A Battle Won by Handshakes: The Story of Alpha Company 1/5

Copyright © 2014 Lucas A. Dyer.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3200-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3201-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3198-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014906738

iUniverse rev. date: 08/13/2014

The events that take place in this book are true stories from my

own accounts and from those who served beside me in the Battle

of Khanjar while participating in Operation Enduring Freedom

in Helmand, Afghanistan, from May 2009 to December 2009.

May the stories told within be shared generously so that this

part of history and those that gave the ultimate sacrifice not

be forgotten. We demonstrated day by day, week by week, and

month by month that a small, effective fighting force could unite

with an Afghan people, become trusted and respected brothers-

in-arms with their leaders and families, and make a difference

in the US effort in Afghanistan. In doing so, we discovered

what I believe to be the seed of enduring success in our AO.

This book is dedicated to the Marines of First Battalion Fifth Marines who gave the ultimate sacrifice so that you and I can sleep peacefully at night:

• Sergeant William Cahir, KIA August 13, 2009

• Lance Corporal Donald Hogan, KIA August 26, 2009

• Lance Corporal David R. Baker, KIA October 20, 2009

• Lance Corporal Justin J. Swanson, KIA November 10, 2009

For these men, duty, honor, and country are more than words; they are a way of life.

CONTENTS

Preface

Acknowledgments

Chapter I The Largest Helo-Borne Airlift Insert Since Vietnam

Chapter II A Doctrinal Approach To Operation Khanjar

Chapter III All In A Day’s Work

Chapter IV Gaining Trust From The People Takes More Than A Weapon

Chapter V Psalm 91:1–16

Photo Gallery

Chapter VI Your New Nickname Is Lucky

Chapter VII Pb Jingle Bells

Chapter VIII A True Test Of Faith And Tactics

Chapter IX Afghanistan Is Not Iraq

Chapter X Lessons Learned At The Strategic And Tactical Levels

PREFACE

The thoughts and ideas that I have put forward in this book are mine alone. Although I credit the Marine Corps and my leaders for the training I have received, and the trust of its commanders, nothing in this book reflects the ideas and thoughts of any other person or organization. I am not a professional writer, and I am not implying by writing this book that anyone has got it wrong or that I have all the right answers.

I started writing this book in January 2010, a few weeks after I came back from Helmand, Afghanistan. Many Marine Corps units have inserted and operated in this region, and much has changed since my return. It is an extremely difficult and elusive situation in Afghanistan. My book is about tactical employment of small, well-trained unit leaders that, when combined with a larger effort, has positive strategic implications. I am not here to imply that I think I could win the war in Afghanistan if put in charge, that I could meet these challenges alone, or that there are other units out there who could do it better. I just know what I have done, what I have learned, and what I would do again, if given the chance.

I was part of the Second MEB (Marine Expeditionary Brigade), which was commanded by Brigadier General Larry Nicholson. We were composed of approximately 4,000 Marines and 650 Afghan soldiers, along a seventy-five-mile stretch of the Helmand River south of Lashkar Gah.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To the Marines and sailors of Alpha Company, First Battalion, Fifth Marines, Semper Fidelis, make peace or die! This book is for you so that you may share our story for years to come. To second squad, my squad of Marines who put all their confidence in me that I would bring them home alive, or die trying.

To my platoon, first platoon, which trusted in my ability to command and lead them as their platoon commander. Both gave it their all day in and day out for seven months straight in an unconventional war where each day could have been our last. They never doubted me and charged with smiles on their faces every time.

A special thanks to photographer, Lucian Read, whom was embedded with our company for the initial assault into Nawa. His photos will help the longevity of this story to live on and become a part of history. I could not have done this without the generous support and dedication of Karla Sharke, Christopher Aher, Dave Olson, Myji-Ryan Photography, Jonathan Glover, Gordon Guyant, Adrian Pouchoulen, Kyle Rodgers, Bobby McHugh, Stan, Gerri, Kylee, and Lauren Spooner, James Amos, Jonathan Stiner, Steve and Sandy Lieberman, Rick Alan Denning, and the San Clemente Marine Corps Support Group. Also to Frank Denault and his brothers of Third Battalion, Fifth Marines.

Lastly, to the Marines who could not make it back home with us. You will never be forgotten, and your stories of heroism live on through us in hopes that one day your children will read about you and all that you sacrificed for this country. RIP, fellow brothers.

