Green Berets

US Africa Command Special Operations Forces to Train in Benin, to Prepare for Violent Extremism Threats

Ouassa, Benin — Special Operations Command Africa forces partnered with the Beninese Army during a Joint Combined Exchange Training that concluded Sept. 9, 2022, in Ouassa, Benin. US Army Green Berets assigned to the 3rd Special Forces Group (Airborne) collaborated with the Beninese Army’s 1st Commando Parachute Battalion members to hone tactical and operational skills.

As violent extremism poses a threat to global stability, safeguarding these borders from incoming threats requires a collective multilateral effort. Engagements, including JCETs, provide mutual benefits to partner forces as they enhance partner capacity and strengthen relationships to combat regional insecurity and instability.

US Army Green Berets assigned to the 3rd Special Forces Group (Airborne) and Beninese soldiers from the 1st Commando Parachute Battalion take a knee for mission progress feedback during a Joint Combined Exercise Training (JCET) in Ouassa, Benin, Sept. 7, 2022. Our engagement is one small contribution to helping our partners safeguard their people and combat the global threat of violent extremism. (US Air Force photo by Staff Sgt. Jasmonet Holmes)

The JCET program’s primary purpose is to provide partner nations with special operations units with specific training to promote security and stability in Africa. In addition, JCETs enhance US relationships with partner nations by developing and maintaining critical military-to-military connections and improving joint and allied readiness and interoperability.

A Beninese soldier from the 1st Commando Parachute Battalion renders a salute to the U.S. and Beninese Army Forces leadership during the Joint Combined Exercise Training (JCET) closing ceremony in Ouassa, Benin, Sept. 9, 2022. A closing ceremony is held at the end of every JCET iteration to celebrate the successful completion of U.S and host nation partnership, training and collaboration. (U.S. Air Force photo by Staff Sgt. Jasmonet Holmes)

This exchange is part of a series of US engagements with the Beninese military that provides opportunities for units to work together, learn from each other, build interoperability, and strengthen relationships. This recent engagement represents the second JCET that US special operations forces conducted with Beninese forces this year. The two partner forces hosted a March JCET and participated alongside one another in previous Flintlock exercises with other allied and African partner nations. Flintlock isAfrica’se premier special operations exercisa, with 30 participating countries.

US Africa Command special operations forces demonstrate their commitment to their African partners through sustained military and civil engagements across the continent.

Check out our video coverage of US Special Forces who got ambushed in Niger:

Warning: Graphic content.

Gary Beikirch, Green Beret, Medal of Honor, Dies of Cancer at 74

Green Beret and Medal of Honor recipient Gary Beikirch has died. He was 74 years old.

His daughter Stephanie announced Beikirch died shortly after 3 p.m. Sunday following a long battle with pancreatic cancer.

The Special Operations community has lost two of its heroes over the Christmas weekend. SEAL Team Six’s first commander Richard ‘Dick’ Marcinko, passed away on Christmas evening at 81.

The National Medal of Honor Museum released a statement on Beikirch’s passing.

“Gary was a true American hero. He displayed extraordinary courage on the battlefields of Vietnam and dedicated his life to encouraging and inspiring generations of Americans. As a counselor and man of deep faith, Gary touched and changed thousands of lives. The impact of his uplifting influence will be felt for years to come as his goodness lives on in those who know him. We offer our deepest sympathies to his family as they, together with America and the Medal of Honor community, grieve an amazing man.”

Beikirch with President Nixon and his mom at the MOH ceremony. US Army photo

On April 1, 1970, Beikirch showed incredible bravery during an attack on his Dak Seang A-Camp. He was exposing himself repeatedly to enemy fire to treat wounded comrades, despite his own serious wounds that President Nixon eventually awarded him the Medal of Honor. But his wartime service would haunt him upon returning home to the United States.

Beikirch was born on August 29, 1947, in Rochester, New York. After successfully completing two years of college, he withdrew from school to enlist in the Army to become a Special Forces trooper and go to Vietnam.

In August of 1967, he attended and successfully completed Basic and Advanced Infantry Training at Ft. Dix, NJ. That was followed by the Airborne Course at Ft. Benning, Ga. Beikirch then attended the Special Forces Qualification Course at Ft. Bragg, NC. After that, he completed the Special Forces Medical Sergeant Course and was shipped to Vietnam.

Beikirch deployed to Kontum Province, Vietnam, in July 1969. During his deployment, he was the medic for Detachment B-24 of the 5th Special Forces Group, assigned to the remote Montagnard village of Dak Seang in the central highlands of Vietnam. The camp was very remote, about 3 miles from the Laos border.

Beikirch, in an interview later, said that due to his affinity to the Montagnard people, he “went native,” living with the mountain people, and went days at a time without speaking any English. The SF A-Team with 12 men had about 500 Montagnard “strikers” who the Green Berets trained. The remainder of about 2300 personnel in the camp were civilians, mostly families of the men who were being trained and led by the Americans.

It was a strategy that worked well for the Americans Special Forces A-Teams. The Montagnard strikers fought much harder when their families were inside the isolated A-camps.

Beikirch in an official Army portrait. US Army photo

On April 1, 1970, three regiments of North Vietnamese troops numbering 10,000 began shelling Camp Dak Seang, intent on taking the camp. The North Vietnamese artillery pounded the camp, and Beikirch was wounded when shrapnel from a 122 mm rocket bruised his spinal column, he could not stand or walk.

The NVA artillery rounds hitting the camp had caused several casualties among the camp’s defenders. Unable to move on his own, Beikirch had his two Montagnard medical assistants carry him around the camp under heavy, intense fire to treat the wounded American and Vietnamese defenders.

Beikirch, with complete disregard for his own safety, moved out into the open while everyone else around him was ducking and hiding from the artillery. The “Bac-Si,” or doc as the tribesman called him, went down to the aid station where he assisted the other American medic until he collapsed.

Coming to, he urged the medic to help him up, where his Montagnard medics carried him from place to place in the compound. He then would help them get to the aid station. His love for and loyalty to his Montagnard partners was reciprocated. One of his tribesmen medics, Dao, covered Beikirch with his own body at one point during the shelling getting killed in the process. He was just 15 years old.

Beikirch again refused treatment and continued searching for other casualties until he collapsed again. He said the last thing he remembered was the sight of a helicopter coming in. “And then I remember these hands, picking me up and throwing me into the chopper,” he said. The medics onboard the helicopter immediately stuck IVs in Beikirch, telling him he would be okay.

He was taken to Pleiku, then to Japan, and then finally to the Valley Forge Medical Center, where he remained for six months, recovering from his injuries. He exited the army and went back to college, majoring in pre-med after his experience, but the country wasn’t a great place for Vietnam veterans, especially the college campuses.

Spat on and called a baby killer, Beikirch had enough. He took off for the White Mountains in New Hampshire. His hair grew long, halfway down his back. He was living in a cave on Mount Washington as a hermit when he came down into town for supplies. He was told to wait for a call that evening.

“Is this Gary Beikirch who served with the 5th Special Forces in Vietnam?” the person asked. When Beikirch said that it was, he was told that he was being awarded the Medal of Honor. “It was things I was trying to forget,” he said. “It all came back.”

For his gallantry during the battle of Dak Seang, President Nixon awarded Sgt. Beikirch the Medal of Honor in 1973. He didn’t go out to celebrate that night. He stayed in his hotel room. The feelings of unworthiness and the horror of war flooded back to him. For many years, Beikirch didn’t participate in many of the other events that veterans and other Medal of Honor recipients participated in.

Beikirch in later years conducting an interview with the American Legion. YouTube photo

But as time passed, he became more at peace with it and frequently said that the Medal isn’t about him or anything that he did but represents men and women who value something so strongly that they are willing to die for it and be willing to defend our country for it. He became a counselor and helped thousands of others in his later life.

It is, he said, a valuing of something greater than self.

Beikirch’s other awards and decorations include the Distinguished Service Cross, Silver Star Medal; Bronze Star Medal; Purple Heart Medal with one oak leaf cluster; Good Conduct Medal; National Defense Service Medal; Vietnam Service Medal; Vietnam Campaign Medal; Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry with silver star; Combat Medic Badge; Parachutist Badge; and Vietnamese jump wings.

