THE GREEN LIGHT FROM HIGH COMMAND
SEAL combat leader: “I have no idea why Matthew is 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.”
The US government’s case against its own Navy SEALs was laid spread-eagle across the sands of Arabia. And now the disparate armada of attorneys, witnesses, freed men, and court officials prepared to embark on the aircraft that would airlift them all seven hundred miles south, back to the old Bedouin lands of Qatar.
The outward journey, less than one week and about ten thousand light years ago had been, at best, incongruent—the thirty-four-strong court-martial touring party had been divided politely but academically almost down the middle. There were those who saw this persecution of the SEALs as disgraceful and those who saw it as a necessary proceeding to show the world that the United States was always superior to lawless terrorists—politically correct, that is.
The homeward journey, however, brought a new dimension to the word “polarize.” Because now there were two distinct camps, divided not by civil and intellectually well-chosen phrases but rather victory and defeat, the triumphant and the vanquished.
There were prosecution lawyers who had been unusually hell-bent on securing convictions for the government. And then there were the iron-souled US combat warriors who had traversed half the globe just to stand in that courtroom and swear that the two accused men, their brothers-in-arms, Jonathan Keefe and Sam Gonzales, were innocent.
There was the judge himself, Commander Tierney Carlos, who as a hard-eyed beacon of common sense and justice, had brooked no unfairness against the defendants. And there were the defense attorneys, a large team of both civilians and Navy JAGs, who had fought tirelessly, night and day, for men they sincerely believed had done no wrong.
For the civilians, Greg McCormack and Monica Lombardi, there was, inevitably, the warm glow of courtroom success. But for members of the Navy JAG Corps there was a special private sense of disquiet.
For the prosecution, Lieutenant Commander Jason Grover, a senior and distinguished naval attorney, had worked with the extremely capable Lieutenant Nick Kradlec, and they had done everything possible for a near-impossible case, featuring two prime prosecution witnesses who no one believed, one of them a killer and an al-Qaeda terrorist who had murdered Americans.
And the Navy defense victors, representing Sam Gonzales, included the youthful and aggressive Lieutenant Guy Reschenthaler, working with Lieutenant Commander Andrew Carmichael. For Jonathan Keefe, Lieutenant Paul Threatt was his lead Navy JAG, and Matthew McCabe’s two Navy JAGs, Lieutenant Kevin Shea and Lieutenant Kristen Anastos, further supported them all.
All of these lawyers essentially worked in the same office in Norfolk, Virginia. A combination of brilliance, passionate belief, and a darned shaky case to begin with had defeated the senior prosecution attorney. It was perfectly obvious that a few commanding officers in both the Navy and the Army were by now looking at these court-martial results with a somewhat jaundiced eye.
General Charles Cleveland and his staff were likely not happy about the outcomes. No one likes to bring a failed prosecution, certainly not one that had been cast so ignominiously upon the drifting sands of the Syrian Desert.
This applied particularly to any case in which there was not only relentless public pressure to have the proceedings stopped but also advice from distinguished military lawyers, eminent commentators, and many important members of Congress, all suggesting that these prosecutions against Navy SEALs were approaching the very heights of judicial folly.
Although General Cleveland and his legal assistants had been thoroughly alerted to the dangers of their prosecution, they had nonetheless pressed on in an obdurate way. The question that had baffled every lawyer involved, not to mention the defendants and very probably the judge was: Why?
What advantage could there possibly have been to charging SEALs with an offence that no one in the United States cared about? So many Americans thought, Banged a terrorist in the mouth or wherever? So what? Whack him again for all I care.
But the most bewildering aspect of the case was the obvious flimsiness of the prosecution’s case. Everyone knew the unmarked terrorist was likely to be torn apart on the witness stand, and everyone knew the honest, straightforward SEAL witnesses, not to mention the medics, were going to cast doubt about Westinson’s validity as an assistant to the prosecution.
Plainly these doubts had been in place since the very first statements had been taken. Why then, had a former Special Forces officer like Charles Cleveland risked going ahead when the apparition of failure lurked around every corner?
And now the SEALs’ prosecution had been discredited. The jury did not believe Westinson or Al-Isawi, and neither did the judge.
So why? Was there something these very smart attorneys had missed? Was there some ulterior motive attached to this entire case? Were the men of SEAL Team 10 under some kind of a cloud?
Well, that last question was bothering at least two, maybe three, of the attorneys on that long journey home. And slowly they were putting together some kind of a theory, mentally lining up the administrative strikes against the SEAL Team, the kind of small incidents that might have added up to a general exasperation with the bearded American tigers of the Iraqi desert. And there were, undeniably, several possibilities:
1. A lot of US servicemen, most especially in the Army, quietly resent the SEALs because they march to the beat of a different drum. They are allowed to wear their hair longer than everyone else, and often wear beards to fit in better with local tribesmen. They often address their officers on first-name terms. Also, that steel-edged brotherhood stands supreme; they place their lives in each other’s hands most days. Officers rarely if ever pull rank on their devoted warriors.
2. Team 10 had a battlefield incident in the not-too-distant past, and there was the normal inquiry. Certain military bureaucrats had almost fallen over themselves generating volumes of red tape connected to the incident.
3. Carlton Milo Higbie had built a “catapult,” meant to infuse some levity into the very serious wartime atmosphere, but not everyone found it funny. Working from some ancient Roman battle manual, the irrepressible, superintelligent SEAL managed to construct a huge siege weapon capable of hurling a hefty rock several hundred yards. The SEALs all thought this was hysterical, but there were those in authority who very definitely thought otherwise.
