by Couch, Dick
A sniper round narrowly missed Ryan Job (pronounced Jobe), a first-tour SEAL from Seattle, Washington, but the bullet glanced off a wall and into the top of his weapon, sending shrapnel into his eyes and face. One eye was destroyed by the impact and the other severely damaged. Job’s brother SEALs—including Chris Kyle—quickly gathered around him to provide cover while the platoon corpsman gave him aid. Among those who moved to cover Job and lay down a base of protective fire was Petty Officer Marc Lee. The operation quickly shifted from a cordon-and-search operation to getting Ryan Job safely off the battlefield.
The element commander, Lieutenant Lars Beamon, called for a casualty evacuation. A Bradley fighting vehicle came from COP Falcon for Job while the SEALs and scouts set up a security perimeter. Job was evacuated to the hospital on Camp Ramadi without further incident. The rest of the patrol returned to COP Falcon to rearm, as most of their ammunition was expended in the exchange. Everyone in the patrol was shaken by this serious wounding of Ryan Job. Out on the streets, the insurgents pressed their attack and several Army patrols were in heavy contact. ISR (image surveillance reconnaissance) from orbiting F/A-18s reported several bands of armed insurgents moving in the area where Job was hit.
With the other Army patrols in contact and the enemy mounting counterattacks, Beamon made a difficult decision. He ordered his SEALs to gear up and get ready to return to the fight. They were tired and battle-weary, but that’s why SEALs train to such a rigorous standard. The F/A-18s orbiting over the city kept them advised of the insurgent locations. The Bradley fighting vehicles carried the SEALs back to the vicinity where Job was wounded, and they continued their patrol. This time they were without their Iraqi scouts. Their operating procedures called for them not to go into the battlespace without Iraqis in their patrol element, but this time the scouts did not want to return to the fight. The streets of Ramadi had turned extremely dangerous, and it was the first time many of them had seen a SEAL go down. With Army patrols in close contact, the SEALs returned to the battle without their scouts. Their mission now was to support the soldiers engaged in this street battle.
The SEALs cleared one house from which they had received insurgent fire, and moved to the next. As this structure was being cleared, an enemy sniper from across the street found himself with a clear shot at an American in a second-story window. His target was U.S. Navy SEAL Marc Lee, from Hood River, Oregon. Petty Officer Marc Lee, twenty-eight, was struck in the head and died instantly.
Lieutenant Lars Beamon called in the Quick Reaction Force and made his second under-fire extraction. This time there was no rush to get a teammate to the hospital; the platoon medic told his officer that their teammate was dead. In the blink of an eye, the first Navy SEAL died in Iraq, on the battlefield in Ramadi.
The death of Marc Lee just hours after the wounding and blinding of Ryan Job shook the entire task unit. Indeed, Army Captain Mike Bajema and his Bulldogs felt the loss of a brother as well; Charlie Platoon had conducted many of their operations from COP Falcon. These casualties came thirteen months after eleven SEALs were killed in Afghanistan during Operation Red Wings. There had been no deaths in that intervening period.
“The loss of wounded Ryan Job and the death of Marc Lee was hard on everyone,” SEAL Jack Williams said. “It was hard on me. But those soldiers and Marines went out there every day, and we’d have felt terrible sitting back cleaning our guns or reviewing target folders while they were fighting for their lives on the street. It wasn’t an option for us. We were in Ramadi and we wanted our guns in the fight; we wanted to make a difference. Beamon did his duty—what was expected of him as a combat leader. Anything short of that would have been dereliction of duty.” Reflecting on his decision to go back out, Beamon said: “I think about it a lot—every day in fact. I’d give anything to have Marc back. I’d give anything for Ryan to see again. It was my decision, and I’ll live with it. I’m not sure I could live with myself if we’d stayed in the COP while our Army brothers were out there in close contact. That’s just not who we are.”
A short time later the Ramadi SEAL compound known as Shark Base was renamed Camp Marc Lee.
