Free The Bremer Detail by John M. Del Vecchio Frank Gallagher Page B

they could not get to me fast enough to see how they might use them to support their mission. Once again, I had to remind people that the birds were here to support the PSD team guarding Ambassador Bremer. I got the patented Blackwater “one team, one fight” speech, and I realized that they actually thought they had access to the helos. It was a nightmare. We were on different contracts, being paid by different government agencies. If something happened while we were out with the ambassador, how was I supposed to explain why my birds were providing air support for someone else?
    My new toys were a novelty item to most of the folks in the palace. Everyone wanted a ride or to “borrow” them. It was a pain in the ass dealing with all the requests for special favors from folks who “absolutely needed” them for some special project. I tried to stay focused on the missions, but between the attitude of the lead pilot and the hours my men were keeping, it was a brutal struggle. The lead pilot never met a request he thought he shouldn’t fulfill. In his mind those “recreational” flights would count against his eight-hour day and had the potential to generate future business and income for Blackwater Air. Needless to say they were rarely granted. The guy was a skilled pilot, but why he was there as the lead guy baffled me. We made up the rules as the situations dictated, and he played everything by the book—a book that was totally inapplicable in Iraq. He would call Blackwater HQ daily to complain about something, and then my phone would ring and I would be asked to explain some nonexistent problem. On more than one occasion I was with the ambassador when Blackwater called about some slight, real or imagined, that hurt this guy’s feelings. I only called HQ if and when I had an emergency.
    At this time IEDs (improvised explosive devices) were becoming quite a problem for the folks (military and civilian) in Baghdad. The Iraqis were masters of taking different explosives—artillery shells, mortar shells, hand grenades, plastic explosives, etc.—and turning them into explosive devices they could bury under the road, stuff into animal carcasses, or hide in trash cans and then detonate remotely. IEDs were extremely effective and were responsible for thousands of American, coalition, and Iraqi citizens’ injuries and deaths. Not to mention the car bombs that were driven by suicide bombers or the suicide bombers that would strap explosives to themselves and walk up to the target and blow themselves up while killing their intended victims.
    Consequently, we were always on guard for lone individuals. One day, we took Bremer to the other side of The 14th of July Bridge. This bridge crossed the Euphrates River and was named by the Iraqis to honor a special date in their history. A homeless man approached the motorcade while we were stopped for traffic. He fixated on the limo and began to approach with a broom in one hand. The other hand extended palm up. He was obviously begging for a handout. The limo driver, instead of keeping the car moving, reached and fumbled for his pistol as though he was going to draw it and fire it through the armored window. I casually reached over and stopped him from drawing the weapon. Firing a weapon inside an armored vehicle may be just about dumbest thing a person could do. The bullet can’t get out. It would just bounce around inside until it hit one of us or the ambassador. At the same time I heard yelling behind me and turned around to see the shift leader out of his vehicle pointing his weapon at the homeless guy and screaming at him to stop and get back. Funny thing about the English language; no matter how loud you yell it, if they can’t understand it, they can’t understand it. The ambassador calmly asked me if it was necessary to point a loaded weapon at an obviously homeless beggar. I told him I would talk to the team. Fuck.
    In October the Al Rasheed Hotel came under a rocket