Medal of Honor Citation:

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty, Sgt. Beikirch, medical aidman, Detachment B-24, Company B, distinguished himself during the defense of Camp Dak Seang.

The allied defenders suffered a number of casualties as a result of an intense, devastating attack launched by the enemy from well-concealed positions surrounding the camp. Sgt. Beikirch, with complete disregard for his personal safety, moved unhesitatingly through the withering enemy fire to his fallen comrades, applied first aid to their wounds, and assisted them to the medical aid station.

When informed that a seriously injured American officer was lying in an exposed position, Sgt. Beikirch ran immediately through the hail of fire. Although he was wounded seriously by fragments from an exploding enemy mortar shell, Sgt. Beikirch carried the officer to a medical aid station. Ignoring his own serious injuries, Sgt. Beikirch left the relative safety of the medical bunker to search for and evacuate other men who had been injured. He was again wounded as he dragged a critically injured Vietnamese soldier to the medical bunker while simultaneously applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to sustain his life.

Sgt. Beikirch again refused treatment and continued his search for other casualties until he collapsed. Only then did he permit himself to be treated. Sgt. Beikirch’s complete devotion to the welfare of his comrades, at the risk of his life, is in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflects great credit on him, his unit, and the US Army.

Beikirch’s interview with the Medal of Honor Society can be seen here:

First Casualty: The Untold Story of the CIA to Avenge 9/11- Review

Looking for the Perfect Christmas Gift or Reading Material? Look No Further

Award-winning author Toby Harnden has crafted an incredible story of the first Americans to enter Afghanistan immediately after 9/11. His book, “First Casualty: The Untold Story of the CIA to Avenge 9/11,” was initially slated to be released on the 20th anniversary of the U.S. involvement. Still, during his detailed 17-month research into putting this book together, the Afghan government collapsed, and the Taliban returned to power once again.

Harnden was granted some incredible access to the Central Intelligence Agency’s (CIA) employees, some of whom are still in government service. All of their stories and remembrances make for compelling reading. But as Harnden said, sometimes the best stories are the true ones. And this one is fantastic.

The Plan

The story begins on 9/11 when the members of al-Qaeda hijacked the planes and flew them into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the one aircraft that was crashed into rural Pennsylvania. America is shocked and on its heels, reeling after ignoring some intelligence reports that the terrorists intended to bring death to America. Signals and intelligence were missed or not shared.

President Bush convened his National Security Council on September 13, and the Pentagon revealed that they had no war plan for Afghanistan. CENTCOM commander General Tommy Franks told the president it would take months to build up enough conventional troops for an invasion. CIA Director George Tenet turned the meeting over Cofer Black, an experienced Agency hand who had spent many years in Africa. The CIA’s plan was to infiltrate small numbers of Agency linguists and paramilitary officers along with some Green Beret A-Teams (ODAs) into Afghanistan to link up with the Afghan resistance, warlords from the Northern Alliance. Black sensed that President Bush wanted his pound of flesh.

“When we’re through with them, they will have flies walking across their eyeballs,” he said.

The President pondered for several seconds before asking, “Cofer, can we really do this?” Black stared back at the President for several seconds for theatric effect and said there wasn’t a doubt in his mind at all. Bush responded with, “That’s what I’m talking about. Go get ’em.”

And in the early days of the war, the successful ones, the CIA, would run the war effort. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld seethed over this. He later dragged his feet over any assistance until the military took over the war, pushed thousands of troops into the country in a mission completely opposite of what had worked, and ultimately turned the effort into a “goat rope.”

For an avid reader of all things OSS/SOE from World War II, the mission was a throwback and a fantastic legacy of those who paved the way for the organizations that became the CIA and Special Forces.

The Team

Team Alpha, David Tyson, and Mike Spann (top row far right). Photo courtesy of Toby Harnden

The book centers around “Team Alpha,” an eclectic group of Agency employees who entered Afghanistan on October 17, just a few weeks after the 9/11 attacks. Much of the book centers around CIA agents David Tyson and Mike Spann. They joined Northern Alliance warlord General Abdul Rashid Dostum, who in a SOFREP podcast said the warlord was “straight out of central casting.”

Dostum was known as a thug. A brutal, bloodthirsty type whose own men were terrified of him. But, he was also quite shrewd. He could adapt to situations at the drop of a hat, like anyone who had survived the bloody politics of Afghanistan for so long could.

Tyson was an Uzbek linguist, which was invaluable as he had the ability to communicate easily with the Northern Alliance. The key to taking the country was taking the city of Mazar-i-Sharif. A precursor to the fall of Kandahar, Kabul, and the collapse of the Taliban government that occurred on Nov. 17, 2001.

The CIA/Green Beret team had built a great rapport with Dostum in a very condensed period of time. Much faster than is preached at “Robin Sage,” the SF UW exercise that every SF NCO and Officer must pass. The commander of the A-Team, Captain Mark Nutsch of the 5th Special Forces Group (5th SFG), and Tyson built a great relationship of trust with Dostum.

Dostum (white horse) with Northern Alliance fighters and U.S. troops. Photo courtesy of Toby Harnden

The Fortress

Rumsfeld was still trying to convince President Bush that all of the CIA’s efforts were stalled. But once Mazar-I-Sharif fell, he insisted that the war couldn’t be won with just Captains and Sergeants and started sending Colonels and Generals, who Harnden says were not needed nor appreciated. Dostum was told in short order that instead of Nutsch, he’d now deal with Nutsch’s battalion commander LTC Bowers. He, in turn, would be replaced with a two-star, Rear Admiral Bert Calland, the SOCCENT commander.

The Green Berets were pulled out from Team Alpha, and the military was pushing in green troops with no clue as to what was still going on. Before the country was even taken from the Taliban, the Pentagon was focused on stability operations.

Mike Spann and David Tyson find “American Taliban” John Walker Lindh in the throng of al-Qaeda prisoners at Qala-i-Jangi. Photo courtesy of Toby Harnden

During this time, Tyson and Mike Spann headed to the Qala-i-Jangi fortress outside Mazar-i-Sharif to interrogate hundreds of al-Qaeda fighters, who had supposedly surrendered, including U.S. citizen John Walker Lindh. But the al-Qaeda fighters had smuggled weapons, grenades, and suicide vests into the fortress.

They then started a violent uprising while Spann was interviewing a prisoner with dozens around him. As they rushed him, Spann killed numerous al-Qaeda fighters before being hit from behind. The prisoners then overwhelmed Spann before killing him with a pistol. Tyson attempted to get to his friend, but the sheer numbers of prisoners rushing him prevented that, despite the fact that he killed perhaps dozens.

Tyson made it a temporary safe spot in the compound with German journalists. Other American CIA, Green Berets, conventional troops, and a small contingent of British SBS (Special Boat Service, Britain’s equivalent to Navy SEALs) began an effort to rescue Tyson and Spann (who was considered missing) from the fort. The amount of detail and the personal accounts of the men who fought at Qala-i-Jangi is some riveting reading.

The Break Down

Harnden’s book is a fantastic read as he interviewed nearly all of the major players in the early, heady days of the Afghanistan invasion before the Pentagon and State Department turned it into a nation-building sh** show and tried to build a country based on our own model that would never work in Afghanistan.

Dostum, the pivotal warlord who was instrumental in the success, was pushed to the side and quickly ostracized by the government, especially the State Department. Harnden traveled to Afghanistan a year ago to interview the former warlord who was blocked from visiting the U.S.

“I was the one who fought against and defeated the Taliban in 2001,” Dostum said. “My soldiers were killed and wounded, but I was left behind and received nothing. If the Americans had listened to me, they would now have the upper hand on the battlefield and at the negotiation table.”

“I have no issue with CIA,” he says. “They never let me down. But US diplomats have not allowed me to act against the Taliban.”

