“My Clan Against the World”

US and Coalition Forces in Somalia

1992-1994

Robert F. Baumann and Lawrence A. Yates

with Versalle F. Washington

Combat Studies Institute Press

Fort Leavenworth, Kansas
“My Clan Against the World”

US and Coalition Forces in Somalia

1992-1994

Robert F. Baumann and Lawrence A. Yates

with Versalle F. Washington

Combat Studies Institute Press

Fort Leavenworth, Kansas
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Baumann, Robert F., 1952-

 My clan against the world : US and coalition forces in Somalia, 1992-1994 / Robert F. 

Baumann and Lawrence A. Yates with Versalle F. Washington.

 p. cm.

 Includes bibliographical references and index.

 1. Operation Restore Hope, 1992-1993. 2. United States--Armed Forces--Somalia. 3. 

United Nations Operation in Somalia. 4. Urban warfare--Somalia--Mogadishu--History--

20th century. I. Yates, Lawrence A., 1945- II. Washington, Versalle F., 1962- III. Title. 

DT407.42.B38 2004

973.928--dc22

 

 2003027490
Baumann

and

Yates

with

Washington

CSI Press “My Clan Against the 

World”
CSI Press 04-02
i

Foreword

“My Clan Against the World”: US and Coalition Operations in 

Somalia, 1992-94 represents another in a series of military case studies 

published by the Combat Studies Institute (CSI) at Fort Leavenworth, 

Kansas. The impetus for this project came from the commanding general, 

US Army Training and Doctrine Command, Fort Monroe, Virginia, who 

directed CSI to examine the American military’s experience with urban 

operations in Somalia, particularly in the capital city of Mogadishu. 

That original focus can be found in the following pages, but the 

authors address other, broader issues as well, to include planning for 

a multinational intervention; workable and unworkable command and 

control arrangements; the advantages and problems inherent in coalition 

operations; the need for cultural awareness in a clan-based society whose 

status as a nation-state is problematic; the continuous adjustments required 

by a dynamic, often unpredictable situation; the political dimension of 

military activities at the operational and tactical levels; and the ability to 

match military power and capabilities to the mission at hand. 

This case study also cautions against the misuse and overuse of “lessons” learned from any given military undertaking. As with the lessons 

of Vietnam, one of which dictated that conventional units should not 

engage in unconventional warfare, the US experience in Somalia left 

many military analysts and policymakers convinced that the United States 

should eschew any undertaking that smacked of nation building. Yet, 

as this book is published, just ten years after the US exit from Somalia, 

American forces are engaged in several locations against an unconventional foe and are involved in nation building in both Afghanistan and 

Iraq. Perhaps the first lesson to be learned about extracting lessons is, in 

the words of a once-popular motion picture, “Never Say Never Again.”

Another principal aim of the authors was to provide an analytical 

narrative of each phase of the US military involvement in Somalia. For 

many Americans, the mention of that African country conjures up one 

memory, that of the fierce firefight between US troops and Somali militia on 

3-4 October 1993. As this overview seeks to remind the reader, the United 

States had a military presence in Somalia from December 1992 to the end 

of March 1994. During that period, much was accomplished of a positive 

nature. Starving and mistreated Somalis were provided food and a modicum 

of security, while some progress was made toward peace in the country. That 
ii 

the broader goals of political reconciliation and stability ultimately 

were not achieved was in part a consequence of the intractability of the 

contending factions and the complexities of a country that defies Western 

definitions of “modern.” Yet, US involvement in countries that have much 

in common with Somalia is a current reality and a future likelihood. For 

the professional officer, then, as well as the American public at large, it 

would be instructive to revisit the US experience in Somalia.

LAWYN C. EDWARDS

COL, AV

Director, Combat Studies
iii

Preface

From the outset of this project, our goals have been modest. In keeping 

with a tasking from the commanding general of the US Army’s Training 

and Doctrine Command, we set out to examine military operations in an 

urban environment, specifically in this case, Mogadishu. A broader goal 

was to write something that was peculiarly lacking several years after 

the United States ended its military presence in Somalia: a one-volume, 

monograph-sized overview of the American involvement in that country 

from 1992 to 1994. 

Any work of history constitutes a journey of sorts for its author or 

authors. The effort necessarily begins with some vision of the scope, 

depth, and substance of the study upon completion. Guided by this intent, 

the authors embark on a quest of discovery familiar to researchers in 

any field. Their goal is to gather and amass information in the hope that 

upon careful reflection it will yield understanding. Along the way, as one 

becomes fully versed on the subject, the work begins to assume a life of 

its own and the product is at once more fascinating and more frustrating 

that at first imagined. In other words, as the authors master their topic 

and uncover unforeseen nuances, they simultaneously gain a painful 

appreciation of what they still do not know. The conscientious historian 

remains vexed by a disturbing awareness that the work is never complete 

and that many conclusions contained therein are provisional and in some 

cases incorrect.

The challenge of writing the history of relatively recent events is a 

uniquely interesting one. The lack of perspective afforded by distance in 

time poses many risks, the foremost of which is that the consequences of 

events painstakingly examined have yet to manifest themselves and may 

well do so in entirely unexpected ways. This is the “butterfly effect” that 

gives rise to subsequent histories that can sharply alter the perceptions of 

the past.

The great virtue of recent history, however, is proximity to the subject 

matter. This study, to the extent that it has merit, benefited enormously 

from extensive opportunities for the authors to discuss events with those 

who participated in them. Perhaps the most obvious revelation that arises 

from this process is the awareness that no two people truly share the same 

experience. Moreover, memories often diverge over time. As a class 

of professionals, historians are trained to rely above all on documents, 

immutable writings that seem to form a solid database for investigation. 
iv 

Yet, those who engage extensively in the conduct of so-called oral 

histories often find out that the record on paper is incomplete, misleading, 

or occasionally false. Only the participants can put flesh on those bones. 