4. And somehow or another, a couple of big cans of diesel fuel intended for the generator were accidentally poured into the Camp Schwedler water supply, instantly poisoning it. Team 10 was not in any way responsible, but the camp’s problem of water, which now had to be brought in from the main Marine base, was just another pain-in-the-ass problem involving the iron men from Virginia Beach.
5. And now there was another problem: prisoner abuse, this time just a few miles from Abu Ghraib. You could almost hear the collective groan emanating from commanding officers at the mere sound of that career-busting phrase, and they must have thought, TEAM 10! Jesus Christ! Not them again!
Because, although this was now 2009, only four years since the Abu Ghraib disaster, the mere mention of the words “prisoner abuse” caused an almost neurotic reaction among US service chiefs seen only rarely since the fall of Saigon in 1975.
No one would ever forget the crushing reaction of the US Defense Department when Abu Ghraib came to light—seventeen soldiers and officers removed from duty, eleven of them court-martialed, resulting in a couple of heavy jail sentences, one of ten years, another of eight.
Abu Ghraib saw the demotion of a brigadier general to colonel. It also saw the powerful Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld offer his resignation. And it all started with prisoner abuse. And Matt McCabe’s alleged bang to the guts of Al-Isawi had, in the opinion of several lawyers, triggered a drastic overreaction.
In truth, there could have been but three takes on why General Cleveland persisted with the courts-martial when it was plainly risky to do so:
1. Someone very senior was telling him to follow the international politically correct line, no matter what.
2. The words prisoner abuse had caused an entirely uncharacteristic loss of nerve at several high levels in the US military.
3. There was a strong feeling that Navy SEALs were getting too “untouchable,” and here, at last, was the occasion to teach them a short, sharp lesson, to show them that even they, the gods of US combat, were not above regular military law.
It was quite surprising how many of those defense attorneys were inclined toward option three. And there was one further point with which every last one of the defense counselors was in unanimous agreement.
The military authorities had jumped onto the wrong side of this argument very early on—too early—before they had even examined the facts or listened to the SEALs. And once the commanders had crossed that line, determined to establish “prisoner abuse,” there was no way back.
Because everyone had immediately jumped all over the accused SEALs, treating them as though they were guilty. Master chiefs, commanders at every level, legal officers—everyone was trying their best to please their respective masters and, it seemed, paint Matt, Jon, and Sam in the worst possible light: bullies, conspirators, and liars.
It would have been downright impossible for the military authorities finally to say, “Oh, we probably got this one wrong. Al-Isawi is an obvious liar, Brian Westinson is ... well ... unreliable, and Matt, Jon, and Sam can go free.” It had all gone too far, too quickly. And there was no way to retreat.
The road ahead led directly to that famous SEAL combat zone, known colloquially as an “Oh shit! scenario.” And unlike the SEALs, the high command was not yet prepared to “engage the enemy.” That would have to wait for a courtroom, and in there, under the US Constitution, every accused person has a right to absolute fairness.
And that was, after all, the only thing each one of the three charged SEALs had ever requested—a lawyer and a proper hearing.
And when push came to shove in that Baghdad trial room, the government finally saw what it was up against—a half-dozen legal-armed attorneys, carrying sledgehammers of the law with which to obliterate the charges against their innocent clients.
Thus the soured atmosphere between the various factions on the aircraft home to Norfolk. Thus the polarization of the entire court-martial fraternity—those who believed that justice had most certainly been done and those whose judicial noses had been put very badly out of joint.
Jon and Sam slept soundly through much of the seven thousand-mile journey from Qatar to Washington. It was the first time either of them had slept soundly for more than seven months.
Behind them, sitting with his naval JAGs, Lieutenant Kevin Shea and Lieutenant Kristen Anastos, was the one man for whom the endless ordeal was not yet over. Petty Officer Matthew McCabe was still only twenty-four years old and, in his own mind, still with a mountain yet to climb.
Despite the two acquittals in Iraq, Matthew was still charged with the actual whacking of the terrorist. He alone had to face trial; he alone was charged with three separate counts—assault, dereliction, and lying. He alone may face military jail if found guilty.
Moments like these, when your two buddies are free and cleared of wrongdoing, peace of mind hard to achieve. And all the old dreads and fears came crowding in on Matt, no matter how many friends and well-wishers were with him on that aircraft home.
Right now he was as alone as he had ever been. No one else would face what he must face. No one else would stand before a military court and hear the satanic words, the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA v. MATTHEW MCCABE. No one else would feel the stark, helpless chill of accusations when none was deserved.
The great rallying points of the US Navy’s slogan, “Honor, Courage and Commitment,” were hollow to him now, his short years of service no longer calling him to the flag. Matt’s questions were searching: Am I brave enough to face myself when I am so afraid? Can I stand up in this storm that I now must face? Or will these great forces, lined up against me, in the end prove too strong?
On the aircraft he could see the prosecutors’ frowns. Anyone could tell they were less than happy. Where would they go from here? Would they somehow rally their own troops and charge back into the fray with new evidence and testimony to be used against him? Who else was there? Who might now step forward and swear before God that they had seen him thump the terrorist?
Right now nothing would have surprised Matt. And not too far away sat the strange and silent figure of Brian Westinson, whose actions, to Matt at least, were beyond comprehension.
