.

Carter was con-

Equipment for Det One sometimes arrived long after it was or-

dered, in some cases well into the unit training phase. Sgt Guerra,

the network administrator, would receive a shipment from some

long-forgotten open purchase, and think, “Did I even order this?

What is this?” In one memorable instance, the detachment’s laptop

computers arrived months after he placed the order for them. At

that time still a one-man information technology department, Sgt

Guerra set up a hallway assembly line of 32 laptops and went

down the row, loading software onto each one, step-by-step,

mouse-click by mouse-click, into the small hours of the morning.

Guerra intvw, 16Nov04 (Marine Corps Historical Center, Quantico,

VA).

AN/TSQ-22 Trojan Spirit lightweight integrated telecommunica-

tions equipment is a super-high frequency dual band multichannel

satellite communications terminal fielded for use in intelligence

communications.

vinced that the intelligence element was going to

need a system that provided a stand-alone link with

enough dedicated bandwidth to pass imagery and

other large files directly to and from national agen-

cies. Drawing on his education at the command and

control systems course and his recent experience at

the Marine expeditionary force intelligence section,

he made the case for it. Having been an intelligence

plans officer, Carter knew how many Trojan Spirit

sets there were in the Marine Corps, where they

were,

and what they required for support and main-

tenance. Trojan Spirit—or more properly, an im-

proved version called Trojan Spirit Lite—gave the

detachment an independent expeditionary data link

to the national intelligence assets and communica-

tions systems. With it, Det One could deploy any-

where in either a supporting or supported role

without having to levy other units to provide it with

bandwidth.

Major Carter also knew that he needed to get

Marines assigned to operate and support Trojan Spirit

Lite and other intelligence-related systems. Staff Ser-

geant Jason M. Bagstad soon joined as the electron-

ics maintenance technician, and Gunnery Sergeant

Victor M. Church came on board as the intelligence

element’s signals intelligence communicator. In the

hands of Gunnery Sergeant Church, Det One’s Trojan

Lite grew in capabilities to include extra connectivity

with national agencies and separate links with un-

classified email and voice systems. Master Sergeant

Harrington, with his detailed knowledge of special

operations signals intelligence issues, would help

shape that added capability. As a result, the Det One

Trojan Spirit Lite became the only one of its kind in

the Marine Corps, and possibly in the Department of

Defense.

As the detachment increased its intelligence sys-

tems capabilities, so too did it begin to grow wheels.

Gunnery Sergeant Jaime Maldonado was in charge of

the motor transport effort, while Staff Sergeant Jaime

J. Sierra became the motor transport operations chief.

Since both were veterans of 1st Force Reconnaissance

Company under Lieutenant Colonel Coates, they

knew that “Motor-T” would be just one small part of

their duties. As the training phase picked up in in-

tensity, both Marines would do what the other

Marines of the detachment did, in addition to their

own work. During mountain training in Bridgeport,

California, they would even switch for a time from

four-wheeled to four-legged transport.

The table of organization authorized 18 interim

fast attack vehicles (IFAVs), small, light four-wheel-

drive vehicles manufactured by Mercedes-Benz that

could be internally loaded on Sikorsky CH-53E Super

Stallion helicopters. Based on the recent experience

of 1st Force Reconnaissance Company and 1st Re-

connaissance Battalion in Operation Iraqi Freedom,

where the units were used in mobile operations rem-

iniscent of the actions in North Africa during World

War II, those involved in putting together the table

of organization thought that the fast attack vehicles

would make good platforms for Det One operations.

The IFAVs offered transportability and nimble, speedy

mobility. What they did not offer was the size and

protection of the new armored hunekers that could

fight their way in and out of a target area. Gunnery

Sergeant Maldonado and Staff Sergeant Sierra re-

mained unsure that the fast attack vehicles were the

solution to the detachment’s mobility needs. Events

were to prove them right.

Arming the Detachment

One of the main logistics concerns was arming the

detachment with the array of specialized weapons

that its mission would require. The Det One armorer

was Gunnery Sergeant Mark S. Kitashima, a Colorado

native who enlisted in 1988. Most notable among the

assignments of his career was a tour at Quantico, Vir-

ginia, as a match armorer, working on the “MEU

(SOC) .45,” the finely tuned .45-caliber M1911 pistol

used by the direct action platoons of the maritime

special purpose forces. His knowledge of weapons

and weapons procurement would be invaluable in

arming the detachment. When he arrived at Det One,

his armory consisted only of “a lock and a chain and

an open cage.” He immediately set to work dealing

with Marine Corps support agencies to acquire all the

ordnance the detachment would need, from special-

ized arms to basic crew-served weapons and stan-

dard armory equipment.

Although humans are indeed more important than

hardware, as a SOCom saying goes, the capability to

execute precision close quarter combat still required

specialized equipment. Heckler & Koch MP5 9mm

sub-machine guns—weapons so identifiable with

special operations units as to become emblematic of

them—had given way in the U.S. military in the

1990s to the M4 carbine variant of the M16 series

5.56mm rifle. The Det One table of equipment au-

thorized 86 M4 SOPMOD carbines, one for every

man in the original table of organization. Each car-

bine came with a suite of optics and designators to

satisfy the needs of close quarter battle in full light or

complete darkness.

For an individual back-up weapon, the detach-

ment wanted the best .45-caliber pistol available.

DET ONE26

Formation 27

(The Marine Corps had first suggested that it use the

standard sidearm, the M9 9mm pistol, but that

weapon was immediately rejected as being unreli-

able and underpowered.) The first answer was the

MEU (SOC) .45—powerful, accurate, available in the

Marine Corps supply chain, and intimately familiar

to the force reconnaissance veterans in the detach-

ment. Gunnery Sergeant Kitashima, however, knew

by virtue of his Quantico tour that the MEU (SOC)

pis

tol was not the answer to the detachment’s needs.

The MEU (SOC) .45s all came from ordnance

stocks in storage sites across the country, containing

millions of pistols produced during and after World

War II. The best of these were selected by the Marine

Corps and sent to Weapons Training Battalion at

Quantico, where the match armorers at the precision

weapons section then rebuilt them by hand with pre-

mium parts, mating the power of the .45 cartridge

with the reliability and accuracy of match-grade

arms. However, the section could only turn out 60

pistols a year. The problem with the MEU (SOC) .45

was its sustainability, not its accuracy. Each one

needed to be repaired by a match armorer if it broke

down. (Kitashima was a match armorer, but if Det

One sub-elements were operating away from the

support sections, this could be a problem.) Also,

each MEU (SOC) .45 had a life span of only 10,000

rounds, which in practice worked out to two com-

plete cycles of MEU (SOC) training and deployment.

After that, it had to go back to Quantico for over-

haul. Det One Marines would fire more than 10,000

rounds in training alone. Given those realities, Ki-

tashima judged the MEU (SOC) pistol to be inade-

quate for the detachment’s needs.

The solution to the Det One pistol question

stretched the limits of the unit’s broad open-purchase

authority: a contract for the manufacture and delivery

of 100 .45-caliber M1911 pistols, built to Lieutenant

Colonel Coates’s specifications. These guns were

made by Kimber of America and dubbed the interim

close quarters battle pistols, incorporating features

such as an integral rail for mounting a light under

the frame and an expected life span of 30,000

rounds. They were delivered in a remarkably short

span of six months from date of order, in time for

the detachment’s groundbreaking weapons and tac-

tics package in October 2003.

Until then, Det One

used 50 Springfield Armory .45-caliber pistols,

bought for them as a temporary measure by Marine

Corps Systems Command.

The Det One .45-caliber

was a remarkable weapon, a unique piece of ord-

nance, and one of the very few firearms in Marine

Corps history to be stamped “USMC.” Coates was is-

sued the pistol with serial number 001.

The detachment also was issued more standard

Marine Corps weapons, such as the M249 squad au-

tomatic weapon (in a folding-stock modification), the

M240G medium machine gun, the venerable Brown-

ing .50

-caliber heavy machine gun, and its modern

companion the MK19 40mm heavy machine gun. To

ensure that the many snipers in the detachment

would not lack the equipment to employ their skills,

the table of equipment provided several weapons. In

caliber 7.62mm, there were M14 Designated Marks-

man Rifles, semi-automatic SR-25 rifles, and M40A1

bolt-action rifles. In heavier weapons there were .50-

caliber M82A3 Barrett special application scoped ri-

fles, and an innovative .408-caliber sniper rifle made

by Cheyenne Tactical of Wyoming—a piece used by

no other Marine unit. The .408 rifles promised to de-

liver a solid bronze bullet beyond the effective range

of the 7.62mm cartridge, thereby closing the gap be-

tween the M40A1 and the M82A3.

Finally, in an echo of its Marine Raider heritage,

the detachment was also issued with its own knife, a

decision being made that Det One Marines needed a

rugged utility cutting tool rather than just a sharp

blade. Strider Knives of San Marcos, California, mod-

ified one of its existing designs and turned out 100

copies, each one marked with “MC SOCOM DET 1”

and a unique serial number.

“Tough, Rugged, and Smart Gunfighters”

With both Marines and material arriving from

March to June 2003, significant unit-level training was

out of the question. Yet opportunities for individual

schools abounded, and Lieutenant Colonel Coates

seized opportunities to get all available people into

the schools and courses they would need. The intel-

ligence Marines, for the most part, did not require

further schooling, but the reconnaissance Marines

needed to send a few of their number to Survival,

Evasion, Resistance, and Escape School, and some

from the other elements needed to go to basic air-

borne school. While those selected individuals were

hurriedly assigned to key school quotas, the daily

The story of the Kimber .45 ICQB pistols has been told in several

periodicals, most notably by Patrick J. Rogers, who assisted the

author of this monograph, in the December 2003 issue of SWAT

Magazine, and by Gary Paul Johnston in the August 2004 issue of

The American Rifleman.

Regarding the .408 rifles, Det One was authorized to seek out

new weapons and test them for their utility in military operations.

Likewise, the .45 pistol was designated the interim close quarters

battle pistol, with the intention being not only to provide a serv-

iceable weapon but to test its features for future production mod-

els.

tasks of building and housing the detachment con-

tinued.

The detachment’s initial command post was in the

offices of I Marine Expeditionary Force Special Op-

erations Training Group. Having outgrown that space

with even a limited number of Marines on deck, they

moved into the headquarters of the 15th MEU (SOC),

which was deployed at the time. While this was an

acceptable interim solution, there was no way the

unit cou

ld effectively execute command and control

from such arrangements. Det One needed a place of

its own where it could house its members and their

equipment and plan and execute its training sched-

ule. But the Marine Corps 5400 Bulletin that estab-

lished the unit specifically foreswore permanent new

facilities. Instead, the unit found a site in the Del Mar

boat basin at Camp Pendleton, California. It was not

large, but it was big enough for basic facilities, and it

had the advantages of being close to the water (for

training purposes) and relatively close to the I MEF

command element, where the detachment’s intelli-

gence section continued to work because the nature

of their daily operations required existing buildings

and special communications.

The detachment compound evolved on a single

lot, surfaced with asphalt and surrounded by a chain

link fence. The unit erected three buildings, tent-like

devices, durable yet temporary, made by a corpora-

tion with an appropriately descriptive name, Sprung

Instant Structures. The three buildings were big

enough for the staff, the reconnaissance element, a

classroom, and a conference room and could provide

some supply storage as well. The motor transport

section had plenty of lot space for its growing fleet of

vehi

cles.

Having a compound solved the problem of a

home base, but it brought on several new tasks. Tele-

phone and data services, both unclassified and clas-

sified, had to be connected for the staff to have true

command and control capabilities. The detachment’s

man for all seasons, Sergeant Guerra, handled these

tasks, venturing into territories where sergeants rarely

tread. He found low-cost, readily available solutions

to a host of problems and composed the detailed let-

ters and orders that would enable to the detachment

to keep and maintain the sensitive classified network

equipment they needed.

The nascent unit also faced challenges beyond

personnel and equipment issues. The nuts and bolts

of integration with Naval Special Warfare Squadron

One, built around SEAL Team One, had yet to be ad-

dressed. The 20 February 2003 memorandum of

agreement with Special Operations Command spelled

out the command relationships between the units but

left the detailed coordination to be done by the

Marines and SEALs involved. In late March 2003, the

Det One staff held its first planning conferences with

SEAL Team One and the unit’s parent command,

Naval Special Warfare Group One. The Marines pre-

sented their training plans and their views on inte-

gration. The SEALs reciprocated. It was clear to Det

One’s leadership that the SEALs’ interpretation of the

clause in the memorandum that gave them the au-

thority to task-organize based on “operational re-

quirements” differed from the Marines’ reading, as

they consistently sought to maintain the integrity of

their force, in keeping with the Marine Corps’

warfighting philosophy.

The group left other ques-

tions unresolved, such as when actual integration

would take place and the extent to which training

events before that date would be jointly run and eval-

uated.

In addition, there was still no firm word on the

unit’s operational destination, which presumably

would have informed the training plan. Would it be

the mountains of Afghanistan or the urban sprawl of

Iraq? Or would the detachment land somewhere else,

such as the Horn of Africa or the Philippines? In the

spring of 2003, Afghanistan seemed to be a likely op-

tion. For much of the training phase, Naval Special

Warfare had a split deployment in mind for the de-

tachment, with the unit divided between U.S. Pacific

Command and U.S. Central Command. In the ab-

sence of knowing the destination, the best answer

was to develop a mission training plan to address the

four core competencies—direct action, special re-

connaissance, limited foreign internal defense, and

coalition support—and then make adjustments when

circumstances dictated.

The mission training plan the detachment staff put

together for Lieutenant Colonel Coates’s signature

was all encompassing, firmly directive, and remark-

ably blunt. From ensuring that all Marines were pre-

pared for promotion boards by completing their

required professional military education, to dire

warnings on cutting corners on safety, to a plain lan-

guage assessment of what he desired from of his

Marines, the commanding officer set the stage for a

truly grueling training schedule. One line under the

paragraph “General Guidance” spoke volumes: “Re-

member most of all: I want tough, rugged and smart

gunfighters. In our profession and in a gunfight, sec-

ond place is last place!”

Activation

On 20 June 2003, the Marine Corps U.S. Special

Operations Command Detachment was officially ac

ti-

DET ONE28

Formation 29

vated in a ceremony at the Camp Del Mar compound.

In a compact formation, arrayed by elements, stood

89 Marines. Family, friends, fellow Marines, and guests

packed bleachers and the seats. Among the dignitaries

were figures that had prominent roles in the detach-

ment’s formation, directly or indirectly, such as the

former Commandant, General Paul X. Kelley, and the

assistant secretary of defense for special operations

d low intensity conflict, Michael A. Westphal.

Brigadier General Dennis J. Hejlik and Colonel Paul

Hand from Special Operations Command were there,

as were representatives from each armed service at

the command. Naval Special Warfare was represented

by its commander, Vice Admiral Albert M. Calland III.

Charles Meacham, a veteran of World War II and the

president of the Marine Raider Association, looked on

as the commanding general of Marine Forces Pacific,

Lieutenant General Earl B. Hailston, presented Lieu-

tenant Colonel Coates with the detachment’s colors,

and Det One officially came into being.