Thus, the task at hand for the authors has been to integrate these two 

categories of sources to achieve as rounded an account as possible.

The authors owe an enormous debt of gratitude to those individuals 

who gave generously of their time or from their personal records. Their 

contributions are all the more valued because they were made voluntarily. 

These individuals are too numerous to list here, but they range in rank from 

general officer to specialist, some still on active duty and some retired, 

and their names are liberally sprinkled throughout the endnotes for each 

chapter. To be sure, there were also individuals who elected not to speak 

with the authors and we respect their decisions. 

Our intent in this military history has been to capture the story of the 

mission in Somalia in such a way as to bring to light not only successes, 

but failures, disagreements, and more broadly the complex dynamic that 

constitutes real life in current military operations. In addition, it is our 

hope to impart insights and occasional lessons, especially for those whose 

professions, whether civilian or military, would involve them in missions 

such as the one in Somalia. Although we attempted to deal broadly with 

joint and multinational issues, time and resource constraints dictated that 

we focus first and foremost on the experience of the US Army. With that in 

mind, we fully expect that other historians will take those roads we were 

unable to follow.

In the main, this study flows chronologically, beginning with review of 

historical context. The following chapters deal in turn with the successive 

stages of operations in Somalia, each including a mixture of narrative, 

analysis, and carefully considered observations. The final chapter offers a 

brief summation of our findings. 

Robert F. Baumann, CSI

Lawrence Yates, CSI

Versalle Washington, University of Dayton
v

Table of Contents

Foreword................................................................................................... i

Preface.....................................................................................................iii

Table of Contents..................................................................................... v

Illustrations ............................................................................................ vii

Introduction. The Meaning of Somalia.................................................. 1

Chapter 1. Setting the Stage .............................................................. 9

Chapter 2. Operation RESTORE HOPE: Phases I and II, 

 December 1992 ............................................................. 23

Chapter 3. Operation RESTORE HOPE: Phases III and IV, 

December 1992 - May 1993 .......................................... 61

Chapter 4. UNOSOM II................................................................... 99

Chapter 5. UNOSOM II: PART II - The Battle of Mogadishu...... 139

Chapter 6. Buildup and Withdrawal, October 1993 – 

 March 1994 .................................................................. 165

Conclusion ........................................................................................... 201

Index .................................................................................................... 213

About the authors................................................................................. 219
vi 
vii

Illustrations

Maps

Map 1. Map of Africa............................................................................viii

Map 2. Map of Somalia .......................................................................... ix

Map 3. Somali Clan Map....................................................................... 11

Map 4. HRS Map ................................................................................... 27

Map 5. Mogadishu – UNITAF............................................................... 28

Map 6. Mogadishu – UNOSOM II ...................................................... 101

Map 7 UNOSOM II – Force Structure, 4 May 1993 ........................... 105

Map 8. Contact Under Fire .................................................................. 128

Map 9. Mogadishu – Black Hawk Down............................................. 141

Map 10. Battle at Mogadishu, 3-4 October 1993................................. 149

Map 11. Mogadishu Map..............................................................160-161

Map 12. Mogadishu – JTF Somalia..................................................... 175

Figures

Figure 1. Somali Clan Structure............................................................. 10

Figure 2. US Forces in UNITAF............................................................ 31

Figure 3. UNITAF Somalia – Command and Control........................... 31

Figure 4. UNOSOM II Command Structure........................................ 102

Figure 5. USFORSOM – Command and Control................................ 106

Figure 6. QRF Attack on ABDI House – 12 July 1993 ....................... 117

Figure 7. USFORSOM/JTF Somalia – Command and Control .......... 180

Figure 8. JTF Somalia Forces.............................................................. 182
viii 

Somalia

Map 1. Map of Africa
ix

0 150 300 Miles

0 150 300 Kilometers

ETHIOPIA

Indian

Ocean

DJIBOUTI Gulf of Aden

Bender

Cassim

KENYA

Berbera

Hargeisa

Garoowe

Galcayo

Belet Uen

Baidoa

Marka Mogadishu

Kismayo

Ogad n

Baledogle

0 150 300 Miles

0 150 300 Kilometers

ETHIOPIA

Indian

Ocean

DJIBOUTI Gulf of Aden

Bender

Cassim

KENYA

Berbera

Hargeisa

Garoowe

Galcayo

Belet Uen

Baidoa

Marka Mogadishu

Kismayo

Ogad n

Baledogle

Map 2. Map of Somalia
1

Introduction

The Meaning of Somalia

Robert F. Baumann

American participation in the international humanitarian mission 

to Somalia is best remembered today as a well-intentioned venture that 

somehow went terribly wrong. To most Americans, this endeavor reflected 

both the nobility and naivety of US foreign policy impulses and was a 

poignant reminder of how little we understand distant cultures and the 

motives that animate people whose societal values are removed from 

our own. Prompted first of all by compelling video images of emaciated 

mothers and children in a country ravaged by unbridled civil war, the 

mission to Somalia took US military personnel on a completely unforeseen 

and bewildering ascent along the spectrum of violence.

What started as an apparently straightforward quest to assist 

humanitarian relief organizations in disseminating emergency food 

supplies devolved almost imperceptibly into a politico-military operation 

to marginalize rogue warlords and climaxed, finally, in an escalating 

series of tactical military operations. Remarkably, over a progression of 

months, operations in Somalia lost public visibility, thereby maximizing 

the shock effect of the desperate gun battle that marked 3-4 October 1993. 

