by E. Clay
The Mogadishu Diaries
Bloodlines: 1992-1993
Eddie Clay III
This book is inspired by true events, but names and some events have been changed to protect the privacy of those portrayed.
The US Department of Defense cleared this book for release and publication.
Mogadishu Diaries 1992-1993: Bloodlines
Copyright © Eddie Clay III 2013
New Paradigm Publishers-All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: Where is Your CAR?
Chapter 2: Warning Order: 1st MAF
Chapter 3: Pre-deployment: Blue in the Face
Chapter 4: Semi-Permissive Garrison Environment
Chapter 5: Fear Factor
Chapter 6: Internal Affairs
Chapter 7: Perception Management
Chapter 8: Autopsy
Chapter 9: I MAF Execute Order
Chapter 10: Passenger 67
Chapter 11: Mogadishu, Somalia: General Situation
Chapter 12: Mogadishu, Somalia: Peerless Leader
Chapter 13: Mogadishu, Somalia: Head Games
Chapter 14: Supermodel in Desert Cammies
Chapter 15: Rules of Disengagement
Chapter 16: Sex, Lies and Videotape
Chapter 17: Mogadishu, Somalia: Officer’s Call
Chapter 18: Mogadishu, Somalia: Unconscionable Conduct
Chapter 19: Mogadishu, Somalia: Me and Mohamed Ali
Chapter 20: Mogadishu, Somalia: Major Intervention
Chapter 21: Mogadishu, Somalia: Presidential Palace
Chapter 22: Mogadishu, Somalia: Jam Session
Chapter 23: Mogadishu, Somalia: Tier One Personalities
Chapter 24: Mogadishu, Somalia: No Sex in Theatre
Chapter 25: Mogadishu, Somalia: Name Game
Chapter 26: Mogadishu, Somalia: Underbelly
Chapter 27: Mogadishu, Somalia: New Era
Chapter 28: Mogadishu, Somalia: Waiting Game
Chapter 29: Takedown of Aidid’s Forces: Part 1
Chapter 30: Takedown of Aidid’s Forces: Part 2
Chapter 31: Takedown of Aidid’s Forces: Part 3
Chapter 32: Takedown of Aidid’s Forces: Part 4
Chapter 33: The Flies Have It
Chapter 34: Mightier than the Sword
Chapter 35: The Cover Up
Chapter 36: Revelations
Chapter 37: LAX Airport: Return to the Rock
Epilogue
Operation Restore Hope Gallery
Dedication
Glossary of Terms
About the Author
Prologue
In August 1992, the United Nations embraced a mandate to facilitate humanitarian aid to Somalis trapped by civil war and famine. On 3 December, the UN Security Council overwhelmingly approved Resolution 794, which authorized immediate intervention. President Bush responded to Resolution 794 with a decision to initiate the US-led “Operation Restore Hope.” The mission was two-fold; secure major supply routes for the safe delivery of relief supplies, and help create a secure environment. Under Chapter VII of the Charter, US/coalition troops were authorized the use of “all necessary means” to accomplish the mission.
Chapter 1: Where is Your CAR?
1 November 1999
It was just about 11:30 a.m. and I was sitting in the back of a taxi en route to Los Angeles International Airport. The driver had just turned onto Century Boulevard and I could hear the thunder from the planes preparing for landing. This had been the best military leave in my thirteen-year career. I just returned from Detroit, Michigan, to see my mom and dad. My dad is the pastor of Alpha Baptist Church, and I love the smile on his face when I just stroll into church during Sunday worship unexpectedly in my uniform. I always sit in the pew right behind my unsuspecting mother. The year before, I disguised myself as a courier needing a signature for a package. She signed for the package and tipped me, not knowing it was me in the fake beard and dark sunglasses. The parcel she collected was a diamond necklace I purchased for her while I was in Thailand. The next time I rang the doorbell, I removed my disguise and hugged her as she opened the door. I really missed her. Anyway, as we pulled into the departure terminal, I straightened my necktie and grabbed hold of my clothing bag and suitcase. I was in plenty of time but I was flying space available on a military chartered plane and one’s chances are always hit or miss. I was flying back to Okinawa, Japan and saved a small fortune catching a military hop on the way over. The military flight over was only $10.00. I was just hoping to be as lucky on the rebound. The only slight inconvenience of flying military Space-A is you have to fly in your dress uniform. I paid the driver and scurried to join three others in the large revolving doors. I checked in at the Military Airlift Command counter and prayed for a seat to avoid having to purchase a same-day commercial ticket to Japan.