There was some comfort for him in the two Baghdad trials’ outcomes. No one had believed Westinson in Iraq, and there was a fighting chance they would not believe him in Norfolk either. But Matthew had now seen justice at work. In the beginning he had thought it would be a simple task to tell the truth and make it obvious the charges were absurd.
But this, his first brush with the law, had already taught him differently: all the guile, study, and aggression the attorneys could gather were required just to prove the obvious. The dark forces that walked the horizon had to be stopped, and that required a courtroom bludgeon, for they would not retreat on their own. That was the way of adversarial law as it is widely practiced in the free world.
Matt needed every one of his four-man legal infantry. His lead JAG, Lieutenant Kevin Shea, was a tough courtroom advocate, a New Yorker, one of five brothers—two of them SEALs and two of them US Marines. Lieutenant Kristen Anastos had worked tirelessly on his behalf, and they would now join forces with Puckett’s law firm in Virginia, bringing another new fighting force into play.
He was Puckett’s law partner, Major Haytham Faraj, a twenty-two-year veteran of the US Marine Corps, an enlisted man who had come up through the ranks—mortar section leader, Fifth Marines, platoon sergeant (weapons); deployed to Operation Desert Shield and Desert Storm, and distinguished staff sergeant.
Major Faraj then attended the Military College South Carolina (the Citadel), where he graduated magna cum laude and was commissioned in 1995, later to be assigned to Third Battalion, First Marines, becoming a company commander. He received his juris doctorate degree (cum laude) from the American University College of Law in Washington, DC.
A fluent Arab speaker, Major Faraj began his career as a trial attorney in the Marine Corps, rising to senior defense counsel at Camp Pendleton, California. By the time he came on board for Matt’s trial, he was Puckett’s partner, slightly outranked by the former lieutenant colonel but nonetheless a formidable defense counsel force in any court-martial.
“My kind of guy, right?” muttered Matt to himself on that long, largely sleepless journey home. And even as his worst dreads churned in his subconscious, the bayonet-sharp mind of Faraj, a military weapons expert, was preparing the first of his legal missiles, and this one was aimed straight at the heart of SOCCENT on MacDill Air Force Base, Florida, home of Charles T. Cleveland, major general, US Army, commanding.
In short, the ex-Marine major was suggesting that the Major General, who had convened these trials, do himself and everyone involved a huge favor and dismiss these “untrue allegations” against SO2 Matthew McCabe.
It was a personal letter written on the headed paper of the Puckett and Faraj Law Firm on Jamieson Avenue, Alexandria, Virginia, exquisitely timed to hit while the US-based brass were still reeling from the results of the failed courts-martial against Sam Gonzales and Jon Keefe.
The letter was argued immaculately, as would be expected from an attorney as battlewise as Faraj. It sought not to trap the general in a corner from which there was no escape but rather to appeal to his long experience as a Special Forces commander and a lifelong leader of men—American men, that is.
After so many triumphs in the bear-pit of a criminal courtroom, where he’d delivered so many pleas couched in harsh, confrontational terms, Faraj also knew how to take his foot off the gas pedal when the occasion demanded.
His private letter, in full, to the general, read,
Dear General Cleveland,
I write to plead the case of SO2 Matthew McCabe. This is not mere posturing, and it is not lawyering. It is a former serviceman pleading the case of a current service-member. It is one warrior pleading the case of, and to, another warrior.
Indeed I am a lawyer; and it is true that I represent Matthew McCabe, and have an interest in seeing this case resolved in his favor. However, before I became a lawyer, I served 16 years in the infantry as an enlisted Marine, and then as an officer. I have deployed numerous times, served in combat and held several leadership and command billets.
I have analyzed this case from every angle in as detached and objective a manner as I could; given my connection to it. I went so far as to have Matthew McCabe submit to an independent professional polygraph exam, the report of which I attach.
The polygraph confirmed what I concluded, and what Matt McCabe has said all along. He did not hit anyone. I cannot answer why the detainee says he was abused, I cannot explain MA3 Westinson’s version of the facts. But one thing remains certain: Matt McCabe is innocent.
SEALs and other Special Forces have no need to abuse. They are too disciplined and too professional. You know this. By my count you have commanded six different Special Force commands and units. You know these types of men better than anyone. They are aggressive, tough, dependable, and, most importantly, honorable. They are serious men, doing serious business. They would not betray the trust you placed in them.
I am asking you not betray the trust Matt McCabe has placed in you. He became a SEAL knowing that he was joining the ranks of a very few special men. He knew he would be exposed to harm on the battlefield. He willingly volunteered. He understood that he and his brothers may at times come under scrutiny, and criticism, for doing their job. But he believed that you, and his other officers, would protect him, for so long as he did what he was supposed to do.
Matt McCabe was doing what he was supposed to do. He arrested, and transferred a very bad person to the authorities. He did not abuse him, or in any way act in an unprofessional manner. Yet today, he finds himself facing serious charges that may end his career, take his liberty and ruin his life. Will you protect him?
I recognize that as a commander, you have a duty to investigate allegations of misconduct, but you also have a duty to prevent frivolous prosecutions, and unsubstantiated charging. Two of your sailors, Keefe and SO1 Gonzales, have been acquitted of the unsubstantiated charges; another remains. He loses sleep, suffers from the hurt of betrayal, and feels confused about why he must go through this process, because he has done nothing wrong. He has a talented defense team, but that guarantees nothing.
