Chapter 1

Hellchild

So there I lay, covered in a fucking building. Not as in “the enemy had our building covered” or “we took cover in a building.” As in a building had crumbled on top of me. A house, actually, or what remained of one. It was like hundreds of others in that ancient land of Iraq. This particular building had been obliterated by a terrorist we had been searching for prior to the detonation.

I remember that night vividly. February 7, 2008, in Baqubah—a particularly violent Iraqi city of about half a million, thirty miles northeast of Baghdad. The U.S. Navy had attached me, along with my dog, Digo, a sixty-five-pound lunatic hellchild Belgian Malinois, with a troop of SEALs. Digo definitely had a few screws loose but also had the tenacity of a pit bull, the loyalty of a retriever, the smarts of a show poodle, and the hunting instincts of a wolf. And he was all mine.

We had rolled out of Forward Operating Base Warhorse in the dead of the night and loaded into big, eight-wheeled armored fighting vehicles called Strykers, ready to kick some terrorist ass. I can’t get into exact numbers or details for operational security, but I can say that a SEAL troop consisted of four elements—three assault teams and one sniper team. Then, there was me and Digo, plus a number of other direct support personnel.

On the way in, I always had music from my iPod Nano going in one ear and comms going in the other. I’m a Christian, but I will say that, back then, my choice of music wasn’t entirely godly. Then again, I’m not sure how pumped I could be listening to worship music when I knew damn well what I was about to go do. The song I chose to play on repeat was “The Beautiful People”—only because of the beat. I had no idea who Marilyn Manson was. Was it my most shining moment? No, but the song did get me locked in.

Digo and I had the job of working up front with the SEAL snipers during the patrol so that the dog could sniff out any IEDs or hidden enemy fighters along the route. Then, once on target (at the target of the mission), we’d rotate between the three assault teams, designated Alpha, Bravo, and Kilo, remaining with whoever was assigned as the main assault force. Digo and I always wanted to work with the main assault team, and that’s where they wanted us, the dog up front and ready to root out the bad guys.

Typically, I’d want the dog twenty to thirty yards in front of the patrol in order to make sure that, if anything like an IED or hidden combatants looking to do us harm popped up, we’d have enough distance between us and harm’s way. That always made me a bit nervous because if I looked away for a couple of seconds, my dog would be off running, and then I’d have to locate him. I’m not saying I would lose my dog, but after glancing away for a brief moment while wearing a night optical/observation device (NODs), trying to find something that’s moving becomes difficult. I did have an easy way to locate him, however.                                                                                                                                                                                                   

That particular night’s mission called for us to capture or kill an Al-Qaeda in Iraq (AQI) terrorist financier. It came three days after a catastrophic mission not far from that compound in a small village on the outskirts of the city where we had lost two amazing operators.

As we neared the target location, we dismounted and continued the rest of the way on foot. Maintaining as much stealth as possible, we slowly crept to the target building. We certainly didn’t want to wake up the city, so we knocked out any operable streetlights, ensuring we’d stay in the dark and, hopefully, undetected. Darkness always gave us the advantage because we had night vision capabilities, and the bad guys didn’t. Plus, Digo didn’t need to see to find bad guys—that’s what his nose was for.

Due to the United States’ hasty exit from Afghanistan, I pray we never have to go back there because we handed over so many night vision goggles (NVGs) to the Afghan Army that we wouldn’t have this advantage now. We screwed ourselves royally by providing such capabilities to an Afghan Army that’s not prepared to take control of their country. We might as well have just given the equipment to the Taliban. Would they maintain the equipment for future use? Probably not, but the fact that they have it drives me nuts.

I carried a heavy complement of gear and weapons as well as my partner on a three-foot lead. So there I was on a cool, winter night in Baqubah, Iraq, standing outside a terrorist compound with my killer dog and a bunch of the baddest warriors this nation has ever produced. Little did I know that my wife would give birth to my son just three weeks later, and he was about to come damn close to growing up without a father.

Ready for anything, we closed in on the building where our target hid, and our team set up a perimeter. Then, our interpreter pulled out his bullhorn to tell everyone inside to come out. We knew the enemy liked to rig houses to blow, so we wanted to avoid rushing in if we could help it. Besides, that’s why we brought the dogs. The last thing we wanted was for a dog to get hurt or injured breaching a target—actually, that’s the second-to-last thing we wanted to happen. This may sound callous, but while I loved my dogs, if someone had to go home draped in an American flag, I’d rather it be the dog than one of the boys. So we always sent a dog in first to sniff out any barricaded fighters or suicide bombers.

This was my first deployment, and no amount of training could prepare me for a real firefight. So far, everything had gone smoothly, and no one had fired any rounds. I looked down at Digo. I could tell, like always, he seemed eager to go in and take care of business—chomping at the bit, one could say. I watched as he homed in on every Iraqi that exited the building. A woman and child came out first. Then, one after another, the house’s occupants exited peaceably, though that didn’t stop Digo from wanting to steal an easy bite. Most of the dogs we worked with, at least the good ones, were always looking for an opportunity to get a free bite. Some, a little too much. In fact, that’s how I’d inherited Digo. Another SEAL Team    squadron had kicked him off their team for getting in a few too many free bites on the good guys. That’s where I knew I had to be smarter than the beast—easier said than done since those dogs are so intelligent. I always kept my head on a swivel to ensure Digo never got a free bite on any of the people under our control.

Accidental bites were a sure way of getting your ass investigated, and I wanted no part of that. If I couldn’t control Digo, they’d send him home, and I’d have no dog. Without a dog, I wouldn’t be on deployment, and if I wasn’t on deployment, I wouldn’t have the honor to remain out there on target with those operators. And that’s where I wanted to be. I legitimately felt that with Digo at my side, we were unstoppable—to a point, it seemed.

As the last few people exited the target house, gunfire started popping off. Suddenly, the pending conflict became clear and present. Two men tried to exit the building holding AK-47s. The SEALs providing overwatch promptly dropped them in the doorway. After a few tense moments, two more people came out, unarmed, stepping over the bodies. We waited, trying to determine whether anyone remained in the house. I knew there was a good chance our team leader would soon call out, “Dog up,” and we’d send in Digo to find out.

I began thinking how best to get him into the house. I wanted to avoid the door if I could. Bad guys expected us to use the door. I peered around the corner and saw a big bay window. Perfect. I could chuck Digo in that way, allowing him to surprise anyone inside who didn’t want to play by the rules. No one would expect a fur missile to explode through the window. I always looked for the next advantage or spot where the dog could be most useful.

As the moment approached, I remained convinced that the window gave us the best opportunity. While it wasn’t our turn yet, I would make sure Digo stayed ready.

Finally, after everyone exited, we sent the last female back in to open all the curtains and sheets covering the doorways. We told her to make sure everyone had come out because we would release Digo—and Digo did not discriminate. He would spare no one given the opportunity—men, women, kids, grandparents, etc. When we told Digo to bite, he’d bite. Did I want him to bite unarmed people? Of course not. That’s why we gave them all the chances in the world to come out the easy way. We were sent on these missions for the bad guys, and we wanted any innocents to step out of the way. But that was war, and war ain’t pretty.

When the girl returned, she informed our interpreter that one man refused to come out. She said he had only arrived a few days previously. Bingo. We now knew we had our guy. After hearing that, I became...