--- Page 1 ---
DET ONE
U.S. MARINE CORPS
U.S. SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND
DETACHMENT, 2003-2006
U.S. Marines in 
the Global War 
on Terrorism
DET ONE:  U.S. MARINE CORPS U.S. SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND DETACHMENT, 2003-2006     Piedmont
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT A: Approved for public release, distribution is unlimited.
PCN: 10600001300

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Cover: Det One prior to deploying to Iraq,
during the Capstone Exercise at Indian
Springs Auxiliary Airfield, Nevada, in
December 2003. Here members are being
briefed before the simulated and live-fire raid
mission. Detachment uniforms, weapons, and
equipment are shown to good advantage.
Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers
Back Cover: The device reproduced on the
back cover is the oldest military insignia in
continuous use in the United States. It first
appeared, as shown here, on Marine Corps
buttons adopted in 1804.  With the stars
changed to five points, the device has con-
tinued on Marine Corps buttons to the pres-
ent day.

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DET ONE
U.S. MARINE CORPS
U.S. SPECIAL OPERATIONS
COMMAND DETACHMENT,
2003-2006
U.S. Marines in the
Global War on Terrorism
by
Lieutenant Colonel John P. Piedmont
U.S. Marine Corps Reserve
History Division
United States Marine Corps
Washington, D.C.
2010


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ii
Other Publications in the Series
U.S. Marines in the Global War on Terrorism
U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Anthology and Annotated Bibliography
U.S. Marines in Iraq, 2003: Basrah, Baghdad and Beyond
PCN 106 0000 1300

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iii
Foreword
The story of the Marine Corps U.S. Special Operations Command Detachment, which became known as Det
One, is an extraordinary tale.  On its face, the story would not rate a minute’s glance.  One small group of
Marines, about a hundred in number, formed, trained, and went to war.  This all happened as the nation was
18 months into the Global War on Terrorism and as the Marine Corps was deploying I Marine Expeditionary
For
ce in Operation Iraqi Freedom.  Yet the story behind the basic facts is not only far more intricate and fas-
cinating, with dramatic episodes and intrepid characters from the Pentagon to Camp Pendleton, it portended
great significance for the Marine Corps.
What makes the Det One story extraordinary is the shift in Marine Corps policy that brought it about, the
maturation of the special operations capabilities of forward-deployed Marine expeditionary units that made it
pos
sible, and the patriotism, valor, fidelity, and abilities of the Marines and Navy Corpsmen who manned it.
Although Det One has passed now into the history books, its legacy survives in the formation of Marine Corps
Special Operations Command and in the lessons learned and experiences of its members, who now continue
to
 serve in dozens of units.
Lieutenant Colonel John P. Piedmont Marine Field Historian in Iraq in April 2004, saw the historical signif-
icance of Det One and decided to pursue its history as a project.  Under the director of the History and Mu-
seums Division at the time, Colonel John W. Ripley, he was given permission to proceed with his collections
with a view toward turning them into a monograph.  What follows here is the culmination of his efforts, the
prod
uct of two years’ work, more than 60 interviews done in Iraq, Washington, D.C., Virginia, and California,
and the collection of hundreds of documents.  
Dr. Charles P. Neimeyer
Director of Marine Corps History


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iv

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v
Preface
The story begins in the chow hall at Camp Fallujah on 30 April 2004. “Look, there’s Colonel Coates,” said
the Marine I was with, pointing to a colonel seated a few tables away from us.  “Do you know who he is?”
“No, I don’t,” I replied.  “Never heard of him.”“He’s the Det One commanding officer.  If they’re here, things
will get interesting.” In fact, things already were as interesting as one might want.  The first battle of Fallujah
ha
d reached the now-famous cessation imposed from above.  The insurgency soon boiled over, and I Marine
Expeditionary Force (I MEF) had its hands full from Abu Ghraib prison in the east to the Syrian border in the
west.
After I got a quick lecture on Det One, and guessing that Colonel Coates was someone I needed to talk to,
I got up and walked over to him.  I introduced myself and told him what I was doing in Iraq and that I’d like
to
 talk to him if he had the chance.  He looked up, paused, and said “send me an email.”
Well, there you have it, I thought to myself.  “Send me an email” translated to “forget it, I’ve got other
things to do.”  But on second thought, it sounded more like an order than a suggestion, so I did send him an
email, explaining in more detail what I wanted.  Much to my surprise, I received an instant reply: “I will en-
th
usiastically support the Marine Corps Historical Program.”  And so he has, from that minute on.
Colonel Robert J. Coates, the Marine Corps Special Operations Command Detachment’s first and only com-
manding officer, was the first Marine I interviewed on the unit.  He gave me a good hour in his office at the
I MEF G-3 and provided a detailed view of the unit as it stood then.  (As we spoke, it was operating in Bagh-
da
d.)  He also pointed me to two other Marines who were instrumental in the formation of the detachment,
one of whom, by a fortunate coincidence, was also at Camp Fallujah. 
Lieutenant Colonel J. Giles Kyser IV was then commanding officer of 2d Battalion, 2d Marines.  As an ac-
tion officer at Headquarters Marine Corps, he had overseen the proposal and creation of what became Det
On
e, a move that reversed nearly 20 years of Marine Corps policy.  I spent an enormously informative and
entertaining 90 minutes at his office near the south gate of Camp Fallujah.  In his interview, he was remark-
ably candid, and our conversation helped me not only trace the unit’s development but understand some of
the deeper historical roots behind the relationship between the Marine Corps and Special Operations Com-
man
d.  Kyser told me that if I wanted to understand the nuts and bolts of how and why the unit was estab-
lished, I needed to speak with Master Gunnery Sergeant Joseph G. Settelen and Master Sergeant Troy G.
Mitchell.
Operational realities then put a stop to my Det One collections until I returned to the United States in July
2004. 
 There, I contacted Settelen and Mitchell and arranged for interviews.  Over the course of the next two
years, I interviewed several dozen members of the unit as well as other Marines who had some involvement
in the formation of the unit.  The research and the writing together constituted, for me, a priceless professional
military education.  I came away with a greater understanding and appreciation for the leaders and thinkers
wh
o formed the modern expeditionary Marine Corps with its singular capabilities and ethos.
Likewise, the Marines of Det One stand out even among their peers.  The most significant thing they told
me was that, yes, they were a special operations force, but from first to last they were Marines.  From the Corps
they came and to the Corps they did return.
Ther
e are several people I must thank for their assistance in the preparation of this history.  First and fore-
most are the Marines of Det One, with special emphasis on Colonel Coates, Lieutenant Colonel Craig S. Koze-
niesky, Major Jerry Carter, and Major M. Wade Priddy.  All of them—and others who will be mentioned later
in the text—gave me time and attention, fielded repeated follow-on questions, and reviewed d rafts of the
manuscript.  They gave me “warts and all” access to the Marines of the detachment and to their records and
files.
Without Kyser, Settelen, and Mitchell, none of this would have been possible, both figuratively and liter-
ally.  It is probably not possible for me to describe Settelen and Mitchell adequately because the details of their

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vi
careers will not be known for many years, if at all.  Colonel Paul A. Hand told the tale from the point of view
of a Marine inside SOCom and helped me understand the inner workings of that command.  
Commander William W. Wilson, USN, needs to be singled out for special thanks, not only because he gave
me a candid and open interview and answered multiple follow-on questions, but because he is central to the
narrative.  The story of Det One probably would have been considerably different were he not involved.
Using h
is philosophy as a daily guide—“It’s good for SOCom, it’s good for the Corps, and it’s good for the
nation”—he significantly contributed to the success of the first Marine force unit to serve with SOCom.
At the Marine Corps Center for Lessons Learned—the organization formerly known as the EFCAT—several
Mar
ines willingly lent me a hand, both at Quantico and in Iraq:  Colonel Monte E. Dunard, Lieutenant Colonel
Jonathan T. Elliott, Lieutenant Colonel Scott Hawkins, Major Mike Dukes, and Colonel Peter A. Dotto. Lieu-
tenant Colonel Mark A. Hashimoto of Marine Forces Pacific also stepped up and sent me volumes of material
and answered questions.
At the History Division, I must thank the late Colonel John W. Ripley, USMC (Ret) and Colonel Nicholas E.
Reyno
lds who sent me to Iraq and gave me the freedom to operate.  Lieutenant Colonel David Kelly (who
came out of retirement and a comfortable life in Philadelphia to go to Iraq), Colonel Nathan S. Lowrey, Lieu-
tenant Colonel David A. Benhoff, Lieutenant Colonel Craig H. Covert, Lieutenant Colonel Kurtis P. Wheeler,
Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey A. Riley, Major Stephen J. Winslow, and Chief Warrant Officer-3 William E. Hutson
al
l provided exceptional support in this and so many other matters.  Finally, the Chief Historian of the Marine
Corps, Charles D. Melson, a man of boundless knowledge and many facets, helped turn a good idea into a
good product, with admirable assistance from editors Kenneth H. Williams, Gregory A. Macheak, and Wanda
J. Ren
frow and designers W. Stephen Hill and Vincent J. Martinez.
John P. Piedmont
Lieutenant Colonel, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve
Quantico, Virginia

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vii
Table of Contents
Foreword..................................................................................................................................iii
Preface.......................................................................................................................................v
Table of Contents....................................................................................................................vii
Chapter 1 Concept .................................................................................................................1
Chapter 2 Formation............................................................................................................17
Chapter 3 Training ...............................................................................................................31
Chapter 4 Deployment ........................................................................................................47
Chapter 5 “Ops Normal”......................................................................................................55
Chapter 6 Direct Action.......................................................................................................65
Chapter 7 An-Najaf, “Z,” and Home ...................................................................................79
Chapter 8 A Proven Concept...............................................................................................91
Epilogue...................................................................................................................................99
Notes .....................................................................................................................................101
Appendix A   Command and Staff List .................................................................................107
Appendix B   Chronology of Significant Events ..................................................................109
Appendix C   Lineage and Honors.......................................................................................113
Appendix D   Individual Awards..........................................................................................115
A
ppendix E   Navy Unit Commendation Citation................................................................117
Appendix F   Meritorious Unit Commendation ...................................................................119
Index......................................................................................................................................121

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viii

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ix


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x

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1
The Rise of U.S. Special
Operations Command
United States Special Operations Command—US-
SOCom, or simply SOCom—was formally established
in 1987 by the Nunn-Cohen Act, which amended the
1984 Goldwater-Nichols Defense Reorganization Act.
In the early 1980s, the nation not only faced the So-
viet-dominated Warsaw Pact and other major con-
ventional threats, but also a rising tide of terrorism
emanating from radical movements in Europe, as
well
 as a multitude of religious, ethnic, and political
movements in the Middle East. The new command
arose from the need to maintain capable special op-
erations forces in constant readiness for unconven-
tional warfare and counterterrorism, and to direct and
coordinate their employment. That need had been
bluntly articulated in a 1983 memorandum from Sec-
retary of Defense Caspar W. Weinberger, which stated
that the revitalization of special operations forces
“mus
t be pursued as a matter of national urgency.”1
The legislation that established Special Operations
Command did not merely create a new unified com-
batant command; it also created a position in the De-
partment of Defense to oversee the policy aspects of
special operations: assistant secretary of defense for
special operations and low intensity conflict. Further,
SO
Com was imbued with certain armed service-like
aspects; alone among unified commands, SOCom
was directed to manage its own budgetary stream,
which enabled it not only to acquire special opera-
tions-specific equipment, but also to develop and test
that equipment.2 In the years since 1986, this singu-
lar authority has provided Special Operations Com-
mand the means to equip its forces rapidly with
mis
sion-critical gear, making it the envy of the other
armed services working under the more conventional
acquisition rules.
Once established, the individual armed services
contributed existing special operations units to
SOCom: the Army assigned the Special Forces, the
Rangers, and other units; the Navy assigned the Sea,
Air, and Land (SEAL) teams; while the Air Force con-
tr
ibuted its Special Operations Wings, including units
such as the combat search and rescue squadrons and
AC-130 gunships. Among the services, only the Ma-
rine Corps did not contribute forces.
There were several reasons that the Marine Corps
made this decision, but the essential point was that
the Marine leadership saw the Corps as a general-
purpose force with inherent special operations capa-
bilities that had to remain flexible in structure and
mar
itime in nature. To place Marine units under Spe-
cial Operations Command, or even to place SOCom
itself under the Marines (as one member of Congress
advocated), would have prevented the Corps from
carrying out its primary mission for the national de-
fense—providing maritime expeditionary forces in
readiness. Behind this point was a general unease
that an independent special operations command
migh
t not be a successful venture. The 1980 debacle
at Desert One in Iran was a recent memory, and it left
lingering mistrust among the armed services.* Finally,
Marines viewed themselves as “special” in their own
right and did not see a need to attach themselves to
any command in order to gain in name what they
held in fact.3
The Commandant Looks Inward
The decision not to commit forces to Special Op-
er
ations Command did not mean that the Marine
Corps did not adhere to the larger special operations
strategy. The October 1983 memorandum from Sec-
retary of Defense Weinberger ordered a comprehen-
sive improvement in the organization and direction of
special operations forces. The memorandum directed
each armed service to “assign special operations
forces and related activities sufficient resource allo-
ca
tion priority.” 4 In accordance with these instruc-
tions, the Marine Corps leadership examined the
Chapter 1
Concept
* Desert One was the code name for the site inside Iran where in
April 1980 U.S. Air Force transport planes bearing the force for the
rescue of the hostages in Tehran were to transfer them to Navy
helicopters flown by Marines. The helicopters then were to refuel
for the next phase of the operation, dubbed Eagle Claw. Mechan-
ical problems with some of the helicopters and a collision between
a C-130 Hercules and an RH-53D Sea Stallion that killed eight air-
me
n and Marines caused the mission commander to abort. The
failure of the mission and the ensuing congressional investigation
highlighted joint operability issues within the special operations
community and was a primary factor in the creation of Special Op-
erations Command. The debacle at Desert One spawned bitter and
long-lasting recriminations among Army and Air Force personnel
on
 the mission and the Marines in the helicopter detachment.

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issue thoroughly and formed a plan to leverage the
Corps’ existing structure in pursuit of enhanced spe-
cial operations capabilities. What resulted was the
“special operations capable” or “SOC” program.
On 14 September 1984, the Commandant of the
Marine Corps, General Paul X. Kelley, ordered the
commander of Fleet Marine Force Atlantic (FMFLant),
Lieutenant General Alfred M. Gray, to study Marine
Corps special operations capabilities and recommend
ways to enhance them. A group of officers under
Gra
y’s direction met at II Marine Amphibious Force
headquarters at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, from
19 November to 17 December 1984 and produced
“Examination of Marine Corps Special Operations En-
hancements.” This document reviewed the historical
aspects of Marines and special operations, discussed
current Marine Corps capabilities, and rec
 ommended
options for enhancing those capabilities. The study
group examination is remarkable in several aspects as
it concisely articulated Marine Corps views on spe-
cial operations and the Marines’ capabilities to con-
duct them.
The common theme of this study was that Marine
involvement in special operations was a historical
fact, be it by units or by individuals. In the report,
there 
was some discussion of dedicated Marine spe-
cial operations units, the Marine Parachutists and
Raiders from World War II, noting that their experi-
ences were not unqualified successes. Indeed, those
units rarely (in the case of the Raiders) or never (in
the case of the Para-Marines) were employed in the
roles for which they were formed. Both were dis-
banded long before the war’s end, and their Marines
we
re absorbed into conventional units. Individual
Marines distinguished themselves in the Office of
Strategic Services (OSS) during World War II, then in
Korea, and later in the Studies and Observations
Group in Vietnam. On the other hand, the report
noted that conventionally organized Marine air-
ground task forces routinely conducted certain spe-
cial operations, most notably noncombatant
evacuation operations (NEOs) and amphibious raids,
“by virtue of organizational flexibility and forward-
deplo
yed posture.”5
In framing its discussions, the study group stated
the Joint Chiefs of Staff’s definition of special opera-
tions, which, they noted, had recently changed from
“secondary or supporting operations”—what the ex-
amination study called “nebulous guidance”—to the
more decisive definition of “military operations con-
du
cted by specially trained, equipped, and organized
Department of Defense forces.” 6 The examining
group compiled a list of special missions related to
naval operations and constructed three broad cate-
gories of special operations capabilities:
Type A. The capability to conduct special op-
erations tasks such as special purpose raids.
This capability required unique skills, highly
specialized equipment, and training far beyond
th
at normally provided conventional forces.
The forces involved were small, and were to be
used in operations of short duration.
Type B. The capability to conduct amphibi-
ous raids and support other special operations
missions with conventionally organized forces
(normally a unit of company-size) which have
been designated, intensively trained, and
equipped for special operations.
Typ
e C. The capability to conduct amphibi-
ous raids, NEO operations, and support of other
special operations missions with a large, con-
ventionally organized and equipped combined
arms force.7
Following the general theme of the background
discussion, the examination study observed that al-
though “certain Marine Corps units have a Type C,
or even B, capability, the study group found no evi-
dence that such capabilities are other than piecemeal.
Some Marine amphibious units can conduct raids;
certain units perform the reconnaissance/surveillance
tasks of special operations; to an extent helicopter
squadron
s receive the kind of training required. But,
there is no cohesive approach to special operations.”8
Significantly, the study also considered whether the
Marine Corps would be better served by retooling ex-
isting un
its or by creating something new.
The study group directed the discussion through
the issues of personnel, intelligence, training, logis-
tics, communications and electronics, aviation, com-
mand relationships, U.S. Navy perspectives (one
member of the group was a naval officer from the
staff of Second Fleet’s Amphibious Group Two), op-
erations and training, and the nature of hasty versus
prepl
anned response to a crisis. Given all aforemen-
tioned points of reference and discussion, the study
group examined the Marine Corps’ existing special
operations capabilities and came up with seven en-
hancement options. The underlying conclusions man-
dated an improvement in the overall training of Fleet
Marine Force units and an immediate, specific im-
provement in amphibious raid capability.
The 
study group recommended four of the seven
options for further review and action. The first was to
DET ONE2

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Concept 3
maintain the current Marine amphibious unit struc-
ture and achieve Type C capability with one raid
company. The group viewed this option as “the quick
fix,” a way to show action, yet something that “can-
not be realized overnight.” The second recom-
mended option was to improve the existing Marine
amphibious unit to a uniform Type C capability and
achieve Type B capability with one raid company.
This option would have required a “quantum jump in
capa
bility and cost.” However, the study noted that
“FMF-wide benefits are manifest: ground and avia-
tion skills would be distributed as Marines rotated to
other units. At the same time, MAUs would be better
prepared to support Type A special operations.”
Option three included the second option with the
addition of the ground element of a small dedicated
Marine special operations unit of roughly 275 men, at
Type A capability, based in the continental United
States rather than forward-deployed.* “When fully ca-
pable, which conservatively would take two years,”
the study group explained, “the FMF could provide
Fleet commanders with the complete range of special
operations capabilities.” The study group observed
that “this alternative is appealing because it is all-Ma-
ri
ne.”
Option four recommended adopting the second
option and adding to it not a small Type A special
operations unit, but a larger one, in this case roughly
1,000 men, with an aviation squadron containing
Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters and Lock-
heed C-130 Hercules transport planes. This option,
the study group noted, would probably take three
years to achieve and would be “the most radical ap-
pr
oach and extremely costly.” It would contain the
advantages of a smaller force but “would meet the
full spectrum of special operations contingencies.”9
Of the four, the study group favored the last op-
tion, “the most radical” as their examination study
called it. 10 In doing so, the members of the group
stretched the limits of their guidance since the force
they advocated was a unit potentially capable of du-
pl
icating other armed services’ special operations
forces.11 The fourth option was no half measure; it
was an all-or-nothing proposition. It had marked ad-
vantages (“provides a highly skilled, substantial air-
ground force that can concentrate solely on special
ops missions”) as well as stark disadvantages (“re-
quires major additional force structure with signifi-
cant impact on existing USMC structure” and “has
potential for detracting from the FMF’s traditional am-
phibious role”).
12 It also contained the second option,
with its significant implications for the Marine am-
phibious units.
The special operations capable (SOC) program is
worth examining in detail as it illustrates the growth
of a complementary set of capabilities grounded in
historical Marine roles and missions. Background dis-
cussions on the relationship between the Marines and
the s
pecial operations community seldom delve into
the intellectual analysis behind the Marines’ decisions
to remain outside the SOCom command structure. As
a result, misconceptions on the special operations ca-
pabilities of the Marine Corps persist to the present
and certainly colored the issues surrounding the sub-
ject of this narrative. The importance of the special
oper
ations capable program is not only that it signif-
icantly enhanced existing Marine Corps forces and
their capabilities, but also that it provided the Marines
a base of individual and organizational skills that
would enable the Corps to rapidly field a unit for
Special Operations Command when the time came
to do so.
Lieutenant General Gray Reports His
Findings
Lieutenant General Gray received the results of the
study group’s examination and on 26 March 1985
submit
ted his findings on it to Commandant Kelley.
Gray’s findings expanded on points made in the ex-
amination study, which were necessarily somewhat
discursive in nature, and placed on them the weight
and imprimatur of the operating forces. In its own
analysis, the report affirmed the examination’s con-
clusions, among them that the existing Marine air-
ground task force structure provided for a special
opera
tions capability found in no other armed serv-
ice, by virtue of the “Marine air-ground task force
concept and the well established naval command and
control structure.”13
The methodology in Gray’s Fleet Marine Force At-
lantic report was similar to the study group’s exami-
nation: the issue in question was stated, delineated,
defined, and discussed through several filters. The re-
por
t drew seven conclusions and made a three-fold
recommendation: that the Marine Corps held a
unique capability for maritime special operations; that
further developing the capability would have a pos-
* This notional unit bears an interesting resemblance to what
would, 20 years later, become Det One, although it is larger than
Det One. The notes on its conceptual task organization include
some prescient language: “The S-2 support section of this com-
pan
y would be significantly larger than normal staff intelligence
cells and for good reason . . . the unit must be capable of receipt
of near real time intelligence and information, a high degree of
analysis and some fusion capability. ADP [automated data pro-
cessing] intelligence support will also be necessary to link the unit
to
 national databases.”

--- Page 16 ---
itive effect for the Corps as a whole; and that the
Corps could develop a full-spectrum capability in
consonance with current joint definitions. The report
concluded that the Marine Corps should develop a
specialized maritime strike capability based on exist-
ing doctrine; that this capability had to be in line with
the needs of amphibious command relationships; that
any Marine special operations force had to be com-
pl
ementary to existing naval special operations or-
ganizations; and finally, that the development of this
capability was a crucial matter, given the world’s
prevalent threats.
14
The recommendation of the Fleet Marine Force At-
lantic report was that the Marine Corps develop a “vi-
able special operations capability in order to provide
fleet commanders a ‘total response’ capability.” The
three steps needed to achieve this goal were to de-
velo
p an “updated maritime special operations doc-
trine;” to provide “additional, standardized training”
for the air-ground task forces; and to create a “dedi-
cated special operations force within FMFLant and
FMFPac to conduct specialized missions requiring
highly skilled forces.” The study group’s preferred
option for an enhanced Marine amphibious unit and
a large, dedicated special operations force of Type-A
ca
pability survived in a somewhat altered form; a dif-
ferent version of it was later offered as one course of
action to the Commandant. The updated doctrine in
the FMFLant report and additional standardized train-
ing were fully in line with the study group’s second
option.
*
The final paragraph of the report’s cover letter por-
tended a significant change in Marine Corps training,
or
ganization, and capabilities: “The conclusions, rec-
ommendations, and implementation proposals, if ap-
proved, require an extensive effort to develop a
unique and viable potential that exists within our cur-
rent MAGTF structure. FMFLant is prepared to im-
mediately initiate and develop this potential.”15
The Commandant Decides
On 27 April 1985, Lieutenant General Gray met
with General Kelley to review the special operations
st
udy group’s findings and Gray’s Fleet Marine Force
Atlantic report. They discussed three options for pro-
ceeding with Marine Corps special operations en-
hancements. The first was to make no change, clearly
not an acceptable alternative given Secretary of De-
fense Weinberger’s guidance. The second was to “de-
velop a dedicated special operations force,” while the
third was to “make the fleet Marine forces capable of
co
nducting a wide spectrum of special operations
with their conventional forces.”16
Given that Lieutenant General Gray had stated that
his command was prepared to take action “immedi-
ately” on the issue, it is not surprising that he came
with detailed proposals. Gray’s preferred course of
action for a dedicated special operations force was
to create a 1,000-man Marine air-ground task force
complete with ground and aviation combat elements.
He i
ncluded a timeline for its training cycle, a list of
its overall capabilities, and a scheme for a test bed
unit to validate the concept. The plan for the test unit
was a smaller version of the larger force, a unit of
289 men, with the ground combat element being a
reinforced Marine rifle company and the aviation el-
ement made up of four CH-53D or E helicopters. The
pros
 and cons of the plan echoed what the II Marine
Amphibious Force study group and the Fleet Marine
Force Atlantic report had stated: the dedicated special
operations unit would provide a substantial capabil-
ity, but it would have significant costs in time, money,
and negative impacts on the Marine Corps’ missions
and structure.
17
Lieutenant General Gray also had an alternative
plan: take what the Marine Corps had and improve it.
Thi
s plan had two goals. The first was to “standard-
ize/improve a Marine amphibious unit’s capability to
conduct doctrinal special operations.” The second
was to “avoid conflict with missions of other services’
special operations forces.” To address the first goal, a
third Marine amphibious unit would be established
within II Marine Amphibious Force. Training cycles
we
re to be expanded and standardized and the three
units would be set into a sustained rotation, ensuring
that one was overseas as Landing Force Sixth Fleet,
one was training to take over that mission, and one
was reorganizing for its training cycle, having just re-
turned from deployment. A notional chart showed
this plan at work, with continuous deployments
graphed out into late 1989 and specific units ear-
marked for service. “The Solution,” as the brief called
it, continued with specifics for training improve-
ments, including but not limited to “command and
staff pl
anning and execution skills required for spe-
cial operations;” “development of infantry com-
pany/platoon skills necessary to provide a raiding
force assault element, covering element, or reserve
element;” and “development of aviation skills neces-
sa
ry for penetration/covert approach, urban opera-
tions, and withdrawal.” The plan provided for a
broad and valuable capability, enhanced training
DET ONE4
* If it appears that both documents took pains to state and restate
conclusions in a ponderous manner, consider that the language
was not used loosely. “Complementary,” “specialized,” “unique,”
and “maritime” were all employed in a manner calculated to state
accu
rately what the Marine Corps should and should not do.