At the end of his trial, he may very well stand guilty of an offense he did not commit. He would have a federal conviction. He may go to prison. He may be discharged, with a bad conduct discharge, in spite of his honorable service. He may lose his rank, and have to return home dishonored and betrayed.
Has it not become clear that these SEALs did nothing improper? A jury and a military judge, in the cases of Gonzales and Keefe, respectively disbelieved the version of the facts sponsored by the detainee and MA3 Westinson.
And I believe you will find the conclusions of the two courts, that no misconduct occurred, persuasive enough to move you to dismiss the charges against SO2 McCabe. I also attach the polygraph examination we gave to Matt. It was administered by a certified polygrapher, but if you continue to have doubts, I invite you to speak to Matt personally.
As a former Marine, former warrior, and officer of the court, I want to assure you that Matt has maintained the same version of the facts all along: he never abused the detainee.
It is my sincere hope that you will end this matter by dismissing the charges against SO2 Matt McCabe. Protect your Sailor from the untrue allegations, and end his nightmare.
Semper Fidelis,
Very respectfully,
Haytham Faraj, Major, USMC (Ret.)
Faced with that and with the flat-out rejection of the two courts-martial, General Cleveland nonetheless elected to ignore the onrushing judicial tide. He told Faraj he was allowing Matt’s trial to proceed. The twenty-four-year-old Echo Platoon Team leader would face the jury in the next two weeks, in Norfolk, under the guidance of the senior judge, Captain Moira Modzelewski.
This would be a very formidable courtroom. Judge Modzelewski had recently been appointed to serve as the presiding officer of the Guantanamo Military Commission that would sit in judgment over the detained al-Qaeda suspect, Noor Uthman Muhammed. Captain Modzelewski was a world-class authority on terrorists as well as US law. Generally speaking, hers would not be the ideal forum to convince the judge that Al-Isawi was anything but a vicious little desert murderer and about as trustworthy as Colonel Gaddafi.
Captain Modzelewski had studied at the University of Virginia Law School and at the Naval Justice School. In 1989 she was appointed as an assistant professor at the US Naval Academy in Annapolis. She was also pretty adroit at nailing down trained liars, and when she finally had the heavily guarded Noor Uthman in front of her at Guantanamo, she subjected him to a grim two-hour grilling just to establish that he understood the meaning of the word “guilty.”
She fired a barrage of questions at him, all starting with the phrase, “Do you understand?” Finally he was allowed to plead guilty, thus averting a sentence of life imprisonment. But Captain Moira had established one lifelong rule for her courtroom: do not lie to this judge, because you will, judicially, be hung out to dry.
This was not at all good news for Ahmad Hashim Abd Al-Isawi. But it was an almighty plus for Matt, his four lawyers, and the tight-knit platoon of SEAL warriors who would stand shoulder to shoulder in unshakable support of their Team 10 brother.
There was barely a week between the arrival home of the court-martial aircraft from Iraq and the start of Matt’s trial. And before it began Puckett and Faraj came charging in with an instant motion to dismiss, both attorneys plainly indignant with General Cleveland’s short, sharp refusal to even consider stopping the trial.
Their case for the defense was based on a report on the O’Reilly Factor on FoxNews, presented by Geraldo Rivera, in which he quoted sources “very close to” General Charles Cleveland alleging that he was pressured to continue with the trials despite public outrage and two not-guilty verdicts in the cases of Petty Officers Gonzales and Keefe.
Puckett and Faraj thus demanded the case be dismissed because of “unlawful command influence,” the inference being that an even higher authority had leaned on the general and told him he was expected to allow Matt’s court-martial to proceed.
This particular possibility in US military law is heavily frowned upon, categorically banned from happening. In some cases the merest suggestion of this kind of “insider trading” has been resolutely dealt with in the defendant’s favor.
This one, however, was more evenly weighted. And the prosecution countered strongly, arguing that FoxNews had not provided sufficient objective facts in their report to warrant the dismissal of the case.
Judge Modzelewski accepted the prosecution’s argument, agreeing that television stations need only rumors to allow them to run the story. That is not good enough for a US court of law, where evidential requirements are about one hundred times more stringent.
She dismissed the defense motion not for the lightweight methods of modern journalism but because she held that General Cleveland could not be held responsible for the continuation of the trial and because Matt himself had been given the option of nonjudicial punishment but chose instead to go to court-martial.
Just how little the military judiciary had played this angle was actually quite alarming. A naval nonjudicial punishment carries the assumption of guilt and is almost certainly a career wrecking ball. The three SEALs were admitting nothing, so the court-martial was their only option to establish total innocence. And for them nothing less would suffice.
Anyway, on Monday morning, May 3, Judge Modzelewski threw out the motion, rejecting the FoxNews report.
Puckett and Faraj were back on their feet in a flash, bringing a second motion that asked for a new transcript of Al-Isawi’s deposition, the one taken in Baghdad that would constitute his testimony in absentia in McCabe’s trial.
Al-Isawi was a prosecution witness, and the government had provided the translator. Urged on by Reschenthaler, Puckett and Faraj understood only too well the critical nature of any Arab translator who might have been either dumb, deaf, or crooked, and they wanted a new one to listen to Al-Isawi’s audio testimony. And this might have taken another day.
But defense did not care how long it took, because both lawyers realized that the Arabic translator might have said anything. Faraj had already suspected that in pretrial depositions the translator seemed to be asking his own questions and ignoring those that the attorney posed. He told this to the judge, protesting that it was against the rules, and he provided a totally unreliable and untrustworthy deposition.