The Page-Turner

If you’re looking for the perfect Christmas gift for the reader in the household or want to spend hours on end curled up in a chair with a great book, then pick up “First Casualty.” It is extremely well-written, meticulously researched, and an absolute page-turner.

It was a story that needed to be told, which is why the CIA was so helpful with Harnden in arranging for nearly all of the involved people to be interviewed. It is a story about personal sacrifice and incredible bravery and resourcefulness. But most of all, it is a story about “what could have been,” but like what occurred in Afghanistan after the Soviet withdrawal, to quote Charlie Wilson, “we f***ed up the end game.”

How Delta Force Taught Social Distancing Before It Was Cool

Editor’s Note: Geo’s memoir, “Brothers of the Cloth,” a true account of special mission unit soldiers, has sold out in hardcover and will soon be coming out in paperback! You can keep an eye out for it here.

Isolation is a frightening prospect for a lot of us. True isolation — total isolation from all social interaction and deprivation of sensory stimulus, sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste — is something that few have experienced. Such isolation is quite matter-of-factly terrifying and even maddening to most.

This severe level of isolation is hardly experienced by our society’s general population. Solitary confinement is the most severe level of isolation and should not be confused with the simple isolation that most Americans are in due to the world health crisis at hand. To maintain perspective, the prospect of isolation sounds pretty innocuous to me, and I can say that we could do much worse.

Solitary confinement, or just Solitary, is an extreme situation that prisoners are prone to face depending on their attitude and conduct, as well as that of their captors. Prisoners of war and armed conflict are subject to some of the cruelest measures of extreme isolation possible. Most warfighters are fortunate to be able to attend training courses that aid significantly in their ability to endure the physical and mental rigors present in a Prisoner of War (POW) environment.

The highest level of POW survival training is called Survival, Evade, Resist, and Escape (SERE) training. As a student in SERE training, I was first isolated from all other students with a black hood over my head. From there my isolation went to a deeper state of apparent Solitary (confinement) where I was stuffed into a very small wooden box whose dimensions didn’t allow full limb extension or the ability to sit up fully erect. In the top was a hole just large enough to squeeze the average head through — woe was me!

I say “apparent” Solitary because I was not immediately aware of the men around me who were also confined in wooden boxes; in my case, we were three in a room. We, citizens, shall potentially isolate in our homes for several weeks… well, I can hardly think of such an environment as “isolation.” We are in our house “boxes”, but we are immediately and keenly aware that our friends and neighbors are all around us sharing in the very same experience.

The eventual discovery of my Delta brothers around me immediately lowered my sense of confinement despite the fact that I was stringently forbidden to talk to them. The tap code we had all learned to communicate with was ponderous but it did work. We all randomly snuck out a few verbal strings despite the guards’ vigil.

In contrast to such conditions, I can wave at my neighbor through my window. We can chat from sitting on our balconies just fine. Why… we could even step out on our front porches and chew the fat just fine. All this in-person chatting is on the very bottom of the communications technology totem. I’m now at liberty to call people on my smartphone, to video chat, or link up with them in an IM forum like Facebook:

Just how “isolated” are any one of us really in the comfort of our homes?

“How goes the struggle Bill?”

“Oh gosh, Geo… we’re hanging on by a thread over here. We barbecued steaks last night but were out of propane gas so we just burned rolls of toilet paper. The kids built a toilet paper fort that took up most of the house. Eventually had to have them tear it down and stack the rolls back in the garage — we keep the Stratus and the Cube parked in the driveway now.”

“Sounds pretty grueling over there, Bill. First daughter is working her HR gig from home now — just as happy as a true in a muscadine patch. I’m still hammering away at the keys trying to keep pace with the demands of my SORFEP major asshole boss.”

But what I can’t do is walk over and touch my neighbor on the shoulder with my index finger, a thing I coincidentally hate to do more than anything in the world short of snorting Ricin!

The Solitary that we POWs faced worked a different angle to sensory isolation; that was, they applied sensory overload to our audio receptors in an event that I referred to as “ear rape.” Very loud sounds were blasted through powerful speakers into our rooms at every second of every hour.

These sounds came in many irritating and annoying formats: babies crying, small children crying and begging for their daddies to come home, a man screaming indiscernible words to a Rudyard Kipling poem. It was all quite maddening though we all kept our wits about us. That is… until the prison camp got hold of a tape of my ex-wife bitching at me, a sound under which I folded fully and immediately, compromising the names of all my unit commanders and the invasion plans for Operation Overlord.

A thing many of us face that is a moderate threat to our sanity is being stuck inside our houses with — I’m sorry to say — our loved ones. We, who have been accustomed to being away from our close ones aside for just a few hours in the evenings — are suddenly faced with being crowded in a space whose walls seem to be closing in. Damnit, we’re actually going to just have to be adults about it.

I’m not equating our pending quarantine situation to captivity, though some folks will be puerile and obstreperous enough to cry “prisoner,” “solitary confinement,” “captivity” — fill in the blank — there are going to be adults behaving badly. Men in actual captivity gladly pull together tightly to protect and assist each other to endure the ordeal. They provide mutual comfort, compassion, and motivation. There is a program to be onboard with under such dire circumstances, it’s called RESIST.

As stark as this setting looks, it is not even to the level of true solitary confinement.

We in prison had not eaten or slept for days prior to our capture; now we were pretty much sporting key tones in our blood. A guard came through periodically and, one box at a time, he offered us a morsel of food if we could answer a question correctly. He asked me but I stuck out. He asked the man to my right who answered correctly. Knowing full well that the guard was playing a cruel game with him, he held out his hand up through the hole in his box to play along. The guard left.

“(Whispers) Geo! He gave me food!”

“Shut the f**k up man…”

“No he really did — hold out your hand.”

We both reached toward each other straining to extend our arms as long as they could be extended… and indeed there was food there! I broke the share apart and reached toward the brother on the other side of me, reaching and waving until our hands bumped and then he had food too. That was a small victory in the grand play of things, and a monstrous demonstration of compromise and compassion among humans in impending peril.

How isolated can a body really feel at home with the Inter-web and the fecal-ton of high-tech communications apparatus that we have? At home is where most Americans would rather be than any other place on the planet — except Disneyland; most people would rather be at Disneyland because that place is… well, it’s just really a pretty joyous place in comparison to most other places on Earth. In fact, it’s probably just about the happiest place on Earth — that I do fancy!

POWs suffer the worse torture, one that is mental: the curse of fate unknown. POWs don’t know if they will live or die from a moment to another. They don’t know if they will ever be alright again. Then there is us; we are trapped like scurvy bilge rats in our paradises. We know we are going to be alright. No really, we are going to be alright. We DON’T have to fire an FPF through our windows every dusk to scare off the barbarians who want to break in and steal our toilet paper. We don’t need to hoard ANYTHING!

Panic hoarding, a manifestation of puerile ignorance and of a fundamental absence of discipline.

“Gladys… Darin Stevens across the street just pulled up to his house with an entire case of those tiny cocktail onions! Get in the car — were going to the Piggly-Wiggly!!”

Panic is a by far a deadlier and more contagious “virus” that anything COVID-19 portends. When you let yourself get into a state of panic you have just ended any hope you have of gracefully resolving any situation. If that situation is a life-or-death matter, you have compromised your ability to sensibly work through it and have surrendered yourself to the whims of fate — whatever happens just… happens. You no longer have any influential input toward the outcome — good freakin’ luck with that!

Panic Hoarding: “Why do I have 14 cases of canned asparagus in my pantry?”

Finally, a mystery far greater than the Coronavirus antidote: where did the toilet paper frenzy come from? Who is responsible? You know there is only one person that started it and I want them to step forward like an adult and identify themselves.

I mean “corona” doesn’t sound like “diarrhea” — not even remotely! If all the toilet paper in the world were to vanish tomorrow, do you know how many people would die? None, that’s how many. Just maybe only those who die in car crashes racing to the Piggly-Wiggly to hoard more toilet paper that isn’t even there.