--- Page 17 ---
Concept 5
across the board, and could be accomplished within
the existing structure of the Marine Corps.18
On 7 June 1985 in a memorandum for the record,
General Kelley adopted the plan to enhance Marine
Corps special operations capabilities by improving
the existing structure. He directed Fleet Marine Force
Atlantic to begin the program, using a Marine am-
phibious unit as the test bed, stating that “this Marine
Amphibious Unit will be tentatively designated as ‘—
Marine 
Amphibious Unit (Special Operations Capa-
ble).’” He included specific guidance on what the
new unit, the “MAU (SOC),” was to accomplish in
terms of optimal organization; a training program fo-
cused on the all-important traditional Marine roles;
any force augmentations for special missions beyond
the unit’s normal capabilities; special equipment; and
a con
cept for operations with “Joint Special Opera-
tions Command (JSOC) and/or the other services” on
“occasions when mission requirements dictate.”19
Two weeks later, General Kelley communicated
this initiative in writing to the Joint Chiefs of Staff and,
in a separate message containing the identical text,
to the regional combatant commanders and others,
including the forerunner of SOCom, U.S. Commander
in Chief S
pecial Operations. Both documents clearly
stated what the Marine Corps was undertaking and
why—a comprehensive program to enhance existing
capabilities in order to field a complementary mar-
itime capability—and what it was specifically not
doing: encroaching on the roles and missions of “spe-
cial purpose organizations such as JSOC, Special
Forces, SEALs or Special Operations Wings.”20
A formal implementation plan followed in No-
vember
 1986 embodying the experiences of the first
special operations capable Marine amphibious unit.
Continuous refinements and improvements took
place, with the experiences and skills of individual
Marines cross-pollinating the rest of the Fleet Marine
Force as units rotated in and out of the Marine am-
phibious units’ deployment schedule. The formal
schools of the Marine Corps responded to the re-
quirements of the program, and the rise of special
opera
tions capable units coincided with renewed in-
terest in rigorous professional military education.
There were early instances of close, if unheralded,
cooperation between the Marine Corps and elements
of the new Special Operations Command, validating
the particular role of the special operations capable
Marine amphibious unit in opera ting with dedicated
special operations forces. * At Camp Lejeune, North
Carolina, the Special Operations Training Group and
2d Force Reconnaissance Company fielded a direct
action force for the commander, U.S. Atlantic Com-
mand, known commonly as the “CINC’s In-Extremis
Force.” As the name implied, it existed as a comple-
mentary capability for the combatant commander,
available if certain special operations forces from
SOCom co
uld not respond to a crisis. This standing
task force leveraged the particular maritime direct ac-
tion capability that the Marines developed through
the MAU (SOC) program and was linked directly to
SOCom through its training and evaluation.21
On 5 February 1988, General Gray, who had suc-
ceeded General Kelley as Commandant of the Ma-
rine Corps, changed the designations of air-ground
task forces. “Amphibious” became “expeditionary,”
heralding both a return to the Marine Corps’ roots
and an emerging philosophical change. General Gray
noted that “the forces which we forward deploy
arou
nd the world are not limited to amphibious op-
erations alone.”22 Overnight, the MAU (SOC)s became
MEU (SOC)s.
The decade of the 1990s cataloged a long list of
operations by special operations capable Marine ex-
pe
ditionary units, some of which were undertaken
by MEU (SOC) alone, and some of which were un-
dertaken as part of joint operations. Marines con-
ducted noncombatant evacuations in the Balkans and
Africa, some with the involvement of SOCom units.
The 24th MEU (SOC) rescued downed U.S. Air Force
pilot Captain Scott O’Grady in Bosnia in 1994.
23 The
18-month U.S. involvement in Somalia provided a
venu
e in which virtually every MEU (SOC) capability
was employed, beginning with an amphibious assault
by 15th MEU (SOC) and ending with an amphibious
withdrawal by 24th MEU (SOC). In Somalia during
one deployment in 1993 that totaled just 48 days on
station, 24th MEU (SOC) conducted most of the SOC
mission essential tasks, including multiple amphibi-
ous raids by small boats and helicopters; coalition
* One officer who will figure prominently later in this narrative,
Col Paul A. Hand, was a company commander in the 26th MAU
(SOC) in 1987 and remembers the unit working with “a lot of dif-
ferent organizations . . . including guys from Fort Bragg,” an
oblique reference to upper-tier elements of Special Operations
Command. “At the time,” he continued, “the relationship between
JSOC and the Marine Corps couldn’t have been any better . . . The
wa
rfighters had figured out how to make it work.” Hand intvw,
26Aug05 (Marine Corps Historical Center [MCHC], Quantico, VA).
In the same vein were the highly successful maritime operations
mounted by U.S. Central Command under Gen George B. Crist in
the late 1980s employing elements of a MAU (SOC) with elements
of SOCom forces. Gen Crist described the force: “we had really
formed a new thing. It was a raid force that was totally integrated
with the army at night, with the SEALs, with the navy, and hooked
into air force reconnaissance, this little thing. It was a very sleek,
me
an little outfit.” Crist intvw, 10Jan89, Gray Research Center,
Quantico, VA.

--- Page 18 ---
support operations; tactical recovery of aircraft and
personnel; numerous humanitarian relief missions;
and one direct action raid by the maritime special
purpose force.24
Operation Eastern Exit, the January 1991 evacua-
tion of the U.S. embassy in Mogadishu, Somalia, il-
lustrated how MEU (SOC) training standards had, at
an even relatively early date, permeated the entire
Fleet Marine Force. In the operation, the 4th Marine
Exped
itionary Brigade, afloat in the Arabian Sea for
Operation Desert Shield, rapidly task-organized a
small force to begin the evacuation of the embassy
while the ships of the amphibious ready group closed
the 450-mile distance. Every element of the opera-
tion was rooted in MEU (SOC) doctrine and experi-
ence: rapid and effective command and staff actions;
a helicopter detachment that flew a task-organized
force (including nine Navy SEALs) over open water at
night
, refueling in air more than once; and well-exe-
cuted actions on the ground that accomplished a
highly sensitive mission.25
The decade of the 1990s, however, also marked a
decline in relations between the Marine Corps and
Special Operations Command. A chasm developed
between the Marine Corps and the special operations
community that widened year by year. Although
man
y Marines served in individual billets in SOCom
and performed well, there was little or no interoper-
ability between the theater special operations com-
mands and the deployed MEU (SOC)s. “Love the
Marines, hate the Marine Corps” attitudes persisted,
often reciprocated from within the Corps. A service-
level link, the SOCom/USMC board, which could and
should have identified and fostered several points of
co
mmon interest, lapsed into dormancy around 1996,
severing all cooperation on acquisitions, training, and
operations. Early unit-level initiatives such as joint op-
erations between elements of SOCom and the de-
ploying MAU (SOC)s and the Camp Lejeune-based
CINC’s In-Extremis Force also ended. By the onset of
the 21st century, the U.S. Marine Corps and U.S. Spe-
cial Operations Command were no longer institu-
tionally enga
ged.
11 September 2001: The Landscape Changes
In the summer of 2001, Lieutenant Colonel J. Giles
Kyser IV assumed the duties of head of the Marine
Air Ground Task Force (MAGTF) special operations
section in Plans, Policies and Operations at Head-
quarters Marine Corps. His position encompassed all
things related to the MEU (SOC) program as well as
all things related explicitly and implicitly to special
opera
tions. He was well suited for the task. In addi-
tion to a standard infantry career, he had served as
operations officer of 2d Air Naval Gunfire Liaison
Company and executive officer of 2d Force Recon-
naissance Company. While a student at the U.S.
Army’s Advanced Infantry Officer Course, Kyser had
met several Army Special Forces and Ranger officers.
He found that he, as a Marine officer, was much more
at home w
ith them than he was with his more con-
ventional army counterparts. Among other things,
Kyser recognized that their thoughts on approaching,
analyzing, and conducting missions were closely
aligned with Marine Corps thinking.
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser’s subsequent staff tour at
Special Operations Command Europe (SOCEur) ex-
posed him to a special operational environment and
con
firmed the opinions he had formed at the Army’s
advanced course. One of the first things he learned
was that for Marines working in special operations,
personal relationships were essential. The people on
the other side needed to get the measure of an indi-
vidual Marine and trust him; once that acceptance
was in place, the possibilities for joint operations
grew dramatically. Kyser observed special operations
forces in Europe operating in task-organized units not
unlike Ma
rine air-ground task forces but yet lacking
the synergistic integrity of the Marine organizations.
This experience implanted in his mind the idea that
the Marine Corps had something concrete to offer
Special Operations Command, namely a self-con-
tained, task-organized air-ground force capable of a
wide range of missions and imbued with an expedi-
ti
onary, combined arms ethos. 
By the late summer of 2001 while assigned to
Plans, Policies and Operations at Headquarters Ma-
rine Corps, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser worked on the
reinvigoration of the dormant training relationship
between the MEU (SOC)s and SOCom, which had
DET ONE6
Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont
LtCol J. Giles Kyser, shown here in May 2004 as com-
manding officer, 2d Battalion, 2d Marines, in Camp
Fallujah, Iraq. As MAGTF Special Operations action
officer at HQMC from 2001 to 2003, he oversaw the
creation of the first Marine force contribution to
SOCom, the unit that would become MCSOCOM Det
One.

--- Page 19 ---
Concept 7
lain fallow for several years. At that time no one con-
templated, much less advocated, a step as radical as
contributing Marine forces to SOCom. * The task at
hand was simply to reengage the special operations
community for the mutual benefit of the Marine
Corps and Special Operations Command. But, as
Kyser later pointed out, “the complexion of that land-
scape changed dramatically on September 11th.”26
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser Goes to Tampa
Shortly after the attacks on 11 September 2001,
Lieutenant General Emil R. Bedard, deputy comman-
dant for plans, policies, and operations (PP&O), di-
rected Lieutenant Colonel Kyser to go to Special
Operations Command headquarters in Tampa,
Florida, and begin repairing the long-broken rela-
tionship. His mission was to reestablish the moribund
SOCom-USMC Board. Kyser’s first act was to check in
with the senior Marine in SOCom, Colonel Paul A.
Han
d, who only a few months before had written an
“it’s-a-good-idea-but” answer in Marine Corps Gazette
against establishing a Marine Corps force within
SOCom. Hand was an infantry officer with a con-
ventional background—company command in a
MAU (SOC), Amphibious Warfare School, Command
and Staff College, battalion command—but no Ma-
rine reconnaissance or Special Operations Command
experience. Hand regarded his background as an
asset rather than a limitation. Although he reported to
SOCom, Hand had received instructions from Bedard
simil
ar to Kyser’s: improve the relationship; get the
SOCom-USMC board going again; find ways to work
together. These efforts were underway before the at-
tacks of 11 September, but those momentous events
hastened
 the progress.
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser next went to see
SOCom’s director of operations, plans, and policies,
U.S. Army Major General Eldon A. Bargewell, for
whom he had worked during his SOCEur days and
with whom he had excellent personal rapport. Kyser
discussed with Bargewell the probability that as the
war on terrorism progressed over what promised to
be a long time, there would be opportunities for
mor
e cooperation between Marine units and special
operations forces, based primarily on the Marine Ex-
peditionary Units’ forward presence and unique ca-
pabilities. He knew what the Marines could offer
special operations forces in the prosecution of the
war on terrorism and was determined to make the
case.
During the fall of 2001 and early winter of 2002,
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser became a shuttle diplomat,
wi
th one week in Washington and the next week in
Tampa. He found willing allies inside Special Opera-
tions Command and ran into ironclad opposition
there, too. The same was true at Headquarters, U.S.
Marine Corps. Colonel Hand was busy shepherding
the placement of two Marine officers in the SOCom
operations center. Shortly after 9/11, Lieutenant Gen-
eral Bedard had asked his counterpart at SOCom
what immediate assistance the Marine Corps could
provide. The answer was intelligence officers. The
Marine Corps offered two, and SOCom accepted. En-
trench
ed anti-Marine attitudes in SOCom resurfaced,
however, and the two Marine officers waited with
bags packed until the highest levels of the SOCom
command structure cleared the way for them to be
assigned.
27 Ultimately, the two were so successful that
they proved what might be called Hand’s corollary
to
 Kyser’s law of Marine and special operations rela-
tions: get good Marines in, let them go to work, and
everything else will work out.
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser found that the prevail-
ing argument inside Special Operations Command
against any Marine Corps force contribution ran along
old familiar lines: “You [Marines] have your box, we
have our box, stay the hell out. . . . You decided back
in 1986 yo
u didn’t want to play.”28 But the facts were
that the SOCom and Marine Corps “boxes” had no
significant points of connection, no places where the
one’s capabilities could be set to cover the other’s
limitations.
Anti-SOCom attitudes within the Marine Corps
were just as entrenched, and in light of the events of
9/11, every bit as outdated. As recently as the spring
of 2001, an unsolicited offer by Joint Special Opera-
ti
ons Command to work more closely again with the
deployed Marine expeditionary units foundered. 29
The Marine refrain that Lieutenant Colonel Kyser
often heard was that “we don’t need special opera-
tions forces, we can do it ourselves, there’s nothing
they can do that we can’t do.” From Kyser’s own
knowledge of SOCEur units in action, he knew this
argument simply was not true. SOCom’s training
processes and resources provided for capabilities that
the Ma
rine Corps did not possess. Kyser recalled in
2004 that “all of the bravado and all of the talk in the
world didn’t change the facts: enthusiasm does not
equal capability.”30 He also had to face age-old Ma-
rine arguments against contributing forces: if the Ma-
* The Marine Corps Gazette printed a brief exchange on a Marine
force contribution to Special Operations Command in the April
and J
uly 2001 issues. The proposal for a force contribution was
written by a student at Amphibious Warfare School; the riposte,
detailing why a force contribution was not in the interests of the
Marine Corps, was written by Col Hand, the chief of the training
division at SOCom’s center for operations, plans, and policies.

--- Page 20 ---
rine Corps gives a unit to SOCom, they will have lost
control of it and will never get it back, and such a
commitment will bleed the Corps of high-value
Marines.*
In time, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser would turn all
these arguments upside down, but the task at hand
was to seize a beachhead, to gain a foothold with his
audience. The objective was the SOCom/USMC
board; the Marine Corps needed to engage SOCom
institutionally, on a broad front, on everything from
MEU
 (SOC)/theater special operations interoperabil-
ity to equipment acquisitions to intelligence support.
In the days before 11 September, interoperability be-
tween deployed MEU (SOC)s and theater special op-
erations forces was never put to a true test, although
an event like Operation Noble Obelisk, the 1997 non-
combatant evacuation in Sierra Leone conducted
jointly with special operations forces, proved that
working 
together was not only possible but opera-
tionally enhancing. This operation, however, was the
exception to the rule. That state of affairs may have
been lamentable, but too few decision makers saw it
as a potentially fatal weakness. Following 9/11, an
entirely different light shone on the issue. The emerg-
ing fact was that in a war in which special operators
ha
d a leading role, the dysfunctional relationship be-
tween Special Operations Command and the Marine
Corps threatened not only to keep the Marines’ role
in the shadows but also to deprive the nation of the
well-refined capabilities of Marine expeditionary
forces.
The Commandant Changes Course
By the end of 2001, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser’s
shuttle diplomacy and Colonel Hand’s internal pres-
sure were showing signs of success. Applying the les-
sons learn
ed from their careers, they leveraged
previous personal relationships to build new ones.
Kyser in particular had a small network of allies and
supporters wearing several uniforms who kept him
abreast of developments and attitudes across the
armed services and Special Operations Command.
More importantly, they soon had in hand a memoran-
dum of agreement, signed on 9 November 2001 by the
Commandant, General James L. Jones Jr., and the com-
mander of SOCom, General Charles R. Holland. This
memora
ndum resurrected the SOCom-USMC Board
and paved the way for a greater level of cooperation.
In the first week of January 2002, Lieutenant
Colonel Kyser briefed General Jones and selected
senior officers as a preparation for the first SOCom-
USMC board scheduled to begin shortly thereafter.
He wanted the Commandant’s approval before he
proceeded. Kyser discussed the plan for engaging
Special Operations Command across a range of is-
sues,
 including logistics, aviation, and others. As he
recalled, when the brief concluded, the Commandant
expressed approval of what he had heard and seen,
then sat back and said, “If we really want to show
that we are committed to this, we need to think about
committing some forces to SOCom.” 31 The remark
was a complete reversal of the long-held Marine
Corps position.
In fact, General Jones had made an early offer of
a Marine force to Special Operations Command in the
immediate aftermath of 9/11. He called General Hol-
land at SOCom and offered him a force reconnais-
sance platoon. Holland instructed the Naval Special
Warfare flag officer in charge of SOCom’s resources
an
d requirements directorate to talk with Colonel
Hand and figure out exactly what Jones’s offer meant.
Hand received a phone call from Lieutenant General
Bedard confirming the offer and then began answer-
ing the multitude of questions from SOCom.
32 How
this initial offer was examined and handled fore-
shadowed the later discussions of a larger force con-
tribution and revealed how things might have turned
ou
t differently in one major respect.
Shortly after the first SOCom-USMC board meet-
ing in January 2002, Colonel Hand briefed Special
Operations Command general officers on General
Jones’s offer of a force reconnaissance platoon. Army
Special Operations Command and Naval Special War-
fare Command debated where the unit would best
fit. Both groups made good cases. Hand remembered
that the co
mmander of Naval Special Warfare imme-
diately voiced the opinion that the Marine unit should
align with the Navy, due to its maritime roots. The
commander of Army Special Operations disagreed.
Hand made no move in either direction but in retro-
spect said this was the first and best opportunity for
the Marine Corps to have jumped ship and cast its lot
with the U.S. Army Special Operations Command.
33
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser took General Jones’s in-
structions not just as an order to devise a Marine
force contribution to Special Operations Command,
but to have it ready for the first SOCom-USMC board.
Fortunately for Kyser, he was a step ahead, having
come to the conclusion that autumn that SOCom’s
tasks in the emerging war on terrorism eventually
would outstrip its capabilities. He had a clear idea
DET ONE8
* These two objections had been raised before, even long before
the founding of Special Operations Command. For an interesting
discussion of the deeper historical roots of the issue, see Maj
Robert E. Mattingly, USMC, Herringbone Cloak—GI Dagger:
Marines of the OSS (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Marine Corps History
and Museums Division, 1989).

--- Page 21 ---
Concept 9
that the Marine Corps could fairly quickly field a
unit—more than a force reconnaissance platoon—
that would alleviate the troop-to-task burden and
cover some of the missions in which SOCom units
were engaged. Better still, Kyser had two Marines
working for him who also knew SOCom from the in-
side and who could sit down and turn out a well-
crafted and well-reasoned proposal.
The Marines Come Up With a Plan
Master Gunnery Sergeant Joseph G. Settelen III 
was the MAGTF special operations chief, working for
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser. Before the attacks on 11
September, he was involved in the Reconnaissance
Operational Advisory Group, commonly termed the
“fix recon initiative,” which General Jones had estab-
lished to restore Marine reconnaissance units to a po-
sition where their particular skills and training could
be
st be used in support of the Marine operating
forces.34
Settelen enlisted in the early 1980s as an infantry
Marine. He moved into the reconnaissance field in
1987 and served with 2d Force Reconnaissance Com-
pany. In 1997 he left the Corps for a classified billet,
returning in 2000 as a master sergeant and was as-
signed to the special operations section at Head-
quarters Marine Corps. He was as uniquely qualified
an
d fortuitously placed as Lieutenant Colonel Kyser
to deal with these issues. Settelen understood the op-
erational aspects of Special Operations Command
from personal experience, knew Marine operations,
and was fully cognizant of the current state of the
Marine reconnaissance community.
Master Sergeant Troy G. Mitchell was also an orig-
inal member of the fix recon initiative. He had served
in several reconnaissance units and, like Settelen, had
done a
 “dark side” tour with SOCom. He had been
selected in February 2000 specifically for the Recon-
naissance Operational Advisory Group and was fully
engaged with that program when Kyser called on Set-
telen and him to draw up a plan for the first Marine
unit to be assigned to SOCom.35
The two questions governing the size and shape
of the still-unformed unit were what would it look
like, 
and how quickly could it be formed? Lieutenant
Colonel Kyser knew that Special Operations Com-
mand would not want any more of what they already
had. What SOCom needed was something different—
a Marine air-ground task force, a flexible, powerful
unit that would be so much more than the sum of its
parts. But a full-scale task force needed too much
support across the Marine Corps. Kyser, Settelen, and
Mit
chell determined that a task force without the avi-
ation combat element was an answer to the require-
ment and was doable. As Kyser put it, “What I
MGySgt Joseph G. Settelen III, the MAGTF and Special
Operations Chief at HQMC. Working under LtCol
Kyser’s direction and using his extensive knowledge of
both the Marine reconnaissance field and the special
operations community, he and MSgt Troy G. Mitchell
designed the structure and manning of Det One.
Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont
Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont
MSgt Troy G. Mitchell, the reconnaissance field mon-
itor at Manpower Division, HQMC. He found the
“structure,” the actual manpower billets, that could
be drawn from existing units to stand up Det One.
Not only did he find the structure, he helped craft the
requirements for each reconnaissance Marine. 

--- Page 22 ---
wanted was a uniquely Marine unit that was self-suf-
ficient and could be employed on its own . . . that
was focused on special operations mission areas that
we had capability in today, right now .”36 Looking
back on his time in SOCEur, he identified four mis-
sion areas where this unit could make an immediate
contribution: direct action, special reconnaissance,
foreign internal defense, and coalition support.
According the Department of Defense dictionary,
di
rect action is defined as “short-duration strikes and
other small-scale offensive actions conducted as a
special operation in hostile, denied, or politically sen-
sitive environments and which employ specialized
military capabilities to seize, destroy, capture, exploit,
recover, or damage designated targets. Direct action
differs from conventional offensive actions in the
level 
of physical and political risk, operational tech-
niques, and the degree of discriminate and precise
use of force to achieve specific objectives.” Special
reconnaissance comprises “reconnaissance and sur-
veillance actions conducted as a special operation in
hostile, denied, or politically sensitive environments
to collect or verify information of strategic or opera-
tional significance, employing military capabilities not
normally found in conventional forces. These actions
provide 
an additive capability for commanders and
supplement other conventional reconnaissance and
surveillance actions.” Foreign internal defense is de-
fined as “participation by civilian and military agen-
cies of a government in any of the action programs
taken by another government or other designated or-
ganization to free and protect its society from sub-
version, lawlessness, and insurgency.” Coalition
support involved the provision of personnel and
equipment 
to allied forces to assist them with inte-
grating their operations into the U.S. command and
control system, and gaining access to supporting
arms.
37 The Marine Corps had an excellent record of
coalition support capabilities due in large part to units
like its air and naval gunfire liaison companies (AN-
GLIC
Os).
The prospective Marine unit for Special Operations
Command needed to be able to operate alone, with
conventional forces, with other special operations
units, with foreign units, or with any combination
thereof. It needed to have particular intelligence ca-
pabilities. Task organization would be its strength;
combined arms would be its operating principle.
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser called in Master Gunnery
Sergeant Settelen and Master Sergeant Mitchell and
told them t
o design a unit that fit these criteria. Set-
telen remembers Kyser giving Mitchell and him the
task at about 1100 one day, to be due at 1600: five
hours to construct a unit completely from scratch,
one that would need to be drawn “out of hide,” taken
from the existing Marine Corps structure, be able to
depl
oy and operate on its own, and that would offer
SOCom something it did not have. The finished pro-
posal would go straight to Lieutenant General Be-
dard. Settelen and Mitchell put about 40 years of
combined knowledge to work in the cafeteria of the
Navy Annex with butcher-block paper, pencils, and a
pot of coffee.38 Three hours later they emerged with
a plan and handed it to Kyser. 
In some respects, the unit Settelen and Mitchell
conceptualized was a special-purpose Marine air-
grou
nd task force without the aviation. It had a re-
connaissance platoon and a robust support structure,
including a large intelligence element. In other ways,
the unit was like MEU (SOC)’s maritime special-pur-
pose force, although much more capable. It had or-
ganic fires, radio reconnaissance, and
counterintelligence sections, areas in which the Ma-
ri
ne Corps possessed special skills, as well as the nec-
essary staff sections that would enable it to conduct
stand-alone operations. Settelen and Mitchell not only
wrote down rough numbers and organization, they
filled in the ranks and military occupational special-
ties for each billet. They designed the unit to be
manned by senior Marines with many years of serv-
ice and several deployments, not enthusiastic first-
termers. They also intended for its members to rotate
in and out of t
he unit and back to the regular Marine
Corps, thereby addressing the old concern that the
Corps would lose high-value Marines forever. In Set-
telen’s words, the unit would be a “900-pound go-
rilla that could do surgery.”39
The original Settelen-Mitchell plan showed a unit
of around 110 Marines and sailors. Word came back
quickly that 110 was too many, so the two Marines
pared the number to 86 but advised that they were
cutting into the support functions that would gird the
unit’s core capabilities. * As Settelen pointed out,
“When you get into logistics and planning, you have
to have specialists, and they don’t all do the same
job, so we knew support-wise we were going to
need some tail to [go with] the teeth.”40
Although the unit was conceptually a Marine air-
ground task force, aviation was conspicuous by its
absence. Kyser, Settelen, and Mitchell knew that avi-
ation personnel and equipment pipelines, especially
for a special operations unit, were so tightly scripted,
DET ONE10
* Settelen and Mitchell knew what they were talking about. Det
One, when it deployed in April 2004, mounted out at 99 strong.
Augmentations came during the training phase when it became
appar
ent that the modified structure of 86 was too slim.

--- Page 23 ---
Concept 11
and due to the “naval” nature of the aviation force—
not completely under Marine control— that trying to
include an aviation combat element in the unit would
cripple its chances to form up quickly, train, and de-
ploy. Kyser forwarded the recommended unit struc-
ture to General Jones, who gave his assent
immediately. From idea to concept to rough plan in
remarkably short order, Kyser had in hand an organ-
iza
tion he could present to SOCom.
Special Operations Command Reacts
Rough plan in hand, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser
traveled to Special Operations Command headquar-
ters in Tampa in late January 2002 for the first
SOCom-USMC board. In front of the future concepts
working group of the board, he laid out a presenta-
tion of SOCom missions and other activities and
showed how, if under a reasonable assumption that
its task load increa
sed, its tasks would soon surpass
its capabilities. In his words, “SOCom would run out
of Schlitz.”41 Without a pause, Kyser continued with
one small step for a Marine but one giant leap for the
Corps: “In the Marine Corps, we have some forces
that can do some of these specific things.” “Immedi-
ately,” he said, “red star clusters went up
—‘No! You’re
not SOF! You can’t do these things!’” Kyser patiently
a
nswered, “Well, look, I think we can.” And he pro-
ceeded to show how.
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser, Master Gunnery Ser-
geant Settelen, and Master Sergeant Mitchell knew the
special operations world as well as the SOCom peo-
ple did. They had anticipated the objections and were
ready to counter each one. Kyser fired back with a
counter barrage of logical arguments. His offer to
provide a ready-built force that would take on four
mis
sion areas—direct action, special reconnaissance,
coalition support, and foreign internal defense—and
relieve other SOCom units to focus on more pressing
missions proved persuasive. Arguments old and new
against a Marine unit in SOCom would continue to
arise during the following months, but Kyser had
made his point. He had his beachhead.
Both Colonel Hand at SOCom and Lieutenant
Colonel 
Kyser at Headquarters Marine Corps drafted
summaries of the minutes of the board meeting.
Drafting was one thing; releasing was another. Ac-
cording to both officers, they wrote and rewrote their
summaries several times, only to have them sat upon
at SOCom. It took four months until SOCom released
the executive summary in May 2002. * On a positive
note, the summary specified leveraging the “unique
ca
pabilities of each organization” and pushing for-
ward with interoperability between forward-deployed
MEU (SOC)s and special operations forces based in
the U.S. and overseas. On the less positive side from
the Kyser/Hand point of view, the executive sum-
mary referred to the Marine force contribution as
“possible,” “notional,” and “a pilot program.”
In discussions that followed between Colonel
Hand and Lieutenant Colonel Kyser about the nature
of
 the Marine unit, Hand, remembering General
Jones’s earlier offer of a single force reconnaissance
platoon, wanted to keep the unit simple and small.
He wanted to send it right out to whatever compo-
nent of SOCom was going to sponsor it and get it op-
erating, believing that the operator-level relations
would be a runaway success and that a small force
would be more workable. Instead, Kyser’s plan won
th
e day; the Marine force contribution to SOCom was
to be more than one platoon of reconnaissance
Marines.42
Once again, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser shuttled be-
tween Headquarters Marine Corps and Special Oper-
ations Command much as he had done the previous
fall. He and Colonel Hand were busy not only with
selling the force contribution, but also with shep-
herding all the initiatives between the Marines and
SOCom. A
s they worked trying to sell the individual
service components on the potential of the Marine
force contribution, Kyser still had his network of
sources telling him who was saying what about the
Marine unit and taking bets on when it was going to
be killed off and on who would deliver the blow.
The SEALs Volunteer to Help
It was plain to Colonel Hand and Lieutenant
Colonel Kyser that the center of gravity of opposition
to any Ma
rine force contribution was Naval Special
Warfare. Some individual SEALs were receptive, but
their command appeared to be institutionally op-
posed.
43 A portion of the opposition was rooted in
fierce protection of roles and missions, and therefore
funding, a reaction common to every service. The
SEALs had built a substantial special operations ca-
pab
ility on their own over the course of decades and
were justifiably proud of it. But protectionism was
not the only factor in SEAL opposition; there also was
a persistent institutional memory of the 1987 deci-
sion. According to the SEALs, the Marines did not
want a part of SOCom then, and they should not be
* Col Hand achieved the release through another direct personal
appeal to Special Operations Command leadership. As the weeks
went by and the minutes of the meeting went unsigned, he re-
ceived phone calls from LtGen Bedard asking pointed questions
about the document. Hand eventually went to see MajGen Eldon
Bargewell and told him bluntly that not releasing the minutes was
“destroying my reputation.” Hand intvw, 26Aug05 (MCHC).