The defense wanted a brand-new linguist, with no prior knowledge of the trial and with an unbiased way of presenting the answers from the shatteringly dishonest terrorist.
Judge Modzelewski agreed with that and instructed the prosecution to provide a new translator to listen to Al-Isawi’s audio testimony, even if it did take extra time, before jury selection the following day, Tuesday. This meant that the trial would probably now take up the entire week.
This was the most likely outcome, because all of the battle lines had been hard won. Prosecution and defense had been, effectively, daggers drawn for months on end. And when the trial finally began on Tuesday, May 4, after jury selection, the pure tension of these long, argumentative proceedings could be seen.
An eight-man US naval jury was duly selected—four enlisted men and four commissioned officers. None of them were SEALs. The panel comprised various grades of seniority: one Navy petty officer 2nd class (equivalent Army sergeant), one Navy petty officer 1st class (equivalent Army staff sergeant), one Navy chief petty officer (equivalent Army sergeant 1st class), and one Navy senior chief petty officer (equivalent Army master sergeant).
The officers were a lieutenant JAG, a lieutenant, a commander, and a captain—every one of them was male except the captain.
At eight o’clock that morning Matthew McCabe, in company with his father, Martin, his mother, Pam, and fashion-model sister, Megan, arrived at the Norfolk Base, where a large protesting crowd was assembled at the gates, holding banners aloft and chanting his name. Some had been there the entire night. Tents were still erected, a speakers’ forum had been established, and Matt could see a banner that demanded, STOP THIS WICKED COURT-MARTIAL. And he could hear the voice of the American public chanting his name, over and over: “MATTHEW... MATTHEW!”
It was a chorus that had echoed across the country in a hundred meetings and fund-raisers and in the great halls of the US Congress. And it was a chorus that refused to be stilled. And even with the military’s iron clamp on the release of information, that voice could still be heard echoing in the early morning quiet of this vast naval dockyard.
They drove past the security guard, and Matt hunkered down in the backseat and tried not to be recognized as reporters, broadcasters, and cameramen swarmed toward every incoming vehicle, trying to catch a glimpse or perhaps a even a word with the SEAL whose prosecution had enraged so many ordinary US citizens.
The media, though resolutely on the side of all three of the accused SEALs, had not quite lined up their ducks correctly. Their overall view remained steadfast: If Matt had walloped the terrorist, so what? The terrorist deserved it. And who cares anyway?
Curiously this was gratifying but by no means acceptable to the SEALs. Months later Sam Gonzales mentioned to his legal team that people had missed the point. The three accused did not wish for approval nor indeed support for a stray punch landing on Al-Isawi; rather, they wanted it plainly understood that none of them, Matt, Jon, nor Sam, had punched the detainee, that no SEAL would ever dream of punching a detainee.
That was why they had all gone to court-martial. It was also why a large group of SEALs were all lined up ready to march into that courtroom and stand with Matt against the forces of doubt and dishonor.
It was also why Matt was very gun-shy about the press. He was never quite sure how journalists would present this case to the public. And his lawyers understood they were not seeking dismissal on some technical point of law; Matt wanted total exoneration, just as his two teammates had been granted.
He did not want the question of the punch to be somehow held up in the air: even if he threw it, how could it matter? He wanted three things established and then hammered into a marble tablet: no punch, no punch, and no punch. Because there was no punch.
So the car left the chanting crowd behind and headed for the US Navy courtroom, a four-story granite stronghold that stands guard over military law in the Dark Blue section of the US Armed Forces.
Smartly dressed in his dress blues, Petty Officer McCabe walked with his family into the building and down the corridor into the courtroom where the charges against him would be heard and disputed, again and again, during the next four days.
The room itself resembled every courtroom in a thousand Hollywood movies: about a dozen rows of benches left and right, with a three-foot-high balustrade and a swinging gate in the center. The long table for the prosecutors was set to the left-hand side of the well of the court, closest to the jury, with the defense table on the right.
The judge, Captain Modzelewski, sat on a raised dais, directly ahead, and she greeted the SEAL from Ohio with noticeable respect. He replied succinctly: “Yes, ma’am.”
Matt sat between his four attorneys. The two Navy JAGs, Lieutenant Kevin Shea, and Lieutenant Kristen Anastos, were both wearing dress whites. On his other side were his civilian attorneys, the ex-US Marine officers Neal A. Puckett and Haytham Faraj, both wearing immaculately tailored business suits.
This represented a whole of lot of legal muscle for one possible whack. But right now Matt understood, perhaps above all other members of the Armed Forces, just what it might take to stop a shocking accusation once it had been given an unexpected green light from the high command.
He glanced back once to the now-full public gallery, and he could see Jon Keefe’s parents sitting close to his own. He caught his mom’s eye, and in a strange way that meant all the world to him. Pam smiled at him just once—a fleeting confirmation that she was still in his corner, right to the end, just as she always had been.
He could also see Echo Platoon’s senior chief, a very influential SEAL whose presence was highly significant and represented vital support for the accused man.
Katie Helvenston and Donna Zovko were also seated. These were the mothers of two of the murdered Blackwater security men who had been mutilated and strung up from the Fallujah bridge over the Euphrates. Jerry Zovko had been a former Army Ranger, and Scott Helvenston had been a former SEAL. Eight years after their barbaric murders both mothers still wept for their slain sons. Donna was still inconsolable as the full name of the Butcher of Fallujah was read out in open court.