Jarred suddenly out of a state of complacency by news images of jubilant 

Somalis dragging the corpses of American soldiers through the streets 

of Mogadishu, US public opinion grew critical and questioning. In turn, 

congressional critics of the mission demanded explanations and a focal 

point for blame.

Confronting a crisis it had not anticipated, President Bill Clinton’s 

administration responded in a way that epitomized its conflicted view 

of using military force. On one hand, it moved quickly to strengthen 

the US military presence in the region as if to warn recalcitrant Somali 

warlord Mohamed Farah Aideed that it was prepared to crush any further 

opposition. On the other hand, it proclaimed within days that US military 

personnel would be pulling out of Somalia after a decent interval of a few 

months.

The latter action proved to be the true harbinger of events to follow. 

Within weeks, Secretary of Defense Les Aspin submitted his resignation 

to the president. Though no explicit official link was made to events in 

Somalia, most observers inferred just such a connection.1 The lesson was 

clear: the administration regarded the military mission as a failure. A 
2 

perception took hold that the public would not accept military casualties, 

especially in the course of what were described as peacekeeping missions 

with dubious relevance to national interests. Some observers, such as 

retired Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff General Colin Powell, 

pondered with incredulity the drift in Washington thinking since the highwater mark of the undeclared Vietnam War. As Powell noted, a solitary 

firefight resulting in 18 deaths over a 24-hour period would not have 

merited a press conference, never mind intense media scrutiny, during the 

period of his service in Southeast Asia.2

Powell’s thinking focused on what some would later refer to as 

“Somalia syndrome” or, in the words of Clinton administration envoy 

Richard Holbrooke, “Vietmalia syndrome.”3 By this, the veteran foreign 

policy adviser meant that the experience of Somalia had reinforced the 

habits of thinking born of the national trauma associated with the Vietnam 

War. This apparent phenomenon manifested itself as a reluctance to 

employ military forces, particularly in situations in which hostilities were 

possible or likely. Of course, the irony in this situation was painfully 

obvious, given that these are not only the very circumstances in which 

professional soldiers are normally used but, in fact, are also among the 

very ones for which they exist. Strikingly, an intensified concern over 

potential casualties became a preoccupation not only of Washington 

politicians but also of many military leaders.

One clear consequence was the rise of “force protection” in all 

military planning. Based on a sound initial premise that commanders must 

secure their troops, this admirable notion ballooned in practice to exceed 

the bounds of common sense. The problem was that the force-protection 

mind-set could find no logical limits. Under pressure to avoid casualties, 

commanders could always justify additional precautions. Somalia, as a 

case in which an ostensible humanitarian mission gradually turned into a 

combat operation, cemented the reasoning that commanders could never 

err by seeking too much security. In other words, concern over possible 

casualties in subtle ways came to rival mission objectives as a matter of 

command focus. This tendency was particularly pronounced in a military 

culture that widely regarded peacekeeping or nation-building operations 

as distractions from the primary mission of “warfighting.”

To be sure, steps to secure the force in Somalia were measured and 

in proportion to the threat the faction militias posed. Unfortunately, a 

climate of apprehension that any subsequent mission might turn out to be 

a Somalia or Vietnam gripped many political and military leaders alike. A 

mere week after the infamous Mogadishu firefight, the US vessel Harlan 
3

County withdrew from the Haitian harbor at Port-au-Prince in the face of 

a small crowd of hostile, lightly armed demonstrators. Pointedly, some 

protesting at the docks held up signs announcing that Haiti would be 

another Somalia for the United States. Thus, what was widely perceived 

to be another public humiliation for US policy helped create a boomerang 

effect in popular opinion. A cornered administration did not feel it could 

back down and secretly began planning for an invasion of Haitian. When 

US forces deployed to Haiti in September 1994, they arrived in massive 

strength. Indeed, the specter of American military might led to a lastminute compromise in which Haiti’s military dictator agreed to relinquish 

power in exchange for a respectable life in exile.

Then, remarkably, most US conventional forces in Haiti gave a 

demonstration of force protection in practice. Fearing that Port-au-Prince 

might in fact be another Mogadishu, the Army’s conventional forces 

maintained a posture of maximum vigilance while assuming minimum 

risk to its personnel. The anomalous result was that, in what proved to 

be a relatively benign environment, displays of force were constant. A 

populace that was disposed to view US soldiers as liberators encountered 

conventional forces that behaved almost like an occupation force. The 

unfortunate irony was that an occupation was the last thing the Americans 

wanted. From the moment of arrival, the goal was to leave. The memory 

of Somalia hung over the Haiti mission like a dark cloud. Selecting the 

10th Mountain Division, including many personnel fresh from the Somali 

ordeal, as the lead force in Haiti all but ensured comparisons in the minds 

of both participants and observers.

Most 10th Mountain Division personnel in Port-au-Prince remained 

permanently locked down in well-bunkered compounds. Direct 

engagement of the populace was minimal, at least within the limits of the 

Haitian capital. In fairness, US forces effectively guaranteed the personal 

security of restored Haitian President Jean Bertrand Aristide and provided 

conscientious overwatch as Haiti’s civilian government slowly returned. 

Strictly speaking, the Americans accomplished the short-term military 

objective, and responsibility for preserving stability in Haiti passed within 

six months to a UN peacekeeping force. Still, the Haitian intervention 

signaled a renewed caution in US military behavior.