--- Page 24 ---
given a part of it now. That viewpoint suggested an
equally persistent and widespread misunderstanding
of what the Marines had to offer—a unique, comple-
mentary capability instead of a tardy knock-off—an
issue that dated back at least to 1987, if not earlier.
*
Determined to press ahead and not let anyone kill
the issue with delaying tactics, Lieutenant Colonel
Kyser wanted the future concepts working group to
meet 
again as soon as possible to discuss the force
contribution. But, as he recalled, Naval Special War-
fare unexpectedly proposed that it act as executive
agent within Special Operations Command to handle
the issue—the Marines are a naval force, the SEALs
are a naval force; there is a natural marriage. 44
(Colonel Hand had experienced the same line of rea-
soning when he had discussed General Jones’s offer
of
 a force reconnaissance platoon.) To Kyser, the
Navy position was not the welcome development it
first appeared to be. He remembered Machiavelli’s
dictum to keep your friends close but your enemies
closer. Kyser and Hand reckoned that Naval Special
Warfare wanted to gather the Marine unit under its
wing not to grow it, but to kill it, or at the very least
force it to serve its purposes. Both counseled against
accepti
ng the proposal.
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser and Colonel Hand, how-
ever, also knew that in Special Operations Command,
the commander and the chiefs of the individual com-
ponents (including Joint Special Operations Com-
mand) made the key decisions in council and that
the votes might not be in the Marines’ favor. Kyser
and his team calculated that the commander of
SOCom was on their side, and by extension the head
of Air Force Special Operations Command. Army
Special Operations Command was a maybe. The Joint
Special Operations Command and Naval Special War-
far
e were thought to be opponents. “So we figured
we got two definite yes’s and two that could possibly
be no’s,” Kyser recalled, “and in order to get Naval
Special Warfare to allow this thing to go forward, we
said OK, we’ll go ahead and acquiesce to this.”
45
Kyser thought they could have swayed Army Special
Operations Command or Joint Special Operations
Command and thus gotten what they wanted without
the Naval Special Warfare’s approval, but they de-
cided to cast their lot with the SEALs. So Naval Spe-
cial Warfare was designated as SOCom’s executive
agent regarding the issue of a force contribution from
the Marine Corps.
In March 2002, Colonel Hand and Lieutenant
Colonel Kyser were invited to a meeting at Coron-
ado, Califor
nia, home of Naval Special Warfare, for
further discussions on the nature of the force contri-
bution. Hand called the meeting “The Coronado Ac-
cords.” For both officers, it was soon clear what the
agenda was going to be. “One of the first things they
wanted to do was take us in and give us the training
film on BUDS,” Kyser remembered. “The message
was clear: ‘You’re not special operations forces.’. . .
Then
 we got a briefing from one of their teams that
had been in Afghanistan on individual initiative, cre-
ativity, and small-unit leadership. Those were the
strengths of special operations forces. The unspoken
message was, ‘they’re certainly not your strengths.’”46
Nevertheless, Hand and Kyser pressed ahead,
briefing Lieutenant Colonel Kyser’s plan and main-
taining t
he Marine Corps’ position on what the force
would look like, what it would do, and what it would
not do. It was evident that the SEALs liked the sup-
port and staff functions but not the platoon of re-
connaissance Marines. The urge to treat the unit’s
support and staff capabilities as a toolbox for higher
headquarters would become a critical matter up to
and through its deployment in 2004.
Finding the Money in the Marine Corps
With Colonel Hand and Lieutenant Colonel Kyser
fighting the deep battle, they handed the close fight
to Master Gunnery Sergeant Settelen and Master Ser-
geant Mitchell. Settelen and Mitchell had put together
a well-reasoned and detailed proposal, but the time
had come to turn it into an executable plan. There
were plenty of questions to answer at Headquarters
Ma
rine Corps. What was the table of organization?
What was the table of equipment? Who was going to
pay for it? Where were these Marines coming from,
and how would they be selected? The Marine Corps
had not formed a new unit in years. Settelen and
Mitchell had their work cut out for them, as every
man and every penny was going to have to come out
of the existing Marine Corps structure.
The two Marines took what they had done and
quickl
y filled in the detail to get an idea of what the
Marines in the new unit would require to accomplish
their missions. What would each Marine need to
carry? What would the reconnaissance teams need?
What would the radio reconnaissance teams need?
What sort of equipment would the intelligence ele-
ment require? As the answers emerged, Settelen and
Mitchell realized that some of the gear the unit would
DET ONE1
2
* Paradoxically, when Col Melvin G. Spiese was assigned to Spe-
cial Operations Command in 1995 to serve in approximately the
same billet Col Hand would fill later, he had found that Naval Spe-
cial Warfare personnel were among those most receptive to greater
cooperation with the Marine Corps—and some of those most op-
posed to it were Marines. Spiese intvw, 16May05 (MCHC).

--- Page 25 ---
Concept 13
need to work in the special operations realm, prima-
rily weapons and communications equipment, was
not anything that could be found within the Marine
Corps. Special Operations Command was not going
to give it to them; part of the bargain struck by the
Marine Corps and SOCom was that the Marines
would fund the unit’s start-up costs. The price tag
was going to be substantial, and many of the acqui-
sitions would have to be made outside the normal
supply ch
annels.
Master Gunnery Sergeant Settelen tackled the table
of equipment and the budget.47 Although he had ex-
perience at Marine Corps Systems Command, the
Corps’ acquisitions branch, he did not know the first
thing about creating a table of equipment, or a
budget on this scale. He cast around for help. When
he called Installations and Logistics, “I didn’t get a lot
of l
ove over there,” Settelen recalled, noting that In-
stallations and Logistics had to worry about support-
ing and sustaining the whole Marine Corps instead
of just one strange new unit. So Settlelen looked else-
where. At Marine Corps Combat Development Com-
mand he found Mr. Robert Merle, the expert on tables
of equipment. Settelen’s previous experience in Ma-
rine Corps Systems Command began to weigh in on
th
e acquisitions end. At Programs and Resources at
Headquarters Marine Corps he found Mary Cooney,
who taught him how to do an entire budget submis-
sion package and then served as his sanity check. She
looked for fat and redundancy and made sure that
the numbers made sense. As Settelen compiled the
budget, he estimated that it would cost $17 million to
put the unit together. Including the deployment
phas
e, down to airlift in and out of theater, he put
the final price tag at $27 million.48
Master Sergeant Mitchell handled the table of or-
ganization. Working within the limits of the original
86-man structure, he had to balance the needs of
teeth and tail, to build enough structure to support
the operating elements—enough, but no extra. It was
his job to find the billets and take them out of some-
one else’s unit; as he put it, “It hurt other units to
stand up t
his Det.”49 Billets and structure eventually
meant real people, in this case high-value senior
Marines who were going to be taken out of units that
needed them.
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser Keeps the
Pressure On
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser and Colonel
Hand were advancing on multiple lines. Since they
had been the subjects of widespread opposition to
any Ma
rine involvement in Special Operations Com-
mand, they believed that they could mount a broad
counteroffensive to get their points across. Kyser
called it “an assault from all different quarters.” He
began lobbying the office of assistant secretary of de-
fense for special operations and low intensity con-
flict, Michael A. Westphal, a former Marine, not only
to garner Department of Defense-level support for
the pro
spective Marine unit, but also to show broad
progress in increasing the Marine Corps’ ties with
SOCom beyond a force contribution.
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser wrote the Marine Corps’
response to a Department of Defense study on the
future of special operations forces, demonstrating that
the Marines were supporting several SOCom initia-
tives and programs and contributing to the effort. *50
As of July 2002, Kyser was able to detail several areas
in which the Marine Corps was directly providing
help to SOCom. “Some of the support,” he noted,
“has historical precedence and some is a direct re-
flection of actions taken since September 11th [2001].”
Among the contributions were approximately 100
Marines filling billets directly supporting the Special
Operations Command; liaison officers to SOCom and
SOCCent for operational and planning assistance; op-
erations by Task Force 58 (the 15th and 26th MEU
[SO
C]s) in Afghanistan, including tactical recovery of
aircraft and personnel, close air support, and provid-
ing quick reaction forces; and Marine KC-130 support
to Task Force-160, the Army’s special operations avi-
ation unit. SOCom apparently deemed continued KC-
130 support so important that it had been mentioned
in
 the executive summary of the first SOCom-USMC
board. 51
Lieutenant Colonel Kyser also honed his approach
to Naval Special Warfare. He used a senior SEAL of-
ficer assigned to the Pentagon with whom he had
served before as his sounding board to craft the ar-
guments the Marine Corps would offer in discussions
concerning the unit’s prospective deployment and
employment overseas.
Colonel Hand was working t
 o get the first Marine
general officer, Brigadier General Dennis J. Hejlik, as-
signed to Special Operations Command. Although
not directly related to the establishment of the Ma-
rine force for SOCom, the assignment of a Marine
general to the command would signify that the
Marines had not only landed but were not going
* When speaking of this period later in 2004, LtCol Kyser used an
example from the commanding general, 1st MarDiv: “Gen Mattis
li
kes to talk about how it’s difficult for a man to hate you when
you’ve just handed him a cold bottle of water and it’s 150 degrees
outside. Well, it’s difficult to make an argument against the Marine
Corps being part of SOCom when at the same time we’re provid-
ing assistance.” Kyser intvw, 25May04 (MCHC).

--- Page 26 ---
away. This assignment, like the placement of the two
intelligence officers after 9/11, was delayed until
Hand received a phone call from Lieutenant General
Bedard asking whether SOCom really wanted a gen-
eral officer. Tired of the delays, Hand went right up
the chain-of-command at Tampa and got a final, af-
firmative answer.
52
History Offers a Lesson
During the fall of 2002, Lieutenant Colonel Kyser
and his team traveled to Camp Pendleton, California,
an
d met with senior representatives from the intelli-
gence, fire support, and reconnaissance communi-
ties. They went through several hundred record
books and selected the people they wanted for the
new unit.53 For the commanding officer they recom-
mended Lieutenant Colonel Robert J. Coates, recent
commander of 1st Force Reconnaissance Company
and at the time head of I Marine Expeditionary
For
ce’s Special Operations Training Group (SOTG).
Coates had a strong, positive reputation in the Ma-
rine Corps as well as in the special operations com-
munity. He had served in El Salvador in the 1980s as
an advisor and later with other government agencies.
As Lieutenant Colonel Kyser noted, “We discussed
five or six different names, but every time, we came
back to Lieutenant Colonel Coates. . . . Nobody could
quest
ion this man’s credentials. Nobody. He was ex-
actly the right guy at exactly the right time to put in
charge of this.”54
To ensure the longevity of the unit, it needed a
lineage, according to Lieutenant Colonel Kyser. With
the permission of the Marine Raider Association, he
decided to put the raider patch at the bottom of the
detachment’s logo. Kyser saw that there was an “un-
de
niable parallel” between the Marine Raiders of
World War II and the new unit.55 By tying his unit his-
torically to the Marine Raiders, he sought to evoke
their role as a selectively trained and equipped strike
force, a unit that could hit the enemy where it lived
in a way conventionally organized units could not.
In order to combat the inevitable “elite within elite”
argument, Kyser intended for the Marines in the unit
to
 come from and return to the Marine operating
forces in a regular rotation. The Marine Raiders had
been disbanded and absorbed into conventional
units, a detail that was not lost on Kyser.
The Commandant Puts it in Writing
By the end of 2002, the Marine Corps’ first force
contribution to Special Operations Command was
about to become a reality. The unit’s proponents had
countered all arguments, surmounted difficulties, cre-
ated a structure, identified funding, named a com-
mander, and tied its lineage to one of the most
famous units in Marine Corps history. In late October,
the Commandant, General Jones, issued an executive
pers
onal communication, known as a “personal for”
or “P4” message, to the leadership of Marine Corps’
operating forces and supporting establishment de-
scribing the unit being sent to SOCom, his intent for
it
s creation and employment, and what he expected
of those to whom the message was addressed. He
laid out how the logistical and personnel burdens
would be borne and how he wanted the unit to be
set up for success in material resources and training.
He linked the unit and its success to the whole range
of SOCom-USMC initiatives and to the continued “pri-
macy of the Marine Corps as the nation’s expedi-
tionary strike force.” Jones emphasized that “the
success
 of this unit is a priority for me,” as well as
for the secretary of defense, the secretary of the Navy,
and Jones’s designated successor as Commandant,
Lieutenant General Michael W. Hagee.56
Two months after General Jones’s P4 message,
Marine Corps Bulletin 5400, dated 4 December 2002,
formally established the Marine Corps Special Oper-
at
ions Command Detachment as a two-year proof-of-
concept test, in furtherance of the goals set forth by
DET ONE14
Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont
Col Robert J. Coates, commanding officer, MCSOCOM
Det One, shown here at Camp Fallujah, Iraq, in May
2004, almost a year after the formation of the unit.
When the discussions were underway at HQMC on
who would be named to command this unit, LtCol
Kyser said that “We discussed several names, but every
time we came back to Coates.” 

--- Page 27 ---
Concept 15
the USMC/SOCom memorandum of agreement
signed on 9 November 2001. The Commandant’s Oc-
tober message had provided the overview of how the
unit was to be created. The bulletin detailed the who,
what, where, and when of activating the unit. In ac-
cordance with the Commandant’s guidance, the bul-
letin listed 42 units from which existing structure
would be “temporarily realigned” to make the de-
tachment a reality. As might be expected, reconnais-
sa
nce and intelligence units numbered about a third
of those affected, but the list covered a wide swath of
the Marine Corps; among other units, all three active-
duty force service support groups were listed. The
bulletin stated that “the purpose of this proof-of-con-
cept test is to determine the optimal structure and
equipment required to provide appropriate Marine
Corps operational support to USSOCOM.”57 Thus was
born Det One.*
More than a year’s worth of hard work by several
dedicated Marines at Headquarters Marine Corps,
Special Operations Command, and elsewhere had be-
come reality. The year 2003 would see the new unit
form up, receive millions of dollars’ worth of new
equipment, and begin to train for its historic deploy-
ment overseas.
* The “One” in “Det One” does not appear in the “P4” message or
th
e 5400 bulletin; it does, however, appear on the unit’s first com-
mand chronology, covering the period 1 January–30 June 2003,
and in its subsequent reports. Command chronologies and reports
at Gray Research Center, Quantico, VA.

--- Page 28 ---
DET ONE16

--- Page 29 ---
17
To Prove the Concept
On 14 January 2003, General Michael W. Hagee
assumed the duties of Commandant of the Marine
Corps. Among the many pressing matters and ongo-
ing initiatives he inherited was the emerging détente
with the U.S. Special Operations Command (SOCom).
Relations between SOCom and the Marine Corps had
deteriorated since the mid-1990s, but the demands of
the Global War on Terrorism had forced the two or-
ga
nizations to resume closer ties, a development seen
by certain Marines as a welcome return to the origi-
nal intent of the Marine Corps policy that founded
the “special operations capable” program in 1985,
wherein the Marine Corps would not contribute
forces to Special Operations Command but would
maintain several points of contact with the command
to enhance operations and training.
Yet there was more afoot than a resumption of of-
fi
cial ties. Operations in Afghanistan and other places
brought the two organizations into closer coopera-
tion than had been the case since the late 1980s at
least. The most important of all the developments
was a force contribution to SOCom: the Marine Corps
Special Operations Command Detachment. As Janu-
ary and February 2003 progressed, Det One started
taking shape. “We were buying equipment,” recalled
Li
eutenant Colonel J. Giles Kyser IV, “orders were
being issued to Marines, and the detachment was be-
ginning to form.”1
Although the administrative works in Headquar-
ters Marine Corps were churning out the orders and
the funding to make the detachment a reality, not
everything was on autopilot. One looming obstacle
was the decision that had been made in 2002 to ap-
prove Naval Special Warfare as SOCom’s executive
agent
 for the Marine force contribution. This author-
ity, however, was not a blank check for SOCom or
the SEALs. On 20 February 2003, the Marine Corps
and SOCom signed a memorandum of agreement
codifying the nature of the force contribution—the
unit “shall be employed in such a manner as to fully
evaluate the MCSOCOM Det and its potential value to
SOCOM”—and clearly delineating who could do
what with the detachment, and when. The document
read
s like a business contract between two reluctant
parties, full of tentative phrases and providing even
for unilateral termination of the agreement before its
expiration.
The memorandum provided no carte blanche for
Naval Special Warfare, nor did it give the Marine
Corps a free ride. It assigned definite authority to the
commander of the Naval Special Warfare squadron
to which 
the detachment would be attached to task-
organize the force. The detachment’s commanding
officer, a colonel, would upon deployment step aside
in order to invest the Naval Special Warfare squadron
commander with full command and control authority.
On the other hand, the memorandum sought to pre-
serve the detachment as a unit in order to maximize
its potential. The letter and the spirit of the document
clea
rly were intended to protect the integrity of the
detachment while acknowledging operational reali-
ties. Each side would hold the other to the agreement
throughout the two-year period.
As early as December 2002, the press began to re-
port Det One’s formation. Marine Corps Times and
the San Diego Union-Tribune picked up the story
early. In the next few months, publications such as
St
ars and Stripesand National Defense Magazinealso
reported on the unit. Special interest journals such as
SWAT Magazineand The American Rifleman eagerly
detailed the weapons and training of Det One.
The Command Element Forms
Personnel for the Det One command element (and
all officers) were directed by the 5400 Bulletin to re-
port to Camp Pendleton, California, no later than 1
March 2003; all other Marines and sailors had until 1
Jun
e 2003 to join. It was just as well that three extra
months were allotted for the bulk of the detachment
to muster as the Marine Corps was gearing up for
what would be Operation Iraqi Freedom. Many of
the Marines earmarked for the unit would be fighting
in Iraq while the command element was working to
put the detachment together and would be hurried
home at the end of combat. Several, in fact, ended up
joi
ning later than 1 June.
Lieutenant Colonel Robert J. Coates reported for
duty on 1 March 2003. He did not have far to go to
report since I Marine Expeditionary Force Special Op-
erations Training Group (SOTG), of which he was of-
Chapter 2
Formation

--- Page 30 ---
DET ONE18
ficer in charge, was providing the temporary facilities
for the new unit.* Other principal staff members and
support section Marines soon began to check in.
Among the early arrivals, Sergeant Victor M.
Guerra, the network administrator, was one of the
most significant. The table of organization crafted by
Master Gunnery Sergeant Joseph G. Settelen III and
Master Sergeant Troy G. Mitchell anticipated the need
for a dedicated information technology Marine,
specifi
cally a Marine fully qualified in his military oc-
cupational specialty who could be cross-trained in
other tasks. Guerra did not have a reconnaissance
background. He had spent his career in base opera-
tions at Okinawa, Quantico, and San Diego. But what
experience he might have lacked in combat arms
units he amply made up in network knowledge and
an exceptional work ethic. This last quality would
serve h
im well.2
Sergeant Guerra initially was put to work not on
building or running a network, but on building and
running the detachment. The detachment’s commu-
nications officer would later call him “the center pole”
around which the detachment grew.”
3 Guerra helped
lay out the utility lines for the unit’s new compound
near the boat basin in Camp Del Mar. He arranged for
telephone service. He ordered radios and then had to
learn how to employ them. When Lieutenant Colonel
Coates 
told him to go learn the AN/PRC-148 hand-
held, frequency-hopping radio, the basic tactical
communications gear every Marine in the detachment
would be using, Guerra recalled asking himself, “OK,
what’s a PRC-148?”4 Borrowing a set from Special Op-
erations Training Group, he pored over it for two
days a
nd learned it, inside and out, on his own.
As the weeks passed, Sergeant Guerra began to
work more in information technology, his area of ex-
pertise, although not less in the other areas of general
support. He simply worked more at everything. As a
one-man show, he had to do many things himself or
they would not get done. Lieutenant Colonel Coates
empowered Guerra to “wear his rank” and solve the
pr
oblems. Guerra found himself in meetings—and
sometimes arguments—with I Marine Expeditionary
Force staff officers and base support sections, having
Col Robert J. Coates (far right) with Colonel John A.
Toolan, commanding Regimental Combat Team 1, (sec-
ond right) all shown outside Camp Fallujah in August
2004. With the Fallujah Brigade in the last days of its
existence, Col Coates had a leading role in the estab-
lishment of the Shahwani Special Forces that replaced it.
* SOTG, and then 15th MEU (SOC), would house the detachment’s
command element for the first three months of its existence; SOTG
would even 
provide key personnel on loan to cover positions the
slim table of organization did not provide. 
Photo courtesy of Col Robert J. Coates

--- Page 31 ---
Formation 19
to stand his ground and make sure the detachment
got what it needed. As he (and others) would find
out, it was not easy to get full support while virtually
all hands at Camp Pendleton were concentrating on
the war in Iraq.5
On 17 March, Major Craig S. Kozeniesky reported
as executive officer. He came directly from his post as
operations officer at the Mountain Warfare Training
Center in Bridgeport, California, having previously
served
 as the operations officer at 1st Force Recon-
naissance Company from 1998 to 2000, when Lieu-
tenant Colonel Coates was commanding officer. In
addition to a strong U.S. Marine infantry and recon-
naissance résumé, he had served an exchange tour
with the British Royal Marines. By the particular
arrangements spelled out in the memorandum of
agreement with Special Operations Command, Koze-
niesk
y was designated to command the detachment
when it joined SEAL Team 1 for deployment to Iraq.
He was also assigned under the original table of or-
ganization as the detachment’s operations officer.
The original structure also did not provide for a
logistics officer, so Lieutenant Colonel Coates “temp
loaned” Captain Matthew H. Kress from Special Op-
erations Training Group. In keeping with an emerg-
in
g pattern, the tall Captain Kress had been the lo-
gistics officer at 1st Force Reconnaissance Company
when Coates was commanding officer. Of the same
provenance was Gunnery Sergeant Monty K. Gene-
gabus, the logistics chief. Along with Major Ronald J.
Rux, on temporary duty from 11th MEU (SOC) as the
acting supply officer, Kress and Genegabus shoul-
dered much of the initial burden of ordering and ac-
cepti
ng mountains of equipment, all of it new, and
much of it non-Marine.
The senior enlisted Marine, the sergeant major in
fact if not in name, was Master Sergeant James R.
Rutan. The Ohio native had enlisted in 1983 as an in-
fantryman and transferred to the reconnaissance field
in 1988, where he stayed for the bulk of his career.
He was involved with Det One from the beginning.
As the reconnaissance field’s first personnel monitor
at
 Manpower and Reserve Affairs, Rutan had been
part of the working group that sifted through the
stack of record jackets to find the best Marines for
the unit. Master Sergeant Mitchell had identified the
billets in reconnaissance units to source the detach-
ment while Rutan, the reconnaissance monitor, issued
the orders for individual Marines, with the last set of
orders being for him. (Mitchell succeeded him as re-
con
naissance monitor.) In Det One, Rutan’s primary
task would be to serve in the unit’s training cell.6 The
operations chief, Master Sergeant Thomas P. Mura-
tori, came to the detachment fresh from 1st Recon-
naissance Battalion and Operation Iraqi Freedom.
The communications officer, Gunnery Sergeant
James E. Wagner, joined the detachment in late May,
LtCol Craig S. Kozeniesky, Det One’s executive officer,
and initially its operations officer as well, is shown
here outside the detachment’s headquarters in Octo-
ber 2004. He came to the unit from the Marine Corps
Mountain Warfare Training Center and had been in
1st Force Reconnaissance under Col Coates. He had
also done a tour with the Royal Marines.
Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont
Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont
MSgt James R. Rutan, Det One’s de facto sergeant
major. As the reconnaissance monitor he cut the or-
ders for the Marines from that community to report
to the detachment with the last set of orders for him-
self. Together with Capt Stephen V. Fiscus, he ran the
detachment’s training cell, which focused on design-
ing, running, and evaluating exercises so that the
Marines could concentrate on training.

--- Page 32 ---
having been held up by the war in Iraq. A veteran re-
connaissance communicator, he had served in 1st
Force Reconnaissance Company for a considerable
length of time, “nine years, one month, one day,” in-
cluding the period when Lieutenant Colonel Coates 
was commanding officer. He immediately took on the
tactical communications matters from a much-re-
lieved Sergeant Guerra and began to get the detach-
ment’s communications shop ready to support the
training ph
ase. When Wagner got there, the prover-
bial cupboard was bare: “Empty, zero . . . well, there
were a couple of radios.” There were actually more
than a couple of radios, as much of the detachment’s
tactical man-pack communications gear was on hand,
but the quip was essentially correct. There was a pile
of gear they did not need, and some of what they did
need. Wagner soon identified table of equipment
shortfal
ls and set about correcting the problems. As
time went on and they waited for deliveries of equip-
ment, he made do with what he had, borrowing from
1st Force Reconnaissance and other commands when
the situation demanded. Although he had worn the
uniform for almost 20 years, Det One was a new ex-
perience. “Never have I been anywhere else in the
Marine Corps where you walked into something and
st
arted it from scratch,” he said. “We just pieced it all
together.”7
The Reconnaissance Element
The initial Det One structure called for four re-
connaissance teams, each with six Marines and one
corpsman. With the platoon commander and platoon
sergeant, the reconnaissance element totaled 30. Late
winter saw the first reconnaissance Marines report for
duty. On 28 February 2003, Captain Eric N. Thomp-
so
n reported in as platoon commander. The San
Diego native had served in 1st Force Reconnaissance
under Lieutenant Colonel Coates and Major Koze-
niesky; from there he had gone overseas with 13th
MEU (SOC), a deployment he called “very frustrat-
ing,” as he watched the versatile Marine expedi-
tionary units operate on what he saw as the
periphery of the campaign in Afghanistan rather than
wade i
nto the fight and employ the full spectrum of
their capabilities. Now with Det One, he would have
ample opportunity to redress that frustration. He was
assigned to the basic reconnaissance course at Expe-
ditionary Warfare Training Group Pacific when he re-
ceived a call inviting him to join the detachment.
Captain Thompson would be the first of several for-
mer members of 1st Force Reconnaissance Company
an
d Special Operations Training Group to fill out the
ranks of the Det One reconnaissance element.8
Gunnery Sergeant Terry M. Wyrick was assigned
as leader of Recon Team 1. In addition to serving in
reconnaissance units on both coasts, the Missouri na-
tive had completed an exchange tour with the Royal
Netherlands Marines. He had also served with 2d
Force Reconnaissance Company in the 1980s when
th
at unit fielded the “CINC’s In-Extremis Force” for
the commander of U.S. Atlantic Command, and so he
was familiar with the requirements of operations at
the SOCom level.9
Like Wyrick, Gunnery Sergeant Joseph L. Morri-
son, the leader of Recon Team 2 had also served in
2d Force Reconnaissance. Following a tour at the em-
bassies in Burma and the Netherlands as a Marine se-
curity guard, the slim Alabaman went west to
California and served in 1st Reconnaissance Battal-
ion, 1st
 Force Reconnaissance, and then the special
operations training group. In late 2003, he was get-
ting ready to retire but put off those plans when of-
fered the Det One opportunity.10
The third team leader was a Californian, Gunnery
Sergeant Charles H. Padilla. He had served in 1st Re-
connaissance Battalion and 5th Force Reconnaissance
Company. The official detachment photo showed
rank on rank of s
tern-faced Marines, except on the
left flank where Padilla, bearing the colors, appears
to be not just smiling but actually laughing. Major
Kozeniesky recruited him for the detachment while
Padilla was in the United Kingdom on exchange with
the Royal Marines.
11
Gunnery Sergeant John A. Dailey headed Recon
Team 4, reporting directly from the staff of Special
DET ONE2
0
Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont
Capt Eric N. Thompson, shown here in October 2004
at the detachment’s compound at Camp Pendleton,
was Det One’s first reconnaissance platoon com-
mander. 