DET ONE30

“Brilliance at the Fundamentals

of Our Craft”

Det One’s unit training phase began officially on

1 July 2003. Although selected Marines would attend

various schools during the second half of the year,

the individual training phase was over. The time had

come to train the detachment as a whole. From this

point on, every Det One exercise would end with an

internal or external evaluation.

Looming ever larger was the single fact that col-

ored so much of the detachment’s formation and

training, and what Colonel Robert J. Coates (pro-

moted 1 July) labeled their “critical vulnerability”: the

short period of time before deployment.

The ability

of Det One to operate at the Special Operations Com-

mand level rode on its own ability to train itself to

the highest standards with no time to spare for re-

medial events. The singular (and not always well-re-

ceived) by-name selection of the Marines for the

detachment would prove its worth by forming a solid

foundation on which it could build and train. The

command chronology for this period understated the

full-speed-ahead nature of the schedule by noting the

absence of what it called “white space” on the cal-

endar. Master Sergeant Charles H. Padilla, the leader

of reconnaissance Team 3, put it less elegantly but

more descriptively: “It was one big kick in the nuts.”

Even after activation, there were still Marines join-

ing the detachment. One was Captain Stephen V. Fis-

cus, another 1st Force Reconnaissance Company

alumnus and recent Iraq veteran, who reported for

duty as the assistant operations officer. His job was

twofold. First, as the assistant operations officer, he

supervised the execution of the training schedule and

day-to-day operational issues. Second, and of greater

significance, he formed the training cell with Master

Sergeant James R. Rutan. The importance of this small

organization would become apparent as the training

phase gathered momentum.

The requirements of the mission drove the training

schedule—despite the lack of a clear deployment as-

signment—and the training schedule governed the

detachment’s collective life. Far from being a sort of

pilotless drone, the Det One training schedule was

an ambitious and complex undertaking, full of mov-

ing parts and rife with potential pitfalls. It was a cer-

tainty that adjustments to the schedule would have

to be made, given the demands of the Marine Corps

and ongoing operations. That proved to be the case,

as Major Thomas P. Dolan observed that “every event

change

d or moved in some way.”

Proving Clause-

witz’s timeless observation that the simple becomes

difficult and the difficult becomes impossible, routine

training matters, such as scheduling the use of firing

ranges, took on maddening complexity. The range

scheduling systems at Camp Pendleton, Yuma, and

other bases did not recognize MCSOCom Det One as

a unit, thus MCSOCom Det One could schedule no

ranges. No ranges, no training. Time and time again,

Marines from the operations section had to patiently

explain who they were and what they were trying to

do.

This is not to suggest that the whole West Coast

Marine Corps stood against them. On the contrary,

almost everyone the detachment staff members en-

countered was willing and eager to help once they

had explained the matter, but they certainly lost some

time in telling the same story again and again. They

dealt with the few real obstructionists they encoun-

tered as needed, usually by working around them,

but sometimes by invoking the name of Marine

Forces Pacific (the detachment’s actual higher head-

quarters) or even by employing General James L.

Jones’s “P4” message. Captain Matthew H. Kress cer-

tainly had to use the “P4” as his ultimate argument.

Major Dolan admitted having to “pull the MarForPac

punk card” once. Colonel Coates, however, made the

decision early on not to leverage the “special” part of

their title, knowing that it would be the fast track to

alienating people from whom they needed support—

and to reinforcing the perception of the special op-

erations unit being an elite within an elite.

Immediately following the activation ceremony,

Colonel Coates and Major Craig S. Kozeniesky at-

tended a conference of Marine Corps and Special Op-

erations Command flag officers. Even at this late date,

despite the 20 February memorandum with Special

Operations Command, there continued to be omi-

nous noises from outside the Marine Corps concern-

ing how the detachment would be employed. Coates

briefed the detachment’s status and “received wide-

Chapter 3

Training

spread support from the assembled Marine generals

that they would strongly resist efforts to split the de-

tachment for deployment as proposed by Naval Spe-

cial Warfare.”

Widely divergent views concerning the

basic employment of the Marine unit did not bode

well for coordinated training and integration.

Execution of the mission training plan proceeded

even as the ultimate nature of the deployment was

unclear. There was no lack of clarity to the intent of

Colonel Coates’s mission training plan: to make sure

that his Marines were “brilliant at the fundamentals

of our craft—being able to shoot, move and com-

municate,” as well as equipped to excel at their indi-

vidual tasks.

For Det One, shooting would include

not only small arms but also close air support. In

Det One, moving would mean proficiency at

mounted operations as well as “strong backs and

hard feet,” as Coates said. For all Det One Marines,

communicating would mean using handheld radios

as well as complex tactical data links.

The entire detachment went through a combat

trauma course in the last week of June 2003, the goal

being “to provide each detachment member with

medical training required to immediately identify, ef-

fectively treat, and evacuate a battle casualty.”

The

reconnaissance element took this training to the log-

ical conclusion by conducting two days of simulated

casualty evacuations by helicopter.

Throughout the first three weeks of August, all

members of the detachment trained on the full range

of communications equipment and procedures. The

communications section drilled the Marines in every

aspect of the long-range radio equipment the de-

tachment would be using, including high frequency,

satellite, and imagery transmissions, with an empha-

sis on the tools used in special reconnaissance. Sub-

ject matter experts from the radio manufacturers,

Harris RF Communications and the Thales Group, as

well as personnel from Marine Corps Systems Com-

mand, attended those sessions to provide the Marines

with firsthand answers and technical reach-back. Det

One then reinforced classroom instruction with a

practical application exercise: the reconnaissance el-

ement, augmented by the radio reconnaissance

teams, took up positions in the urban combat train-

ing facility at Marine Corps Air Station, Yuma, Ari-

zona. Over the course of the next four hot August

days, they transmitted reports and imagery to the de-

tachment operations center back in California at the

Del Mar boat basin.

Also in August, the Det One fires liaison element,

augmented by selected Marines from the reconnais-

DET ONE32

Members of the intelligence element at Bridgeport, Cal-

ifornia, during the “Man-Ex” of October 2003. Col

Coates wanted all hands to have “hard feet and strong

backs” and be able to operate in any clime or place.

Maj M. Gerald Carter wanted all of his Marines to re-

member the experience so that when they analyzed the

topography and planned a route for the reconnais-

sance element to follow, they knew that there was more

to the terrain than lines on a map.

Photo courtesy of Det One

Training 33

sance element and the counterintelligence and radio

reconnaissance teams, went to Hurlburt Field at Eglin

Air Force Base, Florida, for a week of joint special

operations close air support. The Marines learned to

call for fire from AC-130 Spectre gunships and coor-

dinate that aircraft’s considerable surveillance and

communications capabilities with their operations.

These exercises certified the fires liaison Marines as

int terminal attack controllers, an important addi-

tion to their capabilities, as they would find out later

in Iraq.

The other major event of central importance for

the entire unit was range work with the M4 carbines

and the .45-caliber pistols. Weapons and Tactics

Package I began with the reconnaissance element on

7 July 2003 at Camp Pendleton’s Range 130, the Spe-

cial Operations Training Complex. This range con-

tained the sort of specialized facilities the detachment

needed, and since the majority of the reconnaissance

Marines had been in Pendleton-based units, it was

familiar ground for them.

When the reconnaissance Marines moved off

Range 130 after a week’s firing—and an enormous

amount of ammunition expended—Marines from the

other elements took their place. Every Marine is a ri-

fleman, and Colonel Coates had decreed that every

Det One Marine would be proficient at the basic tools

of the gunfighting trade.

This training package began

with the fundamentals—grip, stance, sight alignment,

sight picture, trigger control—and progressed

through tactical reloading procedures and immediate

action drills, all under a time limit and under pres-

sure. Each man was able to put his weapons through

their paces, get accustomed to the combinations of

optics and other devices, then test his magazines, dis-

card the unreliable ones, and modify his gear layout.

The Marines shot so much that some came away as-

tounded at how many rounds they sent downrange.

As Major Jerry Carter recalled, “I never thought that

in the Marine Corps I would shoot so many rounds

through a weapon that I would be tired of shooting

and my trigger finger would be numb.”

All came

away with considerable, substantive confidence in

their gunfighting skills.

After their first week at Range 130, the reconnais-

sance Marines continued weapons and tactics funda-

mentals at one of the training areas at Camp

Pendleton. They went into two more weeks of pa-

trolling, team tactics, contact drills, marksmanship,

and then moved on to infiltrations and live-fire at-

tacks. Joined by the radio reconnaissance Marines,

they ca

pped off the event with a 10-mile infiltration

march and a live-fire raid on a target. In this case,

weapons and tactics “fundamentals” is a relative term;

Captain Eric N. Thompson observed that the quality

of the Marines in the platoon—“independent thinkers

and independent operators”—enabled them to start

off at a fairly high level and progress quickly, so that

did not have to concern himself overly with mat-

ters of safety and individual weapons proficiency and

could concentrate instead on training.

This theme re-

curred throughout the detachment’s training period

and provided continuing proof that the right Marines

had been chosen for the unit.

Thanks to the existence of the unit’s training cell,

Thompson did not have to pull himself, or his pla-

toon sergeant, or a team leader off the line to actu-

ally run the range, nor did he have to devote time to

develop the scenario and the target. The training cell

handled these matters and left the leaders free to at-

tack the mission. As the calendar progressed and the

exercises became more complex, the ability to keep

the Marines focused on the mission rather than the

exercise would become a key element in the de-

tachment’s success.

For the Marines from the other sections, the

biggest challenge was balancing their own weapons

training with their duties to support every ongoing

evolution, as well as the need to plan for future op-

erations. Marines “one-deep” in their functional areas,

like Gunnery Sergeants Mark S. Kitashima and Monty

R. Genegabus, felt it the hardest. Colonel Coates’s in-

sistence on brilliance in the basics in every area, as

painful as it was during the training phase, proved

its worth in Iraq, when Marines from the support sec-

tions had to serve as machine gunners and drivers on

direct action missions and members of the radio re-

connaissance teams found themselves fighting for

their lives in Baghdad.

In addition to all these events, there was also

physical conditioning. From the beginning, Captain

Thompson and Master Sergeant Keith E. Oakes insti-

tuted a demanding physical training program for the

reconnaissance Marines. “Through the entire workup,

whether we were in the field or whether we were in

garrison, we always did a hike every week,” Thomp-

son recalled. “That’s something that a lot of recon

units I found got away from . . . but that’s one of the

fundamentals of being a good reconnaissance Ma-

rine.”

Oakes had initially decreed platoon physical

* The emphasis on essential combat skills for all hands presents an-

other contrast with the prevailing attitude in other special opera-

tions units, which seem to prize the “shooter” as the zenith of

operational capability. In Det One, with its deeply rooted air-

ground task force philosophy, shooting was a skill not a job de-

scription and the “shooter,” the Marine in the team making entry

into the target building, was but one part of the larger capability.

training twice a week, but after discussions with the

team leaders, he scaled back to once a week, and by

default that once a week became the road march—

the hike. Because he wanted his Marines to see their

steady progress week by week, Oakes chose a stan-

dard route: “We would always park up at [Camp] Flo-

res, work up into the mountains, and then down on

the beach,” he remembered. “We always finished

here on the compound.”

The Marines made the

hikes with full gear and full loads, about 60 pounds

per man, including food and water. In a platoon like

the Det One reconnaissance element, it was a rea-

sonable expectation that the Marines knew all the

tricks of marching long distances and of arriving

ready for operations. But even in this case, the vet-

eran Ranger instructor in Master Sergeant Oakes had

a few points to share. “The biggest thing was teach-

ing them how to eat and drink properly, which was

what the Rangers taught me,” he explained. “I could

not afford to have guys that would hit the wall.”

The

weekly hikes proved to be excellent preparation for

the coming exercise at Bridgeport, California, as well

as an all-around conditioning tool.

Bridgeport: “The Man-Ex”

The summer of 2003 ended on a sad note as one

member of the reconnaissance element, Sergeant

Christian W. Myler, died in a motorcycle accident on

6 September. The detachment paused its training for

memorial services and then resumed the march to-

ward deployment.

The first item on the schedule for September was

two weeks in the cold waters off the Southern Cali-

fornia coast practicing the skills of reconnaissance in

support of an amphibious landing. As the detach-

ment’s destination for deployment was at that point

still not known, this block of training was part of the

requirement to maintain the core competencies, with

these skills also being a true Corps competency. The

Marines practiced long-range nautical navigation, hy-

drographic surveys, scout swimmer techniques, and

other skills pertaining to this highly specialized art.

They again demonstrated the depth and breadth of

experience in the reconnaissance element as the

Marines took only a day of rehearsals in the Del Mar

boat basin before they mounted out on a full-mission

profile, at night, in open water. Right before this

event was scheduled to begin, a helicopter flying

over the San Onofre beaches—where the hydro-

graphic survey was to take place—spotted and pho-

tographed an altogether too realistic opposition force:

two great white sharks.

With amphibious training checked off the list, the

entire detachment prepared for a fortnight at the

Mountain Warfare Training Center, Bridgeport, Cali-

fornia. Few of the Marines were strangers to Bridge-

port. The detachment was packed with trained

mountain leaders, and Major Kozeniesky, Master Ser-

geants Padilla and Muratori, among others, had been

instructors and staff members there. What made this

mou

ntain training package different from any previ-

ous experience for the Det One Marines was the

speed at which Colonel Coates took them from ac-

climatization and a basic skills refresher to a high-al-

titude crucible over the toughest terrain in the center.

The Bridgeport exercise began with a review in

the technical skills of military mountaineering, the use

of which they would require later in the event. There

were perils at this stage, even for the experienced

Marines in the unit. Gunnery Sergeant John A. Dailey,

leader of Recon Team 4, took a fall while rappelling

that nearly sidelined him for the entire exercise. Loss

of a Marine due to injury was something the unit

could ill afford. For some of the Marines, military

mountaineering skills also included parachute jumps

on the high-altitude drop zones of the center. Within

a few days, the training schedule moved the detach-

ment higher into the mountains for the next evolu-

tions.

Marines from the support sections were as in-

volved in the training as they were in the support of

the training. Although the logistics section could have

supported the entire exercise from Camp Del Mar,

part of Colonel Coates’s intent was to get the entire

detachment out into the field and put it under a mi-

croscope. Among other events, support section

Marines went through an abbreviated version of

Bridgeport’s mule-packing course, the only such pro-

gram of instruction in the U.S. military. Mules can go

where vehicles and helicopters cannot go and would

have been valuable transportation assets had the de-

tachment been sent to Afghanistan, as likely a course

of action as any at the time. This was a novel expe-

rience for the motor transport section. Military vehi-

cles, although not without their own peculiarities, do

not bite or kick or throw off their loads. Gunnery Ser-

geant Jaime Maldonado and Staff Sergeant Jaime J.

Sierra learned how to pack the mules, feed them, and

then get them headed up into the mountains loaded

with food, water, and ammunition. “The animals, they

do their own thing,” Maldonado recalled. “When we

were packing them, it was okay, because they got

fed as they were getting packed. But the minute we

step off, they just keep going, they don’t stop.”

Gunnery Sergeant Genegabus, the logistics chief,

said: “The animals themselves are just hard-headed.

DET ONE34

Training 35

We had one guy kicked off, one guy kicked, and one

guy bit.”

