Friant could not remember his precise words, but she did recall that sometime after Al-Isawi’s capture, Westinson came to her “in a state of upset, crying and emotional.” He told her he was the apple of his mother’s eye, “and now I have destroyed everything.” She asked him what he was talking about, and he replied, “Everything. You know, the statement.”
Friant echoed Franco in that, in her opinion, McCabe was one “awesome Navy SEAL.”
MA1 Philip Cimino had been Westinson’s direct supervisor throughout the deployment until he left two weeks prior to the operation. He took the stand and stated that Westinson was young and believed that SEALs consider themselves “better than everyone else.”
In Cimino’s opinion, McCabe was a “great guy, and an awesome SEAL.”
In direct contradiction, the prosecutors called another MA1 who had worked with Westinson between the time he returned from Iraq and the court-martial. He said that Westinson was a good guy, and he never had a problem with the young master-at-arms.
The SEALs then proceeded to line up for Matt, speaking on his behalf. Commander Hamilton came first, the senior officer from TEAM 7. He was the man who had taken the decision to push this case higher toward prosecution and, ultimately, to this courtroom, taking advice en route from the determined Master Chief Lampard.
He said nothing against Matt but instead quoted from a very thorough deployment guide he had authored, and this book stated categorically that prisoner abuse would not be tolerated. He read out that part of his work to the jury in an inevitably self-congratulatory way, but he had nothing to say about Matt’s character.
Hamilton had never been a friend. But in this building that scarcely mattered. Matt had heavy backup. His distinguished troop commander took the stand and stated categorically that Matt was a great Navy SEAL with a tremendous work ethic who had never been in any kind of trouble before.
He added that Matt had an enviable reputation and had been given much responsibility, more than most SEALs of his age, and had handled it all perfectly. In the commander’s opinion, Matt would never lie to a superior. “And,” he added, “he’s not lying now.”
They then called to the stand Sam Gonzales, whose acquittal two weeks earlier could now be introduced into the record. Sam was the leading petty officer on the platoon and second-highest ranking enlisted man in the entire Iraqi camp. His trial and acquittal had made Sam, if anything, even more highly regarded in the SEAL community, and he took the stand for Matt. He told Puckett flatly that Matthew McCabe was known to be a great Navy SEAL with a deep, natural sense of honor.
As one person who was there, Sam confirmed the events of the morning of September 2. “I did visit the detention facility with Matt McCabe and Jon Keefe that morning,” he said, “but there was no assault. We dropped by just to see if Westinson needed anything. No other reason.”
For the record, Sam stated there was no one on that base with whom he would rather work on a dangerous mission than Matt McCabe or Jon Keefe.
Next up was Carlton Milo Higbie IV, the brave and intellectual SEAL who was, pound for pound, probably the strongest man in a brotherhood of proven iron men. He stood tall in the witness box, making little effort to hide the underlying disdain he felt for the court-martial of his friend and colleague Matthew McCabe.
Carl was one of those people who had neither the intention nor necessity to lie to anyone about anything. Ask him a question, and you’ll get a straight answer, probably resembling a metaphoric pile driver. He was a SEAL who would never stab his enemy in the back, simply because that enemy would never have even a split second to turn around.
“Matt McCabe?” he said, “He’s just a really great guy. Any of us would trust him with our lives. He has an outstanding reputation, based on his clear and obvious honor. I have no idea why he’s sitting at that table accused of anything. That’s a future SEAL leader right there. And he would never lie to anyone in his command. Not in a thousand years.”
Matt’s close colleague in the mission, Petty Officer 1st Class Eric, the rocket scientist from Georgia Tech, stepped up next. And the sight of this very brilliant SEAL standing gun-barrel straight in the witness box, speaking on behalf of Matt, was hugely impressive.
Eric, the point man on the mission, who had moved alone, quietly over the night desert right out in front of Matt’s right-hand assault column, was the trusted voice that Matt heard constantly over the comms all the way into the al-Qaeda stronghold.
