ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book began on the naive assumption that military leaders who dictate these affairs would want to have this story told. Soon after the events, the Department of Defense issued an eleven-page executive summary of Takur Ghar and conducted a background briefing for the media in which little that wasn't already known was brought to light. A briefing officer politely declined to respond to questions on the grounds of revealing “tactics, techniques, and procedures,” which seemed to cover anything that anyone wanted to know about that day. The Special Operations Command (USSOCOM) and CENTCOM seemed to imply through this and other gestures that the story of Takur Ghar might be told, but without their support—and without their support, good luck telling the story.
This is not meant as a criticism. Reasonable men—whether in business or government, science or the arts—act out of their own self-interest, as we all know, and in this instance, USSOCOM believed that information in a book about Takur Ghar might give an advantage to enemies who might actually read the book, and thus endanger American troops.
My belief in the story fueled a dogged and necessary persistence.
I had no institution—a newspaper, magazine, or network—to front for me. I knew nobody in the civilian or uniformed military establishments, past or present; I had never set foot inside the Pentagon. Long ago, I served in the Marine Corps, but so had a lot of other people. Therefore, I would like to thank first those individuals who helped to make my persistence worthwhile: Gordon England, then Secretary of the Navy, sent me to his military assistant, Admiral John Morgan, who set me up with Vice Admiral Eric T. Olson, a taciturn SEAL who was pleasant but hardly encouraging.
These men believed in the value of telling the story of Takur Ghar. Olson explained that I had stumbled into the wall of JSOC, a group based at Ft. Bragg that doesn't officially exist and therefore can't tell stories. The men who fought on Takur Ghar—except for the Rangers and the 160th SOAR, in other words, MAKO 30—were off-limits. I wasn't convinced, with a story like this to tell, that JSOC would bar the door. But first, I needed a coalition of the willing, which led me to Iraq on assignment for Time magazine and there, while living in the Republican Palace, I met the American Proconsul, Jay Garner (Army lieutenant general, retired), a generous man and true, a friend. Jay encouraged me to pursue the story and put in a word where it counted. At the ruins of Babylon, Larry DiRita, later to become the Pentagon's Deputy Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs, became a convert. My desire to tell this story was being heard at last. Through Admiral Morgan, I met Tom Katana, a whirlwind of energy, efficiency, and enthusiasm, and the former commander of SEAL Team 8, who showed me how to navigate the system; without Tom important doors would have stayed closed. Among others, he introduced me to the founding father of Air Force Special Tactics, John Carney, who runs the Special Operations Warriors Foundation. John lobbied the CO of the U.S. Special Operations Command in Tampa. Tom also put me in touch with another friend, Ed Rowe, a former Ranger and a policy analyst in the Pentagon, and through his efforts, Thomas O'Connell, the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Special Operations and Low Intensity Conflict, who helped with access. Finally, General Bryan D. Brown, CO of USSOCOM, was persuaded to go along. And while the wall did not crumble, at least crumbs came over to my side, which I gathered up like a famished squirrel. Men, thank you.
Finally, the soldiers, sailors, and airmen who had fought on and over Takur Ghar began to appear. The stories they told were gripping. I readily accepted the help of Air Force Captain Denise Boyd of AFSOC at Hurlburt Field, Florida; the can-do Kelly Tyler, the PAO at the 160th SOAR and a paradigm of military public affairs efficiency; and Carol Darby, the PAO at USASOCOM, who organized the Rangers. Thanks also to Lieutenant Commander Steve Mavica of USSOCOM at Tampa; each time I would ping him on the phone, I could hear his voice flatten in despair of further demands. He never lost his cool. I also wish to thank the CO of TF Blue, who will remain anonymous, a Navy SEAL, gentleman, and guide; and Army Colonel Andrew Milani, an astute, caring leader, warrior and pilot, and the CO of the 160th SOAR, who believed that if the story of Takur Ghar was going to be told, it should be told with accuracy and a wider scope of knowledge.
JSOC politely declined official cooperation; their professional modus operandi excludes media, unless it includes it, which makes for an Alice in Wonderland experience for a writer. SOCOM prevailed on JSOC to let me speak for as long as I wished with Slab in an unprecedented meeting. I wish I had the confidence to believe that as an institution JSOC and SOCOM were only protecting security and “tactics, techniques, and procedures” by their reluctance to let their Tier 1 operators describe past events in which they took part. I am certain that their concerns are sincere, but in a new world of terrorism in which special operations shoulder an increasing share of the fighting, Special Operations still answers to the American public. As the past has witnessed, secrecy can seem designed to protect leaders from public scrutiny and even accountability. Because they are better, special operations fighters deserve better guidance, starting with commanders with modern intellectual flexibility that can bridge the military and civilian worlds. The American military has tales to tell of the exploits of those who serve in uniform. They and not their commanders create the dramas, heroes, histories, and legends; in a media-saturated society, the military leadership must find a middle way to inform the public of the greatness of these men and women.
On the publishing side, I wish to express my considerable gratitude to John Flicker, my editor at Bantam, for his forbearance of delays, his generosity of spirit, his enthusiasm, and friendship. I have never known such editorial stewardship. A young man, he approaches the craft of editing from a perspective rarely found; more than liking writers and writing, he infuses books with his enthusiasm and belief in what they can be. My agent, Michael Carlisle, a principal of Inkwell Management, led me to Flicker and other important opportunities, as well.
Personally, I want to tip my hat to Mr. and Mrs. Brewster Barlow Perkins and Mr. and Mrs. David Auchincloss for hospitalities, friendship, and advice; to Douglas Combs for his counsel and direction; and finally, to my wife, Charlie, whom I adore, for what I would like to interpret as grace—and not mere indifference—for her restraint in not asking the most mortifying question of any writer bogged down in the middle of a project: “How's the book goin', honey?”