Despite the hardheadedness of the beasts,

they could carry substantial loads. The detachment

subsequently used a mule train for resupply during

one phase of the tactical problem. As strange a mili-

tary event as mule-packing might seem, Gunnery Ser-

geant Genegabus, for one, did not see it as

far-fetched at all, given the U.S. Army Special Forces’

recent experience in Afghanistan.

The Bridgeport exercise served as the welcome-

aboard package for a new member of the fires liaison

element, Captain Daniel B. “Shoe” Sheehan III,

brought on board as the forward air controller after

the original table of organization was augmented to

give the battle staff more depth. A Bell AH-1W Super

Cobra pilot just returned from Operation Iraqi Free-

dom, Sheehan was not only a new-join but also new

to the ground operations business. He had not served

in an air and naval gunfire liaison company (AN-

GLICO), nor in reconnaissance units, nor in a Special

Operations Training Group. He had two Marine ex-

peditionary unit deployments under his belt, the sec-

ond involving both a substantial period in Djibouti

working with a joint special operations task force, as

well as combat flying in Iraq. He had tried but not

succeeded to gain entry into another arm of Special

Operations Command. That unit’s loss became Det

One’s gain.

The final week at Bridgeport was a memorable

navigation and “terrain appreciation” exercise with

“visits” to the highest peaks, where units normally do

not train.

The experience level of the detachment

as a whole made training in the roughest parts of the

center possible, as did Major Kozeniesky’s recent

service there as operations officer. Captain Thomp-

son of the reconnaissance element described the last

seven days as “half mountaineering skills and half gut

check, to make sure that we had the right crop of

guys that could march up and down mountains with

70-pound rucks, operate in the high altitude, and not

have a total mental meltdown.”

He saw it as a “Man-

Ex,” a straightforward test of each Marine’s manliness.

Colonel Coates described the Bridgeport exercise as

the detachment’s “selection,” revealing something of

his intent for the exercise beyond the utility of a tac-

tical problem.

The “terrain appreciation” exercise was a two-day

hike by element and team. Major Kozeniesky chose

the route with his intimate knowledge of the base

and designed the exercise to test each man’s ability

not only to hike at altitude with a heavy load, but

also to negotiate the terrain with tactical and techni-

cal expertise. Major Dolan, who had trained there

many years earlier as an enlisted Marine, called this

particular phase “very, very difficult, hard stuff.”

Master Sergeant Padilla—former Bridgeport instruc-

tor, Royal Marines mountain instructor, and trained

mountain leader—said it was “probably the hardest

training” he had ever seen a unit do at the Mountain

Warfare Training Center.

The last phase of the

Bridgeport exercise also illustrated the line separating

special and conventional operations: in special oper-

ations, the performance expectations increase rather

than decrease, even as the conditions get tougher.

The culmination of the “Man-Ex” was a direct ac-

tion mission, preceded by another route march. The

Marines—two teams for reconnaissance and surveil-

lance, and then the task-organized assault force—

were inserted approximately 20 miles from the

objective. The mission, according to Major Dolan,

“required a two-and-a-half day movement, across

two ridgelines, going over 10,000-foot passes.”

Groups of Marines from an infantry battalion training

at Bridgeport were out looking for the reconnais-

sance and surveillance teams, adding to the realism

of the exercise. Then, as the helicopters arrived to

extract the force after the successful strike, the train-

ing cell had one more “kick in the nuts,” as Major

Kozeniesky put it. The aircraft set down unexpect-

edly in separate landing zones, and the pilots

handed the Det One Marines notes that read: “The

helicopters have just crashed; execute your evasion

and recovery plan.” The evading Marines linked up

according to plan, with counterintelligence teams

Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

GySgt Jaime Maldonado and SSgt Jaime J. Sierra pre-

pare for a mission during the Capstone Exercise in

Nevada, December 2003. Every Marine in Det One

was issued with the same equipment and weapons,

and every one was expected to master the basic skills

such as gunfighting, communications, first aid, and

driving.

that guided them to safe territory.

Executing this surprise event meant “another 8- or

10-hour movement across some horrendous terrain,”

according to Major Dolan, who recalled that by that

time, there were “not a lot of happy campers left.”

But the evasion exercise taught the Det One Marines

lessons about seeing the operation through to the

very end.

It also validated the critical requirement

for detailed planning to cover contingencies, and it

exercised a significant capability of the counterintel-

ligence section, again demonstrating how the de-

tachment could use what other special operations

units might call the “non-operators” as integral parts

of the whole plan.

The experience at Bridgeport had the intended ef-

fect: it raised the stress level and gave the com-

manding officer an opportunity to examine every

man under extreme pressure. The crucible of the

“Man-Ex” also brought out some unarticulated per-

sonality conflicts. At the reconnaissance platoon de-

brief, a gathering of some “unhappy campers” after

the surprise evasion exercise, Master Sergeant Padilla

spoke up to provide some constructive criticism for

the platoon commander. The ensuing acerbic ex-

change, recounted with humor some 18 months later

by participants and witnesses alike, cleared the air

and cement

ed the personal and professional under-

standings between the reconnaissance element lead-

ership.

Close Quarters Battle Training

A major qualitative leap in the reconnaissance el-

ement’s tactical capabilities came in October 2003 on

the heels of the Bridgeport exercise. Returning to

Camp Pendleton’s Range 130, the reconnaissance

Marines immersed themselves in a groundbreaking

close-quarters battle package unlike anything they

had ever experienced. The reconnaissance element

DET ONE36

GySgt John A. Dailey’s and SSgt Jack A. Kelly’s teams

during the Capstone Exercise. These Marines, task-or-

ganized for reconnaissance and surveillance with the

addition of radio recon and fires Marines, bore the

brunt of the cold weather in the high desert of Nevada.

This photo shows both the protective clothing, procured

for them by Jon Laplume at Soldier Systems Command,

as well the Full Spectrum Battle Equipment, which

could be tailored to each Marine’s duties and personal

preference.

Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

Training 37

knew its business individually and collectively from

several years of deployments. It was also a platoon

loaded with close-quarters battle instructors: Master

Sergeant Oakes and Gunnery Sergeant Morrison, to

name only two, had spent time as special operations

training group shooting instructors. All were experi-

enced marksmen and tacticians, giving them the right

foundation to rapidly achieve a higher level of profi-

ency. But they were about to be challenged to

begin thinking critically about how they needed to

conduct their operations.

In order to break away from the Marine Corps

close quarters combat model, the detachment con-

tracted directly for the services of a retired U.S. Army

Special Forces soldier, a veteran of a tier-one Special

Operations Command unit. He first observed them as

they breached and cleared a structure. He did not like

what he saw and told the Marines that what they

were doing was not going to cut it against the oppo-

nents they would be facing. The new set of tactics

and techniques he taught them was “vastly different

from what we did, as Marines, up to this point,” said

Captain Thompson. He called the experience “very

enlightening.”

No substantial change is easy, and

not all of the Marines immediately embraced the new

methods.

Staff Sergeant Alex N. Conrad, one of the recon-

naissance scouts, described the difficult but con-

structive change. The instructor “taught us what we

needed to do,” but then “we went into the house [the

specially constructed building for live-fire close quar-

ters battle training], and we reverted back to our old

tactics.” Conrad remembered that the retired Special

Forces soldier yelled “‘stop, stop. Stop right there.’

He just told us, ‘this is not going to work. Here’s what

we’re going to do, and this is how we’re going to do

it. Get back out of the house and re-do this, one thing

at a time.’” He told them bluntly that their old tactics

were going to get them killed. When he demon-

strated how their methods were slower and less ef-

fective than his—by having some Marines watch from

a gallery in the house while the others went through

the problem using both ways—he got his point

across.

Conrad credits him with engineering a com-

plete reversal in the reconnaissance element’s tactical

mindset. “He changed our way of thinking. I think

that was the turning point.”

The main issue the experience highlighted, and

the one that cut to the essence of the larger

USMC/SOCom relationship, was the divergence of

Marine Corps close quarter battle tactics with those

used by the upper-tier SOCom units. “Basically,” said

Master Sergeant Padilla, “we were using dinosaur tac-

tics.”

The big switch was a change from their famil-

iar “initiative-based tactics” to the more fluid and dy-

namic “team-based tactics.” Initiative-based tactics

relied on a single point of entry into a target house.

Team-based tactics, on the other hand, enabled the

Marines to simultaneously hit that target from more

angles, then flow rapidly from room to room, main-

taining the speed, shock, and violence of action they

needed to gain the upper hand and prevail.

The new tactics prompted a structural change in

the detachment. The reconnaissance platoon reor-

ganized from four teams of seven Marines each to six

teams of four or five Marines each. Staff Sergeant Jack

A. Kelly, assistant team leader in Master Sergeant

Terry M.Wyrick’s Team 1, and Gunnery Sergeant Sid-

ney J. Voss from Gunnery Sergeant Dailey’s Team 4

became the leaders of Teams 5 and 6. (Although the

detachment received no new corpsmen to fill out the

new structure, the platoon had enough certified

emergency medical technicians—Staff Sergeant Kelly

being one of them—to cover the basic requirements.)

The introduction of team-based tactics to Det

One’s reconnaissance element was more of a signif-

icant single addition to its toolbox than a wholesale

replacement. Some of the younger Marines in the pla-

toon took to team-based tactics more readily than the

older ones and saw it as a day-and-night change, but

the more wily and seasoned among them adopted a

comprehensive view. Master Sergeant Wyrick pointed

out later that most of the detachment’s direct action

missions in Iraq were conducted using individual-

Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

Det One’s armorer, GySgt Mark S. Kitashima, con-

ducts instruction on the M2 .50-caliber heavy ma-

chine gun during the Capstone Exercise, at Mercury,

Nevada, in December 2004.

based tactics because of the nature of many of the

targets in that close-in urban setting precluded attack

from multiple angles. Yet the Det One Marines were

nearly unanimous in assessing the team-based tactics

as a major improvement in thinking, in how they

looked at a target as a whole, not just the actions on

the inside. It was that change in the Marines’ ap-

proach that produced the enduring improvement in

their

capabilities.

The Det One staff was also undergoing an impor-

tant training session during the month of October, a

two-week staff integration exercise with SEAL Team

One, which had become Squadron One after taking

on its full complement of attachment and augments.

The detachment was only half the size of the

squadron but brought completely different capabili-

ties. The squadron had six platoons of operators; the

detachment had one platoon of reconnaissance

Marines, who averaged more than a dozen years

each on active duty. The squadron had an intelli-

gence officer and some intelligence specialists,

whereas the detachment had its self-contained 30-

man intelligence platoon, capable of independent

communications with national assets and organic fu-

sion from all intelligence sources. The squadron had

SEALs who were certified in supporting arms; the de-

tachment had the fires liaison element, including two

combat pilots. Fully drawing out the combined ca-

pabilities with Squadron One was a prickly process,

requiring a great deal of patience and flexibility on

both sides. Much of the efforts centered “defining

how we fight as institutions,” as Major Kozeniesky

put it—the differences in how the SEALs and Marines

view tactical problems and solutions. The process of

integration was not helped by the fact that the desti-

nation for the deployment was still being debated at

the service level.

Practice on skill at arms continued into November

2003, when the fires liaison element took the recon-

naissance and radio reconnaissance Marines to the

Air Ground Combat Center at Twentynine Palms, Cal-

ifornia, for a week of planning and calling close air

support. Like other Det One training events, this ex-

ercise deviated significantly from similar events in

other units. A conventional unit would have set up an

overt observation post on one of two or three promi-

nent terrain features and called in mission after mis-

sion. Major Dolan, however, devised a more practical

exercise for the Det One element tailored to situa-

tions a reconnaissance team might encounter on a

mission, far away from supporting units. The Det

One Marines did a half-day of refresher training on

the “nine-line brief,” the close air support call for fire,

and then ascended the rocky desert hills where they

constructed tactical observation posts and ran live

missions more in line with their operations. The mis-

sions concentrated on calling for support while

breaking contact with the enemy, therefore involving

synchronization of the helicopters with small-arms

fire, individual movement, and the dozen other ac-

tions that a team needs to perform to get itself out of

a tight spot. Dolan’s work was made easier by the

same qualities in the Marines that Captain Thompson

and others had remarked more than once: they had

been through this training before and they knew their

business. Refresher training always strengthens and

hones the skills that are prone to atrophy, but the Det

One Marines had enough experience and prior

knowledge to go from rehearsals to live runs on tar-

gets within one day.

The other significant event in November was the

arrival of the detachment’s 18 Mercedes-Benz interim

fast attack vehicles to add to their small fleet of all-ter-

rain vehicles. The motor-transport section leaped to

the task of making these machines ready for service.

Gunnery Sergeant Maldonado and Staff Sergeant

Sierra needed to get the vehicles inspected, set up,

and modified for Det One operations and then get

several dozen Marines licensed to drive them before

the detachment’s capstone exercise, scheduled for

the following month, in which the vehicles would see

heavy use.

Finally, no mention of the month of November

would be complete without reference to the Marine

Corps Birthday. The commemoration of this event

proceeds in lesser or greater form wherever Marines

are stationed throughout the world, as conditions

permit; the Det One Marines, after training hard for

months, chose a venue that let them play hard too.

The command chronology for the period mentions

“well-deserved liberty and revelry” and celebration in

“grand fashion” at a Las Vegas hotel, but it is unchar-

acteristically silent on further details.

The Capstone Exercise

Just as Marine expeditionary units progress to

“special operations capable” certification and then de-

ployment through a series of ever more complex and

challenging exercises, Det One continued to set its

own bar higher as 2003 drew to a close. In Decem-

ber, the detachment deployed en masse to Nevada

for the capstone exercise, a full test of the unit’s ca-

pabilities. Although not the ruck-humping “Man-Ex”

of Bridgeport, the capstone exercise tested the com-

plete range of the unit’s operational abilities in trying

conditions and against exceptionally difficult targets.

DET ONE38

Training 39

It was also the last major event scheduled before ac-

tual integration with the SEALs, the final chance to

nail down the procedures and hone the fighting

edge. Selected observers from I Marine Expeditionary

Force Special Operations Training Group and Head-

quarters Marine Corps (among them Master Gunnery

Sergeant Joseph G. Settelen III) were on hand to eval-

uate and critique.

The U.S. Department of Energy’s Nevada Test Site

located 65 miles from Las Vegas. It is a big chunk

of high desert, larger than many small countries, and

just the place Det One needed for this exercise.

The

terrain, climate, isolation, and facilities provided the

perfect venue for the detachment’s second to last op-

erational test. The Nevada Test Site was also new ter-

rain, as none of the Marines had ever trained there

before.

The detachment’s first task was setting up the for-

ward operating base at the Indian Springs Auxiliary

Airfield, the basic living and working spaces where

the unit could house its command and control func-

tions, and where the Marines could prepare for mis-

sions and refit afterward. Although fixed facilities

were readily available, Colonel Coates chose to make

the unit’s footprint as expeditionary as possible—to

“do it all in the dirt,” as he put it—in order to ensure

that all of the detachment’s elements addressed and

worked through any problems that might arise from

being away from Camp Pendleton. Within 24 hours,

Det One Marines had set up the tents and basic util-

ities and were preparing to execute the training

schedule. Never one to mince words, Captain

Thompson described the austere Indian Springs

camp as a very good replication of “a Third World

shit-ho

le.”