Secretary of Navy Letter

CHAPTER I

THE LARGEST HELO-BORNE

AIRLIFT INSERT SINCE VIETNAM

If we’re not successful here, you’ll have a staging base for global

terrorism all over the world. People will say the terrorists won.

And you’ll see expressions of these kinds of things in Africa,

South America, you name it. Any developing country is going

to say, this is the way we beat [the United States], and we’re

going to have a bigger problem. A setback or loss for the United

States would be a tremendous boost for jihadist extremists,

fundamentalists all over the world and provide a global infusion

of morale and energy, and these people don’t need much.

—Bob Woodward, Obama’s Wars

July 2, 2009

The day had finally arrived when all of the training leading up to this deployment, and all the extra training we had put in at Camp Leatherneck, would pay off. I have always said that combat for an infantry Marine is our Super Bowl. There are no other opportunities for us to test our skills in a real-world manner like there is in combat. I often discourage the sports/Marine analogy because one is for fun, and the other is life or death. However, in this case, the bottom line is that combat is our main event.

We all had worked extremely hard for this and were beyond eager to have our infantry skills put to the test. The information on the exact time of the launch was kept quiet, and nobody knew the exact details. Months out, we knew we were going into Afghanistan, specifically Helmand Province. Weeks out, we knew we were inserting via helicopters, CH-53E (or commonly called a bird) from Camp Bastion somewhere south. Days out, we knew we were leaving sometime in the first week of July, and twenty-four hours prior, we were confined to our company area as a battalion for one final formation. This formation was held by the Second Marine Expeditionary Brigade (MEB) Sergeant Major Ernest Hoopii.

The battalion had gathered around in one big circle, and it was dark; the only lights were those that lit up at night around Leatherneck. Some of us couldn’t see much, but we could make out a tall figure with a pistol across his body. Marines were quiet, eagerly awaiting the final motivational speech commonly associated with the last few hours before crossing into the shit.

Marines, he yelled. Are you ready to kick some Taliban ass?

We all cheered back, Ooh-rah!

The sound of one thousand plus Marines echoed all through Leatherneck. We were so loud that I think the enemy heard us down in Nawa. We were so loud we most likely disturbed the POGs (persons other than a grunt) who were sound asleep, complaining on Facebook that Leatherneck was rough and dangerous, or bitching because the chow hall had run out of ice cream.

That’s freaking outstanding because here in a few hours, you are going to insert behind enemy lines and put your skills to the test! Sergeant Major Hoopii continued to yell so we all could hear him. Gentlemen, shortly you will stand where no Marine has ever stood! He pointed south in the direction of Nawa. So button your chinstraps, and let’s do what Marines do! He looked around at us all as we cheered and screamed Ooh-rah, Errrrr, E-Tool, Kill, and other little nonsense sounds Marines make, which only Marines understand. "Know that tonight, before you jump on that bird, the enemy is waiting. The enemy is ready, and the enemy is praying to his god. I highly suggest you do the same to show them our God is more powerful. I want you to grab your rifle, hold it high above your head, and shout their god’s name so he knows we are coming! Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!"

I must admit it did feel a little awkward yelling "Allah Akbar." I had never really said it before. I would never have had a reason to yell it, let alone say it, but it felt good hearing the roaring sound travel from all of us war-hungry Marines, rifles in the air, waving our arms around like the terrorists did on TV. I felt for a brief moment as if I was literately screaming at their god, showing him that we were not scared and ready for battle. Sergeant Major Hoopii proceeded to tell us how proud and honored he was to be led by such fine Marines with such great reputations and wished us luck.

After the formation, we were all dismissed to our respective companies and fell out into our staging area next to our company tent. Our packs were all covered down and aligned, looking sharp; a few glowing flashlights were moving about as Marines looked for last-minute items, followed by some chatter and laughs.

For the most part, the majority of us were quiet. We had already called home to our family and said our good-byes or talk to you when I can next. There wasn’t much more to say really, and we were not exactly sure when we would have the opportunity to make another phone call. All we knew was that for five to seven days, we were surviving off what we packed. No resupplies of any kind. From there, it would take at least a month, according to Captain Day, our company commander, to establish a permanent operating post. I was actually prepared to not call home for seven months; letters were fine.

On Wednesday night, we arrived at Camp Bastion around 1800 and immediately went over