Both men had been laid to rest in US military national cemeteries—Jerry, thirty-two, in the Western Reserve, near Akron, Ohio, and Scott, thirty-nine, in the Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell. But there was something so appalling in the manner of their murders that no one associated with either man ever fully recovered.
And no one ever forgot Katie’s remarks after the fifth anniversary of that notorious Fallujah ambush, when she finally blurted out that Al-Isawi’s men had decapitated her son and then cut out his heart. “How could anyone, how could they be so cruel?” she whispered, adding that DNA samples had to be gathered from Scott’s children in order to identify his body because he had been mutilated beyond recognition.
And now she would live through it all over again. And once more tears streamed down Katie’s face as Lieutenant Nick Kadlec rose to present the case for the prosecution of Matthew McCabe.
He explained to the jury that this was a prosecution that they did not want to hear. “But as the evidence unfolds,” he said, “it becomes a story you must believe.”
Matt never flinched as Kadlec added that Matt had failed to live up to Navy standards when he struck the detainee in the abdomen and walked away, leaving the prisoner on the floor, bleeding.
Almost as a parting shot, Kadlec confirmed that the detainee had his hands tied behind his back throughout his ordeal. “I urge you to do the right thing,” he told the jury, “and summon the moral courage to hold McCabe accountable.”
Puckett conducted the opening submission from the defense, and he immediately contended that Petty Officer McCabe was only doing his job, doing what all SEALs are trained to do, serving an Iraqi arrest warrant. He quickly added that the detainee’s mouth injury had begun as a canker sore and that any subsequent bleeding was self-inflicted and had nothing to do with McCabe.
He told the jury they would not be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt, “but you will believe he is innocent,” he said, “because Petty Officer Matthew McCabe is innocent.”
The prosecution then deployed the three-hour audio deposition of Ahmad Hashim Abd Al-Isawi, who by now had been charged by the Iraqis with masterminding the 2004 slayings of Jerry Zovko, Scott Helvenston, and two others.
And during this the court heard him deny any involvement with al-Qaeda or Hamas. He stated simply that US and Iraqi forces had raided his home and then taken him to a US base, where he was attacked “for five minutes.”
He claimed he was standing with his hands tied behind his back when he was hit in the stomach. He described how he fell down from the force of the punch and hit his face on the floor. He said he felt “pain in my face” and later tasted blood in his mouth. While on the floor, he said, he had been kicked several times with a boot-covered foot in his shoulder and back.
He said that even though he was blindfolded, once he hit the floor he could see enough from beneath his eye cover to realize his attacker was bare-legged and wearing shorts. At no time did he identify any SEAL as his assailant.
At the conclusion of Al-Isawi’s electronic deposition, there was of course no cross-examination, as he was approximately seven thousand miles away in a Baghdad military jail, and Matthew had waived his right to confront him in the courtroom. But the defense lawyers were well up to pace with the savaging that Reschenthaler had handed out to the terrorist during the Sam Gonzales trial.
And the jurors understood, like everyone else, that the terrorist had not been believed in either of the Iraqi trials. The still-contentious issue of his nonappearance remained immovable. The US government was never going to bring Al-Isawi into the United States; therefore, the case had needed either to be moved to Iraq, where he could appear in court, or it would stay in Norfolk, and defense would have to do without cross-examination.
The attorneys had decided there was no sense taking Matt back to Iraq to stand trial in a hostile environment. They would proceed in Norfolk without “crossing” Al-Isawi, whose total unfamiliarity with the truth was, after two trials, now an established fact.
This left the government with only one other card to play: the MA3 Brian Westinson. Again the prosecutors presented Westinson as a credible and reliable witness. But this was swimming against a flood tide of testimony to the contrary. So piece by piece Puckett dismembered his statements in the witness box. He pointed up the inconsistencies, the clashes on the timeline, the differences, great and small, in Westinson’s several statements and interviews.
As soon as the Washington attorney stood up to begin the cross-examination, well, the writing was on the wall for the prosecution.
Q. You’re nervous today, aren’t you?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. You’re nervous because you’ve testified twice before and weren’t believed?
A. No, sir.
Puckett compelled Westinson to outline the initial events of that morning, when he left the holding cell in search of the medical paperwork, and then,
Q. When Lieutenant Jimmy began his inquiry after the detainee was found to have a bloody lip, you told him there were some Team guys back there, but you did not tell him any names, is that right?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. So even though you knew Carl was heading over to the detention facility you did not tell Lieutenant Jimmy? Is that right?
A. Yes, sir.
The attorney then established Westinson’s somewhat-persecuted state of mind:
Q. You felt all eyes were on you, correct?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. You were also worried because you thought the detainee would run his mouth?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. You were worried to be found derelict in your duties, correct?
Q. Because, in fact, no SEALs should go back there to see the detainee, correct?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. And then you were interviewed by an agent?
A. Yes.
Q. You told him you saw a half-punch thrown by McCabe?
A. I saw McCabe do what he did.
Q. You said it was McCabe, someone on your own Team?
A. Yes.
Q. These guys were your friends?
A. Yes.
Q. It’s hard to do the right thing, isn’t it?
A. Yes.
Q. It takes courage, doesn’t it?
A. Yes.
Puckett, having established the actions of the young master-at-arms, now switched to Westinson’s official role as a Navy policeman.