The decision to take to the streets in support of the Army and Marines in the Battle of Ramadi had largely been that of Jack Williams. As a SEAL task unit commander he did not have to support Sean MacFarland and his brigade battle plan in this way. He might well have directed his SEALs to continue in their roles as trainers and continue to only provide the Army and Marine battalions with intelligence and targeting information—not shooters. Or he could have restricted his operations to those traditionally considered “special,” keeping his SEAL operators poised for high-value targets, such as key foreign fighters and known al-Qaeda operatives. Instead, he said to Colonel Sean MacFarland, “Sir, what can we do to help?” and he meant just that.
In late September, Squadron Three and the task unit at Ramadi were looking at their last few weeks in Ramadi before their scheduled rotation back home. A SEAL task unit from SEAL Team Five was to relieve them and take up the battle. But those at Camp Marc Lee were beginning to notice some changes. Days went by without taking fire on the base. Over at Camp Corregidor, the SEALs were still taking fire daily; they still couldn’t go to the toilet or to chow without a helmet and flak jacket, but there was a feeling that things were getting better. The COP strategy was beginning to pay dividends; those neighborhoods around the COPs were gradually being purged of insurgents and insurgent violence. Tribal policemen were seen more frequently on the streets near the COPs. In these areas, there were the beginnings of normal life and commercial activity. There were still districts within the city fully under insurgent control, but their influence was shrinking.
On their final operation, the Corregidor SEALs from Squadron Three were scheduled for a thirty-six-hour overwatch operation. The SEAL squad on the operation was already packed and ready to leave for Camp Marc Lee on the first leg of their journey home. The other platoon squad was back at Camp Corregidor staging their equipment for redeployment. A contingent of scouts from the 1st Iraqi Brigade at Corregidor were with the SEALs. The mission was to set in two mutually supportive overwatch positions to protect a platoon of soldiers stringing razor wire along the rail line that ran across the southern outskirts of the city. By this stage of the game, it was a familiar drill—familiar, but they were taking nothing for granted this close to the end of the tour.
This was not the first time they had operated in this sector of the Mala’ab District, and the SEALs knew it to be dangerous turf. The insurgents were still active, both offensively and in planting IEDs. Only two weeks earlier two soldiers with an improvised explosive device clearance team had been killed in action nearby. It was from this sector that insurgents gathered to launch attacks on COP Eagle. The last SEAL operation into this area had led to a forty-five-minute firefight and six enemies KIA, with the SEAL element maneuvering in a running gun battle for half a mile to get back to COP Eagle.
On this operation, the SEAL elements patrolled out from COP Eagle on foot and seized two buildings that were about a block from each other. Lieutenant Sean Smith was in command of the easternmost overwatch while Lieutenant (jg) John Seville had the other. Seville was the Delta Platoon assistant officer in charge or AOIC. There were twelve to fourteen men in each element. A third of them were SEALs, the rest were Iraqi army scouts. They settled into their positions at about 3 p.m. on September 29. Both had excellent fields of fire to protect the soldiers who would be working along the rail line after sunup. The scouts dealt with the building residents and held security on the lower floors while the SEALs set in shooting positions on the roof of the third floor. They were exposed on the roof but protected by a short, stucco-and-concrete wall that bordered the open, flat roofs. In order to make their shooting positions more secure, they cut holes in the wall with loop charges. Their positions were tactically solid, and both overwatches were in communication with the tactical operations centers at Camp Corregidor and COP Eagle
.
“As soon as it became light, we knew it was going to be a day of fighting,” John Seville recalled. Seville was a former enlisted Marine who took his degree and commission at Texas A&M. Instead of returning to the Corps, he opted for a commission in the Navy and for SEAL training, graduating with BUD/S Class 247. This was his second combat rotation in Iraq as a SEAL. He had spent time in Ramadi in the summer of 2005. Seville had begun this tour with his SEAL squad working out of Shark Base, before it became Camp Lee. With the persistent insurgent presence in south and eastern Ramadi, he had been detailed to Corregidor to help Sean Smith and the 1-509th—the storied Army Band of Brothers.