Oh, my God, with honor,
geo sends

US Special Forces in Colombia – Storming a Dunkin’ Donuts in Bogota

It was with great interest that I read Brandon Webb’s piece about his travel to Bogota, Colombia. Having spent time there during the heyday of the Medellin/Cali Cartel, I was really interested in how much the city has changed. Bogota is beautiful and huge. I had heard from other SF guys who were there recently or had families there (quite a few SF guys married Colombian women) that since the peace deal with the FARC, tourism has been back and things are much better in Bogota. Yet, back then, Bogota, and Colombia were much more unsafe places. And even a donut could be dangerous…

Colombia wasn’t considered safe for American military troops assigned to either the American Embassy or the Colombian Military Headquarters (CAN). Nevertheless, Bogota, and Colombia overall, was fantastic places.

If memory serves me right, Chico, where Brandon was staying, is only about five minutes from the Zona Rosa. This is a T-shaped area of luxury shops, cafes, and upscale restaurants. The rich and famous Colombians would hang out there. If you were a single guy, that is what Special Forces guys would call “a target-rich environment.”

7th SFG presents its guidon in Colombia — U.S. Army 7th Special Forces Group (Airborne) Soldiers present their unit’s guidon December 7, 2016, during an award ceremony in Florencia, Colombia. A Colombian Army Counter-narcotics Brigade, known as BRCNA, honored the U.S. Special Forces unit with the unit’s “Bandera de Guerra” military medal. (Photo by Staff Sgt. Osvaldo Equite/U.S. Army)

The Rich History of US Special Operations Units in Colombia

Army Special Forces and Navy SEALs made multiple deployments to several areas in the country. They trained counter-insurgency and counter-narcotics troops and performed riverine operations. Delta Force troops did specialized training with select Colombian units. Also, they were part of the task force with DEA, CIA, and Colombians in the hunt for Pablo Escobar. Today, Colombia’s Special Forces are some of the best in the world.

During one such deployment, we had an augmented SF team assigned to the Colombian Army HQ. We were helping facilitate the creation of training packages between the American Embassy, Washington, and the Colombians. It was basically an administrative job and pain in your fourth point of contact. But the good part was that we got to live in Bogota.

Every two SF guys got an apartment, which was a nice perk from the embassy. Nevertheless, due to security concerns and threats against Americans, we had to get picked up each morning in an armored Suburban. Four heavily armed Colombians in a jeep would escort us from the front door of our apartment to the vehicle and follow us to the HQs.

Uniforms were low-key. That black windbreaker over the green dress shirt and no Class A jacket allowed, (those were left in the office). No berets or jump boots either… You get the idea. Although the distance was only five-six miles, due to the horrible traffic, it would take an hour to get there. The MILGRP had some great SF guys assigned there and they were always on top of stuff. My good buddy Wade Chapple was the American liaison officer to the Colombian Lancero School and we got to see one another on occasion.

Ambushed by Donuts in Bogota

One particular morning, there was a bad accident on the route to work. So our drivers and security guys told us that we were going to have to take a different route. No problem, just sit back, read the Miami Herald and shoot the breeze. We were in the left lane of traffic zipping along at a pretty good clip. Then, suddenly, one of the guys spotted a piece of Americana across the road… a Dunkin’ Donuts. Although today there are several Dunkin’ Donuts in Bogota, back then there was only one, which we weren’t aware of.

“Turn left quick!” we yelled at the driver motioning him to pull into DD. He cut in front of a small opening of oncoming traffic and we zipped into the parking lot. We quickly went inside and ordered two boxes of Joe and two dozen donuts for the guys in the office.

Don’t make any mistake, Colombian coffee is the bomb and we had developed an affinity for it that still exists today. In fact, some of the big Colombian coffee producers would come by the Embassy every month and you could send home cases of the stuff that would be delivered to the Embassy mail room and shipped right out to addresses in the states. I had enough stockpiled back home in NC that I had a year’s worth upon returning.

https://i0.wp.com/ccmetropolis.com.co/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Mesa-de-trabajo-3-copia-6.png?resize=968%2C726&ssl=1 — Dunkin’ Donuts in Bogota, Colombia. Just like home. (ccmetropolis)

Dunkin’ was a taste of home. And although they used Colombian coffee, the donuts had been sorely missed. But in our haste (or stupidity) of having the driver veer off the route, we’d neglected our security guys who were delayed in getting across the same oncoming traffic. And they were pissed.

A Very Unique Direct-Action Operation

Believing something was wrong, or just to make a point, the three heavily armed security guys, entered the restaurant with drawn weapons and demanded to know what was wrong. The people in the Dunkin’ Donuts were aghast. They sat stock still and with mouths wide open. When we told them that nothing was wrong and we just wanted to stop at DDs, the commander of the detail fumed. He told us in no uncertain terms to never f***ing do that again.

“We were ready to come in shooting,” he said, which wasn’t true — they were too well-trained for that. Yet, their entrance had a great effect on the people behind the counter who looked like we they were about to empty their bladders.

We apologized to the detail leader. One of our guys turned to the cashier and asked how much we owed… He just pushed the donuts and coffee across the counter and shook his head. “Nothing, just take it and go,” he replied.

We passed the last few minutes, before arriving at our HQs, in silence. After which point, we all burst out laughing. Our escapade ended up reaching the ears of the MILGRP commander. He commenced with chewing our asses a bit, which was pretty common. He was a Marine Corps pilot and hated SF and the SEALs for our closeness and familiarity. All being on a first-name basis, regardless of rank, nearly gave him a stroke every day.

A Compromise Is Reached

Later that afternoon, our security guys and driver offered a compromise. If we wanted, they’d drop us off at work. And every Friday, they’d go back and pick up a box of Joe and donuts for the crew… Perfect!

Our driver later told us that the cashier remembered him when he went back the next time. And he begged him to not bring the gringos back. “I thought we were all going to get shot because of them… my heart can’t take that stuff,” the cashier had told him!

Many years later I had a similar experience in Mexico City while working security for a film company. Hey, like my favorite coffee company says… “Coffee or Die.”

But that is a story for another day.

US Green Berets Raid Son Tay Prison and Make History

By mid-November 1970, there were 450 known American POWs in Vietnam, and more than double that amount reported as missing in action. Reports were surfacing of brutal conditions, torture, and starvation of American POWs. Operation Ivory Coast was a daring rescue mission conducted by U.S. Army Green Berets, flown in by Air Force Commandos, to rescue the POWs at a small prisoner of war camp at Son Tay, 23 miles west of Hanoi. The raid was commanded by Colonel Arthur “Bull” Simons and 56 specially selected Green Berets who had trained for the mission.

The mission was deemed a failure. Unknown to the raiders, rains had flooded the Son Tay prison just prior to the raid, forcing the Vietnamese guards to move the POWs to another location. The prisoners who had been moved just a few miles down the road, watched the raid unfold.

However, the raid was viewed as a success by many in the U.S. military, as the Special Forces troops killed over 50 guards and took the compound while suffering two very minor casualties. And the Air Force was able to fly them in and out through one of the most heavily defended air spaces on earth at that time.

The POW Camp Is Identified

In May of 1970, the Pentagon learned of the camp when an SR-71 flying at 80,000 feet, streaked over it and took aerial photographs that showed at least 55 American POWs. However, 12,000 North Vietnamese troops were stationed just five miles away from the compound.

Planning began in earnest in early August. Simons, who was a legend and one of the most well-respected Special Forces officers, was named the commander of the raid force. Simons had taken part in the outstanding prisoner rescue during World War II with the 6th Ranger Bn. The Rangers rescued 500 POWs, who had survived the Bataan Death March, by raiding the Japanese POW camp at Cabanatuan in the Philippines. The Japanese were planning on killing every one of the POWs when the Americans arrived at the camp and foiled their plans.

He would have to select the raiders from among the 6th and 7th Special Forces Groups at Ft. Bragg, NC. Word spread through the Green Berets at Ft. Bragg that something big was brewing and it was to be commanded by Simons. Over 500 packed the post theater to hear Simons make a pitch for volunteers for a very dangerous mission.