--- Page 33 ---
Formation 21
Operations Training Group. The Virginia-born Dai-
ley—from a corner of the Old Dominion called
“Mosby’s Confederacy” after the hard-fighting guer-
rilla leader who operated there—had done a Marine
expeditionary unit deployment to Afghanistan and
had seen considerable action there despite the
Marines’ overall limited role.12 Dailey had served with
another Det One reconnaissance scout, Gunnery Ser-
gean
t Sidney J. Voss, since they were riflemen in 3d
Battalion, 7th Marines. All four team leaders were
long-serving reconnaissance Marines, at or near 20
years’ service, and three had been in 1st Force Re-
connaissance Company under Lieutenant Colonel
Coates.
The reconnaissance element’s platoon sergeant,
Master Sergeant Keith E. Oakes, came directly from
his post with the U.S. Army Ranger Training Brigade
at Fort Benning, Georgia. He had served there for
four years, and in 2001 had won the prestigious “Best
Ranger” competition. He was also something of a rar-
ity i
n the Det One reconnaissance platoon—an East
Coast Marine. In terms of personality, Oakes was the
quiet match to the much more outwardly aggressive
and demonstrative Captain Thompson.13
The Det One medical corpsmen were as well qual-
ified in combat skills as any of the Marines. Chief
Hos
pital Corpsman Eric D. Sine headed the medical
section. One reconnaissance corpsman was assigned
to each reconnaissance team: Hospital Corpsman
First Class Robert T. Bryan went to Team One, Hos-
pital Corpsman First Class Michael D. Tyrell to Team
Two, Hospital Corpsman First Class Matthew S.
Pranka to Team Three, and Hospital Corpsman First
Class Michael I. Arnold to Team Four. Pranka, as-
signed
 to Padilla’s team, came to Det One by way of
1st Force Reconnaissance, straight from duty in Iraq.
He was emblematic of his fellow corpsmen; his en-
tire career in the Navy had been with the Marines.
Pranka had served first with an infantry battalion and
then with several reconnaissance units and had done
two Marine expeditionary unit deployments and Op-
eration Iraqi Freedom. He had been through the
reno
wned U.S. Army Special Forces medical course
and had done a clinical rotation at a hospital emer-
gency room in Saint Petersburg, Florida.14
No reconnaissance Marine was a shrinking violet,
and Det One gathered 30 of the most aggressive and
proficient from that community under one roof. Sev-
eral had been platoon sergeants in force reconnais-
sance companies and two had served exchange tours
with foreign militaries. More than one had left the
Mar
ine Corps and came back on active duty specifi-
cally to serve with the detachment. All were well
grounded in conventional infantry service before they
set foot in any reconnaissance units; some had un-
usual life experiences as well. With a group like
that—30 chiefs and no braves—one might think there
might have been unseemly jockeying for position in
the war party. The Marines themselves say otherwise,
and the by-name selection process was designed
partly to net the right sorts of personalities, men who
were 
only focused on getting the job done. Gunnery
Sergeant Dailey, for one, decided early on that his
team would do whatever it needed to do to move
the unit forward. “From day one I told my guys, we’ll
do every mission we can in training, every varied
task,” he recalled. Staff Sergeant Chad Baker, a re-
con
naissance scout on Padilla’s Team 3, echoed that
attitude: “I came here to be part of a team. I’ll sweep
floors, I’ll work on vehicles, I’ll be a point man, it
The reconnaissance element stands in formation dur-
ing the activation ceremony on 20 June 2003. Not all
the Marines had reported for duty; some were still in
transit from previous commands, and a few were en
route from combat in Iraq.
Photo courtesy of Maj Matthew H. Kress

--- Page 34 ---
doesn’t matter—whatever they need.”15
The organic capabilities of the reconnaissance el-
ement were substantial. The average age was over
30. Each man had several deployments under his
belt. More than half were school-trained snipers; sev-
eral had been instructors at the Mountain Warfare
School or one of the Special Operations Training
Groups. Every team leader and assistant team leader
had been to Ranger School. The medical corpsmen
wer
e skilled veteran fighting men in their own right.
The overall level of physical fitness was extraordi-
nary. As a unit, they were well prepared for what lay
ahead.
The Fires Liaison Element
One of the hallmarks of the Marine Corps’ force
contribution to Special Operations Command was the
capability to integrate all aspects of fire support—
planning, coordination, execution—into joint, com-
bined,
 and special operations. The Marine Corps has
a long history of fielding such a capability, notably its
air and naval gunfire liaison companies (ANGLICOs).
Composed of Marines from the artillery, communica-
tions, and aviation fields, ANGLICO supporting arms
liaison teams and firepower control teams provide
U.S. Army and foreign forces access to Marine and
Navy supporting arms. These collective experiences
proved
 critical for the Det One fires liaison element.
On 21 March 2003, Major M. Wade Priddy reported
as the Det One fires liaison element leader. An ar-
tillery officer with both a conventional and ANGLICO
background, he had been alerted to Det One’s for-
mation through an interest in the resurgence of the
active duty ANGLICOs. Priddy came to the detach-
ment from Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps duty
at Texas
 A&M University. Later he would move more
into the role of detachment operations officer and
serve as Naval Special Warfare task group operations
officer in Iraq. 16
Joining Major Priddy as air officer in the fires liai-
son element was Major Thomas P. “Hobbit” Dolan, a
Bell AH-1W Super Cobra pilot and a serious triath-
lete. The pugnacious former enlisted Marine was not
an ANGLICO veteran, but he had been a forward air
con
troller for 1st Light Armored Reconnaissance Bat-
talion. He was working for Lieutenant Colonel Coates
at Special Operations Training Group when Det One
was formed, and he became the air officer. 17 What
Dolan brought to the fight was not just the ability to
call in air support, but also the ability to think as an
aviator, to grasp the aviation issues of a mission, then
advise, plan, and execute accordingly. Those were
skills not learned in any single certification course,
but over 
the course of a career in the air and on the
ground.
The fires liaison chief did not report until after the
conclusion of Operation Iraqi Freedom I. Gunnery
Sergeant Fidencio Villalobos Jr. came to Det One
from his post as the liaison chief of 1st Battalion, 11th
Marines, 1st Marine Division, fresh from the march
up to Baghdad. His career spanned 1st ANGLICO,
fleet antiterrorist security teams, and conventional ar-
tillery 
units. Villalobos also had been, in his words, a
“stealth member” of 1st Force Reconnaissance Com-
pany. After the 1991 Gulf War, he took the recon-
naissance induction test, passed it, and was assigned
to 1st Surveillance, Reconnaissance, and Intelligence
Group. From that unit he “walked over” to 1st Force
Re
connaissance Company, where, although there
were no billets for an enlisted artillery observer, he
lived the life of a reconnaissance Marine for four
years, even going to Ranger School. Later during Det
One’s deployment to Iraq, Villalobos—an enormous
man, with the call-sign “Big Daddy”—would take
over the fire support coordination duties for a U.S.
Army cavalry battalion, bridging the divide between
sp
ecial and conventional operations and highlighting
the singular capabilities of the Det One fires ele-
ment.18
Rounding out the leadership of the fires element
was the communications chief, Gunnery Sergeant
Ryan P. Keeler. A communicator whose time in Ma-
rine operating forces was exclusively served in AN-
DET ONE22
Photo by Maj John P. Piedmont
Maj M. Wade Priddy, Det One fires liaison element
leader and later its operations officer. An artilleryman
with conventional and ANGLICO experience, he
helped to shape and train the fires liaison capability
that would prove its worth in Iraq. 

--- Page 35 ---
Formation 23
GLICO, Keeler was as well versed in calling for fire
and controlling air strikes as he was at making sure
communications nets were set up and functioning.
He had served in a joint communications element
and in the headquarters of U.S. Central Command.19
The Intelligence Element
When Lieutenant Colonel Kyser, Master Gunnery
Sergeant Settelen, and Master Sergeant Mitchell put
Det One together on paper, they intended for it to
have a
 “robust” intelligence capability, manned with
the complete range of intelligence capabilities the de-
tachment would need to operate independently or
jointly. They wanted a substantial presence from the
human intelligence (HumInt) and signals intelligence
(SigInt) disciplines, as the Marine Corps has unique
capabilities in both functions. Kyser, Settelen, and
Mitchell wanted a complete in-house analytical and
pr
oduction capability. In terms of individuals, they
also had in mind a specific sort of Marine, not nec-
essarily a “snake-eater” but someone who was simply
very good at his job, and who could also then move
quickly into the special operations realm. The
Marines who joined Det One fit all of those criteria.
Lieutenant Colonel Francis L. Donovan, the unit’s sec-
ond executive officer, would call the intelligence el-
ement
 “the real strength of the detachment.”20
Major M. Gerald “Jerry” Carter reported in as the
intelligence officer and intelligence element leader
on 24 March 2003. He came with an extensive ré-
sumé. Carter had been part of the initial radio recon-
naissance effort during his enlisted years, and he had
MEU (SOC) experience, including a recent tour in
Afghanistan. He also came with the one crucial item
fo
r any Marine dealing with special operations
forces—by-name credibility. Carter had done a tour—
an operational tour—in SOCom. He knew the spe-
cial operations realm, and he was known in the
special operations realm. Both qualities would pay
immense dividends. Indeed, a SEAL officer he knew
and served with would later have a major role in the
detachment’s story.
21
The intelligence chief was a Texan, Master Ser-
geant Bret A. Hayes. Hayes had no SOCom experi-
ence, but he did have a wealth of time in Marine
Corps ground and air intelligence. He knew how to
run an intelligence section, with its several disciplines
and myriad detailed requirements. He was, in effect,
Major Carter’s assistant intelligence officer. The all-
source fusion chief was Gunnery Sergeant Kenneth C.
Pincka
rd, an Alabama native and a Marine tactical air
traffic controller before he became an intelligence an-
alyst. He reported to Det One in May 2003 following
a tour at Dam Neck, Virginia, supporting Naval Spe-
cial Warfare. As opposed to the duties of the intelli-
gence chief, who made sure that tasks got done, the
all-source fusion chief oversaw the analysts and made
sure that everything got put together.
22
A three-man signals intelligence support team and
a nine-man radio reconnaissance team provided the
Det One signals intelligence capability, each subdis-
cipline bringing its own particular capabilities. Major
Carter selected Gunnery Sergeant Adam C. Toothaker
as the signals intelligence support team chief. Carter
knew him from the 13th MEU (SOC) and gladly
tapped him for Det One. Although Carter did not
know Master Sergeant Hays B. Harrington, he learned
that Har
rington had also done a tour in Special Op-
erations Command, and Carter knew that he was the
right man to head the detachment’s radio reconnais-
sance section. When Harrington reported for duty, he
discovered that life in Det One moved in double
time. The Mississippi native and 17-year veteran of
the Corps employed the time-honored stratagem of
checking in on a Friday afternoon, which usually se-
cu
red the Marine a weekend lull before he started his
new duties. But Harrington miscalculated, as he later
recounted, and the joke was on him: “I saw Colonel
Coates, and the first thing he told me was get my uni-
form on and go draw my gear, because I’m going to
the field.”23 Harrington led a section of eight highly-
trained Marines, organized into two teams of four
men ea
ch.
The core of radio reconnaissance is electronic war-
fare, but radio reconnaissance Marines bring their sur-
Det One’s radio reconnaissance chief, MSgt Hays B.
Harrington, executes a magazine change during
Weapons and Tactics Package I at Range 130, under
the watchful eye of Patrick J. Rogers.
Photo courtesy of Det One

--- Page 36 ---
veillance capabilities to and beyond the front lines as
fully qualified reconnaissance scouts, going through
the basic reconnaissance course, airborne and dive
schools in addition to their own extensive training,
which could also include language instruction. A fully
trained “radio recon” Marine is a fighting man unique
in the Department of Defense; Det One’s radio re-
connaissance team formed a substantial part of the
un
it’s potent intelligence gathering and analysis ca-
pabilities, and it would have a profound effect on op-
erations in Iraq.
Captain Christopher B. Batts, a prior enlisted re-
servist and a career counterintelligence officer, led
Det One’s counterintelligence section. One day in
early 2003 while he was assigned to the National
Counterintelligence Center in Washington, D.C., Batts
called the Navy/Marine Corps Intelligence Training
Center at Dam Neck, Virginia, on a routine matter.
The Marine with whom he was talking asked him ca-
sually h
ow he would like his new position—as the
Det One counterintelligence officer. Surprised, he
called and confirmed this assignment with Head-
quarters Marine Corps. Batts then got started on this
new position by calling Major Carter, whom he did
not know. He began to put together his part of the in-
telligence element, a six-man team, in much the same
way as Lieutenant Colonel Coates had put the key
lead
ership together—by seeking out known quanti-
ties, Marines he had served with before. He looked
for seasoned counterintelligence Marines and kept a
good balance between East and West Coast back-
grounds. One detail that assured Batts of a wide base
of experience was the Marine Corps’ requirement that
counterintelligence Marines come to the field only
after serving in other military occupational special-
ties;
 one of his Marines had been a heavy equipment
operator, another a mortarman. For counterintelli-
gence chief, he chose Gunnery Sergeant Matthew A.
Ulmer, a West Coast Marine with whom he had not
served before.24
Counterintelligence Marines gather intelligence
from human beings. What they do is more properly
te
rmed counterintelligence force protection source
operations. Although the title suggests only a force
protection task—and in fact that is part of their mis-
sion—counterintelligence Marines have evolved a
particular skill set in the intelligence world. This de-
velopment is due in part to the merging in the 1990s
of two military occupational specialties—counterin-
telligence and interrogator/translator—into one,
cou
nterintelligence. The move ensured that all “CI”
Marines would have a strong background in both in-
terrogations and source operations. Where their
methods differ slightly with their counterparts in the
other armed services (and especially in the special
operations community) is that their operations are
rolled into the larger intelligence picture, no matter
wh
at the mission or target. A good bit of what they
would do in Iraq resembled nothing more than old-
fashioned police detective work—the relentless pur-
suit of wanted men. Like their radio reconnaissance
brethren, most of the counterintelligence Marines
would be detached from Det One to other units in
Iraq, where all would make their marks.25
Another Marine whom Major Carter was able to
secure for the detachment was Warrant Officer Kevin
E. Vicin
us, a meteorologist serving in 3d Marine Air-
craft Wing. Vicinus provided a capability that was
well known and appreciated in the aviation commu-
nity, but less well valued by ground combat units—
tactically relevant forecasts. Instead of just providing
simple weather observation and passing on general
forecasts, he could accurately determine conditions
such as wind speed and direction at various altitudes,
visibility, and natural illumination, and then meld the
predictions with topographic and imagery analysis.
The resulting products allowed the staff to plan
rou
tes and holding patterns for aircraft and vehicles.
Vicinus proved his skills to the detachment by pre-
dicting, almost to the minute, the arrival of a wind-
storm during the Capstone Exercise in Nevada,
ena
bling the team to avoid damage to communica-
tions operations center and loss of connectivity.26
Equipping the Detachment
The decision to field the detachment involved pro-
viding new equipment at a cost of roughly $17 mil-
lion. The 5400 Bulletin, which had established Det
One, had made clear that “unlike personnel sourc-
ing, this equipment will not be sourced from existing
units.”27 The 5400 Bulletin also declared that the
money would not come from SOCom. Because of
these restrictions, procurement had to come from
weapo
ns and equipment in use nowhere else in the
Marine Corps, including one weapon built specifi-
cally for the detachment. 
Early in the detachment’s formation, it became ap-
parent that the original table of organization was not
as generous as the table of equipment. The staff sec-
tions, and in particular the logistics section, were
thinly ma
nned. Lieutenant Colonel Coates eventually
levied the Marine Corps to bring some men on board
to give the logistics section more depth and capabil-
ity. In addition to Captain Kress, Captain Olufemi A.
Harrison and Staff Sergeant Frederick L. Riano III
were brought on as supply officer and supply chief
DET ONE24

--- Page 37 ---
Formation 25
as the formation of the detachment progressed. An-
other specialist and key member of the logistics sec-
tion, Staff Sergeant Stuart C. Earl, joined as plans chief
in June 2003. His job was twofold: to ensure that the
embarkation and deployment plans were accurate,
up-to-date, and ready for execution by strategic lift
assets; and to serve as the duty “ops Marine,” organ-
izing and running the combat operations center.
When 
he reported for duty, Staff Sergeant Earl was
greeted by his former drill instructor from Parris Is-
land, 1995—Master Sergeant Rutan, the detachment’s
senior enlisted Marine.
Beyond personnel needs, Det One logistical diffi-
culties ran from the general to the specific, or more
accurately, to the multitude of specifics. What set Det
One’s logistical challenges apart from any other unit’s
were, in the words of Captain Kress, “the timeline
and what we h
ad to acquire. We didn’t have a piece
of gear to our name.”28 Obtaining the needed equip-
ment was compounded by the demands of opera-
tions in Afghanistan and Iraq, and in many cases, by
specific shortages of special operations gear. Mun-
dane issues bedeviled Det One’s logistics section. The
allocation of ammunition to Marine Corps units is
gover
ned by Marine Corps Bulletin 8011, which for
budgetary reasons is planned many months in ad-
vance. When the 8011 Bulletin for 2003 was being
planned, there was no MCSOCom Detachment One.
Therefore, no ammunition was allocated for its use.
Laying legitimate claim to ammunition in the large
quantities it would need for training would be a
major hurdle for the logistics section. 
Another persistent problem in equipping the de-
ta
chment was the process of open-purchase, which is
the method by which a unit can legally buy a partic-
ular item rather than wait for its procurement and
issue through normal channels. Due to its mission,
the unit needed specific items, and substitution of
similar items was not acceptable. Kress was asked the
same question repeatedly: “Why can’t you accept this
thing instead of that thing?” The answer was that the
ta
ble of equipment specified the one instead of the
other, and the table of equipment was built around
the demands of the mission. That answer did not al-
ways satisfy the questioner, who might have had a
hundred M4 carbines available for issue and could
not understand that it was M4 SOPMOD (for “special
operations modified”) carbines that Det One needed.
The detachment’s ultimate weapon in any dispute
about resources and priorities was the Commandant’s
P4 mes
sage of December 2002. Kress used it when
the situation warranted, yet he preferred other, “less
kinetic” solutions. Like any good logistics officer, he
liked to turn to the people he knew and work the
system. As he put it, to say that he strained previous
personal relationships in his quest to ensure support
for the detachment “would be an understatement, to
sa
y the least.”29
In another example of how much effort and fore-
thought went into building Det One, Master Gunnery
Sergeant Settelen had obtained a research, develop-
ment, test and evaluation charter for the unit. In a re-
lated move, Headquarters Marine Corps also secured
the services of an official at Soldier Systems Com-
mand, Natick, Massachusetts, to help identify the best
equ
ipment available, push through its critical acqui-
sitions, and then evaluate the gear’s performance.
Jonathan Laplume, a former Army Ranger, worked
closely with the detachment’s logistics section and
was responsible for getting most of the first-rate gear
the unit received. He later accompanied the detach-
ment on its major exercises and even deployed with
it to Baghdad. In order to assist Laplume in the early
st
ages of the unit’s formation, Lieutenant Colonel
Coates sent out Gunnery Sergeant John Dailey from
the reconnaissance element. Dailey had been in-
volved in the development and acquisition of indi-
vidual equipment for the reconnaissance community
in the 1990s, and he knew how the system worked.*
One of the key pieces of equipment that the orig-
inal table of equipment did not allow for was a com-
ma
nd and control system that could provide the
detachment with its own link to national intelligence
assets and communications pipelines. Major Carter,
sitting one day in a planning conference on detach-
ment communications, listened to extensive conver-
sation about man-pack radios, but precious little on
serious command and control systems. As he put it,
“no one talked about how we were going to move
el
ectrons across the battlefield.”30 When he suggested
that they needed to get a system called Trojan Spirit,
he was greeted by polite silence. ** Carter was con-
* Equipment for Det One sometimes arrived long after it was or-
dered, in some cases well into the unit training phase. Sgt Guerra,
the network administrator, would receive a shipment from some
long-forgotten open purchase, and think, “Did I even order this?
Wh
at is this?” In one memorable instance, the detachment’s laptop
computers arrived months after he placed the order for them. At
that time still a one-man information technology department, Sgt
Guerra set up a hallway assembly line of 32 laptops and went
down the row, loading software onto each one, step-by-step,
mouse-click by mouse-click, into the small hours of the morning.
Guerra intvw, 16Nov04 (Marine Corps Historical Center, Quantico,
VA).
** AN/TSQ-22 Trojan Spirit lightweight integrated telecommunica-
tions equipment is a super-high frequency dual band multichannel
satellite communications terminal fielded for use in intelligence
communications.

--- Page 38 ---
vinced that the intelligence element was going to
need a system that provided a stand-alone link with
enough dedicated bandwidth to pass imagery and
other large files directly to and from national agen-
cies. Drawing on his education at the command and
control systems course and his recent experience at
the Marine expeditionary force intelligence section,
he made the case for it. Having been an intelligence
plans officer, Carter knew how many Trojan Spirit
sets there were in the Marine Corps, where they
were,
 and what they required for support and main-
tenance. Trojan Spirit—or more properly, an im-
proved version called Trojan Spirit Lite—gave the
detachment an independent expeditionary data link
to the national intelligence assets and communica-
tions systems. With it, Det One could deploy any-
where in either a supporting or supported role
without havin
g to levy other units to provide it with
bandwidth.
Major Carter also knew that he needed to get
Marines assigned to operate and support Trojan Spirit
Lite and other intelligence-related systems. Staff Ser-
geant Jason M. Bagstad soon joined as the electron-
ics maintenance technician, and Gunnery Sergeant
Victor M. Church came on board as the intelligence
element’s signals intelligence communicator. In the
hands of Gunnery Sergeant Church, Det One’s Trojan
Lite gr
ew in capabilities to include extra connectivity
with national agencies and separate links with un-
classified email and voice systems. Master Sergeant
Harrington, with his detailed knowledge of special
operations signals intelligence issues, would help
shape that added capability. As a result, the Det One
Trojan Spirit Lite became the only one of its kind in
th
e Marine Corps, and possibly in the Department of
Defense.
As the detachment increased its intelligence sys-
tems capabilities, so too did it begin to grow wheels.
Gunnery Sergeant Jaime Maldonado was in charge of
the motor transport effort, while Staff Sergeant Jaime
J. Sierra became the motor transport operations chief.
Since both were veterans of 1st Force Reconnaissance
Company under Lieutenant Colonel Coates, they
knew 
that “Motor-T” would be just one small part of
their duties. As the training phase picked up in in-
tensity, both Marines would do what the other
Marines of the detachment did, in addition to their
own work. During mountain training in Bridgeport,
California, they would even switch for a time from
four-wheeled to four-legged transport.
The table of organization authorized 18 interim
fast attack vehicles (IFAVs), small, light four-wheel-
drive veh
icles manufactured by Mercedes-Benz that
could be internally loaded on Sikorsky CH-53E Super
Stallion helicopters. Based on the recent experience
of 1st Force Reconnaissance Company and 1st Re-
connaissance Battalion in Operation Iraqi Freedom,
where the units were used in mobile operations rem-
iniscent of the actions in North Africa during World
Wa
r II, those involved in putting together the table
of organization thought that the fast attack vehicles
would make good platforms for Det One operations.
The IFAVs offered transportability and nimble, speedy
mobility. What they did not offer was the size and
protection of the new armored hunekers that could
fight their way in and out of a target area. Gunnery
Se
rgeant Maldonado and Staff Sergeant Sierra re-
mained unsure that the fast attack vehicles were the
solution to the detachment’s mobility needs. Events
were to prove them right.
Arming the Detachment
One of the main logistics concerns was arming the
detachment with the array of specialized weapons
that its mission would require. The Det One armorer
was Gunnery Sergeant Mark S. Kitashima, a Colorado
native w
ho enlisted in 1988. Most notable among the
assignments of his career was a tour at Quantico, Vir-
ginia, as a match armorer, working on the “MEU
(SOC) .45,” the finely tuned .45-caliber M1911 pistol
used by the direct action platoons of the maritime
special purpose forces. His knowledge of weapons
and weapons procurement would be invaluable in
arming the detachment. When he arrived at Det One,
his armory consisted only of “a lock and a chain and
an open cage.” He immediately set to work dealing
with Marine Corps support agencies to acquire all the
ordnance the detachment would need, from special-
ized arms to basic crew-served weapons and stan-
dard armory equipment.31
Although humans are indeed more important than
hardware, as a SOCom saying goes, the capability to
execute precision close quarter combat still required
specialized equipment. Heckler & Koch MP5 9mm
sub-machine guns—weapons so identifiable with
special operations units as to become emblematic of
them—had given way in the U.S. military in the
1990s to the M4 carbine variant of the M16 series
5.56mm rifle. The Det One table of equipment au-
thorized 86 M4 SOPMOD carbines, one for every
man in the original table of organization. Each car-
bine came with a suite of optics and designators to
satisfy the needs of close quarter battle in full light or
complete darkness.
For an individual back-up weapon, the detach-
ment wanted the best .45-caliber pistol available.
DET ONE2
6

--- Page 39 ---
Formation 27
(The Marine Corps had first suggested that it use the
standard sidearm, the M9 9mm pistol, but that
weapon was immediately rejected as being unreli-
able and underpowered.) The first answer was the
MEU (SOC) .45—powerful, accurate, available in the
Marine Corps supply chain, and intimately familiar
to the force reconnaissance veterans in the detach-
ment. Gunnery Sergeant Kitashima, however, knew
by virtue of his Quantico tour that the MEU (SOC)
pis
tol was not the answer to the detachment’s needs.
The MEU (SOC) .45s all came from ordnance
stocks in storage sites across the country, containing
millions of pistols produced during and after World
War II. The best of these were selected by the Marine
Corps and sent to Weapons Training Battalion at
Quantico, where the match armorers at the precision
weapons section then rebuilt them by hand with pre-
mium parts, mating the power of the .45 cartridge
with the reliability and accuracy of match-grade
arms. However, the section could only turn out 60
pistols a year. The problem with the MEU (SOC) .45
was its sustainability, not its accuracy. Each one
nee
ded to be repaired by a match armorer if it broke
down. (Kitashima was a match armorer, but if Det
One sub-elements were operating away from the
support sections, this could be a problem.) Also,
each MEU (SOC) .45 had a life span of only 10,000
rounds, which in practice worked out to two com-
plete cycles of MEU (SOC) training and deployment.
After that, it had to go back to Quantico for over-
haul. Det One Marines would fire more than 10,000
rounds in training alone. Given those realities, Ki-
tashima judged the MEU (SOC) pistol to be inade-
quate for the detachment’s needs.32
The solution to the Det One pistol question
stretched the limits of the unit’s broad open-purchase
authority: a contract for the manufacture and delivery
of 100 .45-caliber M1911 pistols, built to Lieutenant
Colonel Coates’s specifications. These guns were
made by Kimber of America and dubbed the interim
close quarters battle pistols, incorporating features
such as an integral rail for mounting a light under
the frame and an expected life span of 30,000
rounds. They were delivered in a remarkably short
span of six months from date of order, in time for
the detachment’s groundbreaking weapons and tac-
tics package in October 2003.33 Until then, Det One
used 50 Springfield Armory .45-caliber pistols,
bought for them as a temporary measure by Marine
Corps Systems Command.34 The Det One .45-caliber
was a remarkable weapon, a unique piece of ord-
nance, and one of the very few firearms in Marine
Corps history to be stamped “USMC.” Coates was is-
sued the pistol with serial number 001.*
The detachment also was issued more standard
Marine Corps weapons, such as the M249 squad au-
tomatic weapon (in a folding-stock modification), the
M240G medium machine gun, the venerable Brown-
ing .50
-caliber heavy machine gun, and its modern
companion the MK19 40mm heavy machine gun. To
ensure that the many snipers in the detachment
would not lack the equipment to employ their skills,
the table of equipment provided several weapons. In
caliber 7.62mm, there were M14 Designated Marks-
man Rifles, semi-automatic SR-25 rifles, and M40A1
bolt-action rifles. In heavier weapons there were .50-
cal
iber M82A3 Barrett special application scoped ri-
fles, and an innovative .408-caliber sniper rifle made
by Cheyenne Tactical of Wyoming—a piece used by
no other Marine unit. The .408 rifles promised to de-
liver a solid bronze bullet beyond the effective range
of the 7.62mm cartridge, thereby closing the gap be-
tween the M40A1 and the M82A3.**
Finally, in an echo of its Marine Raider heritage,
th
e detachment was also issued with its own knife, a
decision being made that Det One Marines needed a
rugged utility cutting tool rather than just a sharp
blade. Strider Knives of San Marcos, California, mod-
ified one of its existing designs and turned out 100
copies, each one marked with “MC SOCOM DET 1”
and a unique serial number.
“Tough, Rugged, and Smart Gunfighters”
With both Marines and material arriving from
March to June 2003, significant unit-level training was
out of t
he question. Yet opportunities for individual
schools abounded, and Lieutenant Colonel Coates
seized opportunities to get all available people into
the schools and courses they would need. The intel-
ligence Marines, for the most part, did not require
further schooling, but the reconnaissance Marines
needed to send a few of their number to Survival,
Evasion, Resistance, and Escape School, and some
from 
the other elements needed to go to basic air-
borne school. While those selected individuals were
hurriedly assigned to key school quotas, the daily
* The story of the Kimber .45 ICQB pistols has been told in several
periodicals, most notably by Patrick J. Rogers, who assisted the
author of this monograph, in the December 2003 issue of SWAT
Magazi
ne, and by Gary Paul Johnston in the August 2004 issue of
The American Rifleman. 
** Regarding the .408 rifles, Det One was authorized to seek out
new weapons and test them for their utility in military operations.
Likewise, the .45 pistol was designated the interim close quarters
battle pistol, with the intention being not only to provide a serv-
iceable weapon but to test its features for future production mod-
els
.