Q. How was everyone dressed that morning?
A. I was wearing pants. I don’t remember what the others were wearing.
Q. Did you wear a badge on this deployment?
A. No. I never wore a badge.
Q. But, by training, you are a law enforcement officer?
A. Yes. But I was not trained in detainee ops.
Q. And you did not immediately report the misconduct you watched?
A. No, sir.
Q. And in fact you are guilty of dereliction of duty, as well as failure to report an offense under Navy regulations?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. And, as a law enforcement officer, you have a duty to stop and prevent crime, don’t you?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. Yet you did not tell Petty Officer McCabe to knock it off when you saw him throw a punch?
A. No, sir.
Q. You never said a word?
A. No, sir.
Q. You did not even threaten to report Petty Officer McCabe?
A. No, sir.
Q. But you say you had a conversation with the medic about the incident?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. And you say that Petty Officer Keefe had a stick?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. So the medic would have seen Petty Officer Keefe with that stick?
A. He should have, sir.
Q. And you said Petty Officer Keefe was banging that stick to scare the detainee?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. But you have not been charged with making a false official statement?
A. No.
Right here Puckett took a spell to demonstrate the utterly astounding fact that, despite the obviously doubtful conduct of his duties, no one had charged Westinson with anything. And Puckett continued harshly:
Q. Or false swearing?
A. No.
Q. Or perjury?
A. No.
Q. Or dereliction of duty?
A. No.
Q. Or failure to report an offence?
A. No.
Q. And you have not been charged with assault?
And at this point Puckett switched back to the scene of the alleged crime.
Q. So the detainee is delivered?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. Then Petty Officers Sam, Keefe, and McCabe show up minutes later?
A. Yes.
Q. Then the medic needed paperwork and departs?
A. Yes.
Q. He is gone a few minutes—over five minutes—and you decide to go look for him?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. So you abandon the detainee, and both of you are looking for medical paperwork?
A. A lot of that stuff is foggy.
Q. Then you return to see Petty Officer McCabe strike the detainee, and you said in one of your statements, “I froze.”
A. Yes, sir.
Q. But we also know from your statements that Petty Officers Carl,
McCabe, Sam, Keefe, Jason, and Rob all were in the presence of the detainee without supervision?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. And Petty Officer Eric came in an hour later?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. So six or seven SEALs had direct contact with the detainee?
A. I suppose so, sir.
Q. But you did not accuse all of them, did you?
A. No, sir.
Q. But there was no reason for them to go back there?
A. No, sir.
Q. But you saw Petty Officer McCabe punch somebody?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. And you are a law enforcement officer?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. And you did not report that?
A. No.
Q. From the “abuse” around 0800, you never reported it?
A. No, sir.
Q. Well, why did you not report this crime?
A. It’s the command climate. I felt I couldn’t do my law enforcement job. The master-at-arms means nothing in their community.
Q. Did Lieutenant Jimmy scare you?
A. No, sir.
Q. But you chose not to report this to him?
A. I’m not happy I saw it. I wouldn’t have reported it if it didn’t happen.
Q. But in failing to report it, you lied to the lieutenant?
A. Yes, sir.
“No more questions,” replied Puckett.
With the Washington attorney finally through, Westinson’s testimony was once more seriously discredited. And now began the long parade of witnesses who would walk through the courtroom to present the defense position that Brian Westinson was a confused young man.
Everyone felt a bit sorry for him in many ways. But not in one way—he had graphically described the beating handed out to the terrorist and said he saw Matt do it. Many people would never forgive him for that. Because too many people believed it was not true.
First came Paul Franco, the Navy reservist who held the rank of petty officer 1st class and had been overall supervisor of all non-SEALs at Camp Schwedler, the men who provided the deployed SEAL Teams with backup work in logistics, construction, coordination, and so forth.
He explained to the court how Westinson’s immediate superior, MA1 Philip Cimino had left after a controversy over a force protection plan that left Westinson with a heavy workload, one with which he plainly could not cope. Some of Franco’s testimony was colorful, and he mentioned how he noticed Westinson, a few days after Objective Amber, walking through the camp “in tears, unshaven and disheveled.”
He asked what was the trouble, to which Westinson responded, “I hate this fucking place. This is a shitty deployment.”
“Well, what’s wrong?” asked Franco.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
But Petty Officer Franco swiftly found out that Westinson was ignoring some of his tasks in order to sit and watch the closed circuit camp protection system, and this was plainly “stressing him out.”
On the following day Franco again discovered the MA3 in tears, visibly upset. And again he asked him: “What’s up?”
This time Westinson responded, “This is all going to come back on me. This guy is going to make a claim that something happened to him.”
The conversation continued for a short while, and in Franco’s opinion Westinson “started to become unglued.” He made a few weird statements, like “Who’s going to marry me. ... I’m never going to get a job with the California Patrol.”
Petty Officer Franco advised him to tell the truth and to report whatever it was he knew to the lieutenant. At that time Franco had no idea there was an allegation of prisoner abuse.
Asked about Petty Officer Matthew McCabe, Franco replied, “I’ve worked with him. He’s an awesome guy.”
Defense then called the combat camera operator, Lynn Friant, who confirmed her several previous statements, particularly that Westinson was very stressed out both prior to and immediately after the mission, “stomping around like a child at times.”
She stated that when he was in this tearful and emotional state it embarrassed her, and she tried to get him to speak to one of the senior petty officers.
She explained that when the Marines finally pulled out of the camp, Westinson was the only MA3 on the base. And rather than have others assist him with the watches on the surveillance cameras, he stood many of them on his own.
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.
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.