The training facility chosen for the raiders was Duke Field at Eglin AFB, Florida. USAF planners selected key Air Force commanders, who then picked personnel for their crews. Helicopter and A-1 Skyraider crews were put together from instructors at Eglin and personnel returned from combat tours in Southeast Asia. Two crews for C-130E(I) Combat Talons were assembled from squadrons in Germany and North Carolina.

The men were not briefed on their mission but were only told that it was hazardous.

A total of 219 men were selected: 103 Army and 116 Air Force personnel would serve as raiders, flight crew, support personnel, and planning. The Task Force was known as the “Joint Contingency Task Group” (JCTG).

The staff set up a plan to conduct a nighttime raid, the key point of which was clear weather and a quarter moon at 35 degrees above the horizon for optimum visibility during low-level flight. From these mission planning parameters, two mission “windows” were identified, 18–25 October and 18–25 November.

Training under Simons proceeded on Range C-2 at Eglin. Simons’s Son Tay raiders used an exact but crudely made replica of the prison compound for rehearsals that could be quickly assembled and taken down before any Russian satellite would fly over. The raiders also had a superbly detailed five-by-five-foot scale table model — codenamed “Barbara” after a USAF secretary, Barbara L. Strosnider, who worked very long days supporting planning for the raid — which was built by the CIA for familiarization.

The Air Force pilots flew over 1,050 hours in C-130 Combat Talon and HH-3 aircraft to practice their formations while using the Forward-Looking Infrared Radar (FLIR), to fully acquaint themselves with the mission.

The Special Forces side of the training began on September 9, before moving into night training on September 17, and joint training with aircrews on September 28, which included six rehearsals a day, three of them under night conditions. By October 6, 170 practice sessions of all or some phases of the mission had been performed on the mockup by the Special Forces operators, using live fire.

Son Tay prison mockup — “Barbara,” the mockup of the Son Tay prison built by the CIA. (U.S. Army)

The Ground Force Commander would be LTC Bud Syndor. The assault element leader, which would purposely crashland a helicopter in the prison compound, would be led by another SF legend CPT Richard “Dick” Meadows.

Meadows, who would be integral for the raid, was one of the best Special Operators that this country has ever produced. He enlisted in the Army when he was just 15 and fought as a paratrooper in Korea. By the age of 20, he was the youngest Master Sergeant in the Army. He joined Special Forces in 1953 and for the remainder of his career until 1977 would serve in either Special Forces or Ranger units.

During the Vietnam War, Meadows impressed General William Westmoreland so much during a briefing after an operation with MACSOGV that he was given a battlefield commission. He also helped Colonel Charles Beckwith form Delta Force. He was even recalled from retirement to assist in the Iran Hostage Rescue by posing as a European auto dealer on the ground in Tehran.

On November 6, the first full-scale dress rehearsal, using a UH-1H as the assault helicopter, was conducted at night. It included a 5.5-hour, 687 miles (1,106 km) flight of all aircraft, replicating the timing, speeds, altitudes, and turns in the mission plan. The rehearsal indicated that the UH-1 helicopter was unsuitable for this mission. The smaller passenger compartment resulted in leg cramps to the SF raiders that completely disrupted the timing of their assault. Simons and his raiders opted for the HH-3E. Two further full-night rehearsals and a total of 31 practice landings by the HH-3E in the courtyard of the mockup followed.

The primary October window was chosen, but President Nixon was out of Washington and couldn’t be briefed properly in time, so Henry Kissinger moved back the raid to the November time window. Unbeknownst to anyone, this one-month’s delay would doom the mission to failure.

The Air Force moved all of the pieces for the raid force to Thailand, the jump-off location for the raid, between November 10 and 18. Piecemeal deployment was chosen to not attract attention. There the force was whittled down from the 100 men who trained for the mission to the 56 that would be going — a heartbreaking affair for the 44 men who had to stay behind in Thailand.

The Raiding Force

The Special Forces were organized into three platoons: A 14-man assault group codenamed “Blueboy Element” led by Meadows, which would crashland within the prison compound. “Greenleaf” a 22-man support group, would provide immediate support for the assault team. And “Redwine” a 20-man security group to protect the prison area from any NVA reaction forces and provide backup support for either of the other two groups if needed. Simons (using the call sign “Axle”) accompanied the Greenleaf group, while the ground force commander, LTC Elliott P. “Bud” Sydnor, Jr. (“Wildroot”) was with the Redwine group.

The 56 raiders were heavily armed, carrying 48 CAR-15 carbines, two M16 rifles, four M79 grenade launchers, two shotguns, and four M60 machine guns. They carried 15 Claymore mines, 11 demolition charges, and 213 hand grenades. They also had a mix of wire and bolt cutters, axes, chainsaws, crowbars, ropes, bullhorns, lights, and other equipment. The ground force was also equipped for voice communications with 58 UHF-AM and 34 VHF-FM radios, including a survival radio for each individual soldier.

Five hours before takeoff, Simons finally addressed the men to what their actual mission was. “We are going to rescue 70 POWs from a camp called Son Tay. This is something American prisoners have a right to expect from their fellow soldiers. The camp is located 23 miles west of Hanoi.”

It was said that the troops stood and cheered. Simons put his own indelible mark on the operation with his final instructions.

“You are to let nothing, nothing interfere with the operation. We’re here to rescue prisoners not take prisoners. And if we walk into a trap, don’t dream about walking out of Vietnam unless you’ve got wings on your feet. It is 100 miles to Laos… I want to keep this force together. We will back up to the Song Con River and by Christ let them come across the goddamn open ground. We’ll make them pay for every foot across the sonuvabitch.”

Infiltration Into North Vietnam and Arrival at Son Tay

The raid force began taking off at 2200 hours from airfields in Thailand and South Vietnam. The formation flew across the Plain of Jars in Laos before turning northeast. The Air Force meticulously planned 12 separate legs of the flight plan in order to keep the vulnerable helicopters undetected by North Vietnamese radar. The force was aided by diversionary bombing missions going on in the area.

Banana 1, the helicopter purposely crashlanded at the Son Tay prison camp. (U.S. Army)

The assault force arrived at Son Tay at 0219 hours. The helicopter that was to crashland in the compound was to encounter trees thought to be 40-feet tall. In actuality, they were close to 150-feet. However, the pilot chopped through them like a huge lawnmower and the aircraft thudded into the ground. One man, an Air Force crew chief, suffered a broken ankle when a fire extinguisher broke free and smashed into his leg.

Meadows used a bullhorn and announced, “We’re American. Keep your heads down. We’re Americans. We’ll be in your cells in a minute.” Meadows’s group cut down many of the compound’s guards, including several trying to escape through the east wall. But as his men methodically advanced through the compound, they found no prisoners in the cells.

The Support Element landed in the wrong compound, which was known as the Secondary School. It found that it contained 100-200 Chinese soldiers who were there as advisors for some new missile defense weapons that were being emplaced. After a brief but intense firefight, the Special Forces troops using a mixture of automatic fire and grenades, the Chinese were eliminated.

The Security Element (“Redwine”) approached the south wall and Syndor, using the helicopter’s miniguns, wiped out the guard towers, while landing inside the compound. There they blew a utility pole and set up a roadblock, 100 meters from the LZ. They then encountered guards who were quickly trying to react to the raid. The raiders cut down several of them.

Simons leaped into a trench as the fighting raged on around him. A second later, an enemy soldier, roused from his sleep and wearing only his underwear, jumped in beside Simons not realizing what was happening. Simons emptied his .357 revolver into the soldier’s chest killing him.

Meadows radioed to Syndor, “Negative items.” No POWs were present. The assault force was preparing to leave when one of the members decided to leave the Vietnamese a message on who was responsible for the raid. MSG Joe Lupyak took a Green Beret with a 5th SFG flash and nailed it to the compound’s flagpole. The message was, “we can come within 20 miles of Hanoi and we’ll be back.”

The extraction helicopters began arriving at 0239 hrs. The last aircraft departed at 0245. The entire raid had taken just 27 minutes. The formation had cleared North Vietnamese airspace by 0315 and had arrived back in Thailand by 0438 hrs.