Such a psychology, although perhaps to a lesser extent, prevailed 

again with the advent of a peace-enforcement mission in Bosnia in 

1995. Although increasingly sensing a need and perhaps even a US 

responsibility to become involved, Clinton and most of his key advisers 

were deeply reluctant to put American soldiers on the ground. Despite 
4 

limited diplomatic efforts by the Clinton administration and its European 

allies, the unrelenting brutality of civil war in the Balkans raged on, and 

the immediacy of televised reporting ever more reduced the president’s 

options. As retired Admiral Jonathan T. Howe, an experienced warriordiplomat, subsequently wrote, “Ignoring circumstances such as genocide, 

ethnic cleansing, or mass starvation is not consistent with US values as a 

society or with the founding principles of the UN.”4

Finally, in November 1995, an American-brokered peace agreement 

signed in Dayton, Ohio, established acceptable conditions for deploying 

US troops to stabilize Bosnia. Meanwhile, there was ample reason for 

concern that rogue elements might try to sabotage the peace process by 

launching attacks on the US-led Implementation Force. In this context, it 

was striking that for the first time force protection, historically an implicit 

consideration in any deployment within the framework of overall military 

objectives, appeared explicitly in an Army mission statement.5 At the same 

time, to preclude any possible recurrence of conditions in Mogadishu, the 

Americans arrived in overwhelming force, including the full panoply of 

armor, aerial, and reconnaissance assets. As a result, compliance among 

the warring factions was far better than many feared.

Several years later, a reluctance to put soldiers in harm’s way was 

once again evident during NATO’s brief war in Kosovo. In contrast 

to the situation in Bosnia, in this instance no peace agreement was in 

place before entry. Consequently, the Clinton administration decided to 

stick with what some would judge to be the future solution to America’s 

battles—air power. The idea was that by operating from extended ranges 

without putting troops on the ground, the United States would wield 

military force, minimally risking casualties. To some critics, this approach 

was disturbingly reminiscent of the gradualist, limited bombing campaigns 

of the Vietnam War. In point of fact, air power eventually succeeded in 

forcing Yugoslav armed forces to withdraw from Kosovo. However, this 

occurred only after months of bombing, backed up by hints of the arrival of 

ground forces and a bit of friendly Russian diplomatic advice to Yugoslav 

President Slobodan Milosevic. Many observers suspected in the aftermath 

that perhaps air power would not be able to provide a comprehensive 

solution to future conflicts.

Then, stunningly, on 11 September 2001, devastating terrorist 

attacks on the World Trade Center in New York and on the Pentagon in 

Washington, DC, precipitated a drastic change in the politico-military 

climate. Bloodied at home, Americans seemed to cast their hesitancy 
5

aside. Within weeks, US special forces personnel, to be followed by 

elements of the 10th Mountain Division and the 101st Airborne Division, 

deployed to Afghanistan to wage a war against terror. Few blanched at 

the assumption of significant risk. Public support for conducting military 

operations swelled. Ironically, even as the new war on terror seemed to 

mark a departure from the Somalia experience in terms of showing a 

clear resolve to press the fight, it vaguely suggested a return to Somalia 

in another sense. Wracked by civil war, Afghanistan was a chaotic, 

xenophobic, heavily armed, clan-based society that scarcely resembled 

a modern state. Military analysts quickly recognized something familiar 

about the Afghan social landscape. A sense of urgency grew concerning 

the need to understand the experience of Somalia as the United States sent 

its armed forces into another austere, rugged, and confusing Third World 

environment.

Born, in part, out of an appreciation that such conflicts might occur 

more than once in the future, this study will address the experience of 

Somalia. Surprisingly, perhaps, to some, it will show that while serious 

errors occurred, US and UN soldiers and marines in many instances 

performed with great effectiveness. That fact is often lost in the public 

dialog about Somalia because the mission there ended in policy reversal 

and political failure. Still, that the international coalition achieved as 

much as it did is particularly noteworthy in light of the extraordinarily 

complex environment in which it operated. Yet, as then Marine Brigadier 

General Anthony Zinni would later observe, what above all made Somalia 

a tough place to do business was the United States’ lack of comprehension 

of its intricate and unfamiliar social and cultural fabric.6 All too often, 

peacekeepers experienced great difficulty in interpreting the signs around 

them or the dynamic of politically and culturally conditioned violence that 

made them targets. Wary Somalis and their leaders would not keep the 

welcome mat out for long to outside intruders, whatever their ostensible 

intentions. The aggressively xenophobic strain in the local culture meant 

that the surface calm of life could easily mislead the uninitiated.7 Somalia’s 

social fabric of interwoven clans, tribes, and military leaders—widely 

referred to as warlords—posed a formidable intelligence challenge. 

So, too, did this sad country’s widely varying social and topographical 

landscape.

Hardly less difficult was the complexity of conducting multinational 

military operations in such a context. Mogadishu, especially, tested the 

mettle of the foreign peacekeeping contingents. Consisting of a mosaic 
6 

of distinct neighborhoods, its nuances were barely perceptible to outside 

observers. Plain enough, however, were the dangers it presented as a 

tactical environment. Densely built-up areas and narrow, constricting 

streets offered perils at every turn among the heavily armed militias and 

citizenry. Even with their extraordinary technological assets, US forces 

had to tread with great care.

This study will focus on the major aspects of the Somalia mission. It 

will discuss the Somalis, their history, their collective experiences, and 

their outlook. It will also review the mission’s logic and evolution at each 

successive stage. These mark not only a chronological division of the 

mission but also discrete periods entailing varying strategic approaches 

and entirely different sets of leaders and units. The initial UN-sponsored 

humanitarian mission, the UN Operation in Somalia (UNOSOM) I, gave 

way in late 1992 to a potent US-led peacekeeping force referred to as the 

Unified Task Force. Then, in May 1993, another UN force, UNOSOM 

II, took over with an expanded nation-building mandate but with a less 

robust capability with which to implement it. Through each phase of 

the Somali adventure, this study will consider the roles of joint and 

multinational commands as well as individual military units conducting 

tactical operations on the ground. In addition, it will identify and examine 

critical insights gained from the mission to Somalia, especially as they 

pertain to a range of military issues from command and control to military 

operations in an urban environment to coping with clan-based factions in 

collapsed states.
7

Notes

1. Mark Bowden, Black Hawk Down: A Story of Modern War (New York: Atlantic 

Monthly Press, 1999), 335; Colin Powell with Joseph Persico, My American Journey (New 

York: Ballantine Books, 1996), 573; and David Halberstam, War in a Time of Peace: Bush, 

Clinton, and the Generals (New York: Scribner, 2001), 263-64.