The communications section set up the

Trojan Spirit Lite and had connectivity within an hour;

the combat operations center was functional within

six hours.

Marines from Company K, 3d Battalion, 5th

Marines, provided the opposition force for the exer-

cise, but the real adversary was nature itself. Al-

though the detachment’s records make no mention

of the weather, Det One Marines remember it clearly.

Sergeant Guerra’s network equipment was the first

casualty of the cold high Nevada desert. The nonex-

peditionary servers, hand carried from Camp Pendle-

ton and crucial to the detachment’s command and

control, did not work. Guerra had what he called “the

four most stressful days of my life.” He had brought

out three servers, all quality pieces of gear in a gar-

rison setting. In the field, two failed immediately.

While he worked to get some information systems

capability up and running, he hounded the manu-

facturer to send out replacements. The manufacturer

delivered, but not in time to spare Guerra the un-

wanted attentions of the staff: “Every five minutes I

get, ‘Is the network up? Is the network up? Is the net-

work up?’”

Sergeant Guerra’s private nightmare continued as

the one Marine he had working with him became ill,

and the one server he had managed to get working

crashed. Guerra had to rebuild the entire network

from scratch, by himself. What was normally a few

hours’ work took four days.

Although he did not

appreciate it at the time, the painful experience at the

capstone exercise served him well on the deploy-

ment, when he had his networks up and running

within hours of arrival at the detachment’s compound

in Baghdad. The weather did not single out Sergeant

Guerra; it affected the intelligence section, too. The

intense cold froze the ink in the plotters that printed

out the maps and other intelligence products, at least

temporarily disrupting a critical piece of the staff

work.

Marines in the assault forces and reconnaissance

and surveillance teams also were lashed hard by the

weather. The detachment’s expensive equipment—

in this case, the latest layered clothing system pro-

cured by Jon Laplume from Soldier Systems

Command at Natick, Massachusetts—again proved its

worth and kept the sniper teams functioning in their

A Det One Marine backs an Interim Fast Attack Ve-

hicle onto a KC-130 Hercules for a long-range inser-

tion during the Capstone Exercise in Nevada,

December 2003. That exercise marked the first heavy

use of the vehicles, which, as the photo shows, were

almost brand-new. Unfortunately, just before the de-

ployment the Interim Fast Attack Vehicles were found

unsuitable for the assigned direct action missions the

detachment in Iraq.

Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

hide sites. Still, there were other aspects of the

weather they could do nothing about. Master Ser-

geant Padilla vividly described the result of a very

long movement in their interim fast attack vehicles

during the exfiltration phase of one of the direct ac-

tion missions. “We should have known better, but we

had taken off all the windshields. . . . I don’t know

what the hell we were thinking. . . . With the wind

chi

ll it must have been -10 degrees. Guys were just

freezing.”

Hospital Corpsman First Class Matthew S.

Pranka, the corpsman in Padilla’s team, agreed: “It

was just nasty. They picked the absolute worst

time.”

The detachment executed two full-mission profile

raids during the capstone exercise: one was a simu-

nitions raid and the other a full live-fire raid.

The

live-fire attack included both sniper shots and base-

of-fire support from M240G machine guns manned

by Marines taken from the support sections, which

allowed the detachment to concentrate the recon-

naissance element in assault force.

In their after-ac-

tion report, the observers from I MEF Special

Operations Training Group noted the use of non-re-

connaissance Marines in precision fire support.

The first mission was a raid on a missile site sus-

pected to be under terrorist control. The Det One

training cell and the I MEF Special Operations Train-

ing Group had crafted a difficult target, including un-

derground tunnels and other features that would

confound all but the most careful observation and

analysis and possibly draw the assault forces into a

trap. The reconnaissance and surveillance teams,

task-organized with the addition of fires and radio re-

connaissance Marines, were quickly inserted, estab-

lished their hide sites, and began reporting back to

the combat operations center while the assault force

was forming its plan and rehearsing its actions. The

plan called for insertion of the assault force in fast at-

tack vehicles; the final assault would be made on

foot. One of the primary training objectives for the

members of reconnaissance element was to shake

out the fast attack vehicles, equipment still so new

that the paint was clean and the tires dark black.

They learned a good deal on how to employ the ve-

hicles in raids, not just how to drive them and main-

tain them, but how many it would take to get the full

raid force to the objective.

The plan was further en-

hanced by loading the reconnaissance and surveil-

lance teams and their vehicles on Marine Corps

KC-130 Hercules transport aircraft, flying them to a

dry lakebed, and disgorging them at night in a “hot

unload” while the plane’s engines were still turning.

Even though the close-quarter actions on the objec-

tive would be done with simunitions, the plan in-

cluded live-fire close air support to isolate the

objective. Providing the outer cordon for the opera-

tion were Marines from Company K, 3d Battalion, 5th

Marines, some of whom were also providing the

“enemy” o

n the target site.

The raid was a success, due as much to careful

analysis, good staff planning, and rigorous rehearsals

as to the skillful actions on the objective. The de-

tachment’s intelligence analysts had constructed an

accurate picture of the target site and had spotted in-

dications of underground works, so the assault force

was able to plan accordingly. Master Gunnery Ser-

geant Settelen, posted on the roof of the target build-

ing as an observer, watched the assault unfold: “Right

on their timeline, they came up out of the shadows,

set up, and did a simultaneous multiside breach into

the facility, and then the gunships sealed off the other

side of the objective to make sure that they didn’t

have ‘squirters’ [enemy personnel escaping through

gaps in the cordon].”

The fog of war reigned inside

the building when smoke generators emplaced to

create a haze malfunctioned and instead created what

Settelen called “a black hole.” He also noted, with

some satisfaction, that even in the confusion, noise,

and smoke, the assault force refused to be sucked

into the underground trap the exercise designers had

laid for them: “They isolated both sides of the tunnel

based on excellent geospatial analysis, and then they

just pinned [the enemy] in there and kept them in

there while they sensitive-site-exploited the rest of

the target,” eliminating several enemy and seizing the

high value target they were looking for, aided by

photographs for positive identification.

*39

It is the job of the evaluators to take even a suc-

cessful mission and pick it apart, to mention the lit-

tle things that can be improved, and to highlight

mistakes that can cost dearly on actual operations.

Again, Master Gunnery Sergeant Settelen provided

the best commentary: “SOTG dinged the snipers a lit-

tle bit because they were on the forward slope and a

real seasoned evaluator was able to pick up the dif-

ference in the camouflage between some of the

hides. As far as an untrained eye [being able to do

that]? Maybe not, but we were being real critical on

DET ONE40

Simunitions are training rounds fired from modified weapons that

exhibit ballistic performance similar to live ammunition at short

ranges. They are ideal training aids for close quarters combat.

Sensitive site exploitation (SSE) is the critical process of quickly

but thoroughly searching a target and removing anything of po-

tential intelligence value. Items and people seized in SSE fre-

quently yield intelligence for the prosecution of other targets, as

Det One operations in Iraq would show.

Training 41

ourselves. We didn’t want to make any mistakes.”

Also observing from the roof, and with an equally

critical eye, was Commander William W. Wilson,

USN, commanding officer of Naval Special Warfare

Squadron One and Det One’s future task group com-

mander. This proof-of-concept operation with Det

One was Wilson’s first experience with Marine Corps

units. His previous assignments had taken him in di-

rections away from the amphibious Navy and Marine

operating forces, although he had served with indi-

vidual Marines in other places and at other times. Sig-

nificantly for the detachment, one of those

individuals was Major Jerry Carter. If he was new to

working with Marine units, Wilson was no stranger to

the Marine Corps; his father was a Marine officer, and

he had grown up on and around Marine bases across

the country.

The veteran SEAL had a vested interest

in closely examining how far the detachment had

progressed in training to Special Operations Com-

mand standards. He liked what he saw, especially the

ability of the entire unit to execute a successful hit

on a complex and difficult target from the staff plan-

ning to reconnaissance and surveillance, then assault,

exploitation, and extraction.

Colonel Coates issued the warning order for the

second raid within 24 hours after the conclusion of

the first mission, once the after-action reviews were

done and the troops had had a chance to recover.

The target this time was a simulated terrorist training

camp, and this mission would be a full live-fire hit.

Again, reconnaissance and surveillance teams were

inserted and began reporting and transmitting im-

agery. As they had with the first mission, the intelli-

gence element used a versatile computer program to

produce detailed models of the target buildings,

using the imagery they pulled in from various

sources. “Literally, it looks like a video game,” said

Gunnery Sergeant Kenneth C. Pinckard; the topo-

graphic and imagery analysts “can actually build their

own models” in virtual reality and then have the as-

sault force “walk through” the buildings or the route

to the target. The detachment had had the program,

called Sextant, for some time, but the capstone exer-

cise was its first real opportunity to put it to the test.

Staff Sergeant Benjamin J. Cushing of Recon Team 4

figured out how to take the waypoints stored on a

global positioning system receiver and download

them as a file to a laptop computer, then transmit that

file by radio to the combat operations center. In that

way, the assault force had instant access to the re-

Following Col Coates’ dictum that every Det One Ma-

rine would be a gunfighter, Marines from the head-

quarters sections were regularly integrated into the

raid force regardless of specialty. Sgt Victor M. Guerra

and another Marine are shown above on a M240G

7.62mm machine gun in support of the live-fire raid

during the Capstone Exercise in Nevada.

Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

sults of the reconnaissance and surveillance teams’

navigation and scouting, the routes, the hide sites,

and the covered and concealed positions.

By exploiting the imagery, the information sent

back from the observation posts, and the resulting

Sextant models of the target site, the staff divided the

target into thirds and devised a plan to take it. Mas-

ter Gunnery Sergeant Settelen also observed this mis-

sion, although not from a rooftop inside the site. He

described how the supporting machine guns engaged

the target: “On cue—they were using red, white, and

blue as the flare signals—they were lifting and shift-

ing fires on each third of the camp as [the assault

force] went in,” with the beaten zone of the machine

gun fire only meters in front of the assault force and

keeping pace with its advance. Marines from the fires

element controlled live close air support as the as-

sault force swept the objective, consolidated and did

a quick site exploitation, then withdrew quickly in

good order to the vehicles for a long, frigid, exfiltra-

tion back to Indian Springs. There was a casualty ex-

ercise thrown in at the height of the assault that was

handled by the detachment’s corpsmen, and a heli-

copter flew in for casualty evacuation while the fire-

works were still underway by the fires liaison

element.

Elements of Squadron One, in addition to Com-

mander Wilson, were also on hand for approximately

one week. However, their training and the Marines’

training were handled as separate events. Integrated

operations at the platoon level were never a goal and

therefore not an issue. The gap remained at the staff

level. Since the staff integration exercise in October,

no one had made much progress on that level. Det

One leadership strongly believed that closer staff co-

operation during the capstone exercise would have

been highly beneficial for both groups.

In direct action missions, the assault force tends to

receive the most attention, but every element of the

detachment was fully employed and tested during

this exercise. The reconnaissance and surveillance

teams endured the vile weather while performing

every conceivable task in support of the missions.

They found the routes, scouted the positions, guided

the assault force, provided sniper support, and re-

ported what they saw and heard. The fires liaison el-

ement was able to work live close air support on the

targets and bring aircraft into a landing zone during

an assault. The support sections did their critical but

unheralded work and then manned the crew-served

weapons for base-of-fire operations. The intelligence

element employed the entire spectrum of its disci-

plines, from weather forecasting, to connectivity with

national assets, to analytical work, and to distribution

of photographs of the “high value targets” to every

member of the assault force. The intelligence Marines

also got an unexpected bonus out of the exercise: a

good look at the Air Force’s Predator unmanned aer-

ial vehicles, which were home-based at Indian

Springs. Seizing this opportunity, they integrated a

few Predator flights into their reconnaissance and sur-

veillance plans, learning much about the platform.

The training cell was justifiably pleased with the

results of the capstone exercise. Captain Fiscus

summed up the experience: “We built some exercises

that stretched the detachment’s limits physically,

mentally and emotionally.” He admitted it was “a very

difficult evolution to put together, supervise, and ex-

ecute.” “But,” he continued, “it paid huge dividends,

as we noticed our shortfalls, we pushed the operat-

ing limits of our equipment and our personnel and

our planning procedures.”

The senior enlisted Marines also assessed the ex-

ercise as a significant milestone. Master Sergeant

Rutan echoed Captain Fiscus’s opinions, believing

that the capstone exercise, even more than Bridge-

port “Man-Ex,” forged the detachment into a cohe-

sive operational unit. Master Sergeant Oakes agreed:

“It brought out a lot in the platoon that I liked. We

did a lot of long-range missions—very long range—

DET ONE42

Cdr Wilson stated that a conscious decision was made in the

Naval Special Warfare hierarchy to allow the Marines to conduct

this exercise without oversight or participation by NSW elements.

Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

Team leaders and Maj Craig S. Kozeniesky (back to

camera) prepare for a mission during the Capstone

Exercise in Nevada. While Kozeniesky checks the set-

tings on his AN/PRC-148 tactical hand-held radio, the

other two pass last-minute information on the mis-

sion.

Training 43

60- to 100-kilometer round-trip missions, nighttime

driving, long-range navigation . . . a long distance to

move and a tight timeline to get there. . . . It was a

‘bringing together.’”

Major Kozeniesky looked beyond the immediate

results of the exercise to the unit’s deployment, still

months away. He pointed out that before the cap-

stone exercise, “we largely engaged in element and

platoon training,” but at the capstone exercise, “we

formed the raid force which later became Task Unit

Raider and started to figure out a concept of em-

ployment.” The Marines demonstrated what they had

been saying for months: that the value of the task

force was greater than the sum its parts.

Integration

The year 2004 began with a combat trauma train-

ing package for the fires and intelligence elements,

identical to the course run six months previously for

the reconnaissance element. Other events in January

included more sniper training for the reconnaissance

Marines, a naval gunfire refresher for the fires liaison

element, and an off-road driving course for Marines

from across the detachment.

The long-awaited full integration with Squadron

One—the certification exercise—was scheduled for

late January. However, according to the command

chronology, “uncertainty about the location and or-

ganization of the deployment” suddenly put the

event off.

For much of the training phase, Det One

members thought that their destination might very

well be Afghanistan. At one point, the probable des-

tination emerged as the Horn of Africa. Another op-

tion lingering for months had the detachment divided

between U.S. Pacific Command and U.S. Central

Command, which the Det One leadership and the

Marine Corps hierarchy resisted strongly, maintaining

that a split deployment was not in keeping with the

letter or spirit of the memorandum of agreement with

Naval Special Warfare. By January 2004, all of those

options were out; Iraq was the destination, with the

detachment to be used primarily in urban direct ac-

tion.

The abrupt decisions on the deployment post-

poned the certification exercise and caused the

detachment staff to rethink several aspects of their

preparedness.

Conveniently, the rescheduling of the exercise

opened a gap in the detachment’s calendar. The staff

deftly turned this unexpected “white space” on the

training schedule to the detachment’s advantage. In

order to maintain the edge and refine procedures, the

unit moved to Camp Talega, a remote site at Camp

Pendle

ton, for a concentration on direct action. Al-

though not as meteorologically challenging as the ex-

ercise in Nevada, the Talega exercise provided

another opportunity for the detachment to work full

mission profiles out of an expeditionary setting, put-

ting into practice the lessons the Marines learned in

the capstone exercise and leaning more in the direc-

tion of urban warfare rather than special reconnais-

sance. To this end, they were able to leverage an

ongoing event in the abandoned housing area at

March Air Reserve Base, Riverside, California—Pro-

ject Metropolis, an effort employing extensive use of

role players in training Marines units headed for

Iraq—and experience a “very realistic opposition

force” on one direct action mission.