“The insurgents were out moving early, scouting our position,” Seville said of the mission. “We shot two of them and the other overwatch to our east, shot one. Then civilians began blocking off the streets with rocks and trash to warn people away. By midmorning, vehicles began pulling into view. Someone inside would send a few rounds at us, and then they’d drive off. These were long-range, drive-by shootings. At noon, we got hit by an RPG that dusted up everyone inside our building.”
From his command position in the other overwatch some 150 meters to the east, Sean Smith could see the RPG strike and knew Seville’s overwatch was under siege. So was his position, for that matter. He also trusted John Seville as a capable combat leader; he and his SEALs, all seasoned veterans, could hold their own in a fight.
While their position on the roof at Seville’s overwatch was reasonably secure from direct fire, they were vulnerable to indirect fire and rockets—grenades and RPGs. Into the early afternoon, both positions were under steady insurgent fire. It seemed that on this day the insurgents in the Mala’ab were focusing on the SEALs rather than the soldiers stringing wire along the railroad. The SEALs watched as individual insurgents tried to maneuver close to the overwatch buildings. They were able to drive most of them off, but not all. At Seville’s overwatch, one of them managed to get in close, under the guns of the SEALs on the roof. It was from there that the insurgent managed to hurl a grenade up to the roof. It was a well-placed toss.
U.S. Navy SEAL Petty Officer Mike Monsoor was on one knee behind the covering wall. The grenade hit Monsoor in the chest and dropped in front of him. He leaped to his feet, then dropped to the ground to smother it with his body. John Seville was a few steps to Monsoor’s right and another SEAL was less than five feet to his left. Both Seville and the other SEAL were in prone shooting positions; they had no room or time to maneuver away from the grenade to avoid the blast.
Mike Monsoor was the only one of the three who could have dived away from the grenade that had landed in their midst. In the split second it took for Monsoor to assess his position relative to the vulnerable position of his brother SEALs, he made a fateful decision. He dropped on the grenade and absorbed the blast with his body armor and his body.
“He never took his eye off that grenade,” John Seville said of Monsoor’s last courageous act. “His only movement was down toward it. He undoubtedly saved my life and probably saved Danny’s [the SEAL to Monsoor’s left] as well. We owe him.”
Mike Monsoor was twenty-five and on his first combat rotation as a SEAL. He was handsome, just over six feet, easygoing, and a devout Catholic. On his first try at SEAL training, he failed, only to return more determined than ever. The second time he succeeded. At SEAL Team Three, his quiet presence and cheerful willingness to carry “the pig” (the M48—the current version of the 7.62 squad medium machine gun) made him a well-liked and respected member of his platoon and his team.
This was not Mike Monsoor’s first courageous act on the battlefield. On May 9, not quite a month after the task unit had arrived in Ramadi, Monsoor and his element were engaged in a firefight with insurgents. Moving through the streets, one of his teammates was taken down by enemy fire. Shot through the legs, he was exposed and immobile in the street. Monsoor raced to his side, shooting on the move. Enemy rounds kicked up the dirt around him. He helped to drag the fallen SEAL to safety while continuing to lay down suppressing fire with his M48. For his courage under fire, he was awarded the Silver Star.
After the grenade exploded, there was a great deal of confusion. Seville and Danny, on either side of Monsoor and the smothered grenade, both absorbed shrapnel, mostly in their legs. Neither was able to walk. Three of the scouts on the roof, shaken at the sight of three SEALs down, ran from the rooftop down into the safety of the building. The fourth scout went fetal, unable to move from fear and shock. They needed help, but the blast had also knocked out the SEAL radios. John Seville crawled to the immobilized scout and took his radio, calling to the other overwatch position to say he had men down. Bobby, the fourth SEAL on the roof, was only slightly wounded. He managed to drag Monsoor away from the building wall edge to assess his wounds, but there was little to be done; Monsoor was still alive but his breathing was labored. Calling the other scouts back onto the roof, Seville managed, with some difficulty, to get them to take up positions and return fire.