And now that same SEAL was standing in a courtroom, eyed by the prosecutors, men who may not believe what he says. And his task on this day was to tell everyone attending this court-martial that Matthew McCabe was an honorable man.
And the two SEALs glanced at each before Eric spoke. God knows what they were thinking, these two highly trained combat warriors who trusted each other to the death, as Eric tried to show that Matt was a man of honor.
“This man is one awesome Navy SEAL,” said Eric. “And he has a reputation which I have never before heard challenged.” The men had worked together on many lethal night missions in Iraq, missions in which their roles had been reversed—Matt out there manning the communications, with Eric the lead sniper.
And the bond between them was there for all to see in that room. Neither would ever speak about their camaraderie, but there were a hundred memories between them from dust-filled hellholes around Fallujah, when each had relied upon the other and death had threatened them both around every pile of street rubble.
And now here was Eric standing in a witness box in Norfolk, Virginia, telling people he considered Matt a thoroughly decent and outstanding colleague, a man of honor.
It was noticeable that in all cross-examinations of the SEALs the prosecution was apt to tread softly. And they made no exception with Petty Officer Eric, whose words went virtually unchallenged.
Defense also called the non-SEAL medic, HM1 Paddy, the “pirate,” who confirmed everything the SEALs themselves had mentioned about Matt, including, once more, a statement under oath that he was a man of honor.
It may seem unusual for a group of Special Forces to persistently use the word “honor,” but that word is a bedrock of SEAL culture. It’s impressed upon them right from start of the BUD/S course, after which the outstanding graduate is awarded the title Honor Man. The word is contained in the SEAL Creed: “My Trident is a symbol of honor.”
And the many meanings of the word are consistently demanded throughout SEAL training: integrity, decency, righteousness, principle, character, pride, and morality. In the SEAL community to cast doubt upon a SEAL’s honor represents an insult that once caused men to fight duels. To call him a liar is probably worse.
So many men who had worked with him were now defending Matt’s honor. And even more men were standing by on the far side of the world to help. The oral surgeon in Iraq who had argued for Jon Keefe and Sam Gonzales, stating that the detainee had caused his own lip injury, was right by his cell phone when Puckett called from that Norfolk courtroom.
The jury heard the surgeon’s words, via satellite from Baghdad, confirming that in his view Al-Isawi had bitten his own lip ulcer, thus creating his own blood wound.
Puckett jumped all over this, raising his voice to stress that this validated their position that no assault had ever occurred. Once more he reminded the court that all al-Qaeda detainees are trained to injure themselves and then claim abuse.
By this time Puckett and Faraj were beginning to feel confident they were out in front in this argument, and they considered it unnecessary even to ask Matt to take the stand. Neither did they call Jon Keefe, who was sitting quietly outside, waiting to step in, if required, to defend his best buddy’s honor.
Before the closing arguments on this sunlit May afternoon the prosecution called one more witness, who, it was planned, would support their position that two SEALs, Matt and Jonathan Keefe, had colluded immediately after the alleged assault to get their stories straight in writing, because their statements appeared to be identical.
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And right here that witness really let the prosecutors down, testifying instead that the statements of SEALs who were on the same mission very often coincided in every detail. But the real body blow in this particular clash came when the prosecution added that the statements of Matt and Rob were, in fact, not the same, and, they contended, they should have been, as the two men had attacked the same building after the walk-in to the al-Qaeda garrison on the night of September 1.
And the defense thought this represented a mistake by the attorneys. Yes, they countered, Rob and Matt had moved into the attack simultaneously when they reached the building where Al-Isawi was hiding out; however, that apartment block was divided into two parts—Matt took the one on the right, and Rob took the one on the left.
The apartments were almost identical, with very similar layouts, but the personnel were different. And so Rob’s statements did not dovetail with Matt’s because they were in two separate places.
At this point in the trial the jury was been permitted to retire for a break while the attorneys battled the point. And seemingly right on cue, Lieutenant Jimmy came on the line from his deployment at the SEAL base in Hawaii.