--- Page 40 ---
tasks of building and housing the detachment con-
tinued.
The detachment’s initial command post was in the
offices of I Marine Expeditionary Force Special Op-
erations Training Group. Having outgrown that space
with even a limited number of Marines on deck, they
moved into the headquarters of the 15th MEU (SOC),
which was deployed at the time. While this was an
acceptable interim solution, there was no way the
unit cou
ld effectively execute command and control
from such arrangements. Det One needed a place of
its own where it could house its members and their
equipment and plan and execute its training sched-
ule. But the Marine Corps 5400 Bulletin that estab-
lished the unit specifically foreswore permanent new
facilities. Instead, the unit found a site in the Del Mar
boat basin at Camp Pendleton, California. It was not
large, 
but it was big enough for basic facilities, and it
had the advantages of being close to the water (for
training purposes) and relatively close to the I MEF
command element, where the detachment’s intelli-
gence section continued to work because the nature
of their daily operations required existing buildings
and special communications.
The detachment compound evolved on a single
lot, surfaced with asphalt and surrounded by a chain
li
nk fence. The unit erected three buildings, tent-like
devices, durable yet temporary, made by a corpora-
tion with an appropriately descriptive name, Sprung
Instant Structures. The three buildings were big
enough for the staff, the reconnaissance element, a
classroom, and a conference room and could provide
some supply storage as well. The motor transport
section had plenty of lot space for its growing fleet of
vehi
cles.
Having a compound solved the problem of a
home base, but it brought on several new tasks. Tele-
phone and data services, both unclassified and clas-
sified, had to be connected for the staff to have true
command and control capabilities. The detachment’s
man for all seasons, Sergeant Guerra, handled these
tasks, venturing into territories where sergeants rarely
tread
. He found low-cost, readily available solutions
to a host of problems and composed the detailed let-
ters and orders that would enable to the detachment
to keep and maintain the sensitive classified network
equipment they needed.
The nascent unit also faced challenges beyond
personnel and equipment issues. The nuts and bolts
of integration with Naval Special Warfare Squadron
One, built around SEAL Team One, had yet to be ad-
dr
essed. The 20 February 2003 memorandum of
agreement with Special Operations Command spelled
out the command relationships between the units but
left the detailed coordination to be done by the
Marines and SEALs involved. In late March 2003, the
Det One staff held its first planning conferences with
SEAL Team One and the unit’s parent command,
Naval Special Warfare Group One. The Marines pre-
se
nted their training plans and their views on inte-
gration. The SEALs reciprocated. It was clear to Det
One’s leadership that the SEALs’ interpretation of the
clause in the memorandum that gave them the au-
thority to task-organize based on “operational re-
quirements” differed from the Marines’ reading, as
they consistently sought to maintain the integrity of
their force, in keeping with the Marine Corps’
warfigh
ting philosophy.35 The group left other ques-
tions unresolved, such as when actual integration
would take place and the extent to which training
events before that date would be jointly run and eval-
uated.
In addition, there was still no firm word on the
unit’s operational destination, which presumably
would have informed the training plan. Would it be
the mountains of Afghanistan or the urban sprawl of
Ir
aq? Or would the detachment land somewhere else,
such as the Horn of Africa or the Philippines? In the
spring of 2003, Afghanistan seemed to be a likely op-
tion. For much of the training phase, Naval Special
Warfare had a split deployment in mind for the de-
tachment, with the unit divided between U.S. Pacific
Command and U.S. Central Command. In the ab-
sence of knowing the destination, the best answer
was to develop a mission training plan to address the
four core competencies—direct action, special re-
connaissance, limited foreign internal defense, and
coalition support—and then make adjustments when
cir
cumstances dictated.
The mission training plan the detachment staff put
together for Lieutenant Colonel Coates’s signature
was all encompassing, firmly directive, and remark-
ably blunt. From ensuring that all Marines were pre-
pa
red for promotion boards by completing their
required professional military education, to dire
warnings on cutting corners on safety, to a plain lan-
guage assessment of what he desired from of his
Marines, the commanding officer set the stage for a
truly grueling training schedule. One line under the
paragraph “General Guidance” spoke volumes: “Re-
member most of all: I want tough, rugged and smart
gun
fighters. In our profession and in a gunfight, sec-
ond place is last place!”36
Activation
On 20 June 2003, the Marine Corps U.S. Special
Operations Command Detachment was officially acti-
DET ONE28

--- Page 41 ---
Formation 29
vated in a ceremony at the Camp Del Mar compound.
In a compact formation, arrayed by elements, stood
89 Marines. Family, friends, fellow Marines, and guests
packed bleachers and the seats. Among the dignitaries
were figures that had prominent roles in the detach-
ment’s formation, directly or indirectly, such as the
former Commandant, General Paul X. Kelley, and the
assistant secretary of defense for special operations
an
d low intensity conflict, Michael A. Westphal.
Brigadier General Dennis J. Hejlik and Colonel Paul
Hand from Special Operations Command were there,
as were representatives from each armed service at
the command. Naval Special Warfare was represented
by its commander, Vice Admiral Albert M. Calland III.
Charles Meacham, a veteran of World War II and the
president of the Marine Raider Association, looked on
as the commanding general of Marine Forces Pacific,
Lieutenant General Earl B. Hailston, presented Lieu-
tenant Colonel Coates with the detachment’s colors,
and Det One officially came into being.

--- Page 42 ---
DET ONE30

--- Page 43 ---
31
“Brilliance at the Fundamentals
of Our Craft”
Det One’s unit training phase began officially on
1 July 2003. Although selected Marines would attend
various schools during the second half of the year,
the individual training phase was over. The time had
come to train the detachment as a whole. From this
point on, every Det One exercise would end with an
internal or external evaluation.
Looming ever larger was the single fact that col-
or
ed so much of the detachment’s formation and
training, and what Colonel Robert J. Coates (pro-
moted 1 July) labeled their “critical vulnerability”: the
short period of time before deployment.1 The ability
of Det One to operate at the Special Operations Com-
mand level rode on its own ability to train itself to
the highest standards with no time to spare for re-
medial events. The singular (and not always well-re-
ce
ived) by-name selection of the Marines for the
detachment would prove its worth by forming a solid
foundation on which it could build and train. The
command chronology for this period understated the
full-speed-ahead nature of the schedule by noting the
absence of what it called “white space” on the cal-
endar. Master Sergeant Charles H. Padilla, the leader
of reconnaissance Team 3, put it less elegantly but
more descriptively: “It was one big kick in the nuts.”2
Even after activation, there were still Marines join-
ing the detachment. One was Captain Stephen V. Fis-
cus, another 1st Force Reconnaissance Company
alumnus and recent Iraq veteran, who reported for
duty as the assistant operations officer. His job was
twofold. First, as the assistant operations officer, he
supervised the execution of the training schedule and
day-to-day operational issues. Second, and of greater
signi
ficance, he formed the training cell with Master
Sergeant James R. Rutan. The importance of this small
organization would become apparent as the training
phase gathered momentum.3
The requirements of the mission drove the training
schedule—despite the lack of a clear deployment as-
signment—and the training schedule governed the
deta
chment’s collective life. Far from being a sort of
pilotless drone, the Det One training schedule was
an ambitious and complex undertaking, full of mov-
ing parts and rife with potential pitfalls. It was a cer-
tainty that adjustments to the schedule would have
to be made, given the demands of the Marine Corps
and ongoing operations. That proved to be the case,
as Major Thomas P. Dolan observed that “every event
change
d or moved in some way.” 4 Proving Clause-
witz’s timeless observation that the simple becomes
difficult and the difficult becomes impossible, routine
training matters, such as scheduling the use of firing
ranges, took on maddening complexity. The range
scheduling systems at Camp Pendleton, Yuma, and
other bases did not recognize MCSOCom Det One as
a unit, thus MCSOCom Det One could schedule no
ra
nges. No ranges, no training. Time and time again,
Marines from the operations section had to patiently
explain who they were and what they were trying to
do.
This is not to suggest that the whole West Coast
Marine Corps stood against them. On the contrary,
almost everyone the detachment staff members en-
countered was willing and eager to help once they
had explained the matter, but they certainly lost some
time i
n telling the same story again and again. They
dealt with the few real obstructionists they encoun-
tered as needed, usually by working around them,
but sometimes by invoking the name of Marine
Forces Pacific (the detachment’s actual higher head-
quarters) or even by employing General James L.
Jones’s “P4” message. Captain Matthew H. Kress cer-
tainly had to use the “P4” as his ultimate argument.
Majo
r Dolan admitted having to “pull the MarForPac
punk card” once. Colonel Coates, however, made the
decision early on not to leverage the “special” part of
their title, knowing that it would be the fast track to
alienating people from whom they needed support—
and to reinforcing the perception of the special op-
erations unit being an elite within an elite.
Immediately following the activation ceremony,
Colonel Coates and Major Craig S. Kozeniesky at-
tended a conference of Marine Corps and Special Op-
erations Command flag officers. Even at this late date,
desp
ite the 20 February memorandum with Special
Operations Command, there continued to be omi-
nous noises from outside the Marine Corps concern-
ing how the detachment would be employed. Coates
briefed the detachment’s status and “received wide-
Chapter 3
Training

--- Page 44 ---
spread support from the assembled Marine generals
that they would strongly resist efforts to split the de-
tachment for deployment as proposed by Naval Spe-
cial Warfare.”5 Widely divergent views concerning the
basic employment of the Marine unit did not bode
well for coordinated training and integration.
Execution of the mission training plan proceeded
even as the ultimate nature of the deployment was
unclear. There was no lack of clarity to the intent of
Co
lonel Coates’s mission training plan: to make sure
that his Marines were “brilliant at the fundamentals
of our craft—being able to shoot, move and com-
municate,” as well as equipped to excel at their indi-
vidual tasks.
6 For Det One, shooting would include
not only small arms but also close air support.  In
Det One, moving would mean proficiency at
mounted operations as well as “strong backs and
hard feet,
” as Coates said. For all Det One Marines,
communicating would mean using handheld radios
as well as complex tactical data links.
The entire detachment went through a combat
trauma course in the last week of June 2003, the goal
being “to provide each detachment member with
medical training required to immediately identify, ef-
fectively treat, and evacuate a battle casualty.”
7 The
reconnaissance element took this training to the log-
ical conclusion by conducting two days of simulated
casualty evacuations by helicopter.
Throughout the first three weeks of August, all
members of the detachment trained on the full range
of communications equipment and procedures. The
communications section drilled the Marines in every
aspect of the long-range radio equipment the de-
tachmen
t would be using, including high frequency,
satellite, and imagery transmissions, with an empha-
sis on the tools used in special reconnaissance. Sub-
ject matter experts from the radio manufacturers,
Harris RF Communications and the Thales Group, as
well as personnel from Marine Corps Systems Com-
mand, attended those sessions to provide the Marines
with firsthand answers and technical reach-back. Det
One then reinforced classroom instruction with a
practical application exercise: the rec
onnaissance el-
ement, augmented by the radio reconnaissance
teams, took up positions in the urban combat train-
ing facility at Marine Corps Air Station, Yuma, Ari-
zona. Over the course of the next four hot August
days, they transmitted reports and imagery to the de-
tachment operations center back in California at the
Del Ma
r boat basin.
Also in August, the Det One fires liaison element,
augmented by selected Marines from the reconnais-
DET ONE32
Members of the intelligence element at Bridgeport, Cal-
ifornia, during the “Man-Ex” of October 2003. Col
Coates wanted all hands to have “hard feet and strong
backs” and be able to operate in any clime or place.
Maj M. Gerald Carter wanted all of his Marines to re-
member the experience so that when they analyzed the
topography and planned a route for the reconnais-
sance element to follow, they knew that there was more
to th
e terrain than lines on a map.
Photo courtesy of Det One

--- Page 45 ---
Training 33
sance element and the counterintelligence and radio
reconnaissance teams, went to Hurlburt Field at Eglin
Air Force Base, Florida, for a week of joint special
operations close air support. The Marines learned to
call for fire from AC-130 Spectre gunships and coor-
dinate that aircraft’s considerable surveillance and
communications capabilities with their operations.
These exercises certified the fires liaison Marines as
jo
int terminal attack controllers, an important addi-
tion to their capabilities, as they would find out later
in Iraq.
The other major event of central importance for
the entire unit was range work with the M4 carbines
and the .45-caliber pistols. Weapons and Tactics
Package I began with the reconnaissance element on
7 July 2003 at Camp Pendleton’s Range 130, the Spe-
cial Operations Training Complex. This range con-
tained the sort of specialized facilities the detachment
needed, and since the majority of the rec
onnaissance
Marines had been in Pendleton-based units, it was
familiar ground for them.
When the reconnaissance Marines moved off
Range 130 after a week’s firing—and an enormous
amount of ammunition expended—Marines from the
other elements took their place. Every Marine is a ri-
flema
n, and Colonel Coates had decreed that every
Det One Marine would be proficient at the basic tools
of the gunfighting trade.* This training package began
with the fundamentals—grip, stance, sight alignment,
sight picture, trigger control—and progressed
through tactical reloading procedures and immediate
action drills, all under a time limit and under pres-
sure. Each man was able to put his weapons through
their
 paces, get accustomed to the combinations of
optics and other devices, then test his magazines, dis-
card the unreliable ones, and modify his gear layout.
The Marines shot so much that some came away as-
tounded at how many rounds they sent downrange.
As Major Jerry Carter recalled, “I never thought that
in the Marine Corps I would shoot so many rounds
through a weapon that I would be tired of shooting
and my trigger finger would be numb.” 8 All came
away with considerable, substantive confidence in
their gunfighting skills.
After their first week at Range 130, the reconnais-
sance Marines continued weapons and tactics funda-
mentals at one of the training areas at Camp
Pendleton. They went into two more weeks of pa-
trolling, team tactics, contact drills, marksmanship,
and then moved on to infiltrations and live-fire at-
tacks. Joined by the radio reconnaissance Marines,
they ca
pped off the event with a 10-mile infiltration
march and a live-fire raid on a target. In this case,
weapons and tactics “fundamentals” is a relative term;
Captain Eric N. Thompson observed that the quality
of the Marines in the platoon—“independent thinkers
and independent operators”—enabled them to start
off at a fairly high level and progress quickly, so that
he 
did not have to concern himself overly with mat-
ters of safety and individual weapons proficiency and
could concentrate instead on training.9 This theme re-
curred throughout the detachment’s training period
and provided continuing proof that the right Marines
had been chosen for the unit.
Thanks to the existence of the unit’s training cell,
Thompson did not have to pull himself, or his pla-
to
on sergeant, or a team leader off the line to actu-
ally run the range, nor did he have to devote time to
develop the scenario and the target. The training cell
handled these matters and left the leaders free to at-
tack the mission. As the calendar progressed and the
exercises became more complex, the ability to keep
the Marines focused on the mission rather than the
exercise would become a key element in the de-
tachmen
t’s success.
For the Marines from the other sections, the
biggest challenge was balancing their own weapons
training with their duties to support every ongoing
evolution, as well as the need to plan for future op-
erations. Marines “one-deep” in their functional areas,
like Gunnery Sergeants Mark S. Kitashima and Monty
R. Genegabus, felt it the hardest. Colonel Coates’s in-
sistence 
on brilliance in the basics in every area, as
painful as it was during the training phase, proved
its worth in Iraq, when Marines from the support sec-
tions had to serve as machine gunners and drivers on
direct action missions and members of the radio re-
connaissance teams found themselves fighting for
their lives in Baghdad.
In addition to all these events, there was also
physical conditioning. From the beginning, Captain
Tho
mpson and Master Sergeant Keith E. Oakes insti-
tuted a demanding physical training program for the
reconnaissance Marines. “Through the entire workup,
whether we were in the field or whether we were in
garrison, we always did a hike every week,” Thomp-
son recalled. “That’s something that a lot of recon
units I found got away from . . . but that’s one of the
fundamentals of being a good reconnaissance Ma-
rine.”10 Oakes had initially decreed platoon physical
* The emphasis on essential combat skills for all hands presents an-
other contrast with the prevailing attitude in other special opera-
tions units, which seem to prize the “shooter” as the zenith of
operational capability. In Det One, with its deeply rooted air-
ground task force philosophy, shooting was a skill not a job de-
scr
iption and the “shooter,” the Marine in the team making entry
into the target building, was but one part of the larger capability.

--- Page 46 ---
training twice a week, but after discussions with the
team leaders, he scaled back to once a week, and by
default that once a week became the road march—
the hike. Because he wanted his Marines to see their
steady progress week by week, Oakes chose a stan-
dard route: “We would always park up at [Camp] Flo-
res, work up into the mountains, and then down on
the beach,” he remembered. “We always finished
here on the compound.” 11 The Marines made the
hikes with full gear and full loads, about 60 pounds
per man, including food and water. In a platoon like
the Det One reconnaissance element, it was a rea-
sonable expectation that the Marines knew all the
tricks of marching long distances and of arriving
ready for operations. But even in this case, the vet-
eran Ranger instructor in Master Sergeant Oakes had
a few points to share. “The biggest thing was teach-
ing them how to eat and drink properly, which was
what the Rangers taught me,” he explained. “I could
not afford to have guys that would hit the wall.”12 The
weekly hikes proved to be excellent preparation for
the coming exercise at Bridgeport, California, as well
as an all-around conditioning tool.
Bridgeport: “The Man-Ex”
The summer of 2003 ended on a sad note as one
member of the reconnaissance element, Sergeant
Christian W. Myler
, died in a motorcycle accident on
6 September. The detachment paused its training for
memorial services and then resumed the march to-
ward deployment.
The first item on the schedule for September was
two weeks in the cold waters off the Southern Cali-
fornia coast practicing the skills of reconnaissance in
support of an amphibious landing. As the detach-
ment
’s destination for deployment was at that point
still not known, this block of training was part of the
requirement to maintain the core competencies, with
these skills also being a true Corps competency. The
Marines practiced long-range nautical navigation, hy-
drographic surveys, scout swimmer techniques, and
other skills pertaining to this highly specialized art.
They again demonstrated the depth and breadth of
ex
perience in the reconnaissance element as the
Marines took only a day of rehearsals in the Del Mar
boat basin before they mounted out on a full-mission
profile, at night, in open water. Right before this
event was scheduled to begin, a helicopter flying
over the San Onofre beaches—where the hydro-
graphic survey was to take place—spotted and pho-
tographed an altogether too realistic opposition force:
two grea
t white sharks.13
With amphibious training checked off the list, the
entire detachment prepared for a fortnight at the
Mountain Warfare Training Center, Bridgeport, Cali-
fornia. Few of the Marines were strangers to Bridge-
port. The detachment was packed with trained
mountain leaders, and Major Kozeniesky, Master Ser-
geants Padilla and Muratori, among others, had been
instructors and staff members there. What made this
mou
ntain training package different from any previ-
ous experience for the Det One Marines was the
speed at which Colonel Coates took them from ac-
climatization and a basic skills refresher to a high-al-
titude crucible over the toughest terrain in the center.
The Bridgeport exercise began with a review in
the technical skills of military mountaineering, the use
of which they would req
uire later in the event. There
were perils at this stage, even for the experienced
Marines in the unit. Gunnery Sergeant John A. Dailey,
leader of Recon Team 4, took a fall while rappelling
that nearly sidelined him for the entire exercise. Loss
of a Marine due to injury was something the unit
could ill afford. For some of the Marines, military
mountaineering skills also included parachute jumps
on
 the high-altitude drop zones of the center. Within
a few days, the training schedule moved the detach-
ment higher into the mountains for the next evolu-
tions.
Marines from the support sections were as in-
volved in the training as they were in the support of
the training. Although the logistics section could have
supported the entire exercise from Camp Del Mar,
part of Colonel Coates’s intent was to get the entire
detachment out into the field and put it under a mi-
croscope. Among other events, support section
Marines went through an abbreviated version of
Bridgeport’s mule-packing course, the only such pro-
gram of instruction in the U.S. military. Mules can go
where vehicles and helicopters cannot go and would
have been valuable transportation assets had the de-
tachment been sent to Afghanistan, as likely a course
of a
ction as any at the time. This was a novel expe-
rience for the motor transport section. Military vehi-
cles, although not without their own peculiarities, do
not bite or kick or throw off their loads. Gunnery Ser-
geant Jaime Maldonado and Staff Sergeant Jaime J.
Sierra learned how to pack the mules, feed them, and
then get them headed up into the mountains loaded
with food, water, and ammunition. “The animals, they
do their
 own thing,” Maldonado recalled. “When we
were packing them, it was okay, because they got
fed as they were getting packed. But the minute we
step off, they just keep going, they don’t stop.” 14 As
Gunnery Sergeant Genegabus, the logistics chief,
said: “The animals themselves are just hard-headed.
DET ONE34

--- Page 47 ---
Training 35
We had one guy kicked off, one guy kicked, and one
guy bit.”15 Despite the hardheadedness of the beasts,
they could carry substantial loads. The detachment
subsequently used a mule train for resupply during
one phase of the tactical problem. As strange a mili-
tary event as mule-packing might seem, Gunnery Ser-
geant Genegabus, for one, did not see it as
far-fetched at all, given the U.S. Army Special Forces’
recen
t experience in Afghanistan. 
The Bridgeport exercise served as the welcome-
aboard package for a new member of the fires liaison
element, Captain Daniel B. “Shoe” Sheehan III,
brought on board as the forward air controller after
the original table of organization was augmented to
give the battle staff more depth. A Bell AH-1W Super
Cobra pilot just returned from Operation Iraqi Free-
dom, Sheehan was not only a new-join but also new
to
 the ground operations business. He had not served
in an air and naval gunfire liaison company (AN-
GLICO), nor in reconnaissance units, nor in a Special
Operations Training Group. He had two Marine ex-
peditionary unit deployments under his belt, the sec-
ond involving both a substantial period in Djibouti 
working with a joint special operations task force, as
well
 as combat flying in Iraq. He had tried but not
succeeded to gain entry into another arm of Special
Operations Command. That unit’s loss became Det
One’s gain.
The final week at Bridgeport was a memorable
navigation and “terrain appreciation” exercise with
“visits” to the highest peaks, where units normally do
not train.16 The experience level of the detachment
as a whole made training in the roughest parts of the
ce
nter possible, as did Major Kozeniesky’s recent
service there as operations officer. Captain Thomp-
son of the reconnaissance element described the last
seven days as “half mountaineering skills and half gut
check, to make sure that we had the right crop of
guys that could march up and down mountains with
70-pound rucks, operate in the high altitude, and not
have a total mental meltdown.”
17 He saw it as a “Man-
Ex,” a straightforward test of each Marine’s manliness.
Colonel 
Coates described the Bridgeport exercise as
the detachment’s “selection,” revealing something of
his intent for the exercise beyond the utility of a tac-
tical problem.
18
The “terrain appreciation” exercise was a two-day
hike by element and team. Major Kozeniesky chose
the route with his intimate knowledge of the base
and designed the exercise to test each man’s ability
no
t only to hike at altitude with a heavy load, but
also to negotiate the terrain with tactical and techni-
cal expertise. Major Dolan, who had trained there
many years earlier as an enlisted Marine, called this
particular phase “very, very difficult, hard stuff.” 19
Master Sergeant Padilla—former Bridgeport instruc-
tor, Royal Marines mountain instructor, and trained
mou
ntain leader—said it was “probably the hardest
training” he had ever seen a unit do at the Mountain
Warfare Training Center. 20 The last phase of the
Bridgeport exercise also illustrated the line separating
special and conventional operations: in special oper-
ations, the performance expectations increase rather
than decrease, even as the conditions get tougher.
The culmination of the “Man-Ex” was a direct ac-
tion mission, preceded by another route march. The
Marines—two teams for reconnaissance and surveil-
lance, and then the task-organized assault force—
were inserted approximately 20 miles from the
objective. The mission, according to Major Dolan,
“required a two-and -a-ha
lf day movement, across
two ridgelines, going over 10,000-foot passes.” 21
Groups of Marines from an infantry battalion training
at Bridgeport were out looking for the reconnais-
sance and surveillance teams, adding to the realism
of the exercise. Then, as the helicopters arrived to
extract the force after the successful strike, the train-
ing cell had one more “kick in the nuts,” as Major
Kozeniesky put it. The aircraft set down unexpect-
edly in separate landing zones, and the pilots
handed the Det One Marines notes that read: “The
helicopters have just crashed; execute your evasion
and recovery plan.” The evading Marines linked up
according to plan, with counterintelligence teams
Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers
GySgt Jaime Maldonado and SSgt Jaime J. Sierra pre-
pare for a mission during the Capstone Exercise in
Nevada, December 2003. Every Marine in Det One
was issued with the same equipment and weapons,
and every one was expected to master the basic skills
such as gunfighting, communications, first aid, and
driving.

--- Page 48 ---
that guided them to safe territory.22
Executing this surprise event meant “another 8- or
10-hour movement across some horrendous terrain,”
according to Major Dolan, who recalled that by that
time, there were “not a lot of happy campers left.”
But the evasion exercise taught the Det One Marines
lessons about seeing the operation through to the
very end.23 It also validated the critical requirement
for detailed planning to cover contingencies, and it
exerci
sed a significant capability of the counterintel-
ligence section, again demonstrating how the de-
tachment could use what other special operations
units might call the “non-operators” as integral parts
of the whole plan.
The experience at Bridgeport had the intended ef-
fect: it raised the stress level and gave the com-
manding officer an opportunity to examine every
man under extreme pressure. The crucible of the
“Man-Ex” also brought out some unarticulated per-
sonality co
nflicts. At the reconnaissance platoon de-
brief, a gathering of some “unhappy campers” after
the surprise evasion exercise, Master Sergeant Padilla
spoke up to provide some constructive criticism for
the platoon commander. The ensuing acerbic ex-
change, recounted with humor some 18 months later
by participants and witnesses alike, cleared the air
and cement
ed the personal and professional under-
standings between the reconnaissance element lead-
ership.
Close Quarters Battle Training
A major qualitative leap in the reconnaissance el-
ement’s tactical capabilities came in October 2003 on
the heels of the Bridgeport exercise. Returning to
Camp Pendleton’s Range 130, the reconnaissance
Marines immersed themselves in a groundbreaking
close-quarters battle package unlike anything they
had ever experi
enced. The reconnaissance element
DET ONE36
GySgt John A. Dailey’s and SSgt Jack A. Kelly’s teams
during the Capstone Exercise. These Marines, task-or-
ganized for reconnaissance and surveillance with the
addition of radio recon and fires Marines, bore the
brunt of the cold weather in the high desert of Nevada.
This photo shows both the protective clothing, procured
for them by Jon Laplume at Soldier Systems Command,
as well the Full Spectrum Battle Equipment, which
could be tailored to each Marine’s duties and personal
pre
ference. 
Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

--- Page 49 ---
Training 37
knew its business individually and collectively from
several years of deployments. It was also a platoon
loaded with close-quarters battle instructors: Master
Sergeant Oakes and Gunnery Sergeant Morrison, to
name only two, had spent time as special operations
training group shooting instructors. All were experi-
enced marksmen and tacticians, giving them the right
foundation to rapidly achieve a higher level of profi-
ci
ency. But they were about to be challenged to
begin thinking critically about how they needed to
conduct their operations.
In order to break away from the Marine Corps
close quarters combat model, the detachment con-
tracted directly for the services of a retired U.S. Army
Special Forces soldier, a veteran of a tier-one Special
Operations Command unit. He first observed them as
they breached and cleared a structure. He did not like
what he saw and told the Marines that what they
were 
doing was not going to cut it against the oppo-
nents they would be facing. The new set of tactics
and techniques he taught them was “vastly different
from what we did, as Marines, up to this point,” said
Captain Thompson. He called the experience “very
enlightening.”24 No substantial change is easy, and
not all of the Marines immediately embraced the new
meth
ods. 
Staff Sergeant Alex N. Conrad, one of the recon-
naissance scouts, described the difficult but con-
structive change. The instructor “taught us what we
needed to do,” but then “we went into the house [the
specially constructed building for live-fire close quar-
ters battle training], and we reverted back to our old
tactics.” Conrad remembered that the retired Special
Fo
rces soldier yelled “‘stop, stop. Stop right there.’
He just told us, ‘this is not going to work. Here’s what
we’re going to do, and this is how we’re going to do
it. Get back out of the house and re-do this, one thing
at a time.’” He told them bluntly that their old tactics
were going to get them killed. When he demon-
strated how their methods were slower and less ef-
fective than his—by having some Marines watch from
a gal
lery in the house while the others went through
the problem using both ways—he got his point
across.25 Conrad credits him with engineering a com-
plete reversal in the reconnaissance element’s tactical
mindset. “He changed our way of thinking. I think
that was the turning point.”26
The main issue the experience highlighted, and
the one that cut to the essence of the larger
USMC/SOCom relationship, was the divergence of
Mar
ine Corps close quarter battle tactics with those
used by the upper-tier SOCom units. “Basically,” said
Master Sergeant Padilla, “we were using dinosaur tac-
tics.”27 The big switch was a change from their famil-
iar “initiative-based tactics” to the more fluid and dy-
namic “team-based tactics.” Initiative-based tactics
relied on a single point of entry into a target house.
Tea
m-based tactics, on the other hand, enabled the
Marines to simultaneously hit that target from more
angles, then flow rapidly from room to room, main-
taining the speed, shock, and violence of action they
needed to gain the upper hand and prevail.
The new tactics prompted a structural change in
the detachment. The reconnaissance platoon reor-
ganized from four teams of seven Marines each to six
teams of four or five Marines each. Staff Sergeant Jack
A. Kelly, assistant team leader in Master Sergeant
Terr
y M.Wyrick’s Team 1, and Gunnery Sergeant Sid-
ney J. Voss from Gunnery Sergeant Dailey’s Team 4
became the leaders of Teams 5 and 6. (Although the
detachment received no new corpsmen to fill out the
new structure, the platoon had enough certified
emergency medical technicians—Staff Sergeant Kelly
being one of them—to cover the basic requirements.)
The introduction of team-based tactics to Det
One’s 
reconnaissance element was more of a signif-
icant single addition to its toolbox than a wholesale
replacement. Some of the younger Marines in the pla-
toon took to team-based tactics more readily than the
older ones and saw it as a day-and-night change, but
the more wily and seasoned among them adopted a
co
mprehensive view. Master Sergeant Wyrick pointed
out later that most of the detachment’s direct action
missions in Iraq were conducted using individual-
Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers
Det One’s armorer, GySgt Mark S. Kitashima, con-
ducts instruction on the M2 .50-caliber heavy ma-
chine gun during the Capstone Exercise, at Mercury,
Nevada, in December 2004.