Intelligence Failure/Mission Failure

The lack of good intelligence hampered the operation from the start. It was later learned that due to the flooding of the river, the prisoners had been moved to a place they named “Camp Faith” that was about 15 miles closer to Hanoi. The area’s heavy rains had obscured the U.S. satellites from picking that up.

However, as the raiders flew back to Thailand crushed by the fact that they didn’t rescue any of the POWs, they didn’t realize that the impact of the raid would be a tremendous morale boost for the prisoners. The prisoners had watched the raid unfold from their new camp at Dong Hoi and knew right away that they had not been forgotten.

The North Vietnamese realized that had the operation been successful, the sight of the prisoners in their current emaciated state would have been disastrous. Resultantly, food and medical care improved for the prisoners and the Vietnamese consolidated the POWs and for the first time. Many of them were surprised to learn that instead of solitary confinement, they were housed together.

The Son Tay Raid Personnel

Support Element

COL Arthur D Simons, CPT Eric J Nelson, CPT Glenn R Rouse, CPT Udo H Walther, SFC Earl Bleacher, SFC Leroy N Carlson, SFC John Jakovenko, SFC Jack G Joplin, SFC Daniel Jurich, SFC David A Lawhon Jr, SFC Salvador M Suarez, SFC Donald Taapken, SFC Richard W Valentine, SSG Walter L Miller, SSG Robert L Nelson, SSG David S Nickerson, SSG Thomas E Powell, SSG John E Rodriquez, SGT Gary D Keel, SGT Keith R Medenski, SGT Franklin D Roe, SGT Marshall A Thomas.

Assault Element

CPT Richard J Meadows, CPT Thomas W Jaeger, CPT Dan H McKinney, 1LT George W Petrie, MSG Thomas J Kemmer, MSG Billy K Moore, MSG Galen C Kittleson, SFC Anthony Dodge, SFC Lorenzo O Robbins, SFC William L Tapley, SFC Donald R Wingrove, SSG Charles G Erickson, SSG Kenneth E McMullin, SGT Patrick St Clair.

Command Element – Security

LTC Elliot P Sydnor, LTC Joseph R Cataldo, CPT James W McClam, CPT Daniel D Turner, MSG Joseph J Lupyak, MSG Herman Spencer, SFC Tyrone J Adderly, SFC Donald D Blackard, SFC Freddie Doss, SFC Jerry W Hill, SFC Marion S Howell, SFC Billy R Martin, SFC Gregory T McGuire, SFC Charles A Masten Jr, SFC Joseph M Murray, SFC Noe Quezada, SFC Ronnie Strahan, SSG Paul S Poole, SSG Lawrence Young, SGT Terry L Buckler.

Support Personnel

LTC Bill L Robinson, LTC Gerald Kilburn, CPT Randel L Smith, SGM Minor B Pylant, MSG Jesse A Black, MSG Edgar C Britt, MSG Bernard L Rauscher, SFC Franklin Abramski, SFC James A Bass, SFC Archie Batrez Jr, SFC Robert L Dodd, SFC Charles M Erwin, SFC James A Green, SFC Bobby R Hansley, SFC Roswell D Henderson, SFC Frederick L Hubel, SFC Bruce M Hughes, SFC John R Jourdan, SFC Ernest R Pounder, SFC Aaron L Tolson Jr, SFC Burley W Turner, SFC Grady C Vines, SSG Elmer D Adams, SSG Rodger D Gross, SSG Larry G Stroklund, SSG David L Wilson, SGT Brian J Budy, SGT Michael G Green, SGT Robert R Hobdy, SGT John J Lippert, SGT Arlin L Olson, SP5 William F Dezurik, SP5 Lawrence C Elliot, SP5 Gary R Griffin, SP4 Christopher Casey, SP4 Frank J Closen.

UH-1 Crew Members

1LT George W Williams, CW2 Ronald J Exely, CW2 Jackie H Keely, CW2 John J Ward, SP6 Larry C Boots, SP4 Alan H Wood.

Never Be Light: Integrity and leadership lessons in Special Operations, the Hard Way

Well, there I was, attending the Special Operations Combat Medic Course (SOCM), the Army’s elite combat medic course in Fort Bragg, NC. I had recently graduated SWCC training and I thought I was hot shit thinking that all of the Special Forces students at SOCM had just begun their training pipeline.

The SOCM course was essentially owned by the Army Special Forces, the Navy was allotted just a few slots per class. As SEALs and SWCCs, we were guests in their home. The Navy cadre at the SOCM course had made it very clear that we were not permitted to fuck up, fuck off, or fuck around. Oh, and we had better not fail or they would make it a point to destroy our reputation before we ever even made it to the teams.

Like I said, this was an Army course, so you can be damn sure there was a lot of rucking going on… a lot. By the time I graduated, I couldn’t believe how fast I could move around with a big ass ruck on my back, but that’s a story for a different day.

We often did morning ruck runs as a part of the PT program. On one such morning, we had been instructed to fill our rucks with 45 pounds of weight, no big deal right? We had no scale or any actual measured weights. Our solution was to just load up a bunch of random items into our rucks: spare helmets, boots, canteens filled with water, some books, and whatever else we could find. We got to the schoolhouse the next morning and the Navy guys lifted each other’s rucks to make sure we all felt like we were at the 45-pound mark.

So, there we go, off on our hooah ruck run. Things were going well until I rounded a corner and saw a pickup truck with the cadre standing there, weighing each guy’s ruck. “Shit, hope I put enough bullshit in this bag.”

I took off my ruck and put it on the scale, it read 43.5 pounds. “Motherfucker!”

The instructor with the notepad wrote down my name and my weight deficit. “Alright, keep going,” he said.

Now I really knew I was fucked. From my experiences in the Navy, normally when you screw up you just get your ass-chewing/beating right then and there and then everyone moves on with their life.

After we returned to the schoolhouse, the lead instructor rounded up all the guys that had been underweight and told us that we would be doing an extra-long ruck run the next morning. “Be there at 0530.”

The catch was that we had to add the difference of the weight between 45 pounds and the weight the scale read, and then multiply it by 1.5. So here was the math for my ruck: (45+1.5) x 1.5 = 70 pounds, this would be the weight for my ruck. Some guys during the ruck had been straight cheating and had weighed in at 25 and 30 pounds, this was going to be a really hard learning lesson for them.

His ruck must also have been underweight.

There were nine of us who had the special privilege of taking part in this extra-curricular activity. When we showed up in the morning, there were two SF instructors waiting for us, with two 200-pound human training dummies, and no litters to carry them on. “You guys are going to carry these dummies as a team and you better make sure they don’t hit the ground.”

“Check.”

I looked at my one Navy buddy, who had fallen to the same fate, “Goddamnit, this is gonna suck dude.”

Off we went, ruck running on the trails around Fort Bragg. The two instructors also had rucks on, which I thought was pretty awesome.

Well, we kept rucking and rucking and then, yup, rucked some more. It was thoroughly sucking, and the guys that were carrying upwards of 100 pounds were starting to have a real tough time.

Throughout all of this, the instructors were relatively quiet. They weren’t yelling at us and telling us how worthless we were, which was a little bit different than some of my experiences in Coronado.

Finally, we made the final turn and I could tell we were headed back to the schoolhouse. “Thank God, I’m over this.”

We got back to the building. It was done. We put our rucks and those stupid dummies down. The main instructor circled us up and said: “This goes no further than what happened this morning. We’re not going to hold any grudges against you guys or attempt to sabotage your success while at this school. I hope everyone learned a valuable lesson here today. You all must recognize the importance of attention to detail and make it a point to follow instructions, your life may depend on it someday.”

Hell, I was motivated after that talk. The way that Special Forces instructor handled our situation was as professional as it gets. He was a confident leader. A silent professional through and through. That instructor will never know it, but I walked away from that event having learned an awesome lesson in leadership and humility.

To sum it up, that ruck run was an absolute gut punch, and you can be sure that I would never come in underweight on a ruck run ever again. But, on that day, I’m glad I was able to have that experience. It was an invaluable learning lesson for a young, naive operator.