With no jury present Lieutenant Jimmy spoke clearly about the statements that were now the subject of a legal altercation. Yes, it was correct that Matt’s and Jon’s statements were the same, standard because they were headed toward the same place. Matt’s words and those of Rob were different, however, because they marched forward across the desert in two different columns, aiming for two separate apartments.
So of course they were different, and Lieutenant Jimmy, the officer in charge of the entire operation and on the line all the way from Hawaii, was swift to point out the logic of this. It all had the effect of making the defense look the wiser of the two legal teams.
In Matt’s mind, even months after the trial was over, he still considered the clear and lucid words of Lieutenant Jimmy to have been a focal point of the court-martial: testimony from the other side of the world confirmed, once more, the obvious—that US Navy SEALs do not lie to their commanders. Ever.
From here on out Matt thought the jury listened rather more intently to the words of Puckett, Faraj, Shea, and Anastos than they did to those of the prosecution. And then it came down to the closing arguments.
Lieutenant Commander Jason Grover rose from his chair to present the case for the government. “This is a simple case,” he said. “But not an easy one. Because nobody wants to believe a decorated Navy SEAL would assault a detainee.”
But he returned to his only real witness, MA3 Westinson, who, he said, “had no reason to lie when he testified that he saw McCabe punch the prisoner in the stomach.”
He then asked the jury: “What’s Westinson’s motive to blame his shipmates? If he was looking for an explanation for something that happened on his watch, he had an easy one right in front of him—he could just say the terrorist did it to himself. He said no such thing.”
Grover dismissed the way the SEALs had refuted the testimony Westinson provided. He considered the SEALs were trying to protect one of their own. “They circled the wagons,” he said. “They do not want Petty Officer McCabe to be held responsible for this.”
He concluded the prosecution’s case by stating that the military has zero tolerance for detainee abuse and that all members of the services are duty-bound to follow the law. “We uphold the rules,” he said. “And we’re better than terrorists. That’s why we’re here.”
He then gave way for the defense’s closing argument, which Faraj, who had been extremely busy during the overnight hours of recess, would conduct.
The former US Marine Corps major had been shopping, purchasing a brand-new white T-shirt and a small bottle of bright red food dye, the stuff used to enhance coloring. It comes in various forms—liquid, powder, gel, and paste. Faraj wanted liquid only, and not much of it.
And now, with his backup equipment on the table before him, he recapped the case, mentioning Westinson’s unreliability and the obvious lack of motive for Matt McCabe or any of the other SEALs to walk into the detention facility and punch the prisoner.
“Why,” he asked, “didn’t McCabe just shoot Al-Isawi in the first place?”
“These accused SEALs,” he continued, “are professionals. And for the government to be believed, every last one of them has to be lying.”
At which point he produced his final plan of attack. Referring to the bloodstain on the terrorist’s dishdasha, he wondered how many members of the jury realized how little blood it actually took to make a considerable mess of a white garment.
And he poured a small amount of the food dye into a spoon that was no more than a half-inch across and sprinkled it down the front of the brand-new T-shirt. The subsequent stain was more or less the same as that on Al-Isawi’s garment.
“That’s all it took,” said Faraj. “And you may think this apparent injury was not nearly so severe as that original bloodstain suggested.”
Faraj also resented the prosecutors’ statement that the SEALs had circled the wagons to protect one of their own. “Absolutely untrue,” he told the jury. “I disagree with the concept that the SEALs are covering up. I actually find it pretty offensive.”
He formally requested that the jury find Matthew McCabe not guilty on all charges and to “finally free this innocent man of these accusations.” With the closing statements complete, the prosecution requested additional time to prepare a rebuttal.
The attack on Westinson’s character that a string of defense witnesses made required the prosecution to find a way to rehabilitate him. But this was very late in the day to resuscitate a key witness.
There really was no way back for the prosecutors. And at 4:15 P.M. on Thursday, May 6, Judge Modzelewski handed the case over to the jury. They were gone for just one hour and forty minutes, and when they returned the foreman announced that they did indeed have a unanimous verdict.