The realism be-

came clear later to some of the Det One Marines. “It

was right on the money for our training,” recalled

Master Sergeant Oakes.“We didn’t know it at the

time, but that March Air Force Base, with the urban

environment, with Iraqi actors, was exactly what we

were going to be doing in the future.”

The Talega

exercise further refined the capabilities of the raid

force that was built at Mercury, but it also suffered

from the same deficiency: it was a Marine-only show,

on the eve of a Navy-Marine certification exercise and

deployment.

In early February 2004, on the heels of the Talega

exercise, a small party consisting of Major Koze-

niesky, Major Carter, and Captain Kress flew to South-

west Asia with members of Squadron One’s

leadership for a pre-deployment site survey. Their

first stop was the Naval Special Warfare support unit

in Bahrain, the administrative headquarters of all

SEAL forces in the region. Next they flew to Bagh-

dad, where they visited Naval Special Warfare

Squadron Seven, which they would shortly relieve.

The site survey team came back with a “much bet-

ter understanding of the requirements for the de-

ployment,” according to Major Kozeniesky. During

their five days in Baghdad, the Det One officers saw

how their units would be laid out, based on

Squadron Seven’s operations: one task unit in the

North, one task unit in the West, and the headquar-

ters and two task units in Baghdad. Concurrently,

they saw that their interim fast attack vehicles, newly

acquired and thoroughly exercised in Nevada, were

not what they needed for urban direct action. They

needed hunekers, and in particular a new special op-

The decision for deployment to Iraq did not occur until “De-

cember 2003, at the SOCom-USMC Warfighter Conference,” wrote

Col Coates. SOCom commander Gen Bryan D. Brown “made the

decision for the detachment to deploy to Iraq with the possibility

of a follow-on deployment to Afghanistan when I briefed him on

the status of the detachment and the proposed split deployment.”

Col Coates email to author, 13 April 2006.

erations-specific model based on Squadron Seven’s

in-house modifications of armor and assaulting

equipment. A resolution to that problem, as impor-

tant as it was, would have to wait.

Finally, Commander Wilson and Major Kozeniesky

visited the headquarters of the Combined Forces Spe-

cial Operations Component Command in Qatar. Det

One’s executive officer was dismayed to find that the

special operations headquarters did not know that

the detachment was coming with Squadron One, in

fact barely knew of its existence, and thus had not

planned for the employment of its capabilities. Com-

bined Forces Special Operations Component Com-

mand, for its part, was quite pleased to have an extra

direct action force emerge from nowhere.

Following the snap evolution at Talega, the de-

tachment was informed that the certification exercise

would now be held in late February 2004. As such,

the detachment’s training phase command structure

also ended, and Det One came under the actual con-

trol of Naval Special Warfare Command, as spelled

out in the memorandum of 20 February 2003, al-

though on paper the detachment had come under

control of Squadron One in December.

The certification exercise saw the end of Det One

as a self-contained task force. The principle staff of-

ficers were absorbed into the squadron staff: Major

Kozeniesky became the senior Marine and squadron

operations officer; Major Carter became the squadron

intelligence officer; and Major Priddy and Major

Dolan respectively became the squadron fires and air

officers. The individual staff sections assumed a role

of direct support to the task group as a whole, not

just the Marine task unit. Marines from the intelli-

gence element—counterintelligence, radio recon-

naissance, and some analysts—were detached out to

support the task units, providing those capabilities

and skills that these units did not otherwise possess.

Few Marines, especially on the staff, were happy

about the new assignments.

At the same time, Det One received a welcome

addition from Squadron One, four explosive ord-

nance disposal (EOD) technicians, who were

promptly added to the rolls. This critical military oc-

cupational specialty was not represented in the Det

One table of organization—a deficiency noted by

SOTG evaluators at the capstone exercise.

Head-

quarters Marine Corps had refused to draw on the

EOD community to staff the detachment, anticipat-

ing that operations in Iraq would require every avail-

able Marine EOD technician. In the final event, the

addition of Navy EOD technicians rather than

Marines was the right course of action since, as Major

Kozeniesky noted, “they multiplied our combat

power more so than Marine EOD due to their con-

sistent work with special operations forces.”

All four

men were absorbed into the reconnaissance element.

The certification exercise was designed to simu-

late how Squadron One expected its task units would

be employed across Iraq, based on how Squadron

Seven was addressing the mission and the anticipated

requ

irement to do likewise. Edwards Air Force Base,

California, served as the “Baghdad” hub, where

Squadron One would have its headquarters. Two task

units were sent to outlying locations that, in Iraq,

would be in the West and North. Two other task units

were retained at the hub. During the five days of the

certification exercise, the squadron executed four full

mission profiles, a taxing operational tempo by any

measure, as the staff had to support three sites spread

over hundreds of miles. The Marine task unit, com-

prised mostly of the reconnaissance element, per-

formed up to and beyond standards and

expectations.

Most Det One Marines remember the certification

exercise as a good evolution but not an exceptionally

tough one in the sense that Bridgeport and Nevada

were. Gunnery Sergeant Dailey noticed some new as-

pects of integration, “tweaks” to the operating pro-

cedures and briefing points, but neither of their two

direct action missions, including the one they con-

ducted in conjunction with a SEAL task unit, elicited

DET ONE44

A Marine from Company K, 3d Battalion, 5th

Marines, serving as a “terrorist” during the Capstone

Exercise in Nevada, pauses to eat his Meals Ready to

Eat. The flak vest, gloves, helmet, face guard, and light

colored bands on the barrel of his rifle all indicate the

use of simunitions, the realistic training tool for close-

quarters battle.

Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

Training 45

much commentary.

That second mission was led by

Major Kozeniesky as overall raid force commander. A

few of the more senior enlisted Marines noticed some

undercurrents of the old, highly competitive Ma-

rine/SEAL relationship at work but took it in stride.

“It’s frustrating,” remarked Master Sergeant Wyrick,

“but at the same time I’ve done this enough to know

that if you just keeping doing what you do, and you

it well, eventually they’re going to have to give

you the ball. They’re going to have to because you’re

going to show that the capabilities and competencies

you have exceed what they have.”

Gunnery Ser-

geant Pinckard, the All-Source Fusion Chief, regretted

the rapid mission cycle in the certification exercise

not because it was demanding but that it left no room

for “any decent analytical work.”

As is frequently the case in any military operation,

the views from opposite ends of the chain-of-com-

mand differed. Since activation, the detachment had

trained intensively on its own, commanding and con-

trolling itself. The staff integration exercise with

Squadron One provided a baseline for joint work, but

before the certification exercise there had been no

evaluated evolutions run with an integrated staff

under one commander. Then the detachment com-

mand element found itself broken up, absorbed into

a larger whole, no longer focused solely on its unit,

and in the middle of a zero-defects evaluation in front

of a tough audience. Many Marines in the command

element looked back on the Nevada and Talega ex-

ercises and shook their heads ruefully at the missed

opportunities to achieve the “same gain with less

pain.” Here at the eleventh hour, for better or for

worse, was the product of the separate-but-equal

training schedule and the whole host of tensions be-

tween Special Operations Command and the Marine

Corps. The new arrangement worked, but it was to

few Marines’ liking. As Major Carter put it: “It showed

us that the baby was ugly.”

But the offspring, ugly

or not, need to be loved because it was alive and

kicking and headed for Iraq. The Det One staff mem-

bers shouldered their packs and joined their SEAL

brethren in making the exercise a success, showing

that the Marine Corps warfighting ethos and basic

Marine Corps staff work were completely relevant in

the SOCom realm.

Commander Wilson, who had both a golden op-

erational opportunity and an unenviable task, must

get the lion’s share of credit for making the arrange-

ment work. No one, including Wilson himself, was

truly happy with the shotgun wedding, and all the

Marines sensed that Wilson faced enormous pres-

sures from within his own community. It was clear

that he had authority to make changes in task organ-

ization, and if he wanted the whole unit to increase

its capabilities, he had to make some hard decisions.

That he immediately supplanted some of his own

staff w

ith the principle Marine staff officers suggests

that he recognized what they could do for the whole

unit, and that he would not hesitate to do what he

thought was best. Command is not, after all, a popu-

larity contest.

Integration issues aside, most of the Det One staff

officers described the certification exercise as a good

test for conditions in Iraq. Even Major Dolan, admit-

tedly no fan of Naval Special Warfare, called it a “top-

notch exercise.”

The Marines received high marks

from a host of observers and evaluators. Naval Spe-

cial Warfare Group One, the squadron’s higher head-

quarters, declared the unit mission-capable and ready

for the fight.

Last-Minute Preparations

After the certification exercise was over, the de-

tachment turned to last-minute issues. The intelli-

gence element provided a range of briefs on Iraq and

the situation there. Others Marines busied themselves

packing gear and staging it at the Camp Del Mar

compound while the staff made refinements to the

deployment plans. All hands looked forward to pre-

deployment leave. The support elements of the de-

tachment went back to Range 130 to revisit their

individual weapons skills, while the reconnaissance

element looked to broaden its tactics, techniques,

and procedures for close-quarters combat.

Meanwhile, the motor transport section faced a

major problem. The relatively late realization that the

detachment would need a new set of vehicles threw

a big wrench into the predeployment works. When

Major Kozeniesky brought back the word on vehi-

cles—“we needed hunekers and we needed them in

a big way”—there was no time to get the new gear

before the onset of the certification exercise, and then

no time during the exercise since all hands were fully

In the post-deployment study on the detachment by Joint Special

Operations University, the Squadron One Command Master Chief

succinctly described Cdr Wilson’s dilemma and his success: “Has

this been harder? Yeah, it’s been harder on the boss. . . . [He] has

had to try to take our side and their side and it’s been a monu-

mental struggle to do it so that nobody’s pissed off. . . . Com-

mander Wilson’s probably the only guy that could’ve done it.” Joint

Special Operations University study, C-5.

Maj Wade Priddy pointed out later that when Group One de-

clared the unit ready to deploy, it did not include a specific certi-

fication of Det One by itself. He was told at the pre-exercise

conference that Group One had no authority to decide such a mat-

ter, and it was left up to the Marine Corps. Maj Priddy email to au-

thor, 31 August 2006.

involved.

By the time the dust had settled from cer-

tification exercise, it was clear that Det One was not

going to receive the vehicles it needed before de-

ployment. There were none to be had on such short

notice, and not even SOCom’s authority nor the de-

tachment’s own acquisitions prowess could pull that

rabbit out of a hat. Gunnery Sergeant Maldonado and

Staff Sergeant Sierra were ordered to go find what-

ever

hunekers the Marine Corps had, grab the best

ones they could, and then get to work on modifying

them.

The two went immediately to Marine Corps Lo-

gistics Base at Barstow, California, to see what

hunekers were available in the cast-off lot. Not sur-

prisingly, all they found were wrecks, hulks in vari-

ous states of disrepair. Many had been out in that

desert lot for years. Sierra, a certified civilian me-

chanic who gained those credentials before he en-

listed, put on his coveralls and crawled in and around

the vehicles while Maldonado wrote down the dis-

crepancies. Choosing the “best” vehicles they could

find, they had about a dozen of them transported

back to the detachment compound. There, giving up

their own predeployment leave, the two Marines

worked day after day to strip the hunekers down and

get them back in basic running order. Making the

special modifications—armor, assault platforms, in-

frared headlights, scaling ladders and machinegun

mounts—would have to wait until they got to Iraq.

When the time came to deploy, not all of the rebuilds

were finished, but they were ready enough to get on

and off the aircraft.

Ready for Deployment

By April 2004, after an unprecedented stand-up

and training period and with full integration into

Naval Special Warfare Squadron One just completed,

the Marine Corps Special Operations Command De-

tachment was at the highest pitch of readiness. The

Det One Marines were fully trained and thoroughly

exercised in their individual fighting abilities, their

particular disciplines, and now their roles in the

squadron. In a remarkably short time span, the de-

tachment had progressed by leaps and bounds into

a first-rate special operations force, fully capable of

executing the missions assigned to it. And it was a

uniquely Marine force, even if somewhat altered by

full integration into the squadron, not a copy of any

existing Special Operations Command unit.

On 6 April 2004, the first of four U.S. Air Force C-

5 Galaxy transport planes carrying Det One Marines

and their gear lifted off from Naval Air Station North

Islan

d, San Diego. Like the storied Marine Raiders of

World War II, the Marine Corps Special Operations

Command Detachment was on its way to take the

fight directly to the enemy.

DET ONE46

Naval Special Warfare

Task Group—Arabian Peninsula

The first planeload of Marines from Detachment

One landed in Baghdad on 6 April 2004. It was the

same date they had taken off from San Diego, but in

reality, they touched down on a different day and in

a vastly different place. The next two loads arrived

without difficulty, but the last, carrying the bulk of

the reconnaissance element, was vexed by delays

and mechanical problems and did not arrive for two

weeks.

In late March 2004, Iraq had exploded. On 31

March, four American contractors from the private se-

curity firm Blackwater USA were waylaid, murdered,

and burned by a mob, their bodies hung from a

bridge in the city of al-Fallujah, approximately 45

miles west of Baghdad. These acts drew the I Marine

Expeditionary Force, newly in charge of the area of

operations encompassing the western third of the

country, into full-scale combat operations as the in-

surgents in the predominantly Sunni region were em-

boldened to rise up in growing numbers. Other

towns and cities in the surrounding al-Anbar Province

followed suit. The fledgling Iraqi security forces

melted away, and American casualties mounted. In

the cities and rural areas, rocket and mortar attacks

on Coalition bases increased in volume and accuracy,

and across the country, improvised explosive devices

became the insurgents’ weapon of choice.

From the south came Shi’a militias, on the march

against the Americans and other Coalition forces. This

was an unwelcome development at a distinctly in-

opportune moment. These forces had not taken the

field in large numbers, if at all. The Shi’a uprising, in-

stigated by a radical cleric with ties to Iran, Muqtada

al-Sadr, severely restricted the lines of communica-

tions south to Kuwait and at more than one point

threatened to sever them entirely. It complicated an

already-dark political scene and portended nothing

good for the formation of an Iraqi governing coali-

tion.

Matters in Iraq were at an exceedingly delicate

stage, with a transition of sovereignty to an interim

Iraqi government in the offing even while there was

all-out fighting in several cities. The initiative was in

the hands of the insurgents. The U.S.-led Coalition

needed to mount effective offensive operations

across the country to regain the initiative.

This was the environment that greeted the Marines

and SEALs of Naval Special Warfare Squadron One

when they landed in Baghdad and began to organize

for operations. Det One Marines on that first load,

mos

t of them from the logistics and intelligence sec-

tions, spent the first night manning the base defenses.

The first week included daily indirect and small-arms

fire.

Special operations forces in Iraq were grouped

under Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force

Arabian Peninsula. Commanded by a U.S. Army

colonel, the task force had under its command not

only Naval Special Warfare Squadron One, but also

other units, such as the 2d Battalion, 5th Special

Forces Group (Airborne), and later the 1st Battalion.