Green Beret Killed in Pre-Scuba Swimming Exercise Is Identified

A Special Forces engineer sergeant has died during a swimming exercise at Fort Campbell, Kentucky.

SSG Paul Lincoln Olmstead died while participating in the 5th Special Forces Group Maritime Assessment Course, which prepares soldiers for the Combat Diver Qualification Course (CDQC). This is the second death involving a Green Beret during scuba training in the past few months.

SSG Olmstead was conducting a surface swim at the Joe Swing Park Reservoir at Fort Campbell when he went underwater and never resurfaced. A search began for him immediately, according to a press release by the Army. Olmstead was assigned to B Co. 1st Battalion, 19th Special Forces Group.

“This is an absolute tragedy, especially when we lose someone as capable and promising as Lincoln,” said Colonel Paul Peters, commander of 19th Special Forces Group. “Sometimes we expect this sort of thing in combat, but not during training, which makes this difficult for the unit and especially the family.”

“We are committed to ensuring the family is supported over the coming days, weeks, and months,” Peters added.

Olmstead leaves behind a wife and two children.

subsurface swim MAC pre-scuba Green Berets — Soldiers from the 10th SFG conduct a subsurface swim in the MAC or pre-scuba course prior to attending the CDQC in Key West, Florida. (DVIDS)

Olmstead joined the Utah Army National Guard in 2016 and graduated from John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center and School’s Special Forces Engineer Sergeants Course in 2019. He was an honor graduate of the Special Forces Advanced Urban Combat Course; a graduate of the Special Forces Sniper Course; Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape (SERE) Course; and Military Freefall Course.

Olmstead’s body was recovered Wednesday morning with the help of Fort Campbell Fire and Emergency Services, Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency, and Montgomery County Emergency Services. He was pronounced dead by Fort Campbell emergency personnel and taken to Blanchfield Army Community Hospital.

The incident is still under investigation.

The Maritime Assessment Course

The Maritime Assessment Course (MAC), formerly known as “Pre-Scuba,” is an assessment tool and training course designed to physically and mentally prepare selected soldiers for the rigors of the seven-week Combat Diver Qualification Course. CDQC is one of the Army’s toughest schools. It certifies troops to conduct underwater combat operations. MAC is a prerequisite course for going to the Naval Air Station, Key West, Florida to attend CDQC.

MAC pre-scuba Green Berets — A Green Beret from the 10th SFG recovers a 20-pound weight from the bottom of the pool during the MAC or pre-scuba course. (DVIDS)

Major Dan Lessard, a spokesperson for 1st Special Forces Command, said the training was suspended on Wednesday but resumed a day later after safety protocols were re-evaluated. Training for the course was moved from the reservoir to a swimming pool, which was considered a more controlled environment. The training always has a high ratio of instructors to students in the water for safety reasons.

Back in July, another Green Beret, SSG Micah Walker from the 2nd Battalion, 10th Special Forces Group, became unresponsive during a water-treading exercise at the Army’s CDQC in Key West. He died soon after.

Walker’s death remains under investigation.

Heavy Breach Cell: The Secret Weapon of Delta Force

I’m put squarely in mind of an amazing brother of mine who went by the call sign “Crapshoot.” It is the vision of him I see just past his breaching through an incredibly thick steel vault door with a Broco exothermic plasma torch.

Crapshoot half crawled and then was pulled out of the hole in the door like a rat. His face was black and he was coughing, having pulled his gas mask off at some point during his ordeal. He had crawled in there with a full leather welder’s apron on over his combat load. It hung down to his knees and was spattered with slag burns.

His hair and mustache were singed and he had smoke coming off him… somehow. He was helped up and sat down with his back up against the concrete bunker. One man was left to stay with him while he rested for a spell and traded the contents of his lungs for actual air. He cradled his rifle in the crooks of his elbows like a man whose hands were burned.

One by one we wormed through the hole in the gargantuan portal door. We all regarded Crapshoot in a positive manner as we passed him: a sap on the leg or the shoulder, a punch in the arm, and a compliment for a job well done. Crapshoot had an imitation grin on his face, but otherwise closed eyes that were so glad to be done fencing with a demon for the last 20 minutes.

A cartoon I did in honor of Crapshoot’s breach through a vault door. It depicts him standing with welders leathers and mask (A-TM) offering to assist our 2-Troop with their share of the breach.

Those were the days of the inception of the Hardened Deeply-Buried Targets (HDBT) problems. The target set that included hunting and accessing nuclear weapons cached in deep underground structures was a unique one, and we had to invent a way to cope with approaching and destroying such threats.

With already full plates on our hands, the HDBT problem was a heaping ladleful of mashed potatoes that started to flow over the edges of those plates. I distinctly remember thinking of my brothers and me as engines that the unit kept trying to put bigger and bigger transmissions on. And when the transmissions weren’t spinning fast enough they just kept trying to soup-up that same engine time and time again — eventually, that engine is going to throw a rod and blow!

It is not unusual for a thrown rod to actually punch through an engine block, especially if the engine is a Japanese POS like this.

If Rod Serling will imagine, we have a fully kitted-out operator ready to lay down some original smoking scunion. Now he has to affect heavy breach operations — how much more can be piled onto this guy?

We practiced chopping through heavy steel vault doors and several feet of reinforced concrete wall — and doing it all while down in bottomless holes and (seemingly) endless tunnels and drifts. So many problems are associated with that sort of work.

In the realm of being nearly overburdened with equipment, all paratroopers are familiar with this painful trudge from their impact point on a Drop Zone (DZ) to a Rally Point (RP); in some cases, the trudge can be thousands of meters — Airborne All The Way!

The atmosphere deep underground may be poisonous or nonexistent; we had to wear open-circuit pressed air or closed-circuit oxygen rebreather systems — all heavy and cumbersome affairs. Now, a breacher wielding a welding torch has to drape himself in a full posture of leather floor-length aprons to be protected against molten slag. Everything was hot and heavy and men keeled over out “cold” from overheating. It was dangerous work, I’m here to tell you.

A closed-circuit rebreathing apparatus used in the mining industry.

Every heavy breach seemed to sport its own personality, each being a major brain-buster to defeat, as well as a physical nightmare to tackle. The buzz phrase for every event became:

“HOLY CRAP — NOW WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO??”

Beyond learning the function of the breaching tools, systems, and apparatus, the pattern of maneuver was on us to figure out. As with most special operators, the temptation was very often too great for the pipe hitters who were responsible for pulling security while the brothers breached. Security kept letting themselves get sucked into the breaching work like they were on the Event Horizon of a Goddamned Black Hole!

I mean some folks might be happy as a pig in shit that they are not caught up in a particular struggle within their eyeshot, but pipe-hitters seeing their bros having a tough time with a thing are all in. “Sucks being you” is an expression that is vigorously filtered through the Unit’s personnel firewall. Indeed, it occurs to me that I may have never heard: “Hey, can you give us a hand over here?” a phrase that is simply not necessary with pipe-hitters.

Delta brothers all pitched in to help dig out Gear-King Markey-Mark “COS” Stephens when his gear collapsed on him in our team room.

The matter ultimately came down to this: the men can no longer be expected to fight and breach. The decision was clear, though it gave rise to the next problem — how to remedy that issue into a cogent solution. The answer in, my what-it’s-worth, opinion was brilliant: We outsource all our breaching to the Chinese! I’m absolutely kidding about the Chinese; I actually wouldn’t even outsource rectal boil lancing to those haters.

The Unit formed another internal group that was to be the dedicated heavy breach cell. The men to handle the work (this was the brilliant part) were 18-Charlie Engineer sergeants from the Green Beret (GB) Groups. It was a stellar deal for the GB Engineers who wanted to be in the Unit but were not necessarily able to pass the Selection and Assessment trials. It also provided a sergeant major with a leadership position to fill, thus allowing him to remain in the Unit.

Such was the fate of a master sergeant (MSG) getting promoted to sergeant major (SGM, Smadge) in Delta. There was no guarantee that there would be a position in the Unit for the new SGM, resulting in him being reassigned outside the Unit — even back to Big Army! That horrifying threat alone was enough to make a brother resort to snorting crushed glass.