2. Bowden, 341.

3. Halberstam, 265. For a detailed account of the Haitian mission and the question of 

force protection, see Walter E. Kretchik, Robert F. Baumann, and John T. Fishel, Invasion, 

Intervention, “Intervasion”: A Concise History of the U.S. Army in Operation Uphold 

Democracy (Fort Leavenworth, KS: US Army Command and General Staff College Press, 

1998).

4. Jonathan T. Howe, “Relations Between the United States and United Nations in 

Dealing With Somalia,” Learning From Somalia: The Lessons of Armed Humanitarian 

Intervention, Walter Clarke and Jeffrey Herbst, eds. (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996), 

187.

5. Robert F. Baumann, George W. Gawrych, and Walter E. Kretchik, unpublished 

monograph provisionally titled Armed Peacekeepers in Bosnia: The U.S. and Multinational 

Experience. 

6. Norman Cooling, “Operation Restore Hope in Somalia: A Tactical Action Turned 

Strategic Defeat,” Marine Corps Gazette (September 2001), 102-106.

7. Ambassador Robert Oakley, Public Broadcasting Service FRONTLINE Interview, 

“Ambush in Mogadishu,” at <www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/ambush/interviews/oakley.html>.
8 
9

Chapter 1

Setting the Stage

Versalle F. Washington

Before people talk about the future, it is necessary to understand 

what brought this situation about. It is not only a question of what the 

solution is, but firstly understanding how and why all this happened. 

A part of the solution must lie in the answer to that question.

—Khadra Muhumed Abdi1

When US troops embarked on Operation RESTORE HOPE, they set 

off on what many believed to be a relatively simple mission. Their task was 

to assist the UN in its efforts to deliver food to the Somali people. The US 

role would be both logistic and tactical in that it would provide assistance 

through transport and, more important, by protecting the workers and 

means of distribution. The troops would find a country different from any 

they had seen, with rules and customs they did not understand, a climate 

that made even routine operations difficult, and a people who, while 

needing their assistance, did not necessarily appreciate the requirement. 

This combination of circumstances was not what the American forces 

anticipated and would cause a chain of events that would see President 

Bill Clinton withdraw from the American commitment.

Somalis are a people divided by their sameness. Unlike much of the 

rest of Africa, Somalia’s postcolonial borders enclose only a single ethnic 

group, the Samaal. The Samaal have occupied this region since biblical 

times. Nearly all Somalis are Muslim. These people have been followers 

of Islam since as early as the 18th century, but their first contact with Islam 

is believed to have been in the eighth century.2 Somalis speak Somali as 

their official language. Somali, however, is a language that has only had a 

written component since the early 1970s. It has several dialects, of which 

three predominate, with common Somali being the most widely used. 

Some 10 percent of Somalis speak either English or Italian, and they use 

some Arabic, primarily in connection with religious observances. Until the 

Somali government’s collapse in 1991, literacy was on the upswing, and in 

1990, the UN estimated that Somali literacy was at 24 percent.3

The Somalis’ constant presence in the Horn of Africa as a homogenous 

people did not lead to a harmonious history. While much of the conflict 

can be attributed to incursions by outsiders, much is also a product of 
10 

the Somalis’ reliance on clans as the primary social and governmental 

organization. Although Somalis descend from a single ethnicity, presentday Somalis still show their primary allegiance to the clans and subclans. 

There are six primary clans and perhaps as many as 20 subclans. The 

Samaal clans are the Isaaq, Hawiye, Dir, and Darood. These clans share 

a primarily nomadic heritage. The Saab clans, which have an agricultural 

heritage, are the Digil and the Rahanwein. The clans provide structure 

to the daily lives of the Somali people. In Collapse of the Somali State, 

Abdisalam Issa-Salwe that the clan is the most important political unit.4

Issa-Salwe argues that the Somalis pay allegiance to their “descent group 

unit.”5

The clan structure is a primary factor in Somalia’s continued 

fragmentation. Because the people do not perceive a function to a national 

or state allegiance, getting the various clans to cooperate has largely been 

a fruitless endeavor. Despite this, colonizing the Somali lands created 

a nationalist movement in the 20th century, mainly as a reaction to the 

imposition of colonial governance.

Somalia’s colonial period, from 1891 until 1960, saw Somalia divided 

among Great Britain (British Somaliland), Italy (Italian Somaliland), 

France (French Somaliland/Djibouti), Ethiopia (Ogaden), and Kenya 

(Northern Frontier District). This five-part division of the Somali people 

had only a partial end when the former Italian Somaliland and the former 

British Somaliland merged to form the Republic of Somalia. The new 

Somalia’s borders did not reflect the extent of the Somali people, as large 

Somali minorities remained in Ethiopia and Kenya, and Djibouti remained 

Siyyeed

Sagaal

Rahanwein

Tunni

Dabarre

Jiddu

Geledi

Garre

Digil

SAAB

Dulbahante

Kablalah

Majeerteen

Marehan

Ogaden

Warsangali

Yuusuf

Darood (Siad Barre)

Gadabursi

Issa

Bimal

Dir

Habr Awal

Habr Jaalo

Habr Tol Jaalo

Habat Yoonis

Iidagale

Isaaq

Abgal

Biyamaal

Habr Gidr

Hawadle

Murorsade

Ujuuraan

Hawiye (Mohamed Farah Aideed)