“Good afternoon, Corporal. I was just wondering about my chances of getting a seat on the bird to Oki at 1400?”
“What category are you flying Gunnery Sergeant… Thompson?” asked the clerk as she read my ID card.
“Annual leave,” I responded less confidently.
“Not so good, most of the service members here are travelling on government orders, and annual leave as you know is low priority.”
As I stood at the counter, I noticed two large families waiting to check in behind me. At that time I began to lose hope of getting back to Oki on the cheap and started to calculate the added expense I was about to drop on my Visa. I thanked the Corporal behind the desk and tried to hide my disappointment as I walked away. While walking past my fellow Marines and their families, I saw an old familiar face.
“Staff Sergeant Barnes, Staff Sergeant Barnes!” I called out, waving my free hand.
The gentleman looked over his shoulder and stood. As soon as he saw me, he smiled and walked towards me.
“I’m sorry, I mean Chief Warrant Officer Barnes,” I said as I saw the shiny bars on his shoulder tabs.
“Gunny T…how long has it been?”
“Almost seven years now, congratulations on your officer appointment,” I said as I shook his hand firmly.
“Just trying to think where and when was the last time we met up,” said Barnes as he scratched his head.
“Man, how could you forget? 1992 in Mogadishu, Somalia.”
“Wow, you have an excellent memory. Do you remember the firefight with General Aidid’s forces?” Barnes asked as we both sat beside one another.
“Do I remember…how about January 7, 1993 at 7 a.m.?” I responded with 100% accuracy.
“Yeah, Somalia was good to me, I got another row of ribbons out of it and was selected for Warrant on the next board,” Barnes said proudly.
Barnes then began to size up my uniform and tilted his head with a puzzled look on his face. I thought my uniform was misaligned or something.
“Where’s your CAR?” Barnes asked.
“I took a taxi; my car is back in Oki,” I responded somewhat confused.
“I mean your CAR…your Combat Action Ribbon from the takedown we did that day,” Barnes replied.
“I didn’t know one was awarded. I was told by my officer in charge that it was a humanitarian relief operation, and no CARs were considered.”
“That’s bum scoop, everyone I know that took part in the fight got one,” Barnes said as he pointed to the CAR on his
chest.
“Didn’t you work for Captain Shaffner back then?” Barnes asked.
“Yup, he was the one that told me I was ineligible.”
“Don’t know what to tell you, but he put me and Lance Corporal Knox in for it.”
“Do you remember the combat photographer we brought along as an additional shooter? Well he got the whole firefight on video and I have a copy at home,” I said to Barnes.
“You have to dub a tape for me…that’s a piece of history! So when’s the last time you watched it?” Barnes asked.
“I showed it to my troops for training a few months ago,” I added.
“Betcha it brings back memories huh?” Barnes asked.
The truth was, I didn’t need the tape to remind me of what happened during the Takedown of Aidid’s Forces, I could never forget it. Seven years had passed, but to me it was like yesterday.