A photo of me snorting some lines of crushed glass rather than going back to Big Army.

The new 18-Charlie GB engineer pipe-hitters did a bang-up (no pun intended) job. Well, they did an absolutely remarkable job at an ultimately stellar level. Not only did you have a shit-hot team of heavy breacher bubbas, you still had all the treasure trove of skills and abilities that Green Berets — arguably the most versatile race of people on the planet — bring to every situation.

“By George (no relation), I do believe I am one brilliant son-of-a-bitch!” suggested the Unit commander regarding his decision to establish the heavy breach cell.

“Yes Sir, I do believe you are ready for the post-examination!” brown-nosed his suck-up executive officer.

“How did the breaching get done before the heavy breach cell came to the Unit,” a junior operator once asked me.

“We did it ourselves — we had to. We slung our assault rifles and we breached,” I replied to the incredulous little brother.

It sucked, really (REALLY) truly sucked, but I’m glad I was involved at the inception of the heavy breaching capability. I respect my time standing around in pissing rain with 70 lbs of assault kit and breaching gear hanging off me while staring at a failed breach:

“HOLY CRAP — NOW WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO??”

In fact, the huge concrete core-cutter barrel did grind its way through the approximately three feet of solid concrete. The cutter was shaped like a huge three-foot hardened steel cup that mounted to the wall hydraulically, spinning and cutting deeper into the concrete as we dumped a steady stream of water into the hollow of the cut. It was a welterweight chore to keep it running.

A large core-cutter barrel mounted to anchor rails above it spins hydraulically and cuts into the concrete barrier.

“WATER UP!” and a pipe hitter with gat slung across his back came jogging up toting five-gallon water cans — one in each hand.

“HEY, YOU PHUQRZ NEED TO GET BACK ON SECURITY — DROP THOSE WATER CANS!”

With the cut complete the core cutter barrel was yanked out of the hole, but the concrete core slid right out of the barrel and lay there in the hole like a giant plug — enter:

“HOLY CRAP — NOW WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO??”

“By God… that is enough!” hissed the Grinch.

The Grinch (L) seen here in Iraq with sorely-missed, dearly-departed brother Tom Greer AKA Dalton Fury AKA Red Fly.

The Grinch, who was always already pissed off from the very beginning of EVERYTHING, had had enough. He stomped over to a Pinzgauer and started thrashing around with lumber and cargo straps. He configured (I am not shitting you) a battering ram with a 4 x 4 wooden beam strapped firm to the bed of the Gauer protruding about three feet past the edge of the Gauer.

“STAND CLEAR!” someone hollered as the brothers pulled back away from the wall. Grinch backed the Gauer until the ram was just touching the concrete plug. He lined up, then pulled forward about 40 feet, put it in reverse and — slowly at first then picking up speed — he headed at a healthy clip toward the wall aiming for the plug.

6 x 6-wheel drive Austrian Pinzgauer rough terrain vehicle.

The grinch spanked the plug hard and popped it right through and into the building with a helluva din. It had taken one shot, just one shot — badass Grinch!

“I hope nobody was standing in front of that thing!” I shouted to the grinch in the pissing rain.

“I do!” the Grinch certainly shouted back at me with a look on his face that was just a smidge south of enchanting.

We pipe-hitters threw breaching gear away, snatched our gats forward, flung a baker’s bushel of bangers into the gaping hole, and started pouring through the tunnel in the wall, heads-first, spitting lead.

In Delta, it was good to be king, even while snaking through a concrete tunnel in the pissing rain.

Breach affected through a solid concrete wall with a core-cutter saw.

By Almighty God and with honor,
geo sends

My brother MSG Gaetano “Guido” Cutino (KIA) languishing momentarily in the bed of our breaching Pinzgauer.

‘Brothers of the Cloth’ by George Hand IV – A Fantastic Account of Life in Delta Force

George Hand IV, better known as “Geo,” is among the rare breed of special operators who have served at the very tip of the spear in the United States military. Geo’s book Brothers of the Cloth gives an inside look at life in a Special Mission Unit (SMU), the Army’s Delta Force.

Yet, the book isn’t about Geo, although he is there in all of the short stories he has put together. No, Brothers of the Cloth is about his brothers-in-arms in Delta and life “at the ranch,” as another Delta member once put it.

A Distinguished and Elite Career

Geo spent 20 years in the United States Army, nearly all of it in Special Operations units. He served in the 7th and 1st Special Forces Groups and as an instructor at the Army’s Combat Diver Qualification Course, known as “Scuba School” by SF troops. He then embarked on Selection for Delta Force where he spent the final 10 years of his military career.

His life after the military was as varied and interesting as his service. His civilian life also took him to SOFREP where we got to know one another. In comparing notes we realized that once we were standing within five feet of each other during the retirement of General William Garrison.

George Hand Delta Force — Geo ready to board a Little Bird. (Courtesy of George Hand)

Geo, who is fluent in more than half a dozen languages, is also a master cabinet maker and master photographer. Since his retirement, he has helped get Counter Human Trafficking organizations off the ground in Albuquerque and the Northeast.

Geo’s stories for SOFREP, WE ARE THE MIGHTY, and Sandboxx are a cause to stop what you were doing and read them.

Geo’s service took him — as one can imagine of someone with a 10-year career in Delta — all over the world. From helping chase down Colombian drug cartel kingpins, including Pablo Escobar, to the city of Mogadishu, Somalia, in the immediate aftermath of what later became known as “Black Hawk Down,” to Bosnia where his language proficiency became more of a curse than a blessing, and many places in-between.

Brothers of the Cloth

George Hand Delta Force HALO — Geo conducting a HALO jump over the desert. (Courtesy of George Hand IV)

The focus of the short stories collected in Brothers of the Cloth is Geo’s brothers in Delta.

As always with Geo’s writing, there are moments of hilarity, such as when during a mortar attack in Mogadishu, Geo dove behind what he believed to be cover only to later discover that it was a mosquito net. His friend Sam shined a flashlight on him and said, “Good thinking George… do you feel safe behind this mosquito net that even mosquitos can break through?”

However, other parts of the book are touching as Geo relays the sad passing of members of the Unit. And if it weren’t for Brothers of the Cloth, the story of these men would have been completely unknown to us.

Geo’s tale of Delta Force Selection is classic Geo, complete with a myriad of intriguing characters, humor, and the pain and misery — that one can only imagine — of trudging through the mountains of West “By God” Virginia. There, he met his now life-long friend and Delta legend, retired SGM Pat McNamara, whose videos “Basic Dude Stuff” are must-see on YouTube. But his most compelling character of the many in that chapter has to be the Marlboro Man.

Through all of the book’s short stories, the reader becomes part of the action and is transported right there besides these special operators, as Geo tells the tale from his perspective.

The book also touches on some dark moments of Geo’s own life and the struggles he faced after his military service.

By Almighty God and With Honor

Everyone who knew Geo back in his Delta days has a fond memory of him, for his humor, resourcefulness, and, most of all, humility. Recently, SOFREP Radio recorded a podcast with Geo’s former commander at Delta, Pete Blaber who relayed a great story of Geo while in Bosnia.

If you’ve read any of Geo’s articles, you will have noticed that he finishes them off with the sendoff, “By Almighty God and with honor, geo sends” without capitalizing the first letter of his name.

That is his humility shining through. The lowercase G denotes his respect for one of his departed comrades whose last name also began with a G. That man, Geo says, was the most humble man, and every time he signs his name he thinks of him.

That speaks volumes of that operator and of Geo himself.

Geo is someone we are proud to call a friend.

We can’t recommend Brothers of the Cloth enough. It is a page-turner and a must-have to everyone who enjoys military books. Unsurprisingly, the book’s hardcover edition is already sold out. The softcover edition will soon become available on Amazon. You can keep an eye for it through Geo’s website and we will also notify you once it becomes available. In the meantime, stay tuned for our upcoming SOFREP Radio interview with Geo!

By Almighty God and with honor… buy Brothers of the Cloth… you’ll be glad you did.