The Det One Marines would form close working re-

lationships with both units. There was also a unit

from the Polish special operations force, called the

GROM after its Polish name, Grupa Reagowania Op-

eracyjno Mobilnego (Operational Mobile Response

Group). Squadron One, now properly called Naval

Special Warfare Task Group Arabian Peninsula, was

the special operations task force’s primary direct ac-

tion arm.

In accordance with the hub-and-spoke plan that

was conceived during the predeployment site survey

and tested at the certification exercise, Commander

William W. Wilson dispatched task units to outlying

cities, the “spokes” that radiated from the Baghdad

hub. One task unit went to northern Iraq, augmented

by one counterintelligence Marine and four radio re-

connaissance Marines. Another task unit went west

to al-Anbar Province; it was augmented by the Det

One intelligence chief and counterintelligence chief.

Wilson sent another counterintelligence Marine to the

“Green Zone” in Baghdad to be the task group liai-

son to other government agencies.

Initially, the use of counterintelligence Marines in

special operations was, despite their capabilities,

Chapter 4

Deployment

From this point forward, the term “task force” will refer to Com-

bined Joint Special Warfare Task Force—Arabian Peninsula, and

the term “task group” will refer to Naval Special Warfare Task

Group—Arabian Peninsula.

problematic. The crux was legal, not operational.

Human intelligence specialists in Special Operations

Command (SOCom) were certified in advanced spe-

cial operations techniques (ASOT), a skill set very

similar to the Marine Corps’ human source intelli-

gence (HUMINT) exploitation, but counterintelli-

gence Marines did not have the certifications that

their SEAL or Army counterparts did, which were tied

to specific provisions of U.S. laws governing intelli-

gence collection. According to Commander Wilson,

“A lot of folks [in the special operations forces] were

very nervous about [Marine HUMINT] guys getting

into activities that could be perceived as the envi-

ronment of ASOT.”

Wilson recognized the Marines’ particular skills

and capabilities, however, and he needed a dedicated

tactical human source intelligence capability. With the

task force commander’s full support, Wilson decided

to take a risk and use his counterintelligence Marines

in the roles for which they were trained. The key was

Wilson’s personal trust in Major M. Gerald Carter,

only one of many times that officer’s personal stature

would prove important. This arrangement allowed

Wilson to make the best use of his assets; the coun-

terintelligence Marines could do tactical human

source intelligence while the SEALs, trained in ad-

vanced special operations techniques, could work

with the task force intelligence section, where Wil-

son had specific tasks for them. There was plenty of

work to go around, as Wilson noted.

Task Unit Raider

Task group staff integration, begun at the certifi-

cation exercise, continued in Iraq and settled into a

workable structure. Major Craig S. Kozeniesky re-

mained as commander of Task Unit Raider but

dropped the collateral duties of task group operations

officer, even though for a brief period he also filled

in as the task group deputy commander. Major Carter

was assigned as the task group intelligence officer,

and Captain Christopher B. Batts was designated as

the task group “special activities officer,” dealing with

all aspects of human source intelligence, including

interrogations. Major M. Wade Priddy ascended to the

post of task group future operations officer, and Cap-

tain Stephen V. Fiscus functioned as Task Unit

Raider’s operations officer. Major Thomas P. Dolan

handled the air officer duties for the task unit but de-

voted part of his time to working air operations issues

of the task group.

Out of the original 30-man intelligence element,

only two analysts, four radio reconnaissance Marines,

and one counterintelligence Marine remained in di-

rect support of Task Unit Raider. All others were in

general support of the task group or in direct sup-

port of other task units. The fires element remained

intact under Task Unit Raider, as did the logistics sec-

tion and the communications section.

Colonel Robert J. Coates, at the insistence of the

commanding generals of Marine Forces Pacific Com-

mand and Marine Forces Central Command, went to

Fallujah on 23 April and was attached to I Marine Ex-

peditionary Force staff as Marine Forces Central liai-

son officer.

After the reorganization of the task group and dis-

patch of the outlying task units, the first order of busi-

ness for Task Unit Raider was to get settled in its own

compound, sort out the logistics situation, then leap

into the targeting cycle and begin hitting targets. The

Marines made a home near Baghdad International

Airport, naming it Camp Myler after Sergeant Chris-

tian W. Myler, the reconnaissance Marine who had

died in September 2003. They claimed their corner

of the complex, where the Seabees constructed ad-

ditional buildings, and set up their working spaces,

then identified ranges and buildings they could use

for assault rehearsals. The duties of camp comman-

dant were assigned to the Det One parachute rigger,

DET ONE48

Photo courtesy of LtCol Craig S. Kozeniesky

Det One’s compound in Baghdad was named Camp

Myler in honor of Sgt Christian W. Myler of the re-

connaissance element who was killed in a motorcycle

accident in September 2003. The sign proudly dis-

plays the insignia of Det One’s forbearers, the Marine

Raiders of World War II.

Deployment 49

Gunnery Sergeant Jason T. Kennedy.

Confusion reigned for a time. Det One Marines

were coming and going on a variety of urgent mat-

ters and being detached to serve with the outlying

task units. The logistics situation was shaky; the nor-

mal uncertainties attending a newly arrived unit were

compounded by the constrained supply situation.

One of the staff’s previous assumptions was that once

in Iraq, the detachment would be able to plug into

e Marine expeditionary force for support since

Baghdad and Camp Fallujah were not far apart, about

the same distance as Camp Pendleton to San Diego.

But attacks on the main supply routes took that

course of action out of consideration. Until supply

lines opened, the Marines had to get their support

from the special operations task force structure and

from the many Army units that dotted the Baghdad

area.

The lack of proper fighting vehicles had to be ad-

dressed quickly. The hunekers as they came off the

planes were in no shape to roll out of the gates on

missions. They lacked armor and many other modi-

fications, such as infrared headlights, communications

equipment and navigation aids, and additional ma-

chine-gun mounts. The first daily situation report

from Iraq identified vehicle issues as the number-one

impediment to Task Unit Raider’s ability to mount out

and hit targets. The same comments recurred repeat-

edly during the first few weeks in country.

By the

time-honored method of scrounging (or “exploiting

opportunities,” as one report termed it) in and around

Baghdad over the first two weeks, the logistics sec-

tion was able to procure enough armor kits to get six

hunekers battle-ready.

The improvement in readi-

ness came just in time, as the first targets were being

designated for execution.

Ammunition was also an immediate problem, and

not just because of the general supply situation. In a

maddening variation of the training phase ammuni-

tion problem, some shipping containers with specific

munitions Task Unit Raider needed to operate and

conduct sustainment training were lost in the ammu-

nition dump in Kuwait. It was such a conundrum that

the imperturbable Captain Matthew H. Kress was

compelled to sort it out himself, noting that “it was a

matter of me going down to Kuwait and physically

driving the desert to find these containers.”

A sub-

stantial load of ammunition, but by no means the

whole lot, arrived on 22 April and gave the Marines

enough of the supplies they needed to begin and sus-

tain their operations.

Making the most of the material at hand and what

could be obtained locally, Marines from all elements

soon established daily routines. The logistics section

took over base defense in addition to its regular du-

ties, augmented by others as needed. The communi-

cations section had the radio nets and data networks

up and running within hours, with the all-important

Tro

jan Spirit Lite passing a steady stream of electrons

back and forth to a station in the United States. Ser-

geant Victor M. Guerra profited from his experience

in Nevada; he had protected his gear during travel

and consequently had his networks in operation right

away. Staff Sergeant Chad E. Berry set up and main-

tained the power and environmental controls. By bil-

let he was the detachment’s small-craft mechanic, but

he stepped into the rarely publicized but always crit-

ical role of keeping the utilities operational.

The reconnaissance element turned to stropping

its collective razor: small arms sustainment training,

“flow drills” for close-quarter battle (now on struc-

tures of indigenous construction materials methods,

something they had not experienced before), and a

host of other actions. All hands turned to incorporat-

ing the rebuilt hunekers into their operating proce-

dures, working out the differences between the

capabilities of the bigger, heavier armored vehicles

versus the fast attack vehicles. Almost every aspect

of vehicle operations needed to be reexamined and

The agreement with SOCom had specified that the Marine Corps

would fund the detachment, hence the plan to plug into I MEF for

support. MarForPac and MarCent helped clear the way for funding

to flow to the detachment through SOCom and Army channels.

Col Robert J. Coates (right) and an unidentified Det

One Marine in Iraq. This was after the detachment

had been allocated separate missions, based on skills

and aptitudes as needed by the Naval Special War-

fare Task Group.

Photo courtesy of Col Robert J. Coates

digested. How would a fully loaded humvee perform

at high speed? What were the driver/gunner/com-

mander dynamics in the comparatively spacious

humvee instead of the cramped fast attack vehicle?

What was the quickest way to get a humvee ready for

towing if the need arose? Answering these and other

questions occupied much of the Marines’ days and

nights in those first few weeks.

Members of the Task Unit Raider staff and the in-

lligence element immersed themselves in establish-

ing relationships with adjacent commands and

finding their place in the targeting process—getting a

feel for the “atmospherics,” identifying the main

malefactors, and devising ways to track, strike, and

exploit them. Commander Wilson established two

priority information requirements: first, who was at-

tacking the Iraqi security forces? And second, who

was attacking Americans? The answers to these ques-

tions provided the basis for the targeting process.

Wilson then established two criteria for launching

a direct action raid: first, was there a good legal case

on the target, something that would keep him in cus-

tody? And second, what more would this kill or cap-

ture lead to?

The answers to these questions

provided the operational basis for a raid.

The over-

all plan was to hit one target after another, using the

intelligence gained from one hit to lead to the next.

The key was to start with the smaller, more vulnera-

ble targets. “You don’t go after the big guy at first—

you can’t get to him,” Wilson explained. “You work

your way up through the guy who’s welding the

brackets for the rockets that they’re firing. You get

the guy that’s supplying the mortar rounds; you get

another guy who’s a mortar trainer. . . . You work

your way up and you take out an entire structure.”

Striking high-value targets was Task Unit Raider’s

reason for existence, and the targeting cycle was

what the intelligence element was specifically de-

signed to do. Through some early missteps not of

their making, Majors Kozeniesky and Carter found

that the targeting cycle would be a “bottom-up”

search rather than a “top-down” push, meaning that

the Marines would have to take the lead in develop-

ing most of their own targets.

On 23 April, Koze-

niesky reported that the detachment was “fully

deployed and preparing for operations.”

Early Operations

In Iraq in April 2004, there were several agencies

and entities collecting intelligence. This was both a

good thing and a bad thing from Task Unit Raider’s

point of view. On the positive side, it promised a

wealth of exploitable intelligence; on the negative,

there was no single point of contact in higher head-

quarters who was fusing the data and passing it

down the chain in an actionable form. Nor was there

necessarily any uniform quality control, as the

Marines saw it, in the intelligence products available

to them.

By later April, missions began to percolate. On the

21st

, the task group received a warning order from

Combined Joint Task Force 7, the highest military

headquarters in Iraq, and the task unit staff began

planning the first direct action mission, dubbed Ob-

jective Rhino.

The order alerted the task group to

large numbers of hard-core enemy personnel con-

centrated at a location west of Baghdad and east of

Fallujah. The planners zeroed in on the area and

began a thorough examination of the terrain and the

enemy. Within a few days as more information be-

came available, the nature of the target evolved

slightly and the name was changed to Objective Rat.

Further study and close coordination with 2d Bat-

talion, 5th Special Forces Group, verified that a large

number of known insurgents were concentrated in

the neighborhood. Intelligence sources also identi-

fied the building housing them—Abu Ghraib prison.

The information from higher headquarters was tech-

nically correct—large numbers of known insurgents

in a given location—but essentially worthless. The

weekly situation report tartly noted that “the planned

[mission] has obviously been shelved and a thorough

review of targeting procedures is recommended.”

Were it not deadly serious business, the Rhino/Rat

episode might have been amusing. It highlighted

problems with the quality of the targeting intelligence

being passed down the chain-of-command. Its only

value lay, perhaps, in being a realistic paper drill, a

command post exercise under operational conditions.

Major Kozeniesky, although irritated, chose to close

the episode on a positive note, writing that “Task Unit

Raider, while disappointed with the poor coordina-

tion and targeting from higher headquarters on Ob-

jective Rat, established good lateral contacts with

friendly conventional forces and special operations

forces.”

As it turned out, the first mission for Task Unit

DET ONE50

All Task Unit Raider missions had codenames beginning with the

letter “R.” Objectives had two components: an individual or cell,

and a location. Thus, the same individual or cell could have more

than one operation planned or mounted against them, as locations

changed.

A reference to making a case against an individual in the legal

sense is not just an analogy. As the transition to Iraqi sovereignty

progressed, the strength of the evidence against a target could

mean the difference between his being released and his being de-

tained for a long period of time.

Deployment 51

Raider was not a full-scale direct action, but rather a

“close target reconnaissance.” It proved to be a good

test for two Marines, and it handed the intelligence el-

ement what it wanted most, a solid piece of action-

able intelligence. It began with one of the

detachment intelligence officer’s frequent liaison vis-

its to higher headquarters. From his ever-widening

circle of contacts, Major Carter discovered that agents

in the Federal Bureau of Investigation cell in Baghdad

had a source that had named a female Iraqi, em-

plo

yed by a U.S. contractor, as an insurgent sympa-

thizer. It appeared that the woman, code named

“Rachel,” had leaked information concerning several

linguists employed by the contractor, resulting in their

murders. She needed to be found, apprehended, and

questioned. The murders limited the ability of Coali-

tion units to work with the Iraqi population on a

number of important projects. The target fit all of

Commander Wilson’s criteria, and Carter gladly took

ownership of the mission.

The task group staff analyzed the mission and

came up with a plan. They knew very little about the

woman and had to get a positive identification. A

small team would be sent to find her, starting with

her last known location. Once they got sight of her,

they could develop a plan to track her and eventually

take action. The mission carried some risk, but it

promised both a good payoff and a foot in the door

of the targeting cycle. A small victory would also sat-

isfy Commander Wilson’s other goal: an early suc-

cess.

Gunnery Sergeant John A. Dailey, leader of re-

connaissance team 4, took charge of the mission. He

headed what could be called a small combined joint

task force, which consisted of Dailey, Gunnery Ser-

geant William M. Johnston from the counterintelli-

gence section, a SEAL assigned to HUMINT duties,

and an operator from the Polish special forces unit,

the GROM, reportedly the best sniper in that organi-

zation. The GROM member was also a woman, an

important factor since they were dealing with a fe-

male target. The task group staff coordinated with

other government agencies, the Army commands in-

volved, and the contracting company’s officials and

sent the four in civilian clothes and civilian vehicles

to where “Rachel” was supposed to be working.

When the four arrived at the target’s reported place

of employment, they were told that she no longer

worked there, but that she was employed at a base

outside the city. Gunnery Sergeant Dailey wanted to

go on to the second site and find her, so he conferred

with Commander Wilson and Major Kozeniesky, who

approved his request to continue the search and the

capture if conditions permitted. At the second loca-

tion, members of the combined joint task force re-

ceived the same answer. Their contacts pointed them

to a third site, to which they proceeded immediately.