Chapter 2: Warning Order: 1st MAF
Seven Years Earlier
In November 1992, I was assigned to Third Battalion, Ninth Marines at Twentynine Palms, California. At that time, we were under siege, but not from foreign power. This was a media blitz. We were bombarded with almost nonstop news coverage of widespread famine plaguing Somalia. Rumors quickly spread that President Bush considered US intervention. Within days, the rumors were put to rest…as they became confirmed by the Warning Order 1st Marine Amphibious Force received. Many referred to this military action as the “CNN War.” My unit was tapped to supply a Gunnery Sergeant and an NCO, preferably a Sergeant. This was an opportunity I could not pass up, and it stemmed from me not deploying to the Gulf War two years prior. I was on instructor duty and was never called up. I remember as the Gulf War vets returned home with their amazing stories, I felt less than competitive and maybe a little envious. They were tested, I was not and I often wondered how I would have responded to such a demanding combat environment. I felt deploying to Somalia would close the gap between me and my Gulf War peers. On the way to noon chow, I saw Major Ennis, the Operations Officer.
“Major Ennis, I heard you are looking for a couple of bodies to support One MAF’s deployment to Somalia.”
“Affirmative. First, we were looking for volunteers, but now it may be that Marines are voluntold. I know why, too,” said the Major.
“Why? I think it’s a great opportunity,” I replied.
“Gunny T…no one wants to deploy just before Christmas. Most troops have their leave chits already approved, plane tickets bought, the whole nine yards. If I don’t have any luck by COB, somebody’s gonna draw the short straw.”
“If you need a Gunny, I’m throwing my name in the hat,” I said eagerly.
“I appreciate your offer Guns, but aren’t you a single parent?”
“Yes, but my ex-wife is stationed here on Mainside. She is the Audio Visual NCOIC and she could watch our son while I’m deployed. As far as my son goes, he will be excited for me. He never lets me forget that most dads on base are war vets.”
“Okay, if you can drop your Family Deployment Plan on my desk by tomorrow, you are my man.”
“Oohrah sir! Will do!” I said as I saluted him outside the chow hall.
“Hey Guns! If you know of a squared away Sergeant let me know!”
“Roger that!”
I had a great deal of respect for Major Ennis, he really looked after his troops. What I liked most about him was he was flexible and he really listened to what you had to say. I appreciated the opportunity he had given me and I had just the right man to fill the Sergeant slot…Corporal Ramirez.
Corporal Ramirez worked in the armory and was the best shooter in the unit. As a Corporal, he was the junior marksmanship instructor on the rifle range the year prior. As a marksmanship instructor, they let him qualify with the 9mm pistol. He qualified expert with the 9mm as well. Rarely did you see a Corporal with both rifle and pistol badges because Corporals were only required to qualify with the M16. At the Marine Corps Ball, he looked impressive with his double expert badges. It’s not often that the best NCO for the job is a Corporal, but Corporal Ramirez was an exception. I just needed to find a way to approach him without telegraphing my intentions prematurely. I figured I had one shot, so I did my homework and found out he enjoyed restoring classic cars off duty. His specialty was interior restoration and he preferred the diamond tuck seat design. Now that I had a plan, I needed to act quickly because time was of the essence. Luckily, I spotted him in the PX store just after work; he was perusing oldies music in the cassette section. He reached for a cassette that surprised me. It happened to be one of my favorites, and I remembered my uncle playing it to death around the house. The cassette was “Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green. I had to comment as I stood to his left.
“Okay, I am confused…what could you possibly know about Al Green?” I said jokingly.
“Gunny, this is a classic. They don’t make music like this anymore,” Corporal Ramirez replied.
“I will buy you a soda if you can name his biggest hit,” I said as I reached for my wallet.
“I guess you owe me a root beer,” he said with a smile.
He began singing the lyrics to “I’m Still in Love with You.” I joined in as we headed to the cold drinks section. For the next ten minutes or so, all we talked about was oldies and never once mentioned cars. At the end of our conversation, I told him I was deploying to Somalia and mentioned the NCO opening. I was surprised to find out he asked his NCOIC about it. Unfortunately, his NCOIC never submitted his name because they were looking for a Sergeant. With that in mind, I made it my mission to secure him that slot. The following week, Corporal Ramirez and I were in my Mazda RX-7 bound for First Marine Amphibious Force, Camp Pendleton.
