By Joseph Heieck, President & CEO of gWorks. Former Lieutenant and Intelligence Officer, U.S. Navy. Originally published 2019
Most of us were supposed to head home the next day. It had been eight grueling months of more than 400 hundred operations, little sleep, and camaraderie with one of the best teams I’ve ever had the honor to serve with. I awoke at 4:30 am to the loud calls from one of our Leading Petty Officers searching for the Yeoman. What followed I carry with me to today.
I was the Senior Intelligence Officer for Task Unit TRIDENT, which was a Troop of SEALs from SEAL Team THREE—my command—and three units of Army Green Berets. It was 2010, and we were hunting Taliban and Al Qaida in Southeast Afghanistan. This deployment was my second with SEAL Team THREE, and I had gotten to know the men and women well over our three years together.
Most of my Troop was in Kandahar on September 21, 2010. It was the staging area to take C-17s first to Germany and then home to Coronado, California. Some of the Troop had remained in our operating area to perform one more “turnover operation” with the SEAL Team that was relieving us. This operation was SEAL Team THREE’s 408th and last mission in Afghanistan in 2010. When I trailed the LPOs voice out of the sleeping quarters, I ran into one of my friends. He was shaken, and I asked him what was going on.
“Brendan’s bird crashed during insert. The other elements are securing the area. They’re pretty sure there were no survivors. We don’t know if it was Taliban or something else.”
Lieutenant (SEAL) Brendan Looney was the Assistant Officer-in-Charge of Alpha Platoon, and at the age of 29, he was one of the most exceptional leaders I had been around throughout my service. He was one of those leaders you’d follow anywhere. He looked out for you, demanded the best of you, and inspired you to be better. He was an Intelligence Officer like me before he became a SEAL. When I first reported to the Troop 20 months before that day, he was the first person to bring me into the fold as a member of the unit. I had to earn my place, sure, but he made it possible for me to hit the ground running. Many remarked that he felt like a big brother. I would agree. The last time I saw him alive was on July 25th at his Firebase. A few of us were joking around before an operation they had that night. I remember Brendan’s smile breaking through his big, bushy beard.
And then he was gone along with eight other Americans from SEAL Team FOUR and the 82nd Airborne.
I learned how to compartmentalize difficult things during my eight years of active duty in the Navy so that I could stay focused on the task at hand. We were all numb that day—focused on post-recovery jobs like identifying the bodies and inventorying the fallen's gear. My job was to catalog all of Brendan’s equipment that he had worn that day. It was difficult.
Most of us volunteered to be pallbearers that afternoon at the ramp ceremony. We would carry one of the nine fallen heroes and a fellow intelligence operator--Senior Chief Petty Officer David B. McLendon. He was 30 years old.
At the ramp ceremony on the Kandahar Airfield, all American flag-draped caskets were lined in a row. At this point, it was late afternoon and I felt my emotions begin to fray. I swallowed them the best I could as my fellow pallbearers and I lifted the 525-pound steel casket on our shoulders. From the back of the MRAP, we carried our fallen hero a few hundred yards past thousands of saluting American and Coalition soldiers to the empty cargo hold of a C-17. We slowly lowered our casket, rendered our final salute, and waited to be dismissed. Someone told all 60 of us pallbearers that we could take a few minutes with our fallen friends and pay our last respects.
I knew Brendan the best. I knew the men from the 82nd as we had worked with them throughout our deployment. It was all so surreal until one of my friends turned over a tag attached to Brendan’s casket. It read “Looney.” That is when I couldn’t control my emotions anymore and I began to sob. I kneeled and placed my hand on Brendan’s flag along with the others, and we all cried together.
I carry the memory of these men with me. Their smiles and laughs are alive with me. I think of the example Brendan set often, and I hope that I am half the leader he was. I’m sorry he is gone, and everything he could’ve been and created isn’t here. I’m thankful that I knew him, worked with him, and learned from him.
God Bless him and the fallen men of September 21, 2010. Please say a prayer for them and their families this weekend and give thanks that men like them stand ready to fight for us:
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