The four took a low-key approach to the mission,

and this helped them in their quest. Civilian clothes

concealed their pistols and soft body armor, and they

kept their M4 carbines and other combat gear stowed

in their vehicles. The smooth-talking HUMINT spe-

cialists were adept at asking questions without raising

eyebrows. According to Dailey, “This was one of

those times that being able to wear civvies and hav-

ing your hair at the outer limit of regulation really

helped.”

Arriving at the third site, they located the target’s

former office, but they were told that she had quit.

Rather than let the trail go cold, they discussed the

matter with the U.S. Army officer for whom she had

worked, without going into too much detail about

why they wanted her. Together, they devised a sim-

ple trap: “Rachel’s” former employer located her

phone number and called her to come get her last

paycheck. Much to the group’s surprise, she agreed.

At this point, with nothing to do but wait—the

woman had promised to be there in 20 minutes, but

Dailey knew that in Iraq, 20 minutes could mean “20

minutes, or four hours, or whatever”—he went to see

the base commander to let him know what was going

on. After Dailey explained to a skeptical colonel what

was afoot—Dailey, in civilian clothes and sporting a

slightly non-Marine haircut, was sure that the Army

officer did not believe that he was who he said he

was—the base commander gave his full support.

To this point, the mission was coming together.

The small combined joint task force would be able to

identify “Rachel” and probably take her into custody.

But if she was indeed working for the insurgents,

there was always the possibility that she would resist

capture. If she had a male escort, as she surely

would, would he (or they) also put up a fight? The

last thing anyone wanted was a gunfight on a

crowded base frequented by civilians. That would

mean an early disaster, not an early success. Speed,

surprise, and deft execution would be vital to a suc-

cessful conclusion, and the group worked out a plan.

Dailey posted Gunnery Sergeant Johnston and the

GROM member behind the door of the office where

“Rachel” would go to pick up her pay. He positioned

the SEAL and himself outside to handle whomever

she might have with her.

Personnel in civilian clothes carrying weapons were not unusual

sights on coalition bases in Iraq. What would seem outlandish in

any other setting was commonplace.

Their patience was rewarded. As “Rachel” and a

male escort came into the facility, Dailey gave the sig-

nal to stand by. When she walked into the room,

Johnston shut the door, and the female GROM mem-

ber quickly got her under control. Dailey and the

SEAL overpowered and flex-cuffed the male. The en-

counter was over in an instant and not a shot was

fired. The task group bundled the pair into civilian

vehicles and sped back to Camp Myler so that Cap-

in Batts’s interrogators could go to work.

Questioning soon revealed that “Rachel” was not

actively involved in passing information to the insur-

gents, but that she was probably doing so unwittingly

through ill-considered chatter. The male likewise was

not an insurgent, but he provided useful information

and produced the key that turned this operation into

a minor coup. He knew a few details about the lin-

guist murderers, and he knew some other things

about unsavory people involved with bombs and

rockets. The interrogators asked whether he would

be willing to accompany a raid force and identify the

individuals. The man agreed, and the information he

supplied became the basis for Objective Racket, Task

Unit Raider’s first true direct action mission.

Objective Racket

“Rachel” and her male escort were taken on 2

May. Planning began immediately afterward in order

to exploit the information they had given the inter-

rogators. “Rachel’s” escort provided details about a

man who lived in a certain neighborhood of Baghdad

with his wife and two children. This man worked as

a repairman at a shop not far away. He was involved

in the linguist murders as well as in the construction

of rocket launchers used to attack Coalition bases. He

hated Americans. His relatives reportedly were in-

vol

ved in the car bomb trade, and one of them was

suspected of being the suicide bomber in a recent at-

tack on an Iraqi police station. This case was an op-

portunity tailor-made for the Marines of the

intelligence element. They pulled in data from every

corner of the command structure in Iraq and fused it

into a comprehensive whole, corroborating and am-

plifying bits of information as they proceeded. They

identified this man’s house and his workplace on im-

agery taken from various platforms, and they mapped

his daily routine.

The way the mission was planned, coordinated,

and executed provides a look at Task Unit Raider’s

template for a direct action mission. In traditional Ma-

rine Corps fashion, the actions during planning were

not strictly sequential but rather more concurrent, and

collaborative rather than hierarchical. Later, other

more complex missions featured different planning

and coordination aspects, but this first one was em-

blematic of the process.

All hands contributed to the planning. The staff

analyzed the mission and came up with courses of

action, which were briefed to Commander Wilson.

The chosen course of action was then planned out in

detail. The operations section posted a tentative time-

line fo

r execution; arranged for close air support; co-

ordinated with conventional forces in whose territory

they would be working; and kept track of the count-

less small tasks that need to be accomplished. The

intelligence element continued to draw information

and to monitor its sources while it assisted the plan-

ners.

The assault force wanted to know dozens of

pieces of information. What did the target look like,

and what did his house look like? What was the com-

position of the structures, doors, and windows? Did

the target have guard dogs or some other form of

early warning? Would his neighbors be watching on

his behalf, and would they join in a defense? What

were his probable reactions to the assault? Would he

fight, or would he try to run? How much starlight and

moonlight would there be? The list was long, but the

intensive training phase had provided detailed tem-

plates for mission planning, and there was little that

had not been anticipated.

Concurrent with the planning were vehicle prepa-

ration, rehearsals, and refinements. What was the ve-

hicle order? Who was assigned to which vehicle and

what were their duties? In the event of a vehicle

breaking down, what was the “bump plan” to shift

the load to the other vehicles, and what was the re-

covery plan? What were the call-signs and frequen-

cies for the supporting arms? Who was providing the

quick reaction force? Where were the helicopter land-

ing zones in case of a casualty evacuation? Every man

was assigned specific responsibilities. Every man had

a backup and was himself a backup to someone else.

Before mounting out, all hands test-fired their

weapons and checked their night-vision goggles,

then checked and rechecked the vehicles.

At a predetermined time, every man involved in

the mission gathered for a confirmation brief. The

mission was restated and an intelligence update was

provided. (The one major item for Objective Racket

that the intelligence section did not have was a pho-

tograph of the target, which would end up causing

some confusion.) The intelligence Marines had once

again done their part by fusing imagery and topo-

graphic analysis to produce three-dimensional “drive-

through” models of the route and the objective area,

DET ONE52

Deployment 53

overlaid by detailed mobility diagrams to show which

routes were trafficable and which were not. Warrant

Officer Kevin E. Vicinus briefed the weather condi-

tions and their possible effects on the operation. The

key leaders in the mission stood up and briefed their

elements’ roles in the mission, from pre-assault re-

hearsals to post-assault actions. They answered all

last-minute questions on target minutiae, ironed out

y wrinkles in the plan, and rebriefed these details

so that every Marine understood them. The leaders

described the route to the target, in this case one of

Baghdad’s main thoroughfares, the infamous bomb-

studded “Route Irish.” Briefers indicated the various

checkpoints along the route and the points in the

neighborhood where the force would split up, drop

off the assaulters, and finally rendezvous for extrac-

tion.

The two key elements on this and every other mis-

sion were surprise and a good breach, as the assault

force needed to get into the target house before the

occupants could react. “Once we’re inside the target

and we’ve got a good flow of people in it,” explained

Master Sergeant Terry M. Wyrick, “we’re going to win

that fight. . . . That’s just the nature of close-quarters

battle.”

Events on this target and every other would

prove him right.

The task unit had the deck stacked in its favor: the

Marines had the initiative and they had chosen the

time, the place, and the form of the attack. Even so,

tensions ran high since on this, their first target, they

would face not an instructor with simunitions or

obliging role-players, but a thinking, breathing,

armed adversary with a will of his own. Nine months

of hard work were going to be put to the ultimate

test.

The assault on Objective Racket launched at 0100

on 4 May, when the convoy of armored hunekers

containing Task Unit Raider rolled out of the gate at

Camp Myler. The vehicles were blacked out, and the

Marines were driving fast on night-vision goggles. De-

vices mounted in the vehicles combined global posi-

tioning system technology and imagery and provided

real-time aids in navigating the Baghdad roadways.

Prior coordination with adjacent units allowed them

to bypass roadblocks and other obstacles. Their speed

provided a measure of protection against ambush; so-

phisticated electronic counter-measures protected

them from radio-detonated roadside bombs. Accord-

ing to Master Sergeant Keith E. Oakes, the unit was “a

traveling fight waiting to happen.”

High above and

in radio contact with the Marines were an AC-130 and

two HH-60s, providing over-watch on the route ahead

and keeping tabs on the status of the target area.

After a quick stop at Baghdad International Air-

port, the convoy continued on and eight minutes

later reached the set point. There they split, with one

section going to the target’s residence and the other

to his shop, five blocks away. Reconnaissance Teams

2 a

nd 3, under Master Sergeants Joseph L. Morrison

and Charles H. Padilla, advanced to the residence.

Teams 1 and 6, under Master Sergeant Wyrick and

Gunnery Sergeant Sidney J. Voss, moved to the work-

shop. Teams 4 and 5 provided drivers and the gun-

ners for the vehicles, augmented by Marines from the

support sections. Two Marines from the fires element,

Captain Daniel B. Sheehan III and Sergeant David D.

Marnell, got on top of a nearby structure to get a bet-

ter view of the whole area and through the aircraft

kept an eye on any movement that might signal the

force had been compromised. Master Sergeant Hays

B. Harrington and his radio reconnaissance Marines

kept their ears on the target and scanned the spec-

trum for enemy traffic.

The Marines had brought the source with them on

the operation, the man rolled up by Gunnery Ser-

geant Dailey’s team barely two days previous. When

the source positively identified the residence of the

target, the breaching team went to work. Marines in

Team 3 placed ladders against the wall surrounding

the house and were scrambling over it when the

Navy explosive ordnance disposal technician at-

tached to them saw a figure in a first-floor window.

The technician sprinted forward, seized the man

through the metal grate over the opening, and

pinned him to the bars to prevent him from sound-

ing an alarm or grabbing a weapon. Working quickly,

Padilla’s assistant team leader, Staff Sergeant Chad D.

Baker, placed his explosive charge on the door, and

seconds later detonated it, blowing the door in. Five

blocks away, a Marine from Team 1 used a shotgun

to break the lock on the doors of the shop. The time

was 0129.

Once inside the house, the assaulters flooded the

interior as they had practiced many times before.

Master Sergeant Padilla described the sensations of

time and motion: “When you get off the vehicle, you

know exactly where you’re going. . . . Everything is

moving, sometimes you think you’re making a lot of

noise, but you’re not. . . . You start off nice and easy,

like you’ve been rehearsing. At the breach point, you

slow down a little bit—climbing over the wall to get

to the breach point, you slow down—then once the

breach goes, the fastest man in the house wins.”

Inside the residence, the stunned occupants sur-

rendered without a fight. The Marines took one man

outside, where the source for the operation identi-

fied him as the target. However, a woman told them

that the target was actually next door. The helicopter

circling overhead alerted the Marines that a man had

jumped from the residence’s rooftop to the adjoining

structure.

Morrison’s Team 2 quickly breached and

entered that house, where they seized another man,

who was waiting for them with his hands in the air.

He was taken out and positively identified as the tar-

get of Objective Racket; the first man was then iden-

tified as his brother-in-law and was subsequently

released.

Marines from the intelligence element, assisted by

the assaulters, searched the house on sensitive site

exploitation and took away several items, having

been previously briefed on what to seek. The

searches at the residence and the shop were finished

by 0157. By 0206, the raid force was accounted for

and headed back to base, and by 0321, Task Unit

Raider was inside the wire at Camp Myler, where the

Marines turned over the detainee and the intelligence

materials.

“Pleased to finally have a successfully completed

mission under our belt,” read commander’s com-

ments in the 2 May daily situation report on Objective

Rachel. “Although not a dramatic operation itself, it

marks a milestone for the USMC/SOCom relationship

and will hopefully lead to destruction of a cell that

has targeted Iraqis assisting the coalition.”

After the

follow-on hit, the daily report from 6 May continued

the thread: “Successful execution of Racket was the

fruition of many months of hard work by every mem-

ber of the Detachment. More pointedly, it was the

culmination of the intelligence cycle started with Ob-

jective Rachel, which produced the actionable intel-

ligence for this follow-on operation.”

Rachel and Racket were indeed successes for De-

tachment One, with the second raid launched less

than 48 hours after the first operation ended. The op-

erations proved that the unit could take a scrap of in-

formation and use it to develop a high-value target,

then fix it, strike it, and exploit it. Major Kozeniesky

and his staff worked through formal and informal

command relationships, operating as easily with

other government agencies as they did with conven-

tional units. The quiet capture of “Rachel” affirmed

to their special operations peers that individual

Marines had the experience and tactical savvy to op-

erate independently and think on their feet. The sub-

sequent direct action hit validated Task Unit Raider’s

training and modus operandi. If these two targets

lacked the difficulty that would characterize later mis-

sions, they made up for it in scope for failure, which,

had it occurred, would have set the whole task group

back and jeopardized its ability to operate. The

Marines of Detachment One, and Commander Wil-

son as well, had every reason to be pleased with the

outcome.

Major Kozeniesky’s comments in the 6 May report

concluded the Rachel/Racket discussion: “While

[Rachel] and last night’s evolutions [Racket] were

noteworthy events in the history of the detachment

and the Marine Corps, we look forward to the time

when it is all considered ‘ops normal’ for the

Raiders.”

DET ONE54

The Hunt for “X”

Within days of the Rachel/Racket operations, Task

Unit Raider launched a series of actions against a sig-

nificantly more serious target. “X” was an insurgent

facilitator who had come to the coalition’s attention

after one of his associates was captured in March. He

was a figure of importance in the insurgency, on a

much higher level than Rachel or Racket. Originally

targeted as Objective Raccoon, “X” was mentioned

under that code name as early as 1 May, while the

Rachel operation was still in the planning stages, and

he and his organization were a constant topic in op-

erational documents for the next several weeks.

“X” was a canny operator. From his ability to

evade surveillance and elude capture, the intelligence

section concluded that he had had some military or

intelligence training. A previous task group had tar-

geted him several times and each time had come up

frustratingly short. Because of the pressure being put

on him, “X” had assumed a low profile but had not

ceased his anti-Coalition operations. The one consis-

tent problem in the raids launched against “X” was

the inability to positively identify him. This fact, plus

the difficulty in establishing a trigger for his presence

at a given location, meant that actually capturing or

killing him in a single operation was an elusive goal.

Commander William W. Wilson, Det One’s task group

commander, and Major Craig S. Kozeniesky, com-

mander of Task Unit Raider, reasoned that striking at

“X” and his associates in a series of raids would pro-

duce a disruption in his operational capabilities, force

him on the defensive, and as the targeting cycle

quickened, eventually result in his capture.

Operations against “X” began with close coordi-

nation between the task group and the various cells

in other government agencies, where Major M. Ger-

ald Carter and Captain Christopher B. Batts were fre-

quent visitors, and where Gunnery Sergeant William

M. Johnston was embedded.

Those agencies had

sources close to the “X” organization, whose infor-

mation was good but not complete enough to tell the

whole t

ale. Operatives were able to track the move-

ments of a van that drove between several sites of

interest to those targeting “X” and his people. Det

One intelligence analysts matched the times and lo-

cations of the van’s movement with the information

being fed to them by the source and were able to

zero in on the residence of a subsidiary figure and

associate of “X,” located on the northeast edge of

Baghdad. The operation was named Red Bull.