SAMAAL

SOMALI

Siyyeed

Sagaal

Rahanwein

Tunni

Dabarre

Jiddu

Geledi

Garre

Digil

SAAB

Dulbahante

Kablalah

Majeerteen

Marehan

Ogaden

Warsangali

Yuusuf

Darood (Siad Barre) Darood (Siad Barre)

Gadabursi

Issa

Bimal

Dir

Habr Awal

Habr Jaalo

Habr Tol Jaalo

Habat Yoonis

Iidagale

Isaaq

Abgal

Biyamaal

Habr Gidr

Hawadle

Murorsade

Ujuuraan

Hawiye (Mohamed Farah Aideed) Hawiye (Mohamed Farah Aideed)

SAMAAL

SOMALI

Figure 1. Somali Clan Structure
11

under French control until 1977. The map of the Horn of Africa shows 

the difficulty this posed for the Somalis in terms of gaining their national 

identity (see the map). The further effects of this period on the Somali 

people are a source of some disagreement among scholars, but when the 

Italian and British colonial powers pulled out in 1960, Somalia had a 

relatively successful postcolonial period for nine years.

Map 3. Somali Clan Map
12 

The new Somalia had major difficulties to overcome because the 

Italian and British colonial systems had left it with two distinct sets of 

laws, customs, economies, and languages. The nation merged on 1 July 

1960, the same day the Italians ceded control to the Somalis in their 

former colony and only 5 days after the British left their former colony. 

The country opted for a democratic form of government and elected Aden 

Abdullah Osman as the first president and Dr. Abdirashid Ali Shermarke 

as the first prime minister. Osman came from the Italian south, Shermarke 

from the British north. The country elected a single parliament, allowed 

freedom of press, and was remarkably free of human rights abuses.6

However, the parliamentary government led to the rise of parties intent on 

gaining an advantage for clan and subclan groupings.

The 1964 parliamentary elections featured 18 parties vying for 123 

seats, and by the 1969 elections, more than 1,000 candidates represented 

60 parties, all in a population of about 5 million. The primary party, the 

Somali Youth League (SYL), dominated the parliament following both 

elections, holding 90 seats after 1964 and 74 after 1969. However, after the 

1969 election, opposition politicians nearly unanimously switched to the 

SYL, leaving Somalia essentially a single-party state.7 The basic weakness 

and corruption of the political system created instability and frustration 

in the Somali people. Like the 1964 elections, the elections in 1969 were 

fraught with complaints of fraud and a belief that the incumbents had 

rigged the election led to widespread dissatisfaction.

Electoral and internal politics aside, the major political issue for the 

new nation was the desire to unite all of the Somali people into one nation. 

This issue was a stumbling block for the government because Ethiopia’s 

Emperor Haile Selassie, whose country stood to lose one-fifth of its 

territory if the Somalis were to have their way, blocked every attempt at 

negotiating a settlement. In the Organization of African Unity Summit in 

May 1963, Selassie maneuvered to isolate the Somali position.8 A result of 

the Somalis’ inability to gain an acceptable resolution was internal dissent. 

The Darood clan, whose Ogadeni people had historically traversed the 

disputed border to provide fodder and water for their flocks and herds, was 

especially angry with Shermarke’s failures.

Shermarke responded by rejecting Western assistance and, in 

November 1963, announced that Somalia would accept $22 million in 

Soviet military aid.9 Over the next decade, the Soviet money built the 

Somali army into a regional power, but the focus on the army ensured 

that the infrastructure, education, and other social programs remained 
13

unfunded. To all appearances, Somalia was preparing to go to war over 

three regions: the Ethiopian-controlled Ogaden, the northern province 

of Kenya, and Djibouti. Shermarke’s election as president changed this 

perception; his premier, Mahamed Haji Ibrahim Igal, opted for a more 

conciliatory strategy. This strategy, however, brought the Somalis no 

closer to their aims and also alienated Igal’s administration from the 

Somali people on the eve of the 1969 parliamentary elections.10

While outwardly democratic, the Somali government officials 

remained focused on the personal benefits of public office rather than on 

their duties to further their state’s development. Political power was seen 

as a path to personal fortune or, at best, as a method of gaining perquisites 

for individual subclans. As a result, the government was ineffectual in the 

eyes of its citizens. This all came to an abrupt end when Major General 

Mohammed Siad Barre took power in a bloodless coup in late 1969, 

following Shermarke’s assassination.11

Barre’s government would lead to the destruction of the Somali state. 

When his Supreme Revolutionary Council (SRC) first took power, the 

Somali people welcomed the change. The SRC’s 25 military and police 

officers had the advantage of unity, so the SRC did not have the endless 

debates that had characterized the Somali parliament. Barre instituted a 

number of reforms, including selecting the official orthography for written 

Somali, emplacing adult literacy programs, and creating settlements for 

people displaced by drought.12 In 1970, Barre announced his selection 

of “scientific socialism” as the official SRC ideology and outlawed clan 

affiliations and political parties other than his Somali Revolutionary 

Socialist Party (SRSP).

The socialist Somalia was significantly different from its democratic 

predecessor. A primary goal of the Barre regime was to remove the clan 

as the primary Somali allegiance. Barre took several measures to fulfill 

this goal, all of which took functions that had been reserved for clan 

leaders and made them state functions. No longer were marriages a clan 

matter. Somalis wishing to be married had to go to an orientation center, 

where they were wed in a civil ceremony. Clan elders became simply 

minor government functionaries. Barre’s purpose was to turn a “nation of 

nomads” into a modern state, with the state rather than the clans handling 

the daily necessities of administration and governance.13 Among the more 

notorious of the many changes was establishing the National Security 

Service (NSS). The NSS, headed by Barre’s son-in-law, General Ahmed S. 