--- Page 50 ---
based tactics because of the nature of many of the
targets in that close-in urban setting precluded attack
from multiple angles. Yet the Det One Marines were
nearly unanimous in assessing the team-based tactics
as a major improvement in thinking, in how they
looked at a target as a whole, not just the actions on
the inside. It was that change in the Marines’ ap-
proach that produced the enduring improvement in
their
 capabilities.
The Det One staff was also undergoing an impor-
tant training session during the month of October, a
two-week staff integration exercise with SEAL Team
One, which had become Squadron One after taking
on its full complement of attachment and augments.
The detachment was only half the size of the
squadron but brought completely different capabili-
ties. The squadron had six platoons of operators; the
de
tachment had one platoon of reconnaissance
Marines, who averaged more than a dozen years
each on active duty. The squadron had an intelli-
gence officer and some intelligence specialists,
whereas the detachment had its self-contained 30-
man intelligence platoon, capable of independent
communications with national assets and organic fu-
sion from all intelligence sources. The squadron had
SEALs who were certified in supporting arms; the de-
tachment had the fires
 liaison element, including two
combat pilots. Fully drawing out the combined ca-
pabilities with Squadron One was a prickly process,
requiring a great deal of patience and flexibility on
both sides. Much of the efforts centered “defining
how we fight as institutions,” as Major Kozeniesky
put it—the differences in how the SEALs and Marines
view
 tactical problems and solutions. The process of
integration was not helped by the fact that the desti-
nation for the deployment was still being debated at
the service level.
Practice on skill at arms continued into November
2003, when the fires liaison element took the recon-
naissance and radio reconnaissance Marines to the
Air Ground Combat Center at Twentynine Palms, Cal-
ifornia, for a week of planning and calling close air
su
pport. Like other Det One training events, this ex-
ercise deviated significantly from similar events in
other units. A conventional unit would have set up an
overt observation post on one of two or three promi-
nent terrain features and called in mission after mis-
sion. Major Dolan, however, devised a more practical
exercise for the Det One element tailored to situa-
tions a reconnaissance team might encounter on a
mission, far away from supporting units. The Det
One Ma
rines did a half-day of refresher training on
the “nine-line brief,” the close air support call for fire,
and then ascended the rocky desert hills where they
constructed tactical observation posts and ran live
missions more in line with their operations. The mis-
sions concentrated on calling for support while
breaking contact with the enemy, therefore involving
synchronization of the helicopters with small-arms
fir
e, individual movement, and the dozen other ac-
tions that a team needs to perform to get itself out of
a tight spot. Dolan’s work was made easier by the
same qualities in the Marines that Captain Thompson
and others had remarked more than once: they had
been through this training before and they knew their
business
. Refresher training always strengthens and
hones the skills that are prone to atrophy, but the Det
One Marines had enough experience and prior
knowledge to go from rehearsals to live runs on tar-
gets within one day.
28
The other significant event in November was the
arrival of the detachment’s 18 Mercedes-Benz interim
fast attack vehicles to add to their small fleet of all-ter-
rain vehicles. The motor-transport section leaped to
th
e task of making these machines ready for service.
Gunnery Sergeant Maldonado and Staff Sergeant
Sierra needed to get the vehicles inspected, set up,
and modified for Det One operations and then get
several dozen Marines licensed to drive them before
the detachment’s capstone exercise, scheduled for
the following month, in which the vehicles would see
heavy use.
Finally, no mention of the month of November
would be co
mplete without reference to the Marine
Corps Birthday. The commemoration of this event
proceeds in lesser or greater form wherever Marines
are stationed throughout the world, as conditions
permit; the Det One Marines, after training hard for
months, chose a venue that let them play hard too.
The command chronology for the period mentions
“well-deserved liberty and revelry” and celebration in
“gra
nd fashion” at a Las Vegas hotel, but it is unchar-
acteristically silent on further details.
The Capstone Exercise
Just as Marine expeditionary units progress to
“special operations capable” certification and then de-
ployment through a series of ever more complex and
challenging exercises, Det One continued to set its
own bar higher as 2003 drew to a close. In Decem-
ber, the detachment deployed en masse to Nevada
for
 the capstone exercise, a full test of the unit’s ca-
pabilities. Although not the ruck-humping “Man-Ex”
of Bridgeport, the capstone exercise tested the com-
plete range of the unit’s operational abilities in trying
conditions and against exceptionally difficult targets.
DET ONE38

--- Page 51 ---
Training 39
It was also the last major event scheduled before ac-
tual integration with the SEALs, the final chance to
nail down the procedures and hone the fighting
edge. Selected observers from I Marine Expeditionary
Force Special Operations Training Group and Head-
quarters Marine Corps (among them Master Gunnery
Sergeant Joseph G. Settelen III) were on hand to eval-
uate and critique.
The U.S. Department of Energy’s Nevada Test Site
is
 located 65 miles from Las Vegas. It is a big chunk
of high desert, larger than many small countries, and
just the place Det One needed for this exercise.29 The
terrain, climate, isolation, and facilities provided the
perfect venue for the detachment’s second to last op-
erational test. The Nevada Test Site was also new ter-
rain, as none of the Marines had ever trained there
before.
The 
detachment’s first task was setting up the for-
ward operating base at the Indian Springs Auxiliary
Airfield, the basic living and working spaces where
the unit could house its command and control func-
tions, and where the Marines could prepare for mis-
sions and refit afterward. Although fixed facilities
were readily available, Colonel Coates chose to make
the unit’s footprint as expeditionary as possible—to
“do
 it all in the dirt,” as he put it—in order to ensure
that all of the detachment’s elements addressed and
worked through any problems that might arise from
being away from Camp Pendleton. Within 24 hours,
Det One Marines had set up the tents and basic util-
ities and were preparing to execute the training
schedule. Never one to mince words, Captain
Thompson described the austere Indian Springs
camp as a very good replication of “a Third World
shit-ho
le.”30 The communications section set up the
Trojan Spirit Lite and had connectivity within an hour;
the combat operations center was functional within
six hours.31
Marines from Company K, 3d Battalion, 5th
Marines, provided the opposition force for the exer-
cise, but the real adversary was nature itself. Al-
though the detachment’s records make no mention
of the weather, Det One Marines remember it clearly.
Sergeant Guerra’s network equipment was the first
cas
ualty of the cold high Nevada desert. The nonex-
peditionary servers, hand carried from Camp Pendle-
ton and crucial to the detachment’s command and
control, did not work. Guerra had what he called “the
four most stressful days of my life.” He had brought
out three servers, all quality pieces of gear in a gar-
ri
son setting. In the field, two failed immediately.
While he worked to get some information systems
capability up and running, he hounded the manu-
facturer to send out replacements. The manufacturer
delivered, but not in time to spare Guerra the un-
wanted attentions of the staff: “Every five minutes I
get, ‘Is the network up? Is the network up? Is the net-
work up?’”
Sergeant Guerra’s private nightmare continued as
th
e one Marine he had working with him became ill,
and the one server he had managed to get working
crashed. Guerra had to rebuild the entire network
from scratch, by himself. What was normally a few
hours’ work took four days.
32 Although he did not
appreciate it at the time, the painful experience at the
capstone exercise served him well on the deploy-
ment, when he had his networks up and running
within hours of arrival at the detachment’s compound
in Baghd
ad. The weather did not single out Sergeant
Guerra; it affected the intelligence section, too. The
intense cold froze the ink in the plotters that printed
out the maps and other intelligence products, at least
temporarily disrupting a critical piece of the staff
work.
33
Marines in the assault forces and reconnaissance
and surveillance teams also were lashed hard by the
we
ather. The detachment’s expensive equipment—
in this case, the latest layered clothing system pro-
cured by Jon Laplume from Soldier Systems
Command at Natick, Massachusetts—again proved its
worth and kept the sniper teams functioning in their
A Det One Marine backs an Interim Fast Attack Ve-
hicle onto a KC-130 Hercules for a long-range inser-
tion during the Capstone Exercise in Nevada,
December 2003. That exercise marked the first heavy
use of the vehicles, which, as the photo shows, were
almost brand-new. Unfortunately, just before the de-
ployment the Interim Fast Attack Vehicles were found
unsuitable for the assigned direct action missions the
detach
ment in Iraq.
Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

--- Page 52 ---
hide sites. Still, there were other aspects of the
weather they could do nothing about. Master Ser-
geant Padilla vividly described the result of a very
long movement in their interim fast attack vehicles
during the exfiltration phase of one of the direct ac-
tion missions. “We should have known better, but we
had taken off all the windshields. . . . I don’t know
what the hell we were thinking. . . . With the wind
chi
ll it must have been -10 degrees. Guys were just
freezing.”34 Hospital Corpsman First Class Matthew S.
Pranka, the corpsman in Padilla’s team, agreed: “It
was just nasty. They picked the absolute worst
time.”35
The detachment executed two full-mission profile
raids during the capstone exercise: one was a simu-
nitions raid and the other a full live-fire raid. * The
live-fire attack included both sniper shots and base-
of
-fire support from M240G machine guns manned
by Marines taken from the support sections, which
allowed the detachment to concentrate the recon-
naissance element in assault force.36 In their after-ac-
tion report, the observers from I MEF Special
Operations Training Group noted the use of non-re-
connaissance Marines in precision fire support.
The first mission was a raid on a missile site sus-
pected to be under terrorist control. The Det One
training cel
l and the I MEF Special Operations Train-
ing Group had crafted a difficult target, including un-
derground tunnels and other features that would
confound all but the most careful observation and
analysis and possibly draw the assault forces into a
trap. The reconnaissance and surveillance teams,
task-organized with the addition of fires and radio re-
con
naissance Marines, were quickly inserted, estab-
lished their hide sites, and began reporting back to
the combat operations center while the assault force
was forming its plan and rehearsing its actions. The
plan called for insertion of the assault force in fast at-
tack vehicles; the final assault would be made on
foot. One of the primary training objectives for the
members of reconnaissance element was to shake
out the fast attack vehicles, equipment still so new
that the paint was clean and the tires dark black.
They 
learned a good deal on how to employ the ve-
hicles in raids, not just how to drive them and main-
tain them, but how many it would take to get the full
raid force to the objective.
37 The plan was further en-
hanced by loading the reconnaissance and surveil-
lance teams and their vehicles on Marine Corps
KC-130 Her
cules transport aircraft, flying them to a
dry lakebed, and disgorging them at night in a “hot
unload” while the plane’s engines were still turning.
Even though the close-quarter actions on the objec-
tive would be done with simunitions, the plan in-
cluded live-fire close air support to isolate the
objective. Providing the outer cordon for the opera-
tion were Marines from Company K, 3d Battalion, 5th
Marines, some of whom were also providing the
“enemy” o
n the target site.
The raid was a success, due as much to careful
analysis, good staff planning, and rigorous rehearsals
as to the skillful actions on the objective. The de-
tachment’s intelligence analysts had constructed an
accurate picture of the target site and had spotted in-
dications of underground works, so the assault force
wa
s able to plan accordingly. Master Gunnery Ser-
geant Settelen, posted on the roof of the target build-
ing as an observer, watched the assault unfold: “Right
on their timeline, they came up out of the shadows,
set up, and did a simultaneous multiside breach into
the facility, and then the gunships sealed off the other
side of the objective to make sure that they didn’t
have ‘squirters’ [enemy personnel escaping through
gaps
 in the cordon].”38 The fog of war reigned inside
the building when smoke generators emplaced to
create a haze malfunctioned and instead created what
Settelen called “a black hole.” He also noted, with
some satisfaction, that even in the confusion, noise,
and smoke, the assault force refused to be sucked
into the underground trap the exercise designers had
laid for them: “They isolated both sides of the tunnel
ba
sed on excellent geospatial analysis, and then they
just pinned [the enemy] in there and kept them in
there while they sensitive-site-exploited the rest of
the target,” eliminating several enemy and seizing the
high value target they were looking for, aided by
photographs for positive identification.*39
It is the job of the evaluators to take even a suc-
cessful mission and pick it apart, to mention the lit-
tl
e things that can be improved, and to highlight
mistakes that can cost dearly on actual operations.
Again, Master Gunnery Sergeant Settelen provided
the best commentary: “SOTG dinged the snipers a lit-
tle bit because they were on the forward slope and a
real seasoned evaluator was able to pick up the dif-
ference in the camouflage between some of the
hides. As far as an untrained eye [being able to do
th
at]? Maybe not, but we were being real critical on
DET ONE40
* Simunitions are training rounds fired from modified weapons that
exhibit ballistic performance similar to live ammunition at short
ranges. They are ideal training aids for close quarters combat. 
* Sensitive site exploitation (SSE) is the critical process of quickly
but thoroughly searching a target and removing anything of po-
tential intelligence value. Items and people seized in SSE fre-
quently yield intelligence for the prosecution of other targets, as
Det One operations in Iraq would show.

--- Page 53 ---
Training 41
ourselves. We didn’t want to make any mistakes.”40
Also observing from the roof, and with an equally
critical eye, was Commander William W. Wilson,
USN, commanding officer of Naval Special Warfare
Squadron One and Det One’s future task group com-
mander. This proof-of-concept operation with Det
One was Wilson’s first experience with Marine Corps
units. His previous assignments had taken him in di-
rections away from the amphibious Navy and Marine
opera
ting forces, although he had served with indi-
vidual Marines in other places and at other times. Sig-
nificantly for the detachment, one of those
individuals was Major Jerry Carter. If he was new to
working with Marine units, Wilson was no stranger to
the Marine Corps; his father was a Marine officer, and
he had grown up on and around Marine bases across
the co
untry.41 The veteran SEAL had a vested interest
in closely examining how far the detachment had
progressed in training to Special Operations Com-
mand standards. He liked what he saw, especially the
ability of the entire unit to execute a successful hit
on a complex and difficult target from the staff plan-
ning to reconnaissance and surveillance, then assault,
exploitation, and extraction.42
Colonel Coates issued the warning order for the
seco
nd raid within 24 hours after the conclusion of
the first mission, once the after-action reviews were
done and the troops had had a chance to recover.
The target this time was a simulated terrorist training
camp, and this mission would be a full live-fire hit.
Again, reconnaissance and surveillance teams were
inserted and began reporting and transmitting im-
agery. As they had with the first mission, the intelli-
gence 
element used a versatile computer program to
produce detailed models of the target buildings,
using the imagery they pulled in from various
sources. “Literally, it looks like a video game,” said
Gunnery Sergeant Kenneth C. Pinckard; the topo-
graphic and imagery analysts “can actually build their
own models” in virtual reality and then have the as-
sault force “walk through” the buildings or the route
to
 the target. The detachment had had the program,
called Sextant, for some time, but the capstone exer-
cise was its first real opportunity to put it to the test.43
Staff Sergeant Benjamin J. Cushing of Recon Team 4
figured out how to take the waypoints stored on a
global positioning system receiver and download
them as a file to a laptop computer, then transmit that
fil
e by radio to the combat operations center. In that
way, the assault force had instant access to the re-
Following Col Coates’ dictum that every Det One Ma-
rine would be a gunfighter, Marines from the head-
quarters sections were regularly integrated into the
raid force regardless of specialty. Sgt Victor M. Guerra
and another Marine are shown above on a M240G
7.62mm machine gun in support of the live-fire raid
during the Capstone Exercise in Nevada. 
Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

--- Page 54 ---
sults of the reconnaissance and surveillance teams’
navigation and scouting, the routes, the hide sites,
and the covered and concealed positions.44
By exploiting the imagery, the information sent
back from the observation posts, and the resulting
Sextant models of the target site, the staff divided the
target into thirds and devised a plan to take it. Mas-
ter Gunnery Sergeant Settelen also observed this mis-
sion, although 
not from a rooftop inside the site. He
described how the supporting machine guns engaged
the target: “On cue—they were using red, white, and
blue as the flare signals—they were lifting and shift-
ing fires on each third of the camp as [the assault
force] went in,” with the beaten zone of the machine
gun fire only meters in front of the assault force and
keeping pace with its advance. Marines from the fires
element controlled live close air support as the as-
sault for
ce swept the objective, consolidated and did
a quick site exploitation, then withdrew quickly in
good order to the vehicles for a long, frigid, exfiltra-
tion back to Indian Springs. There was a casualty ex-
ercise thrown in at the height of the assault that was
handled by the detachment’s corpsmen, and a heli-
copter flew in for casualty evacuation while the fire-
wo
rks were still underway by the fires liaison
element.45
Elements of Squadron One, in addition to Com-
mander Wilson, were also on hand for approximately
one week. However, their training and the Marines’
training were handled as separate events. Integrated
operations at the platoon level were never a goal and
therefore not an issue. The gap remained at the staff
level. Since the staff integration exercise in October,
no
 one had made much progress on that level. Det
One leadership strongly believed that closer staff co-
operation during the capstone exercise would have
been highly beneficial for both groups.*
In direct action missions, the assault force tends to
receive the most attention, but every element of the
detachment was fully employed and tested during
this exercise. The reconnaissance and surveillance
teams endured the vile weather while performing
every conceivable task in support of the missions.
They 
found the routes, scouted the positions, guided
the assault force, provided sniper support, and re-
ported what they saw and heard. The fires liaison el-
ement was able to work live close air support on the
targets and bring aircraft into a landing zone during
an assault. The support sections did their critical but
un
heralded work and then manned the crew-served
weapons for base-of-fire operations. The intelligence
element employed the entire spectrum of its disci-
plines, from weather forecasting, to connectivity with
national assets, to analytical work, and to distribution
of photographs of the “high value targets” to every
member of the assault force. The intelligence Marines
also got
 an unexpected bonus out of the exercise: a
good look at the Air Force’s Predator unmanned aer-
ial vehicles, which were home-based at Indian
Springs. Seizing this opportunity, they integrated a
few Predator flights into their reconnaissance and sur-
veillance plans, learning much about the platform.46
The training cell was justifiably pleased with the
results of the capstone exercise. Captain Fiscus 
summed up the experience: “We built some exercises
that stretched the detachment’s limits physically,
mentally and emotionally.” He admitted it was “a very
difficu
lt evolution to put together, supervise, and ex-
ecute.” “But,” he continued, “it paid huge dividends,
as we noticed our shortfalls, we pushed the operat-
ing limits of our equipment and our personnel and
our planning procedures.”47
The senior enlisted Marines also assessed the ex-
er
cise as a significant milestone. Master Sergeant
Rutan echoed Captain Fiscus’s opinions, believing
that the capstone exercise, even more than Bridge-
port “Man-Ex,” forged the detachment into a cohe-
sive operational unit. Master Sergeant Oakes agreed:
“It brought out a lot in the platoon that I liked. We
did a lot of long-range missions—very long range—
DET ONE42
* Cdr Wilson stated that a conscious decision was made in the
Naval Special Warfare hierarchy to allow the Marines to conduct
this exercise without oversight or participation by NSW elements.
Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers
Team leaders and Maj Craig S. Kozeniesky (back to
camera) prepare for a mission during the Capstone
Exercise in Nevada. While Kozeniesky checks the set-
tings on his AN/PRC-148 tactical hand-held radio, the
other two pass last-minute information on the mis-
sion.

--- Page 55 ---
Training 43
60- to 100-kilometer round-trip missions, nighttime
driving, long-range navigation . . . a long distance to
move and a tight timeline to get there. . . . It was a
‘bringing together.’”48
Major Kozeniesky looked beyond the immediate
results of the exercise to the unit’s deployment, still
months away. He pointed out that before the cap-
stone exercise, “we largely engaged in element and
platoon training,” but at the capstone exercise, “we
for
med the raid force which later became Task Unit
Raider and started to figure out a concept of em-
ployment.” The Marines demonstrated what they had
been saying for months: that the value of the task
force was greater than the sum its parts.
49
Integration
The year 2004 began with a combat trauma train-
ing package for the fires and intelligence elements,
identical to the course run six months previously for
th
e reconnaissance element. Other events in January
included more sniper training for the reconnaissance
Marines, a naval gunfire refresher for the fires liaison
element, and an off-road driving course for Marines
from across the detachment.
The long-awaited full integration with Squadron
One—the certification exercise—was scheduled for
late January. However, according to the command
chro
nology, “uncertainty about the location and or-
ganization of the deployment” suddenly put the
event off.50 For much of the training phase, Det One
members thought that their destination might very
well be Afghanistan. At one point, the probable des-
tination emerged as the Horn of Africa. Another op-
tion lingering for months had the detachment divided
between U.S. Pacific Command and U.S. Central
Command, which the Det One leadership and the
Marine Corps hierarchy resisted strongly, maintaining
that a spli
t deployment was not in keeping with the
letter or spirit of the memorandum of agreement with
Naval Special Warfare.  By January 2004, all of those
options were out; Iraq was the destination, with the
detachment to be used primarily in urban direct ac-
tion.* The abrupt decisions on the deployment post-
po
ned the certification exercise and caused the
detachment staff to rethink several aspects of their
preparedness.
Conveniently, the rescheduling of the exercise
opened a gap in the detachment’s calendar. The staff
deftly turned this unexpected “white space” on the
training schedule to the detachment’s advantage. In
order to maintain the edge and refine procedures, the
unit moved to Camp Talega, a remote site at Camp
Pendle
ton, for a concentration on direct action. Al-
though not as meteorologically challenging as the ex-
ercise in Nevada, the Talega exercise provided
another opportunity for the detachment to work full
mission profiles out of an expeditionary setting, put-
ting into practice the lessons the Marines learned in
the capstone exercise and leaning more in the direc-
tion of urban warfare rather than special reconnais-
sa
nce. To this end, they were able to leverage an
ongoing event in the abandoned housing area at
March Air Reserve Base, Riverside, California—Pro-
ject Metropolis, an effort employing extensive use of
role players in training Marines units headed for
Iraq—and experience a “very realistic opposition
force” on one direct action mission.51 The realism be-
came clear later to some of the Det One Marines. “It
wa
s right on the money for our training,” recalled
Master Sergeant Oakes .“ We didn’t know it at the
time, but that March Air Force Base, with the urban
environment, with Iraqi actors, was exactly what we
were going to be doing in the future.” 52 The Talega
exercise further refined the capabilities of the raid
force that was built at Mercury, but it also suffered
from the same deficiency: it was a Marine-only show,
on the eve of a Navy-Marine certification exercise and
deplo
yment.
In early February 2004, on the heels of the Talega
exercise, a small party consisting of Major Koze-
niesky, Major Carter, and Captain Kress flew to South-
west Asia with members of Squadron One’s
leadership for a pre-deployment site survey. Their
first stop was the Naval Special Warfare support unit
in Bahrain, the administrative headquarters of all
SEAL f
orces in the region. Next they flew to Bagh-
dad, where they visited Naval Special Warfare
Squadron Seven, which they would shortly relieve.
The site survey team came back with a “much bet-
ter understanding of the requirements for the de-
ployment,” according to Major Kozeniesky. During
their five days in Baghdad, the Det One officers saw
how their units would be laid out, based on
Squadron Seven’s operations: one task unit in the
North, one t
ask unit in the West, and the headquar-
ters and two task units in Baghdad. Concurrently,
they saw that their interim fast attack vehicles, newly
acquired and thoroughly exercised in Nevada, were
not what they needed for urban direct action. They
needed hunekers, and in particular a new special op-
* The decision for deployment to Iraq did not occur until “De-
cember
 2003, at the SOCom-USMC Warfighter Conference,” wrote
Col Coates. SOCom commander Gen Bryan D. Brown “made the
decision for the detachment to deploy to Iraq with the possibility
of a follow-on deployment to Afghanistan when I briefed him on
the status of the detachment and the proposed split deployment.”
Col Coates email to author, 13 April 2006.