During the first two weeks of May while the

Marines of Task Unit Raider prepared for the hit, the

other agencies were working through their sources

to lure “X” to the associate’s residence on the night of

11–12 May. Late on the evening of 11 May, as the raid

force waited by the vehicles staged for the convoy,

the task group and task unit staffs were working to

establish the trigger for the raid with the case officer

assigned to them, who was in contact with a source

placed to monitor the associate’s house. Moments

after the source gave the signal that the person sus-

pected to be “X” was onsite, the convoy launched.

The basic template for Red Bull resembled the

template for Racket, except there was one target site

instead of two. In the five days since that first oper-

ation, Task Unit Raider had absorbed lessons learned

and refined its procedures. The size and strength of

the raid force was much the same; one particular dif-

ference was that Chief Hospital Corpsman Eric D.

Sine and Major M. Wade Priddy were to be aloft in a

helicopter to provide medical support in case of a ca-

sualty evacuation as well as general airborne over-

watch. The U.S. Army’s 1st Squadron, 5th Cavalry,

provided the quick reaction force.

The movement to the target area was, in the words

of the after action report, “uneventful,” except for a

quick maneuver to block traffic by the second vehi-

cle, carrying Master Sergeant Charles H. Padilla’s

Team 3. Actions on the objective also proceeded

smoothly. The Marines detained three men and took

away some significant items after sensitive site ex-

ploitation: parts and batteries—all improvised bomb

components. One of the men was subsequently iden-

tified as the owner of the house, the associate also

targeted in the raid.

Chapter 5

“Ops Normal”

Johnston, who accompanied GySgt Dailey on the Rachel opera-

tion, was the face of the task group to those agencies. An Illinois

native who joined the Marines in 1990, he was the perfect choice

to be the liaison as he had served with another government

agency’s office of military affairs during a tour at Headquarters Ma-

rine Corps. Johnston intvw, (Marine Corps Historical Center, Quan-

tico, VA.

The one thing missing from the target site was “X”

himself, as he again demonstrated his ability to

evade capture. During the after action review, the

Marines determined that a short gap occurred in

communications with the source, coinciding with a

brief time in which the source also lost visual contact

with the target site. In that small window of oppor-

tunity, the wily “X”—whether or not he knew what

was afoot—slipped out and disappeared into the

Baghdad night.

The raid was a success on other levels. The asso-

ciate of “X” turned out to be a known bomb maker

who had been targeted by coalition forces several

times before, and who was reportedly schooled in

remote-control bomb-making by “X.” The haul of in-

telligence materials, notably information gathered

through onsite tactical interrogations by Staff Ser-

geant Scott J. Beretz of the counterintelligence sec-

tion, gave the intelligence Marines a rich pile of raw

material to feed back into the targeting cycle. But the

prize was still “X,” who remained at large. Over the

next four weeks, Major Carter drove his Marines to

use every trick and technique at their disposal to tar-

get any place or person known or suspected to be

associated with him.

After the execution of Red Bull, “X” struck back.

Another source close to the investigation was mur-

dered, as was his young daughter. These acts lent a

more personal, urgent motive to the hunt, and they

were proof that the task group was getting closer to

its most-wanted man. Major Carter’s Marines worked

every angle they could devise in order to track the

man and pin him down. By the third week of May,

they decided to hit the next target, code named Ob-

jective Raccoon, which the Marines’ growing files in-

dicated was “X’s” residence. If he was not there, they

expected that several of his family and associates

would be there and that the action would further

penetrate his comfort zone and disrupt his activities.

Objective Raccoon consisted of three target sites; the

Marines planned to hit the first building, break con-

tact while a security element searched the place,

then hit

the next two simultaneously. The target sites

were located south of Baghdad in a semi-rural area.

The three buildings were a few hundred meters

apart.

Just before midnight on 21 May, Task Unit Raider

descended on Objective Raccoon. The assault force

conducted a hard hit on the first site after being in-

formed by the covering aircraft during the approach

that there were figures moving outside the buildings.

The Marines found several people onsite and de-

tained one male. While the security element was

combing the residence and grounds, the assault force

remounted its vehicles and sped off to hit the next

two sites, where the entry and containment teams

took another six men into custody, including one

who provided the only drama of the night by trying

to escape on foot. The aircraft circling overhead vec-

tored Master Sergeant Padilla’s Marines on a 20-

minute foot chase, which ended with the man’s

capture. Items of interest seized in the raid included

suspected bomb-making material as well as a van

observed at several locations monitored during the

surveillance on “X.” Without further incident, the en-

tire raid force re-embarked and sped back to Camp

Myler where, after dropping the detainees at the task

force headquarters, they arrived at 0114.

Again, “X” had eluded the Marines. However, the

exploitation of the site and the interrogations con-

ducted by Staff Sergeant Beretz, Captain Batts, and

the task group’s interpreters uncovered information

that fully justified the decision to hit the insurgent

chief’s suspected locations. A few of the men taken

off the Raccoon sites were related to “X.” All would

eventually reveal much useful information, but even

if they had remained silent, their faces gave away the

prize: a strong family resemblance. Major Carter and

his Marines now had a good idea of what their man

looked like. As Major Kozeniesky later reported, “At

a minimum, we believe that we have significantly

disrupted his operations by pursuing him at several

of his fav orite spots.”

Major Kozeniesky’s assessment proved true. One

of their government agency sources fled with his

family to Jordan, obviously trying to avoid the fate

suffered by the first source, murdered following the

Red Bull operation. Even with the loss of two

sources (and a temporary interruption of direct ac-

tion missions), by early June, the task group and the

other agencies had collected enough solid intelli-

gence to target “X” again, this time at another semi-

rural location south of Camp Myler.

On 8 June, Task Unit Raider attacked Objective

Razor, looking again for “X.” During the approach, a

vehicle bogged down on a road by a canal, only 400

meters from the set point, delaying the assault by 15

tense minutes. Given those conditions, Major Koze-

niesky made the decision to conduct a “soft” hit, by

foo t instead of by vehicle. The Marines isolated and

breached the first of three structures, and while a

team searched that location, the rest of the force as-

saulted the other two buildings. Fourteen men were

present at the site, but 12 were quickly released. One

of the remaining two matched the description of “X.”

Both were taken back to Camp Myler by the raid

DET ONE56

“Ops Normal” 57

force, which was back in the wire by 0423.

Over the next several days, the man matching the

description of “X” sparred with his interrogators,

steadfastly maintaining that he was not who they

said he was and adamant that the Americans had

wrongly detained him. Despite his well-crafted de-

nials, Major Carter and Captain Batts were sure they

had their man, and they grilled him relentlessly.

Their confidence grew when relatives identified him

from a photograph taken after his capture.

Finally, the man admitted that he was “X,” but he

maintained

that he had done nothing wrong, was in-

volved in no illegal activities, and was only a peace-

ful man trying to survive the war. The intelligence

Marines knew otherwise, and his continued evasions

and denials got nowhere with them. Their problem

was that they needed him to admit to his involve-

ment in a string of atrocities in order to make sure

that they had a solid case against him. But they could

only go so far in their interrogations, due to the Abu

Ghraib scandal, in applying anything that even

hinted at coercive methods. There was also a limit on

the length of time they could hold him before they

had to let him go or pass him to another facility.

They suspected that “X” knew all of this and was

banking on his ability to outlast his interrogators.

His smug confidence proved his undoing. Major

Carter floated a bold proposal to Commander Wil-

son and Major Kozeniesky. If “X” would not talk to

Americans, how long would his defiant act play in

Kurdistan? Carter wanted to take him north and put

him in front of a few Kurdish interrogators, reason-

ing that the shock a nd uncertainty of the new cir-

cumstances would crack his resistance. Wilson and

Kozeniesky got approval from their superiors and

gave assurances that the matter would be handled

carefully. Carter and a small escort flex-cuffed him,

threw a hood over his head, and bundled him onto

an aircraft waiting to take them to Kirkuk. When “X”

was put in a chair and the hood removed, he saw

only three Kurdish security service officers staring at

him across a table. (What he did not know was that

Major Carter was standing behind him with other

government agency representatives, just to make

sure that things did not get out of hand.) Choosing

discretion over valor, he started talking.

The hunt for the target known as “X” was a case

study in the capabilities that Detachment One

brought to SOCom, particularly the ability of the in-

telligence element to track and identify a previously

unidentified individual through the fusion of dis-

parate bits of information and incisive analytical skill.

It was, to use a law enforcement analogy, excellent

detective work.

The interrogations by Captain Batts

and Staff Sergeant Beretz illustrated the central role

of counterintelligence Marines in the targeting cycle.

Sharp intelligence work and nimble staff action were

cked up by rapid and ruthless execution on the

target sites. To borrow one of the central points of

Marine Corps doctrine, Det One got deep inside the

target’s decision cycle and acted on him faster than

he could act on them.

On any given day in late May and early June 2004,

Task Unit Raider was operating on several lines at

once. Direct action operations were launched on 11,

18, 20, 21, and 26 May and 8 June, three of them “X”

missions and three others unrelated but no less im-

portant. On 18 May, for example, the unit was in-

volved in two operations in the planning stages, the

execution of one operation “currently underway,” a

major planning session with 2d Battalion, 5th Spe-

cial Forces Group concerning the period leading up

to the 30 June 2004 transfer of sovereignty, person-

nel augmentation to the task group, and the recov-

ery of other personnel from a safe house in

Baghdad. The hoped-for “ops normal” was becom-

ing a relative term.

Hunting Murderers

The insurgent “X” was the biggest single catch in

May-June 2004, but he was not the only fish in the

sea. In addition to that series of raids, Task Unit

Raider addressed three other targets and planned for

several more. All were aimed at higher-level indi-

viduals in the Baghdad terrorist networks that were

trying to prevent the emergence of an interim Iraqi

government. On 18 May, Task Unit Raider executed

its third direct action mission, Objective Rambler.

The mission was to capture or kill an individual re-

sponsible for facilitating anti-Coalition forces by co-

ordinating the funding, training, and movement of

foreign terrorists. Rambler was a short-fuse opera-

tion and was not even put into the detailed planning

stages until 17 May, although it was part of a general

set that had been under discussion for a few days.

It was based on intelligence gained from 2d Battal-

ion, 5th Special Forces Group, and its subordinate

units. The ability of the special forces teams to gather

information quietly and effectively was substantial.

Major Kozeniesky called them “probably the best

collectors of information in the country.”

The target site for Objective Rambler was the indi-

vidual’s residence, with a possible secondary site at

Not only good detective work, but good police work as well.

MSgt Joe Morrison, among others, noted that Task Unit Raider’s

direct action missions were much like “SWAT teams serving high-

risk warrants.”

his farm just a mile north of his residence. The two

sites were near the sharp bend in the Tigris River that

defines Baghdad’s southeastern side. Photographs of

the man and two of his associates showed a group of

portly, established, middle-aged men. Appearances

belied realities, as intelligence indicated that these

three were well placed in the networks that moved

foreign fighters into and around Iraq.

In the early hours of 18 May, Task Unit Raider,

augmented by special forces operators and their

sources, assaulted the residence of the primary indi-

vidual ta

rgeted in Objective Rambler. While Teams 2

and 6 isolated and contained the area, Team 3 made

a foot approach to the target with the sources in tow.

After scaling the wall—a standard feature of nearly

every Iraqi house—they encountered a guard. Fortu-

nately for all concerned, including the guard himself,

he was “extremely compliant” and was quickly put

under control. The assault force backed up a humvee

and attached a chain to the metal gate blocking the

driveway. The humvee ripped the gate off its hinges

and the assaulters breached the door and flooded the

house. The subsequent sensitive site exploitation pro-

duced a pile of damning evidence, some of it stashed

in hidden compartments. The team collected hun-

dreds of pounds of documents, including approxi-

mately 50 passports and a “large quantity of currency

from a variety of countries.” The Marines appre-

hended the high-value target, “briefcase in hand,” as

he attempted to escape out the back door. In addition

to the tangible results, Major Kozeniesky and his staff

assessed one of the most important outcomes of the

operation as the close cooperation with the special

forces unit and its teams.

Two days after Rambler and again in conjunction

with a special forces operational detachment, Task

Unit Raider launched Objective Revenge, appropri-

ately named as it targeted three Iraqis suspected of

having participated in the brutal murder of American

telecommunications worker Nicholas E. Berg. “This is

one we were pretty amp’ed to do,” said Master Ser-

geant Terry M. Wyrick, explaining that the brutal mur-

der gave the mission an additional, personal

importance for every Marine. On Objective Rambler,

intelligence had predicted that the occupants of the

target house would opt for flight when the assault

began. On Objective Revenge, Task Unit Raider ex-

pected a fight.

The Special Forces soldiers provided “exceptional

atmospherics and positive target building identifica-

tion, to include a very clear hand-held image of the

building frontage,” according to the operational sum-

mary.

One of the specifics that the planners learned

from the intelligence they gleaned through other gov-

ernment agencies was that these suspects had been

raided by coalition forces before and had used the

roof as an avenue of escape. Another was that the

upper floors were occupied and likely would be de-

fended. One vital detail that the planners also ob-

served

on the photographs supplied by the Special

Forces was that a fence instead of a wall surrounded

the house. With all of that taken into account, Major

Kozeniesky directed that the assault force attack with

the maximum possible shock and violence and en-

sure that the second floor and roof were secured at

the same time as the ground floor was being as-

saulted.

This raid had had none of the stealthy finesse of

Rambler. It was, in Master Sergeant Wyrick’s words,

“fairly dynamic.” The hunekers carrying the assault

teams went straight at the house. As Wyrick described

it, “Picture three vehicles going over the fence at the

same time, three teams unmanning the vehicles, and

[two teams] moving to the breach point as one team

is throwing flash-bangs and climbing up a ladder to

jump up on a ledge.”

When Wyrick’s team began

scaling the ladder, they found that part of the struc-

ture prevented their vehicle from getting close

enough so that the top of the ladder could touch the

house. Beyond the end of the ladder was four feet of

pitch-black nothing. Without hesitation, Staff Sergeant

Alex N. Conrad hurled himself in full gear from the

top rung of the ladder to the balcony across and

slightly above him while his fellow Marines tossed

flash-bangs in second-floor windows to keep the oc-

cupants from shooting at him. Four men, including

the primary target and both secondary targets, were

detained.

The expected fight did not materialize be-

cause the Marines of the assault force achieved max-

imum shock and surprise and allowed the occupants

no time to react.

On 26 May, Task Unit Raider initiated a direct ac-

tion raid on Objective Ricochet, the target of which

was a former Iraqi intelligence officer believed to be

a significant figure in a ring of former regime officials

in Baghdad. This operation was the third of the co-

ordinated series of raids undertaken with 2d Battalion,

5th Special Forces Group, during the period leading

up to the 30 June transfer of sovereignty and was also

based on intelligence gathered by the unit. The

Marines knew that the man they were after on Rico-

chet was a hard target and would probably put up a

fight if given even the slightest chance.

On the raid against Ricochet, Master Sergeant

Wyrick’s Team 1 had the breach with Staff Sergeant

Andrew T. Kingdon as the lead breacher. After scal-

DET ONE58