Chapter 3: Pre-deployment: Blue in the Face
20 November 1992
Camp Pendleton was well sign-posted off the I-5 freeway. We were greeted by the ocean shore on the right and the beautiful palm trees that lined Hill Street. I was told by many of my friends who were once stationed there to go through the back gate, but that seemed senseless since the main gate was less than a half mile off the freeway. It only made sense that Mainside (I MAF Headquarters) would be in close proximity to the main gate. Nope…that would not be the case. After about a twenty-five minute drive on the base, I finally found Headquarters and Service Company I MAF. Mainside was closer to the rear gate, nowhere near the Main Gate as you would expect. As I passed the PX store on the left and the movie theatre on the right, Corporal Ramirez asked if we could grab some sodas before we checked in. I was parched from driving almost non-stop for the last two-and-a-half hours, so I pulled in the PX parking lot.
“Hey Gunny T, what can I get you?”
“I’ll take a bottle of Dr. Pepper, and could you pick up some boot blouses? I must have lost one,” I responded as I reached for my wallet.
“Don’t worry Gunny, I got it,” Corporal Ramirez said as he stretched his arms wide and let out a big sigh.
I started to feel good about this deployment and somewhat excited about seeing another foreign country besides Okinawa, Japan. Moreover, this was a Humanitarian Relief Operation, a real world operation and not just another Command Post Exercise.
As I was adjusting the radio to find a local station, I noticed Corporal Ramirez in a confrontation with a young girl who was no more than seventeen. She was irate and animated and Ramirez was starting to get excited as well. I immediately unbuckled my seat belt and flew out of my car as fast as I could to diffuse the situation.
“You saw the blue sticker, I know you did, you liar!” said the blond girl with braces.
“Calm down…what is going on here?” I asked, as I was conscious of having only one boot blouse amongst a crowd of senior Staff Non-commissioned Officers.
“He owes me a salute, and I want it now.”
“Excuse me, but I know my Corporal would have saluted if he had seen it.”
“He looked right at me, I know he saw it. My name is Megan Anderson and I want some ID.”
>
“My name is Gunnery Sergeant Thompson and I am sure it makes you feel special to have Marines salute you now that you are old enough to drive your parent’s car, but…Corporal Ramirez is not saluting a parked car…sticker or no sticker.”
“I’m telling my dad, Major Anderson, he is the Deputy Provost Marshal for the Military Police on base and he will rip you a new one. I am writing your license plate number down, Thompson.”
“Let’s go, Ramirez. I will meet you back at the car…don’t forget the boot blouses, okay?”
“No problem, Gunny.”
We both left the agitated teenager in front of her Ford Crown Victoria with her arms folded.
I always said the only thing worse than BS was unnecessary BS, and this was in my opinion unnecessary. I was slightly disappointed in myself for letting a Varsity cheerleader get under my skin.
Corporal Ramirez returned about ten minutes later with some sodas and my boot blouse. I think that was the first time I ever drank a soda without taking a breath.
“Whew! Let’s go check in, I MAF is just across the street,” I said as I buckled up.
“Gunny, what if her dad tracks us down?”
“You were following orders, my orders. If he wants to chew me out, he won’t be the first and he won’t be the last.”
Although I said that confidently…I was imagining getting reamed six ways to Sunday over it. I was hoping to deploy before I could be traced. Maybe my vehicle would not show up on their databases. Better yet, maybe she would forget about it altogether. It was too late to do anything about it, but it still bothered me.
As we pulled into I MAF Headquarters, I asked a Sergeant where the admin building was. It was right in front of me. Ramirez and I grabbed our original orders and marched right into the S-1.
“I’m Gunnery Sergeant Thompson and this is Corporal Ramirez. We are augmentees from Marine Corps Base Twentynine Palms.”
The Lance Corporal behind the counter received our paperwork and checked our names off the roster. After about five minutes of paper shuffling, she gave us a map with a large arrow pointing to our reporting command.