“We find Matthew McCabe not guilty on all counts,” he said.
Brian Westinson, the only man who claimed he saw Matt strike the terrorist, yet again had not been believed.
And Matt, the last of the three SEALs to stand trial, was finally exonerated of all wrongdoing. The third court-martial had agreed with the first two: no Navy SEAL had punched Al-Isawi.
The three trials had cost the government in excess of $2 million. The SEALs’ legal expenses topped $250,000.
Like a true SEAL, Matt accepted the greatest victory as though he were used to it, showing little emotion at the reading of the verdict. But before he could even shake hands with his attorneys a well-dressed lady walked swiftly out of the public benches, muttering, “Thank God, thank God” as she threw her arms around Matt’s neck, thanking him for capturing her son’s murderer.
Donna Zovko still clutched her rosary beads in perhaps the most famous picture of the trials, taken on someone’s cell phone. Donna’s eyes were closed as she clung to Matt and fought back that ever-present apparition of her son’s body strung up on that Fallujah bridge. And in her heart were a thousand words that would never be spoken. To Matt she only murmured, “Thank you” over and over. Just a very private thank you in a very crowded courtroom.
One involved person was, however, missing from this final triumph: Katie Helvenston. Distraught almost beyond tolerance, she had left in the middle of the trial and flown home to the Midwest. Her exit was one of high courtroom drama because it happened when the recorded voice of Al-Isawi was heard during the trial. The stress of listening to these people trying to attack Matthew followed by the sound of this mass murderer lying to the court simply overcame her, so, in floods of tears, she went away, still thanking Matt for dragging the murderer of her beloved Scott into captivity to face trial.
In the moments after the verdict Matt turned to his attorneys and embraced each one of them in sincere thanks for everything they had done—although, in truth, this had not been the knock-down-drag-out battle of the first two trials. This one had the
inestimable advantage of the two not-guilty verdicts established in Baghdad.
“To be honest, this was far more straightforward,” said Faraj, “because right here we had two very definite villains, who were not telling the truth, and one very definite hero. That quickly laid it right out for the jury.”
With the court-martial concluded, the press stampeded to their phones, relaying the major story that the last SEAL had been found not guilty on all counts.
USNavyseals.com fired out a release of the good news they wished to share, mentioning the very poor view everyone took of the prosecution’s insinuation that the SEALs had circled the wagons. And they quoted Faraj’s “pretty offensive.”
They also stated the following: “Try as we might, not to make biased judgments, it is certainly difficult to consider allegations given by a suspected terrorist over the testimonies of Navy SEALs, who risk life and limb for what their country believes in.”
Their e-mail release ended with their own verdict: “An expectant public has heaved a sigh of relief.”
And boy, were they ever right about that. It was 6 P.M. on a Thursday evening, and the words “acquittal,” “decision,” “verdict,” and “trial” were flashing through cyberspace. The name Matthew McCabe was heard more often than that of Barack Obama.
Outside the courtroom there was something approaching pandemonium. The correspondents for Al-Jazeera, the Arab television station out of Qatar, were ducking and diving, trying to find Iraqi sympathizers and, perhaps, someone who would say that it was impossible for any Arab to get justice in the United States. They had almost no luck.
But when Matt and his lawyers stepped outside there was a scene of genuine joy that transcended even the reporters’ duty to report the most objective story for their publications and broadcasters.
Matt kept saying he was “ridiculously happy,” and all the principal characters, who had been swept up for so long by this dubious court-martial, were mingling together in the Norfolk Navy Yards: Jon and Sam, Puckett and Faraj, Anastos and Shea, the SEALs, Eric and Carl, and Reschenthaler and Threatt, and of course, Donna.
Honor and Betrayal : The Untold Story of the Navy Seals Who Captured the Butcher of Fallujah -and the Shameful Ordeal They Later Endured (9780306823091) Page 39