--- Page 56 ---
erations-specific model based on Squadron Seven’s
in-house modifications of armor and assaulting
equipment. A resolution to that problem, as impor-
tant as it was, would have to wait.53
Finally, Commander Wilson and Major Kozeniesky
visited the headquarters of the Combined Forces Spe-
cial Operations Component Command in Qatar. Det
One’s executive officer was dismayed to find that the
special operations headquarters did not know that
the d
etachment was coming with Squadron One, in
fact barely knew of its existence, and thus had not
planned for the employment of its capabilities. Com-
bined Forces Special Operations Component Com-
mand, for its part, was quite pleased to have an extra
direct action force emerge from nowhere.
Following the snap evolution at Talega, the de-
tachment was informed that the certification exercise
wo
uld now be held in late February 2004. As such,
the detachment’s training phase command structure
also ended, and Det One came under the actual con-
trol of Naval Special Warfare Command, as spelled
out in the memorandum of 20 February 2003, al-
though on paper the detachment had come under
control of Squadron One in December.
The certification exercise saw the end of Det One
as a self-contained task force. The principle staff of-
ficer
s were absorbed into the squadron staff: Major
Kozeniesky became the senior Marine and squadron
operations officer; Major Carter became the squadron
intelligence officer; and Major Priddy and Major
Dolan respectively became the squadron fires and air
officers. The individual staff sections assumed a role
of direct support to the task group as a whole, not
just the Marine task unit. Marines from the intelli-
gence element—counterintelligence, radio recon-
naissance, a
nd some analysts—were detached out to
support the task units, providing those capabilities
and skills that these units did not otherwise possess.
Few Marines, especially on the staff, were happy
about the new assignments.
At the same time, Det One received a welcome
addition from Squadron One, four explosive ord-
nance disposal (EOD) technicians, who were
prompt
ly added to the rolls. This critical military oc-
cupational specialty was not represented in the Det
One table of organization—a deficiency noted by
SOTG evaluators at the capstone exercise. 54 Head-
quarters Marine Corps had refused to draw on the
EOD community to staff the detachment, anticipat-
ing that operations in Iraq would require every avail-
able Marine EOD technician. In the final event, the
ad
dition of Navy EOD technicians rather than
Marines was the right course of action since, as Major
Kozeniesky noted, “they multiplied our combat
power more so than Marine EOD due to their con-
sistent work with special operations forces.”55 All four
men were absorbed into the reconnaissance element.
The certification exercise was designed to simu-
late how Squadron One expected its task units would
be employed across Iraq, based on how Squadron
Seven was addressing the mission and the anticipated
requ
irement to do likewise. Edwards Air Force Base,
California, served as the “Baghdad” hub, where
Squadron One would have its headquarters. Two task
units were sent to outlying locations that, in Iraq,
would be in the West and North. Two other task units
were retained at the hub. During the five days of the
ce
rtification exercise, the squadron executed four full
mission profiles, a taxing operational tempo by any
measure, as the staff had to support three sites spread
over hundreds of miles. The Marine task unit, com-
prised mostly of the reconnaissance element, per-
formed up to and beyond standards and
expectations.
Most Det One Marines remember the certification
exercise as a good evolution but not an exceptionally
tough 
one in the sense that Bridgeport and Nevada
were. Gunnery Sergeant Dailey noticed some new as-
pects of integration, “tweaks” to the operating pro-
cedures and briefing points, but neither of their two
direct action missions, including the one they con-
ducted in conjunction with a SEAL task unit, elicited
DET ONE44
A Marine from Company K, 3d Battalion, 5th
Marines, serving as a “terrorist” during the Capstone
Exercise in Nevada, pauses to eat his Meals Ready to
Eat. The flak vest, gloves, helmet, face guard, and light
colored bands on the barrel of his rifle all indicate the
use of simunitions, the realistic training tool for close-
quarters battle.
Photo courtesy of Patrick J. Rogers

--- Page 57 ---
Training 45
much commentary.56 That second mission was led by
Major Kozeniesky as overall raid force commander. A
few of the more senior enlisted Marines noticed some
undercurrents of the old, highly competitive Ma-
rine/SEAL relationship at work but took it in stride.
“It’s frustrating,” remarked Master Sergeant Wyrick,
“but at the same time I’ve done this enough to know
that if you just keeping doing what you do, and you
do 
it well, eventually they’re going to have to give
you the ball. They’re going to have to because you’re
going to show that the capabilities and competencies
you have exceed what they have.” 57 Gunnery Ser-
geant Pinckard, the All-Source Fusion Chief, regretted
the rapid mission cycle in the certification exercise
not because it was demanding but that it left no room
for “any decent analytical work.”58
As is frequently the case in any military operation,
the views from opposite ends of the chain-of-com-
mand differed. Since activation, the detachment had
trained intensively on its own, commanding and con-
trolling itself. The staff integration exercise with
Squadron One provided a baseline for joint work, but
before the certification exercise there had been no
evaluated evolutions run with an integrated staff
under o
ne commander. Then the detachment com-
mand element found itself broken up, absorbed into
a larger whole, no longer focused solely on its unit,
and in the middle of a zero-defects evaluation in front
of a tough audience. Many Marines in the command
element looked back on the Nevada and Talega ex-
ercises and shook their heads ruefully at the missed
opportunities to achieve the “same gain with less
pain.” Here at the eleventh hour, for better or for
worse, was the product of the separate-but-equal
training s
chedule and the whole host of tensions be-
tween Special Operations Command and the Marine
Corps. The new arrangement worked, but it was to
few Marines’ liking. As Major Carter put it: “It showed
us that the baby was ugly.”
59 But the offspring, ugly
or not, need to be loved because it was alive and
kicking and headed for Iraq. The Det One staff mem-
bers shouldered their packs and joined their SEAL
breth
ren in making the exercise a success, showing
that the Marine Corps warfighting ethos and basic
Marine Corps staff work were completely relevant in
the SOCom realm.
Commander Wilson, who had both a golden op-
erational opportunity and an unenviable task, must
get the lion’s share of credit for making the arrange-
me
nt work. No one, including Wilson himself, was
truly happy with the shotgun wedding, and all the
Marines sensed that Wilson faced enormous pres-
sures from within his own community. It was clear
that he had authority to make changes in task organ-
ization, and if he wanted the whole unit to increase
its capabilities, he had to make some hard decisions.
That he immediately supplanted some of his own
staff w
ith the principle Marine staff officers suggests
that he recognized what they could do for the whole
unit, and that he would not hesitate to do what he
thought was best. Command is not, after all, a popu-
larity contest.*
Integration issues aside, most of the Det One staff
officers described the certification exercise as a good
test for conditions in Iraq. Even Major Dolan, admit-
tedly no fan of Naval Special Warfare, called it a “top-
notch 
exercise.”60 The Marines received high marks
from a host of observers and evaluators. Naval Spe-
cial Warfare Group One, the squadron’s higher head-
quarters, declared the unit mission-capable and ready
for the fight.
**
Last-Minute Preparations
After the certification exercise was over, the de-
tachment turned to last-minute issues. The intelli-
gence element provided a range of briefs on Iraq and
the situation there. Others Marines busied themselves
packing gear and staging it at the Camp Del Mar
compound while the staff made refinements to the
deploymen
t plans. All hands looked forward to pre-
deployment leave. The support elements of the de-
tachment went back to Range 130 to revisit their
individual weapons skills, while the reconnaissance
element looked to broaden its tactics, techniques,
and procedu
res for close-quarters combat.
Meanwhile, the motor transport section faced a
major problem. The relatively late realization that the
detachment would need a new set of vehicles threw
a big wrench into the predeployment works. When
Major Kozeniesky brought back the word on vehi-
cles—“we needed hunekers and we needed them in
a big way”—there was no time to get the new gear
be
fore the onset of the certification exercise, and then
no time during the exercise since all hands were fully
* In the post-deployment study on the detachment by Joint Special
Operations University, the Squadron One Command Master Chief
succinctly described Cdr Wilson’s dilemma and his success: “Has
this been harder? Yeah, it’s been harder on the boss. . . . [He] has
had to try to take our side and their side and it’s been a monu-
me
ntal struggle to do it so that nobody’s pissed off. . . . Com-
mander Wilson’s probably the only guy that could’ve done it.” Joint
Special Operations University study, C-5.
** Maj Wade Priddy pointed out later that when Group One de-
clared the unit ready to deploy, it did not include a specific certi-
fication of Det One by itself. He was told at the pre-exercise
conference that Group One had no authority to decide such a mat-
ter,
 and it was left up to the Marine Corps. Maj Priddy email to au-
thor, 31 August 2006.

--- Page 58 ---
involved.61 By the time the dust had settled from cer-
tification exercise, it was clear that Det One was not
going to receive the vehicles it needed before de-
ployment. There were none to be had on such short
notice, and not even SOCom’s authority nor the de-
tachment’s own acquisitions prowess could pull that
rabbit out of a hat. Gunnery Sergeant Maldonado and
Staff Sergeant Sierra were ordered to go find what-
ever 
hunekers the Marine Corps had, grab the best
ones they could, and then get to work on modifying
them.
The two went immediately to Marine Corps Lo-
gistics Base at Barstow, California, to see what
hunekers were available in the cast-off lot. Not sur-
prisingly, all they found were wrecks, hulks in vari-
ous states of disrepair. Many had been out in that
desert lot for years. Sierra, a certified civilian me-
chanic who gained those credentials before he en-
listed, put on his coveralls and crawled in and around
the vehicles 
while Maldonado wrote down the dis-
crepancies. Choosing the “best” vehicles they could
find, they had about a dozen of them transported
back to the detachment compound. There, giving up
their own predeployment leave, the two Marines
worked day after day to strip the hunekers down and
get them back in basic running order. Making the
special modifications—armor, assault platforms, in-
frared headlights, scaling ladders and machinegun
moun
ts—would have to wait until they got to Iraq.
When the time came to deploy, not all of the rebuilds
were finished, but they were ready enough to get on
and off the aircraft.
Ready for Deployment
By April 2004, after an unprecedented stand-up
and training period and with full integration into
Naval S
pecial Warfare Squadron One just completed,
the Marine Corps Special Operations Command De-
tachment was at the highest pitch of readiness. The
Det One Marines were fully trained and thoroughly
exercised in their individual fighting abilities, their
particular disciplines, and now their roles in the
squadron. In a remarkably short time span, the de-
tachment had progressed by leaps and bounds into
a 
first-rate special operations force, fully capable of
executing the missions assigned to it. And it was a
uniquely Marine force, even if somewhat altered by
full integration into the squadron, not a copy of any
existing Special Operations Command unit.
On 6 April 2004, the first of four U.S. Air Force C-
5 Galaxy transport planes carrying Det One Marines
and their gear lifted off from Naval Air Station North
Islan
d, San Diego. Like the storied Marine Raiders of
World War II, the Marine Corps Special Operations
Command Detachment was on its way to take the
fight directly to the enemy.
DET ONE46

--- Page 59 ---
47
Naval Special Warfare
Task Group—Arabian Peninsula
The first planeload of Marines from Detachment
One landed in Baghdad on 6 April 2004. It was the
same date they had taken off from San Diego, but in
reality, they touched down on a different day and in
a vastly different place. The next two loads arrived
without difficulty, but the last, carrying the bulk of
the reconnaissance element, was vexed by delays
and mechanical problems and did not arrive for two
week
s.
In late March 2004, Iraq had exploded. On 31
March, four American contractors from the private se-
curity firm Blackwater USA were waylaid, murdered,
and burned by a mob, their bodies hung from a
bridge in the city of al-Fallujah, approximately 45
miles west of Baghdad. These acts drew the I Marine
Expeditionary Force, newly in charge of the area of
operations encompassing the western third of the
cou
ntry, into full-scale combat operations as the in-
surgents in the predominantly Sunni region were em-
boldened to rise up in growing numbers. Other
towns and cities in the surrounding al-Anbar Province
followed suit. The fledgling Iraqi security forces
melted away, and American casualties mounted. In
the cities and rural areas, rocket and mortar attacks
on Coalition bases increased in volume and accuracy,
and across the country, improvised explosive devices
became t
he insurgents’ weapon of choice.
From the south came Shi’a militias, on the march
against the Americans and other Coalition forces. This
was an unwelcome development at a distinctly in-
opportune moment. These forces had not taken the
field in large numbers, if at all. The Shi’a uprising, in-
stigated by a radical cleric with ties to Iran, Muqtada
al
-Sadr, severely restricted the lines of communica-
tions south to Kuwait and at more than one point
threatened to sever them entirely. It complicated an
already-dark political scene and portended nothing
good for the formation of an Iraqi governing coali-
tion.
Matters in Iraq were at an exceedingly delicate
stage, with a transition of sovereignty to an interim
Ira
qi government in the offing even while there was
all-out fighting in several cities. The initiative was in
the hands of the insurgents. The U.S.-led Coalition
needed to mount effective offensive operations
across the country to regain the initiative.
This was the environment that greeted the Marines
and SEALs of Naval Special Warfare Squadron One
when they landed in Baghdad and began to organize
for operations. Det One Marines on that first load,
mos
t of them from the logistics and intelligence sec-
tions, spent the first night manning the base defenses.
The first week included daily indirect and small-arms
fire.
Special operations forces in Iraq were grouped
under Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force
Arabian Peninsula. Commanded by a U.S. Army
colonel, the task force had under its command not
only Naval Special Warfare Squadron One, but also
ot
her units, such as the 2d Battalion, 5th Special
Forces Group (Airborne), and later the 1st Battalion.
The Det One Marines would form close working re-
lationships with both units. There was also a unit
from the Polish special operations force, called the
GROM after its Polish name, Grupa Reagowania Op-
eracyjno Mobilnego (Operational Mobile Response
Group). Squadron One, now properly called Naval
Specia
l Warfare Task Group Arabian Peninsula, was
the special operations task force’s primary direct ac-
tion arm.*
In accordance with the hub-and-spoke plan that
was conceived during the predeployment site survey
and tested at the certification exercise, Commander
William W. Wilson dispatched task units to outlying
cities, the “spokes” that radiated from the Baghdad
hub. One task unit went to northern Iraq, augmented
by o
ne counterintelligence Marine and four radio re-
connaissance Marines. Another task unit went west
to al-Anbar Province; it was augmented by the Det
One intelligence chief and counterintelligence chief.
Wilson sent another counterintelligence Marine to the
“Green Zone” in Baghdad to be the task group liai-
son to other government agencies.
Initially, the use of counterintelligence Marines in
sp
ecial operations was, despite their capabilities,
Chapter 4
Deployment
* From this point forward, the term “task force” will refer to Com-
bined Joint Special Warfare Task Force—Arabian Peninsula, and
the term “task group” will refer to Naval Special Warfare Task
Group—Arabian Peninsula.

--- Page 60 ---
problematic. The crux was legal, not operational.
Human intelligence specialists in Special Operations
Command (SOCom) were certified in advanced spe-
cial operations techniques (ASOT), a skill set very
similar to the Marine Corps’ human source intelli-
gence (HUMINT) exploitation, but counterintelli-
gence Marines did not have the certifications that
their SEAL or Army counterparts did, which were tied
to specific provisions of U.S. laws governing intelli-
gence 
collection. According to Commander Wilson,
“A lot of folks [in the special operations forces] were
very nervous about [Marine HUMINT] guys getting
into activities that could be perceived as the envi-
ronment of ASOT.”
Wilson recognized the Marines’ particular skills
and capabilities, however, and he needed a dedicated
tactical human source intelligence capability. With the
task for
ce commander’s full support, Wilson decided
to take a risk and use his counterintelligence Marines
in the roles for which they were trained. The key was
Wilson’s personal trust in Major M. Gerald Carter,
only one of many times that officer’s personal stature
would prove important. This arrangement allowed
Wilson to make the best use of his assets; the coun-
terintelligence Marines could do tactical human
source intelligence while the SEALs, trained in ad-
vanced special operations techniques, could work
with the task force
 intelligence section, where Wil-
son had specific tasks for them. There was plenty of
work to go around, as Wilson noted.
1
Task Unit Raider
Task group staff integration, begun at the certifi-
cation exercise, continued in Iraq and settled into a
workable structure. Major Craig S. Kozeniesky re-
mained as commander of Task Unit Raider but
dropped the collateral duties of task group operations
officer
, even though for a brief period he also filled
in as the task group deputy commander. Major Carter
was assigned as the task group intelligence officer,
and Captain Christopher B. Batts was designated as
the task group “special activities officer,” dealing with
all aspects of human source intelligence, including
interrogations. Major M. Wade Priddy ascended to the
post of task group future operations officer, and Cap-
tain Stephen V. Fiscus functioned as Task Unit
Raider’s operations officer. Major Thomas P. Dolan
handled 
the air officer duties for the task unit but de-
voted part of his time to working air operations issues
of the task group.
Out of the original 30-man intelligence element,
only two analysts, four radio reconnaissance Marines,
and one co
unterintelligence Marine remained in di-
rect support of Task Unit Raider. All others were in
general support of the task group or in direct sup-
port of other task units. The fires element remained
intact under Task Unit Raider, as did the logistics sec-
tion and the communications section. 
Colonel Robert J. Coates, at the insistence of the
comma
nding generals of Marine Forces Pacific Com-
mand and Marine Forces Central Command, went to
Fallujah on 23 April and was attached to I Marine Ex-
peditionary Force staff as Marine Forces Central liai-
son officer.
After the reorganization of the task group and dis-
patch of the outlying task units, the first order of busi-
ness for Task Unit Raider was to get settled in its own
compound, sort out the l ogistics situation, then leap
into the targeting cycle and begin hitting targets. The
Marines made a home near Baghdad International
Airport, naming it Camp Myler after Sergeant Chris-
tian W. Myler, the reconnaissance Marine who had
died in September 2003. They claimed their corner
of the complex, where the Seabees constructed ad-
ditional buildings, and set up their working spaces,
then identified ranges and buildings they could use
for
 assault rehearsals. The duties of camp comman-
dant were assigned to the Det One parachute rigger,
DET ONE48
Photo courtesy of LtCol Craig S. Kozeniesky
Det One’s compound in Baghdad was named Camp
Myler in honor of Sgt Christian W. Myler of the re-
connaissance element who was killed in a motorcycle
accident in September 2003. The sign proudly dis-
plays the insignia of Det One’s forbearers, the Marine
Raiders of World War II.

--- Page 61 ---
Deployment 49
Gunnery Sergeant Jason T. Kennedy.
Confusion reigned for a time. Det One Marines
were coming and going on a variety of urgent mat-
ters and being detached to serve with the outlying
task units. The logistics situation was shaky; the nor-
mal uncertainties attending a newly arrived unit were
compounded by the constrained supply situation.
One of the staff’s previous assumptions was that once
in Iraq, the detachment would be able to plug into
th
e Marine expeditionary force for support since
Baghdad and Camp Fallujah were not far apart, about
the same distance as Camp Pendleton to San Diego.
But attacks on the main supply routes took that
course of action out of consideration. Until supply
lines opened, the Marines had to get their support
from the special operations task force structure and
from the many Army units that dotted the Baghdad
ar
ea.*
The lack of proper fighting vehicles had to be ad-
dressed quickly. The hunekers as they came off the
planes were in no shape to roll out of the gates on
missions. They lacked armor and many other modi-
fications, such as infrared headlights, communications
equipment and navigation aids, and additional ma-
chine-gun mounts. The first daily situation report
from Iraq identified vehicle issues as the number-one
impediment to Task Unit Raider’s ability to mount out
and hit targets
. The same comments recurred repeat-
edly during the first few weeks in country. 2 By the
time-honored method of scrounging (or “exploiting
opportunities,” as one report termed it) in and around
Baghdad over the first two weeks, the logistics sec-
tion was able to procure enough armor kits to get six
hunekers battle-ready. 3 The improvement in readi-
ness came just in time, as the first targets were being
designated for execution.
Ammunition was also an immediate problem, and
not just because of the general supply situation. In a
maddening variation of the training phase ammuni-
tion problem, some shipping containers with specific
munitions Task Unit Raider needed to operate and
conduct sustainment training were lost in the ammu-
ni
tion dump in Kuwait. It was such a conundrum that
the imperturbable Captain Matthew H. Kress was
compelled to sort it out himself, noting that “it was a
matter of me going down to Kuwait and physically
driving the desert to find these containers.” 4 A sub-
stantial load of ammunition, but by no means the
whole lot, arrived on 22 April and gave the Marines
enough of the supplies they needed to begin and sus-
tain th
eir operations.5
Making the most of the material at hand and what
could be obtained locally, Marines from all elements
soon established daily routines. The logistics section
took over base defense in addition to its regular du-
ties, augmented by others as needed. The communi-
cations section had the radio nets and data networks
up and running within hours, with the all-important
Tro
jan Spirit Lite passing a steady stream of electrons
back and forth to a station in the United States. Ser-
geant Victor M. Guerra profited from his experience
in Nevada; he had protected his gear during travel
and consequently had his networks in operation right
away. Staff Sergeant Chad E. Berry set up and main-
tained the power and environmental controls. By bil-
let he was the detachment’s small-craft mechanic, but
he s
tepped into the rarely publicized but always crit-
ical role of keeping the utilities operational.
The reconnaissance element turned to stropping
its collective razor: small arms sustainment training,
“flow drills” for close-quarter battle (now on struc-
tures of indigenous construction materials methods,
something they had not experienced before), and a
host of other actions. All hands turned to incorporat-
ing the rebuilt hunekers into their operating proce-
dures, working out the differences between the
capabilities of the bigger, heavier armored vehicles
versus the fast attack vehicles. Almost every aspect
of vehicle operations needed to be reexamined and
* The agreement with SOCom had specified that the Marine Corps
would fund the detachment, hence the plan to plug into I MEF for
su
pport. MarForPac and MarCent helped clear the way for funding
to flow to the detachment through SOCom and Army channels.
Col Robert J. Coates (right) and an unidentified Det
One Marine in Iraq. This was after the detachment
had been allocated separate missions, based on skills
and aptitudes as needed by the Naval Special War-
fare Task Group.
Photo courtesy of Col Robert J. Coates

--- Page 62 ---
digested. How would a fully loaded humvee perform
at high speed? What were the driver/gunner/com-
mander dynamics in the comparatively spacious
humvee instead of the cramped fast attack vehicle?
What was the quickest way to get a humvee ready for
towing if the need arose? Answering these and other
questions occupied much of the Marines’ days and
nights in those first few weeks.
Members of the Task Unit Raider staff and the in-
te
lligence element immersed themselves in establish-
ing relationships with adjacent commands and
finding their place in the targeting process—getting a
feel for the “atmospherics,” identifying the main
malefactors, and devising ways to track, strike, and
exploit them. Commander Wilson established two
priority information requirements: first, who was at-
tacking the Iraqi security forces? And second, who
was attacking Americans? The answers to these ques-
tions provi
ded the basis for the targeting process.
Wilson then established two criteria for launching
a direct action raid: first, was there a good legal case
on the target, something that would keep him in cus-
tody? And second, what more would this kill or cap-
ture lead to? * The answers to these questions
provided the operational basis for a raid.6 The over-
all plan was to hit one target after another, using the
intelligence gained from one hit to lead to the next.
The key was to start with the smaller, more vulnera-
ble targets. “You don’t go after the big guy at first—
you can’t get to him,” Wilson explained. “You work
your way up through the guy who’s welding the
brackets for the rockets that they’re firing. You get
the guy that’s supplying the mortar rounds; you get
an
other guy who’s a mortar trainer. . . . You work
your way up and you take out an entire structure.”7
Striking high-value targets was Task Unit Raider’s
reason for existence, and the targeting cycle was
what the intelligence element was specifically de-
signed to do. Through some early missteps not of
their making, Majors Kozeniesky and Carter found
that the targeting cycle would be a “bottom-up”
sear
ch rather than a “top-down” push, meaning that
the Marines would have to take the lead in develop-
ing most of their own targets. 8 On 23 April, Koze-
niesky reported that the detachment was “fully
deployed and preparing for operations.”9
Early Operations
In Iraq in April 2004, there were several agencies
and entities collecting intelligence. This was both a
good thing and a bad thing from Task Unit Raider’s
po
int of view. On the positive side, it promised a
wealth of exploitable intelligence; on the negative,
there was no single point of contact in higher head-
quarters who was fusing the data and passing it
down the chain in an actionable form. Nor was there
necessarily any uniform quality control, as the
Marines saw it, in the intelligence products available
to them.
By later April, missions began to percolate. On the
21st
, the task group received a warning order from
Combined Joint Task Force 7, the highest military
headquarters in Iraq, and the task unit staff began
planning the first direct action mission, dubbed Ob-
jective Rhino.
* The order alerted the task group to
large numbers of hard-core enemy personnel con-
centrated at a location west of Baghdad and east of
Fallujah. The planners zeroed in on the area and
began
 a thorough examination of the terrain and the
enemy. Within a few days as more information be-
came available, the nature of the target evolved
slightly and the name was changed to Objective Rat.
10
Further study and close coordination with 2d Bat-
talion, 5th Special Forces Group, verified that a large
number of known insurgents were concentrated in
the neighborhood. Intelligence sources also identi-
fied
 the building housing them—Abu Ghraib prison.
The information from higher headquarters was tech-
nically correct—large numbers of known insurgents
in a given location—but essentially worthless. The
weekly situation report tartly noted that “the planned
[mission] has obviously been shelved and a thorough
review of targeting procedures is recommended.”11
Were it not deadly serious business, the Rhino/Rat
ep
isode might have been amusing. It highlighted
problems with the quality of the targeting intelligence
being passed down the chain-of-command. Its only
value lay, perhaps, in being a realistic paper drill, a
command post exercise under operational conditions.
Major Kozeniesky, although irritated, chose to close
the episode on a positive note, writing that “Task Unit
Raider, while disappointed with the poor coordina-
ti
on and targeting from higher headquarters on Ob-
jective Rat, established good lateral contacts with
friendly conventional forces and special operations
forces.”12
As it turned out, the first mission for Task Unit
DET ONE50
* All Task Unit Raider missions had codenames beginning with the
letter “R.” Objectives had two components: an individual or cell,
and a location. Thus, the same individual or cell could have more
th
an one operation planned or mounted against them, as locations
changed.
* A reference to making a case against an individual in the legal
sense is not just an analogy. As the transition to Iraqi sovereignty
progressed, the strength of the evidence against a target could
mean the difference between his being released and his being de-
tained for a long period of time. 

--- Page 63 ---
Deployment 51
Raider was not a full-scale direct action, but rather a
“close target reconnaissance.” It proved to be a good
test for two Marines, and it handed the intelligence el-
ement what it wanted most, a solid piece of action-
able intelligence. It began with one of the
detachment intelligence officer’s frequent liaison vis-
its to higher headquarters. From his ever-widening
circle of contacts, Major Carter discovered that agents
in the Federal Bureau of Investigation cell in Baghdad
had a source that had named a female Iraqi, em-
plo
yed by a U.S. contractor, as an insurgent sympa-
thizer. It appeared that the woman, code named
“Rachel,” had leaked information concerning several
linguists employed by the contractor, resulting in their
murders. She needed to be found, apprehended, and
questioned. The murders limited the ability of Coali-
ti
on units to work with the Iraqi population on a
number of important projects. The target fit all of
Commander Wilson’s criteria, and Carter gladly took
ownership of the mission.
The task group staff analyzed the mission and
came up with a plan. They knew very little about the
woman and had to get a positive identification. A
small team would be sent to find her, starting with
her last known location. Once they got sight of her,
they could develop a plan to track her and eventually
take action. The mission carried some risk, but it
promised both a good payoff and a foot in the door
of the targeting cycle. A small victory would also sat-
isfy Commander Wilson’s other goal: an early suc-
cess.
Gunnery Sergeant John A. Dailey, leader of re-
connaissance team 4, took charge of the mission. He
headed what could be called a small combined joint
task force, which consisted of Dailey, Gunnery Ser-
geant William M. Johnston from the counterintelli-
gence section, a SEAL assigned to HUMINT duties,
and an operator from the Polish special forces unit,
the GROM, reportedly the best sniper in that organi-
zation. The GROM member was also a woman, an
imp
ortant factor since they were dealing with a fe-
male target. The task group staff coordinated with
other government agencies, the Army commands in-
volved, and the contracting company’s officials and
sent the four in civilian clothes and civilian vehicles
to where “Rachel” was supposed to be working.
When the four arrived at the target’s reported place
of employment, they were told that she no longer
worked there, but that she was employed at a base
outside the city. Gunnery Sergeant Dailey wanted to
go on to the second site and find her, so he conferred
with Commander Wilson and Major Kozeniesky, who
approved hi
s request to continue the search and the
capture if conditions permitted. At the second loca-
tion, members of the combined joint task force re-
ceived the same answer. Their contacts pointed them
to a third site, to which they proceeded immediately.
The four took a low-key approach to the mission,
and this helped them in their quest. Civilian clothes
concealed their pistols and soft body armor, and they
kept their M4 carbines and other combat gear stowed
in the
ir vehicles. The smooth-talking HUMINT spe-
cialists were adept at asking questions without raising
eyebrows. According to Dailey, “This was one of
those times that being able to wear civvies and hav-
ing your hair at the outer limit of regulation really
helped.”*
Arriving at the third site, they located the target’s
former office, but they were told that she had quit.
Rather than let the trail go cold, they discussed the
matter with the U.S. Army officer for whom she had
worked, without going into too much detail about
why they wanted her. Together, they devised a sim-
ple trap: “Rachel’s” former employer located her
phone number and called her to come get her last
paycheck. Much to the group’s surprise, she agreed.
At this point, with nothing to do but wait—the
woman had promised to be there in 20 minutes, but
Dailey knew that in Iraq, 20 minutes could mean “20
minutes, or four hours, or whatever”—he went to see
the base commander to let him know what was going
on. After Dailey explained to a skeptical colonel what
was afoot—Dailey, in civilian clothes and sporting a
slightly non-Marine haircut, was sure that the Army
officer did not believe that he was who he said he
was—the base commander gave his full support.
To this point, the mission was coming together.
The small combined joint task force would be able to
identify “Rachel” and probably take her into custody.
But if she was indeed working for the insurgents,
there was always the possibility that she would resist
capture. If she had a male escort, as she surely
would, would he (or they) also put up a fight? The
last thing anyone wanted was a gunfight on a
crowded base frequented by civilians. That would
mean an early disaster, not an early success. Speed,
surprise, and deft execution would be vital to a suc-
cessful conclusion, and the group worked out a plan.
Dailey posted Gunnery Sergeant Johnston and the
GROM member behind the door of the office where
“Rachel” would go to pick up her pay. He positioned
the SEAL and himself outside to handle whomever
she might have with her.
* Personnel in civilian clothes carrying weapons were not unusual
sights on coalition bases in Iraq. What would seem outlandish in
any other setting was commonplace.