Journalists besieged Matt’s parents, and Martin McCabe told them: “My son and his friends are the guys who preserve the American dream. You start prosecuting them, that American dream is going to go away, because everything will fall apart.” He added that there had been support for Matt, Jon, and Sam not just nationally but from all over the world.
Matt’s mother said, “I’d just like to say I believed from the first day that Matthew was innocent. Because he would never lie to his SEAL commanders. That’s what we knew, and that kept us all going. It’s been very stressful, and we are very glad it’s finally over.”
Almost two hundred miles north, in Washington, DC, Congressman Dan Burton, who had helped immensely in collecting thousands of signatures in support of dismissing the charges against the SEALs, moved immediately into his office.
He had made it clear to McCabe’s lawyers that he had been perfectly prepared to attend the court-martial and testify to the full extent of public outrage and national opinion. He would confirm that a motion to this effect had been raised in Congress.
As the media swept the airwaves with the breaking news of the verdict, Representative Burton released a statement that very night, offering “Heartfelt congratulations to Petty Officer McCabe and his family.”
He added, “With all three Navy SEALs now cleared of all charges in this case, I believe this sends a very positive signal to the men and women in uniform who are fighting for America around the world today.
“I join the many thousands of Americans who cheer for SEALs McCabe, Keefe and Gonzales tonight, and on behalf of the 35,000 who signed my own petition for these three heroes, I thank them for their honorable service and welcome them back to duty.”
FoxNews, which had stood resolutely by the SEALs from the day the story broke, had Matt on the air, live from the Norfolk Base, interviewed by anchorman Bret Baier.
“It’s been troubling at times,” said Matt. “Having your career and your life on the line is not an easy thing to handle. But everyone’s been pushing for us, and that’s made it a lot easier.”
Bret ventured that people at home were “really upset you had to go through this ... people who said this should not have happened. ... What do you tell them today?”
Matt answered right there on national television: “Tell them I thank them, but really, not to worry about it anymore. I mean, we’re all acquitted of these charges. And we’re all going to move on with our careers, put it behind us. It’s done, over with. I’ll try not to think about it ever again. Just move on and live a happy life.”
“Thank you,” said Bret. “Thank you for your service to our country.” And that pretty much encapsulated what most people felt. Except for one man, the convener of the courts-martial, General Charles Cleveland, whose office announced he would be making a statement on the following day.
Apparently the major general needed to sleep on this one, as well he might, as the man who could have stopped it months ago, when it became evident that Westinson was unreliable and that the mass murderer Al-Isawi was just about as unreliable as you can get.
As it happened, the general released a rambling essay on his views, and it lacked even one single shred of humility for putting three exemplary, patriotic members of the Special Forces through hell, despite so much learned opinion to the contrary.
Unsurprisingly his opening paragraph was about himself: “I take my responsibility as a commander and convening authority very seriously, and did not make the decision to refer these charges to courts-martial lightly.”
The general then obliquely blamed the three SEALs for requesting court-martial even though he, Cleveland, “would have preferred to handle the incident administratively.” Apparently he did not realize that no incident had occurred for him to handle administratively—and that he was relying on the words of a murderous terrorist and a discredited sailor.
He mentioned that the evidence presented reasonable grounds to believe that offenses had been committed and that the three petty officers had committed those offenses. He failed to mention that the evidence presented even more reasonable grounds to believe no offences had been committed at all. And the best legal minds in the country were telling him so.
With pompous military bureaucracy, he concluded his opening section with these words: “In the interests of justice and to maintain good order and discipline, I chose to proceed with the courts-martial.”
He then rambled on, thanking the jurists and the lawyers for pursuing the interests of justice, protecting the sailors’ rights. The general appreciated their examples of dedication to “protecting and defending our Constitution.”
He added that in the face of some opposition, he allowed these charges to go forward because “I truly believe that the best process known for uncovering the truth, when the facts are contested, is that process which is found in our adversarial justice system.”
In the general’s view, “There is no better way to discover the truth than by presenting evidence to an unbiased panel of members, having witnesses testify under oath, and having that testimony subject to vigorous cross-examination.”
He concluded with a high-handed overview: “Incidents such as these carry strategic implications for US forces and US National Security, and ultimately cost the lives of Americans. I will continue to take allegations such as this seriously, investigating them whenever they are brought to my attention, and acting on them when the evidence so dictates.”
He greatly looked forward to the SEALs returning to their Team “and continuing their duties in defending our great nation.”
A lieutenant colonel for SOCCENT added, “General Cleveland is satisfied that the military justice process has been executed fairly, and that thorough due process was carried out during these trial proceedings.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” said one of the three SEALs (forbidding his name to be used on pain of death). “Thank God he didn’t take it lightly. Now he’s not only satisfied, but he maintained good order and discipline. Wow!”
The general might have received more universal acclaim had he said what most people thought, something like, “Sorry I authorized the blow-out of over two million dollars of taxpayers’ money on these three trials. And I will never again accept the known lies of a rabid Iraqi terrorist against the words of my decorated US Navy SEALs. I accept my shuddering limitations in this instance.”
That would have been acceptable. As it was, the US military was not applauded for its actions in court-martialing their own heroes; instead, it left many throughout the Navy and the general public with a very bad taste in their mouth, and it led many active personnel to resign from the Dark Blue branch of the armed forces.
And the Butcher of Fallujah, Ahmad Hashim Abd Al-Isawi?
The Iraqi authorities hanged him for murder.