Abdulle, was an organ of repression. Chief among its characteristics were 
14 

torture and abusive interrogation. Its decisions were not subject to appeal, 

and it frequently jailed dissidents.14

Another chilling facet of socialist Somalia was the Victory Pioneers, 

led by another Barre son-in-law, Abdirahman Gulwade. This group’s 

function was to instill the “revolutionary spirit” into the Somali people 

by demanding their compulsory attendance at classes given in the 

indoctrination centers and at political rallies. The Victory Pioneers also 

had detention authority, and like that of the NSS, its authority was not 

subject to appeal. This organization recruited Somali youth for its cadres 

and inspired a sense of fear by keeping a close watch on people’s activities.15

Despite his stated intention of removing clans from the Somalis’ minds, the 

years of Barre’s dictatorship taught the Somalis not to trust people outside 

their clans.

Because Barre needed a way to maintain power, he leaned heavily 

on his own Darood clan, even while officially banning them. Most of his 

ministers and advisers came from the Mareehaan (his father’s), Ogaden 

(his mother’s), and Dulbahante (his son-in-law’s) subclans, which led to his 

regime being unofficially labeled the MOD.16 The MOD considered one of 

its chief aims to be to restore a pan-Somali nation. The 1974 overthrow of 

Selassie, coupled with the impetus of the Somali drought that same year, 

convinced Barre that his Soviet-equipped and -trained army would be able 

to win a war for the Ogaden. However, he failed to consider the Soviets’ 

aspirations. The Soviets also saw opportunity in Selassie’s overthrow. In 

1976, they sought to encourage socialist harmony in the region by bringing 

Ethiopia, Somalia, and Yemen together. Somalia, however, refused the 

Soviet overtures until there was a solution to the border dispute over the 

Ogaden. The Ethiopian political situation remained unsettled, though, and 

in late 1976, Ethiopia experienced its third coup in as many years, and 

Lieutenant Colonel (LTC) Mengistu Haile Meriam took power.17

Seeking to take advantage of the turmoil, Barre struck. In 1977, he 

launched his forces across the Ethiopian border and, in coordination 

with the Western Somali Liberation Front (WSLF), captured a number 

of Ethiopian towns, apparently moving toward his goal. However, the 

Soviets were interested in having a larger hold over the Horn of Africa 

than just Somalia. When Ethiopia declared itself a Marxist-Leninist state 

and called for Soviet assistance, the Somalia-based Soviet advisers flew 

from Mogadishu to Addis Ababa. There they joined with some 18,000 

Cuban soldiers and Yemeni and East German technical advisers and, in 

1978, drove the Somalis back across the disputed border.
15

This dramatic shift in fortunes was too much for the Somali nation 

to bear. It turned to the West for assistance and found the United States 

willing to provide assistance in exchange for access to the former Soviet 

naval facilities at Berbera. The United States gave Barre $100 million per 

year in development and direct military aid. This aid continued until the 

Barre government’s collapse and was supplemented with aid from Saudi 

Arabia, China, South Africa, and other nations. All of this military aid 

would find its way into the hands of the various warlords, providing them 

with the means for waging their civil wars.

The Somali loss in the Ogaden war left Barre in a vulnerable position. 

He had lost the single unifying factor in his government, and shortly after 

the loss, army officers from the Majeerteen clan staged a coup against him. 

Although the coup was unsuccessful, it spawned the Somali Salvation 

Democratic Front (SSDF). The SSDF took up arms and from sanctuary in 

Ethiopia raided central Somalia. Barre’s response to the SSDF activities 

was to strike against the Majeerteen clan. In a brutal campaign during May 

and June 1979, Barre’s Red Berets (the presidential guard) killed more 

than 2,000 Majeerteen clan members in the Mudug region.18

This was only the beginning. Each time the SSDF acted within 

Somalia, the government would then retaliate against the Majeerteen. The 

retaliations went beyond attacks against individuals or even villages—the 

Barre regime put the Mudug region under special laws; closed schools, 

hospitals, and other essential services; and banned trade with the region. 

Thousands more Majeerteen died when government forces destroyed 

wells and reservoirs and slaughtered Majeerteen flocks and herds.19 These 

actions hardened the Majeerteen against the Barre regime, and thousands 

of Majeerteen fled Somalia and became politically active, in many cases 

joining guerilla forces intent on ousting Barre.

After his actions against the Majeerteen, Barre moved against the 

Isaaq clan, but the Isaaqs proved to be a much more formidable opponent. 

In 1981, expatriate Isaaqs formed the Somali National Movement (SNM). 

The SNM’s chief grievances were that approximately 500,000 refugees 

of the Ogaden war encroached on their grazing lands, and it objected to 

the systematic elimination of Isaaq clansmen from government service.20

The Isaaqs, who lived in the northern regions of Somalia, participated in 

limited antigovernment activities and gave their support to the SNM.

This low level of unrest boiled over in 1988 when Barre and Ethiopia’s 

LTC Meriam signed an agreement banning support to their respective 

antigovernment forces. As a sign of good faith, Meriam moved against 
16 

the SSDF, closing its Ethiopian bases and confiscating many of its heavy 

weapons. Rather than wait for a similar fate, the SNM entered Somalia 

in force. In open combat, it defeated Somali army forces, capturing large 

portions of Hargeisa. Barre moved additional forces north, but again 

the army was unable to defeat the SNM forces. The army then turned 

its weapons on the Isaaq populace and on the Darood refugees, killing 

an estimated 50,000 civilians; an additional 350,000 refugees streamed 

across the Ethiopian border.21

Although Barre had counted on the MOD’s support for his regime, 

that support also crumbled after the Ogaden war. The primary factor for 

this change was the deluge of Ogadeni refugees, many of whom enlisted 

in the army and all of whom upset the traditional MOD balance of power. 