At the other overwatch, Sean Smith and his SEALs were already on the move. Knowing that Seville and his team were hit and needed help, they broke from their position. The second they stepped into the street, they were in a running gunfight as they battled their way to Seville’s location. The fire was so intense that Smith’s Iraqi scouts refused to leave the protection of their overwatch building. Smith and his four SEALs didn’t have that luxury. There were brother SEALs in trouble, and they had to get to them.
“It seemed like it took them forever to get to us,” Seville said of the wait, “but time was distorted for me. It was probably inside of ten minutes. That was pretty quick considering they were moving under fire. I was experiencing a lot of pain and a lot of frustration. And I remember how badly Mikey was hurt. I knew we had two priorities until the medevac arrived—win the fight and keep Mikey alive. Bobby, a professional warrior to the core, had taken Mike’s M48 back to the wall and was firing down on the enemy.”
Lieutenant Sean Smith called for a casualty evacuation and two Bradley fighting vehicles were dispatched from COP Eagle. The three wounded SEALs were rushed back to the COP and on to the hospital at Camp Ramadi, but it was too late for Mike Monsoor.
“I met Mikey at communications school during our predeployment training,” Seville said, recalling his friend. “He was from Garden Grove—your typical Southern California boy. He drove a Corvette and always had a laid-back, I’m-cool, no-sweat attitude. But that was just on the surface. He took important things seriously. When we were working, he was always there, one hundred ten percent and all business, yet in a nice way. When Mike was around, things seemed to go better—easier. Mike came from a very loving family, and when you met his folks, you could understand how he came to be such a likable guy and such a great team player. Y’know, he never made a big deal about it, but somehow he always managed to go to Mass on Sunday. He was our best and now he’s gone. We all miss him.”
At the division headquarters of the U.S. Army 1st Armored Division in Stuttgart, Germany, there’s a dedicated field of honor with a planting of evenly spaced trees. By each tree is a small monument with a plaque to honor a fallen member of the 1st AD. Among these soldiers are two sailors—two SEAL petty officers: Marc Lee and Mike Monsoor. Mike Monsoor became the fifth Navy SEAL to receive the Medal of Honor, and the second since 9/11. He alone among these SEAL heroes chose to give his life in a willful and deliberate act to save his teammates. Monsoor had options. He could have turned away from that grenade and saved himself. His teammates might not have died from the blast. Mike Monsoor chose instead to protect his teammates. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends: John 15:13. This was Mike Monsoor.
The Navy SEALs and their colleagues in the American military and intelligence services and in the Iraqi police and military helped the tribes and people of Anbar Province overthrow al-Qaeda and establish a period of fragile relative stability in the area that endured for more than five ye
ars. Tragically, in the wake of the American military pullout in 2011 and the continued political paralysis of the Iraqi government, large sections of Iraq fell back into insurgent and terrorist control in 2013 and 2014.
Whatever the future holds, nothing can detract from the valor of the SEALs and the many other Americans and their allies who fought and died to try to bring stability to Iraq and Afghanistan.
IN 2009 TO 2012, three near-flawless SEAL operations—two rescues of a total of three Western civilians from Somali kidnappers, and the killing of Osama bin Laden, a man directly tied to the murder of more than three thousand civilians—made news headlines in such a spectacular fashion that they pushed the traditionally secretive SEALs into the stratosphere of global media attention. In particular, these high-profile operations thrust into fame a Naval Special Warfare (NSW) component known as “Development Group,” whose existence is almost never acknowledged by the Department of Defense (DoD). One of the very few exceptions is a public Navy document dated May 9, 2014, titled “NSW Command Brochure,” which identifies the location of the Naval Special Warfare Development Group as Dam Neck, Virginia, and tersely describes the duties in this way: “Manages RTD&E [research, testing, development, and evaluation]; develops maritime, ground and airborne tactics for NSW and DoD-wide application.”4