--- Page 64 ---
Their patience was rewarded. As “Rachel” and a
male escort came into the facility, Dailey gave the sig-
nal to stand by. When she walked into the room,
Johnston shut the door, and the female GROM mem-
ber quickly got her under control. Dailey and the
SEAL overpowered and flex-cuffed the male. The en-
counter was over in an instant and not a shot was
fired. The task group bundled the pair into civilian
vehicles and sped back to Camp Myler so that Cap-
ta
in Batts’s interrogators could go to work.
Questioning soon revealed that “Rachel” was not
actively involved in passing information to the insur-
gents, but that she was probably doing so unwittingly
through ill-considered chatter. The male likewise was
not an insurgent, but he provided useful information
and produced the key that turned this operation into
a minor coup. He knew a few details about the lin-
gu
ist murderers, and he knew some other things
about unsavory people involved with bombs and
rockets. The interrogators asked whether he would
be willing to accompany a raid force and identify the
individuals. The man agreed, and the information he
supplied became the basis for Objective Racket, Task
Unit Raider’s first true direct action mission.
Objective Racket
“Rachel” and her male escort were taken on 2
May.
Planning began immediately afterward in order
to exploit the information they had given the inter-
rogators. “Rachel’s” escort provided details about a
man who lived in a certain neighborhood of Baghdad 
with his wife and two children. This man worked as
a repairman at a shop not far away. He was involved
in the linguist murders as well as in the construction
of rocket launchers used to attack Coalition bases. He
hated Americans. His relatives reportedly were in-
vol
ved in the car bomb trade, and one of them was
suspected of being the suicide bomber in a recent at-
tack on an Iraqi police station. This case was an op-
portunity tailor-made for the Marines of the
intelligence element. They pulled in data from every
corner of the command structure in Iraq and fused it
into a comprehensive whole, corroborating and am-
pli
fying bits of information as they proceeded. They
identified this man’s house and his workplace on im-
agery taken from various platforms, and they mapped
his daily routine.
The way the mission was planned, coordinated,
and executed provides a look at Task Unit Raider’s
template for a direct action mission. In traditional Ma-
rine Corps fashion, the actions during planning were
no
t strictly sequential but rather more concurrent, and
collaborative rather than hierarchical. Later, other
more complex missions featured different planning
and coordination aspects, but this first one was em-
blematic of the process.
All hands contributed to the planning. The staff
analyzed the mission and came up with courses of
action, which were briefed to Commander Wilson.
The chosen course of action was then planned out in
detail. The operations section posted a tentative time-
line fo
r execution; arranged for close air support; co-
ordinated with conventional forces in whose territory
they would be working; and kept track of the count-
less small tasks that need to be accomplished. The
intelligence element continued to draw information
and to monitor its sources while it assisted the plan-
ner
s.
The assault force wanted to know dozens of
pieces of information. What did the target look like,
and what did his house look like? What was the com-
position of the structures, doors, and windows? Did
the target have guard dogs or some other form of
early warning? Would his neighbors be watching on
his behalf, and would they join in a defense? What
were his probable reactions to the assault? Would he
fight, or would he try to run? How much starlight and
moo
nlight would there be? The list was long, but the
intensive training phase had provided detailed tem-
plates for mission planning, and there was little that
had not been anticipated.
Concurrent with the planning were vehicle prepa-
ration, rehearsals, and refinements. What was the ve-
hicle order? Who was assigned to which vehicle and
what were their duties? In the event of a vehicle
break
ing down, what was the “bump plan” to shift
the load to the other vehicles, and what was the re-
covery plan? What were the call-signs and frequen-
cies for the supporting arms? Who was providing the
quick reaction force? Where were the helicopter land-
ing zones in case of a casualty evacuation? Every man
was assigned specific responsibilities. Every man had
a backup and was himself a backup to someone else.
Before mounting out, all hands test-fired their
weapons and checked their night-vision goggles,
then ch
ecked and rechecked the vehicles.
At a predetermined time, every man involved in
the mission gathered for a confirmation brief. The
mission was restated and an intelligence update was
provided. (The one major item for Objective Racket
that the intelligence section did not have was a pho-
to
graph of the target, which would end up causing
some confusion.) The intelligence Marines had once
again done their part by fusing imagery and topo-
graphic analysis to produce three-dimensional “drive-
through” models of the route and the objective area,
DET ONE52

--- Page 65 ---
Deployment 53
overlaid by detailed mobility diagrams to show which
routes were trafficable and which were not. Warrant
Officer Kevin E. Vicinus briefed the weather condi-
tions and their possible effects on the operation. The
key leaders in the mission stood up and briefed their
elements’ roles in the mission, from pre-assault re-
hearsals to post-assault actions. They answered all
last-minute questions on target minutiae, ironed out
an
y wrinkles in the plan, and rebriefed these details
so that every Marine understood them. The leaders
described the route to the target, in this case one of
Baghdad’s main thoroughfares, the infamous bomb-
studded “Route Irish.” Briefers indicated the various
checkpoints along the route and the points in the
neighborhood where the force would split up, drop
off the assaulters, and finally rendezvous for extrac-
ti
on.
The two key elements on this and every other mis-
sion were surprise and a good breach, as the assault
force needed to get into the target house before the
occupants could react. “Once we’re inside the target
and we’ve got a good flow of people in it,” explained
Master Sergeant Terry M. Wyrick, “we’re going to win
that fight. . . . That’s just the nature of close-quarters
battle.”13 Events on this target and every other would
prove him right.
The task unit had the deck stacked in its favor: the
Marines had the initiative and they had chosen the
time, the place, and the form of the attack. Even so,
tensions ran high since on this, their first target, they
would face not an instructor with simunitions or
obliging role-players, but a thinking, breathing,
armed adversary with a will of his own. Nine months
of hard work were going to be put to the ultimate
test
.
The assault on Objective Racket launched at 0100
on 4 May, when the convoy of armored hunekers
containing Task Unit Raider rolled out of the gate at
Camp Myler. The vehicles were blacked out, and the
Marines were driving fast on night-vision goggles. De-
vices mounted in the vehicles combined global posi-
tioning system technology and imagery and provided
real
-time aids in navigating the Baghdad roadways.
Prior coordination with adjacent units allowed them
to bypass roadblocks and other obstacles. Their speed
provided a measure of protection against ambush; so-
phisticated electronic counter-measures protected
them from radio-detonated roadside bombs. Accord-
ing to Master Sergeant Keith E. Oakes, the unit was “a
traveling fight waiting to happen.”14 High above and
in radio contact with the Marines were an AC-130 and
two HH-60s, providing over-watch on the route ahead
and keeping tabs on the status of the target area.
After a quick stop at Baghdad International Air-
port, the convoy continued on and eight minutes
later reached the set point. There they split, with one
section going to the target’s residence and the other
to his shop, five blocks away. Reconnaissance Teams
2 a
nd 3, under Master Sergeants Joseph L. Morrison
and Charles H. Padilla, advanced to the residence.
Teams 1 and 6, under Master Sergeant Wyrick and
Gunnery Sergeant Sidney J. Voss, moved to the work-
shop. Teams 4 and 5 provided drivers and the gun-
ners for the vehicles, augmented by Marines from the
support sections. Two Marines from the fires element,
Captain Daniel B. Sheehan III and Sergeant David D.
Ma
rnell, got on top of a nearby structure to get a bet-
ter view of the whole area and through the aircraft
kept an eye on any movement that might signal the
force had been compromised. Master Sergeant Hays
B. Harrington and his radio reconnaissance Marines
kept their ears on the target and scanned the spec-
trum for enemy traffic.
The Marines had brought the source with them on
the operation, the man rolled up by Gunnery Ser-
gean
t Dailey’s team barely two days previous. When
the source positively identified the residence of the
target, the breaching team went to work. Marines in
Team 3 placed ladders against the wall surrounding
the house and were scrambling over it when the
Navy explosive ordnance disposal technician at-
tached to them saw a figure in a first-floor window.
The technician sprinted forward, seized the man
through the metal grate over the opening, and
pin
ned him to the bars to prevent him from sound-
ing an alarm or grabbing a weapon. Working quickly,
Padilla’s assistant team leader, Staff Sergeant Chad D.
Baker, placed his explosive charge on the door, and
seconds later detonated it, blowing the door in. Five
blocks away, a Marine from Team 1 used a shotgun
to break the lock on the doors of the shop. The time
wa
s 0129.15
Once inside the house, the assaulters flooded the
interior as they had practiced many times before.
Master Sergeant Padilla described the sensations of
time and motion: “When you get off the vehicle, you
know exactly where you’re going. . . . Everything is
moving, sometimes you think you’re making a lot of
noise, but you’re not. . . . You start off nice and easy,
li
ke you’ve been rehearsing. At the breach point, you
slow down a little bit—climbing over the wall to get
to the breach point, you slow down—then once the
breach goes, the fastest man in the house wins.”16
Inside the residence, the stunned occupants sur-
rendered without a fight. The Marines took one man
outside, where the source for the operation identi-

--- Page 66 ---
fied him as the target. However, a woman told them
that the target was actually next door. The helicopter
circling overhead alerted the Marines that a man had
jumped from the residence’s rooftop to the adjoining
structure.17 Morrison’s Team 2 quickly breached and
entered that house, where they seized another man,
who was waiting for them with his hands in the air.
He was taken out and positively identified as the tar-
get 
of Objective Racket; the first man was then iden-
tified as his brother-in-law and was subsequently
released.18
Marines from the intelligence element, assisted by
the assaulters, searched the house on sensitive site
exploitation and took away several items, having
been previously briefed on what to seek. The
searches at the residence and the shop were finished
by 0157. By 0206, the raid force was accounted for
an
d headed back to base, and by 0321, Task Unit
Raider was inside the wire at Camp Myler, where the
Marines turned over the detainee and the intelligence
materials.19
“Pleased to finally have a successfully completed
mission under our belt,” read commander’s com-
ments in the 2 May daily situation report on Objective
Rachel. “Although not a dramatic operation itself, it
marks a milestone for the USMC/SOCom rel ationship
and will hopefully lead to destruction of a cell that
has targeted Iraqis assisting the coalition.”20 After the
follow-on hit, the daily report from 6 May continued
the thread: “Successful execution of Racket was the
fruition of many months of hard work by every mem-
ber of the Detachment. More pointedly, it was the
culmination of the intelligence cycle started with Ob-
jective Rachel, which produced the actionable intel-
li
gence for this follow-on operation.”21
Rachel and Racket were indeed successes for De-
tachment One, with the second raid launched less
than 48 hours after the first operation ended. The op-
erations proved that the unit could take a scrap of in-
formation and use it to develop a high-value target,
then fix it, strike it, and exploit it. Major Kozeniesky
and his staff worked through formal and informal
command relationships, operating as easily with
other 
government agencies as they did with conven-
tional units. The quiet capture of “Rachel” affirmed
to their special operations peers that individual
Marines had the experience and tactical savvy to op-
erate independently and think on their feet. The sub-
sequent direct action hit validated Task Unit Raider’s
training and modus operandi. If these two targets
lacked the difficulty that would characterize later mis-
sions, they made up for it in scope for failure, which,
had it occurred, would have set the whole task group
back and jeopardized its ability to operate. The
Marines of Detachment One, and Commander Wil-
son as well
, had every reason to be pleased with the
outcome.
Major Kozeniesky’s comments in the 6 May report
concluded the Rachel/Racket discussion: “While
[Rachel] and last night’s evolutions [Racket] were
notewo
rthy events in the history of the detachment
and the Marine Corps, we look forward to the time
when it is all considered ‘ops normal’ for the
Raiders.”22
DET ONE54

--- Page 67 ---
55
The Hunt for “X”
Within days of the Rachel/Racket operations, Task
Unit Raider launched a series of actions against a sig-
nificantly more serious target. “X” was an insurgent
facilitator who had come to the coalition’s attention
after one of his associates was captured in March. He
was a figure of importance in the insurgency, on a
much higher level than Rachel or Racket. Originally
targeted as Objective Raccoon, “X” was mentioned
under 
that code name as early as 1 May, while the
Rachel operation was still in the planning stages, and
he and his organization were a constant topic in op-
erational documents for the next several weeks.
“X” was a canny operator. From his ability to
evade surveillance and elude capture, the intelligence
section concluded that he had had some military or
intelligence training. A previous task group had tar-
geted
 him several times and each time had come up
frustratingly short. Because of the pressure being put
on him, “X” had assumed a low profile but had not
ceased his anti-Coalition operations. The one consis-
tent problem in the raids launched against “X” was
the inability to positively identify him. This fact, plus
the difficulty in establishing a trigger for his presence
at a given location, meant that actually capturing or
ki
lling him in a single operation was an elusive goal.
Commander William W. Wilson, Det One’s task group
commander, and Major Craig S. Kozeniesky, com-
mander of Task Unit Raider, reasoned that striking at
“X” and his associates in a series of raids would pro-
duce a disruption in his operational capabilities, force
him on the defensive, and as the targeting cycle
quicken
ed, eventually result in his capture. 
Operations against “X” began with close coordi-
nation between the task group and the various cells
in other government agencies, where Major M. Ger-
ald Carter and Captain Christopher B. Batts were fre-
quent visitors, and where Gunnery Sergeant William
M. Johnston was embedded. * Those agencies had
sources close to the “X” organization, whose infor-
mation was good but not complete enough to tell the
whole t
ale. Operatives were able to track the move-
ments of a van that drove between several sites of
interest to those targeting “X” and his people. Det
One intelligence analysts matched the times and lo-
cations of the van’s movement with the information
being fed to them by the source and were able to
zero in on the residence of a subsidiary figure and
associate of “X,” located on the northeast edge of
Baghd
ad. The operation was named Red Bull.
During the first two weeks of May while the
Marines of Task Unit Raider prepared for the hit, the
other agencies were working through their sources
to lure “X” to the associate’s residence on the night of
11–12 May. Late on the evening of 11 May, as the raid
force waited by the vehicles staged for the convoy,
the task group and task unit staffs were working to
establish the trigger for the raid with the case officer
assigned to them, who was in contact with a source
placed to monitor the associate’s house. Moments
after the source gave the signal that the person sus-
pected to be “X” was onsite, the convoy launched.
The basic template for Red Bull resembled the
template for Racket, except there was one target site
instead of two. In the five days since that first oper-
at
ion, Task Unit Raider had absorbed lessons learned
and refined its procedures. The size and strength of
the raid force was much the same; one particular dif-
ference was that Chief Hospital Corpsman Eric D.
Sine and Major M. Wade Priddy were to be aloft in a
helicopter to provide medical support in case of a ca-
sualty evacuation as well as general airborne over-
watch. The U.S. Army’s 1st Squadron, 5th Cavalry,
provi
ded the quick reaction force.
The movement to the target area was, in the words
of the after action report, “uneventful,” except for a
quick maneuver to block traffic by the second vehi-
cle, carrying Master Sergeant Charles H. Padilla’s 
Team 3. Actions on the objective also proceeded
smoothly. The Marines detained three men and took
away some significant items after sensitive site ex-
plo
itation: parts and batteries—all improvised bomb
components. One of the men was subsequently iden-
tified as the owner of the house, the associate also
targeted in the raid. 
Chapter 5
“Ops Normal”
* Johnston, who accompanied GySgt Dailey on the Rachel opera-
tion, was the face of the task group to those agencies. An Illinois
native who joined the Marines in 1990, he was the perfect choice
to be the liaison as he had served with another government
agency’s office of military affairs during a tour at Headquarters Ma-
rine Corps. Johnston intvw, (Marine Corps Historical Center, Quan-
tico, VA.

--- Page 68 ---
The one thing missing from the target site was “X”
himself, as he again demonstrated his ability to
evade capture. During the after action review, the
Marines determined that a short gap occurred in
communications with the source, coinciding with a
brief time in which the source also lost visual contact
with the target site. In that small window of oppor-
tunity, the wily “X”—whether or not he knew what
was afoot—slipped out and disappeared into the
Baghdad night.
The raid was a success on other levels. The asso-
ciate of “X” turned out to be a known bomb maker
who had been targeted by coalition forces several
times before, and who was reportedly schooled in
remote-control bomb-making by “X.” The haul of in-
telligence materials, notably information gathered
through onsite tactical interrogations by Staff Ser-
geant Scott J. Beretz of the counterintelligence sec-
tion, gave the intelligence Marines a rich pile of raw
material to feed back into the targeting cycle. But the
prize was still “X,” who remained at large. Over the
next four weeks, Major Carter drove his Marines to
use every trick and technique at their disposal to tar-
get any place or person known or suspected to be
associated with him.
After the execution of Red Bull, “X” struck back.
Another source close to the investigation was mur-
dered, as was his young daughter. These acts lent a
more personal, urgent motive to the hunt, and they
were proof that the task group was getting closer to
its most-wanted man. Major Carter’s Marines worked
every angle they could devise in order to track the
man and pin him down. By the third week of May,
they decided to hit the next target, code named Ob-
jective Raccoon, which the Marines’ growing files in-
dicated was “X’s” residence. If he was not there, they
expected that several of his family and associates
would be there and that the action would further
penetrate his comfort zone and disrupt his activities.
Objective Raccoon consisted of three target sites; the
Marines planned to hit the first building, break con-
tact while a security element searched the place,
then hit 
the next two simultaneously. The target sites
were located south of Baghdad in a semi-rural area.
The three buildings were a few hundred meters
apart.
Just before midnight on 21 May, Task Unit Raider
descended on Objective Raccoon. The assault force
conducted a hard hit on the first site after being in-
formed by the covering aircraft during the approach
that there were figures moving outside the buildings.
The Marines found several people onsite and de-
tained one male. While the security element was
combing the residence and grounds, the assault force
remounted its vehicles and sped off to hit the next
two sites, where the entry and containment teams
took another six men into custody, including one
who provided the only drama of the night by trying
to e
scape on foot. The aircraft circling overhead vec-
to
red Master Sergeant Padilla’s Marines on a 20-
minute foot chase, which ended with the man’s
capture. Items of interest seized in the raid included
suspected bomb-making material as well as a van
observed at several locations monitored during the
surveillance on “X.” Without further incident, the en-
tire raid force re-embarked and sped back to Camp
Myler where, after dropping the detainees at the task
fo
rce headquarters, they arrived at 0114.
Again, “X” had eluded the Marines. However, the
exploitation of the site and the interrogations con-
ducted by Staff Sergeant Beretz, Captain Batts, and
the task group’s interpreters uncovered information
that fully justified the decision to hit the insurgent
chief’s suspected locations. A few of the men taken
off the Raccoon sites were related to “X.” All would
eventually reveal much useful information, but even
if they had remained silent, their faces gave away the
prize: a strong family resemblance. Major Carter and
his Marines now had a good idea of what their man
looked like. As Major Kozeniesky later reported, “At
a minimum, we believe that we have significantly
disrupted his operations by pursuing him at several
of his fav orite spots.”1
Major Kozeniesky’s assessment proved true. One
of their government agency sources fled with his
family to Jordan, obviously trying to avoid the fate
suffered by the first source, murdered following the
Red Bull operation. Even with the loss of two
sources (and a temporary interruption of direct ac-
tion missions), by early June, the task group and the
other agencies had collected enough solid intelli-
gence to target “X” again, this time at another semi-
rural location south of Camp Myler.
On 8 June, Task Unit Raider attacked Objective
Razor, looking again for “X.” During the approach, a
vehicle bogged down on a road by a canal, only 400
meters from the set point, delaying the assault by 15
tense minutes. Given those conditions, Major Koze-
niesky made the decision to conduct a “soft” hit, by
foot instead of by vehicle. The Marines isolated and
breached the first of three structures, and while a
team searched that location, the rest of the force as-
saulted the other two buildings. Fourteen men were
present at the site, but 12 were quickly released. One
of the remaining two matched the description of “X.”
Both were taken back to Camp Myler by the raid
DET ONE5
6

--- Page 69 ---
“Ops Normal” 57
force, which was back in the wire by 0423.
Over the next several days, the man matching the
description of “X” sparred with his interrogators,
steadfastly maintaining that he was not who they
said he was and adamant that the Americans had
wrongly detained him. Despite his well-crafted de-
nials, Major Carter and Captain Batts were sure they
had their man, and they grilled him relentlessly.
Their confidence grew when relatives identified him
from a photograph taken after his capture.
Finally, the man admitted that he was “X,” but he
maintained 
that he had done nothing wrong, was in-
volved in no illegal activities, and was only a peace-
ful man trying to survive the war. The intelligence
Marines knew otherwise, and his continued evasions
and denials got nowhere with them. Their problem
was that they needed him to admit to his involve-
ment in a string of atrocities in order to make sure
that they had a solid case against him. But they could
only go so far in their interrogations, due to the Abu
Ghraib scandal, in applying anything that even
hinted at coercive methods. There was also a limit on
the length of time they could hold him before they
had to let him go or pass him to another facility.
They suspected that “X” knew all of this and was
banking on his ability to outlast his interrogators.
His smug confidence proved his undoing. Major
Carter floated a bold proposal to Commander Wil-
son and Major Kozeniesky. If “X” would not talk to
Americans, how long would his defiant act play in
Kurdistan? Carter wanted to take him north and put
him in front of a few Kurdish interrogators, reason-
ing that the shock and uncertainty of the new cir-
cumstances would crack his resistance. Wilson and
Kozeniesky got approval from their superiors and
gave assurances that the matter would be handled
carefully. Carter and a small escort flex-cuffed him,
threw a hood over his head, and bundled him onto
an aircraft waiting to take them to Kirkuk. When “X”
was put in a chair and the hood removed, he saw
only three Kurdish security service officers staring at
him across a table. (What he did not know was that
Major Carter was standing behind him with other
government agency representatives, just to make
sure that things did not get out of hand.) Choosing
discretion over valor, he started talking.
The hunt for the target known as “X” was a case
study in the capabilities that Detachment One
brought to SOCom, particularly the ability of the in-
telligence element to track and identify a previously
unidentified individual through the fusion of dis-
parate bits of information and incisive analytical skill.
It was, to use a law enforcement analogy, excellent
detective wo
rk.* The interrogations by Captain Batts
and Staff Sergeant Beretz illustrated the central role
of counterintelligence Marines in the targeting cycle.
Sharp intelligence work and nimble staff action were
ba
cked up by rapid and ruthless execution on the
target sites. To borrow one of the central points of
Marine Corps doctrine, Det One got deep inside the
target’s decision cycle and acted on him faster than
he could act on them.
On any given day in late May and early June 2004,
Task Unit Raider was operating on several lines at
once. Direct action operations were launched on 11,
18, 20, 21, and 26 May and 8 June, three of them “X”
missions and three others unrelated but no less im-
portant. On 18 May, for example, the unit was in-
volved in two operations in the planning stages, the
execution of one operation “currently underway,” a
major planning session with 2d Battalion, 5th Spe-
cial Forces Group concerning the period leading up
to the 30 June 2004 transfer of sovereignty, person-
nel augmentation to the task group, and the recov-
ery of other personnel from a safe house in
Baghdad. The hoped-for “ops normal” was becom-
ing a relative term.
Hunting Murderers
The insurgent “X” was the biggest single catch in
May-June 2004, but he was not the only fish in the
sea. In addition to that series of raids, Task Unit
Raider addressed three other targets and planned for
several more. All were aimed at higher-level indi-
viduals in the Baghdad terrorist networks that were
trying to prevent the emergence of an interim Iraqi
government. On 18 May, Task Unit Raider executed
its third direct action mission, Objective Rambler.
The mission was to capture or kill an individual re-
sponsible for facilitating anti-Coalition forces by co-
ordinating the funding, training, and movement of
foreign terrorists. Rambler was a short-fuse opera-
ti
on and was not even put into the detailed planning
stages until 17 May, although it was part of a general
set that had been under discussion for a few days. 2
It was based on intelligence gained from 2d Battal-
ion, 5th Special Forces Group, and its subordinate
units. The ability of the special forces teams to gather
information quietly and effectively was substantial.
Major Kozeniesky called them “probably the best
collectors of information in the country.” 3
The target site for Objective Rambler was the indi-
vidual’s residence, with a possible secondary site at
* Not only good detective work, but good police work as well.
MSgt Joe Morrison, among others, noted that Task Unit Raider’s
direct action missions were much like “SWAT teams serving high-
risk warrants.”

--- Page 70 ---
his farm just a mile north of his residence. The two
sites were near the sharp bend in the Tigris River that
defines Baghdad’s southeastern side. Photographs of
the man and two of his associates showed a group of
portly, established, middle-aged men. Appearances
belied realities, as intelligence indicated that these
three were well placed in the networks that moved
foreign fighters into and around Iraq.
In the early hours of 18 May, Task Unit Raider,
augmented by special forces operators and their
sources, assaulted the residence of the primary indi-
vidual ta
rgeted in Objective Rambler. While Teams 2
and 6 isolated and contained the area, Team 3 made
a foot approach to the target with the sources in tow.
After scaling the wall—a standard feature of nearly
every Iraqi house—they encountered a guard. Fortu-
nately for all concerned, including the guard himself,
he w
as “extremely compliant” and was quickly put
under control. The assault force backed up a humvee
and attached a chain to the metal gate blocking the
driveway. The humvee ripped the gate off its hinges
and the assaulters breached the door and flooded the
house. The subsequent sensitive site exploitation pro-
duced a pile of damning evidence, some of it stashed
in hidden compartments. The team collected hun-
dreds of pounds of documents, including approxi-
mately 50 passports and a “large quantity of currency
from a variety of countries.” The Marines appre-
hended the high-value target, “briefcase in hand,” as
he attempted to escape out the back door. In addition
to the tangible results, Major Kozeniesky and his staff
assessed one of the most important outcomes of the
operation as the close cooperation with the special
forces unit and its teams.4
Two days after Rambler and again in conjunction
with a special forces operational detachment, Task
Unit Raider launched Objective Revenge, appropri-
ately named as it targeted three Iraqis suspected of
having participated in the brutal murder of American
telecommunications worker Nicholas E. Berg. “This is
one we were pretty amp’ed to do,” said Master Ser-
geant Terry M. Wyrick, explaining that the brutal mur-
der gave the mission an additional, personal
importance for every Marine. On Objective Rambler,
intelligence had predicted that the occupants of the
target house would opt for flight when the assault
began. On Objective Revenge, Task Unit Raider ex-
pected a fight.
The Special Forces soldiers provided “exceptional
atmospherics and positive target building identifica-
tion, to include a very clear hand-held image of the
building frontage,” according to the operational sum-
mary.5 One of the specifics that the planners learned
from the intelligence they gleaned through other gov-
ernment agencies was that these suspects had been
raided by coalition forces before and had used the
roof as an avenue of escape. Another was that the
upper floors were occupied and likely would be de-
fended. One vital detail that the planners also ob-
served
 on the photographs supplied by the Special
Forces was that a fence instead of a wall surrounded
the house. With all of that taken into account, Major
Kozeniesky directed that the assault force attack with
the maximum possible shock and violence and en-
sure that the second floor and roof were secured at
the same time as the ground floor was being as-
saulted.
This raid had had none of the stealthy finesse of
Rambler. It was, in Master Sergeant Wyrick’s words,
“fairly dynamic.” The hunekers carrying the assault
teams went straight at the house. As Wyrick described
it, “Picture three vehicles going over the fence at the
same time, three teams unmanning the vehicles, and
[two teams] moving to the breach point as one team
is throwing flash-bangs and climbing up a ladder to
jump up on a ledge.”
6 When Wyrick’s team began
scaling the ladder, they found that part of the struc-
ture prevented their vehicle from getting close
enough so that the top of the ladder could touch the
house. Beyond the end of the ladder was four feet of
pitch-black nothing. Without hesitation, Staff Sergeant
Alex N. Conrad hurled himself in full gear from the
top rung of the ladder to the balcony across and
slightly above him while his fellow Marines tossed
flash-bangs in second-floor windows to keep the oc-
cupants from shooting at him. Four men, including
the primary target and both secondary targets, were
detained.7 The expected fight did not materialize be-
cause the Marines of the assault force achieved max-
imum shock and surprise and allowed the occupants
no time to react.
On 26 May, Task Unit Raider initiated a direct ac-
tion raid on Objective Ricochet, the target of which
was a former Iraqi intelligence officer believed to be
a significant figure in a ring of former regime officials
in Baghdad. This operation was the third of the co-
ordinated series of raids undertaken with 2d Battalion,
5th Special Forces Group, during the period leading
up to the 30 June transfer of sovereignty and was also
based on intelligence gathered by the unit. The
Marines knew that the man they were after on Rico-
chet was a hard target and would probably put up a
fight if given even the slightest chance.
On the raid against Ricochet, Master Sergeant
Wyrick’s Team 1 had the breach with Staff Sergeant
Andrew T. Kingdon as the lead breacher. After scal-
DET ONE5
8