Previously, the favored clans had priority on available resources. Now, 

the massive influx of Ogaden refugees strained all resources, leading 

to competition between the Ogaden and Marehan clans. In an attempt 

to reduce the Ogadenis’ growing influence, Barre fired his minister of 

defense, Ogadeni Aden Gabiyo, in May 1989 and purged Ogadeni officers 

from all sensitive posts. This led to a revolt among the Ogadeni soldiers in 

the Kismayo base, and Ogaden clansman formed another armed resistance 

group, the Somali Patriotic Movement (SPM). In June, Colonel Omar 

Jess defected to the SPM with the Ogadeni garrison in Hargeisa.22 This 

defection completed the rupture of the MOD.

Barre’s collapse followed shortly after the rise of the SPM, but it 

was more directly linked to the emergence of the Hawiye-based United 

Somali Congress (USC). In October 1989, Hawiye soldiers stationed in 

Galcayo mutinied, and in retaliation, Barre cracked down on the Hawiye 

clan. The formerly political USC became an armed militant organization 

with General Mohamed Farah Aideed’s rise as its leader. Unlike his 

predecessors, Aideed favored a military solution to the problems the Barre 

regime had brought about. The resultant conflict spread throughout central 

Somalia, and in coordination with the SNM and SPM, the rebels drove the 

tottering Barre forces back into Mogadishu.

In May 1990, a new political entity spoke out against Barre. The 

Manifesto Group—former government officials, intellectuals, and clan 

leaders—brought their grievances to Barre. This multiclan organization 

called for an end to the human rights abuses and for an interim government 

to allow free elections. Barre’s response was predictable, and most of the 

Manifesto Group wound up on trial for treason. Forty-six of the 114 

members received death sentences, but a massive throng of demonstrators 
17

surrounded the court building, causing Barre to back away from the 

sentences.23

Compounding Barre’s difficulties was the US reaction to his strife 

with the Hawiye. Frustrated by his inability to defeat the USC forces, 

Barre ordered his Red Berets to attack Hawiye civilians. This act had 

the unfortunate consequences of turning his stronghold (Mogadishu sits 

squarely in Hawiye region) into a hostile camp and causing the United 

States to withdraw its support after news of the atrocities being committed 

in Mogadishu became well known in America.24

By the end of July 1990, Barre had essentially run out of options in 

Mogadishu. He remained in a virtual state of siege as Aideed’s forces drew 

the net more tightly around Mogadishu. By December, USC forces were 

prepared for the final drive into Mogadishu. Italy and Egypt offered to 

host a peace conference in Cairo, but the USC, SNM, and SPM all rejected 

the overture. On 3 December 1990, USC forces entered Mogadishu and 

attacked the strongholds of Barre and his Red Berets. The battle for 

Mogadishu raged for the next two months; on 4 and 5 January 1991, the 

United States airlifted US and UN personnel to a waiting aircraft carrier.25

On 26 January, Barre fled Mogadishu for Gedo in southwest Somalia. 

There he attempted to rally his broken army under the banner of the 

Somali National Front (SNF), but he finally gave up, going into exile the 

following April.

The fall of the Barre regime did not bring the hoped-for relief to the 

people of Somalia. There were far too many weapons in the hands of far 

too many groups with far too different agendas. USC leader Ali Mahdi 

Mohamed was named interim president, with Omar Arteh Ghalib as his 

prime minister; without the support of Aideed and the military faction of 

the USC, the pair had little chance. Rid of their common opponent, the 

clans turned on each other, and the USC, SPM, SNF, and other forces 

repeatedly invaded the towns of southern Somalia. The USC split along 

clan lines—the Abgal clan supported their kinsman, Ali Mahdi Mohamed, 

while the Habr Gidr supported Aideed. Fighting between these clans raged 

over Mogadishu and its environs until a UN-brokered cease-fire took effect 

in April 1992.

Human rights abuses, long a charge leveled against the Barre regime, 

became even more prevalent. A descending spiral of rape, murder, torture, 

destruction of crops and water supplies, and wholesale slaughter led to 

mass starvation and forced literally hundreds of thousands of Somalis to 
18 

flee to neighboring countries.26 This exodus began to capture the attention 

of human rights and humanitarian relief organizations as the Somali 

problem suddenly acquired international ramifications. The refugees 

exhausted the capabilities of Ethiopia, Djibouti, and Kenya to absorb 

them and provide their basic necessities. The crisis called for international 

intervention, but the UN was still not ready to act.

Unfortunately for Somalia, the flood of foreign military assistance 

during the Barre years meant an abundance of military hardware, weapons, 

vehicles, and ammunition for the warring clans to employ. While the 

United States supplied $403 million to Somalia during this period, it 

merely headed a long list of suppliers that included the USSR, China, 

Italy, Germany, South Africa, and Libya. As soldiers deserted the army 

and as the various factions captured stocks and equipment, the major clans 

became increasingly well armed. Maintenance proved to be a problem for

most of the armor and aircraft, but the clans devised “technicals”—truckmounted heavy weapons. These vehicles were highly mobile and added 

the firepower of heavy machine guns, light cannon, and mortars.

The primary tactic of all the clans was to deny food to their opposition. 

This brought the fighters into conflict with the humanitarian relief 

organizations that were desperately trying to stem the tide of starvation. 

In April 1992, the UN passed Resolution 751, allocating more than $20 

million in food aid and sending a 550-man Pakistani peacekeeping force 

to Somalia.27 This effort, which was called the UN Operation in Somalia 

(UNOSOM), was to fall woefully short of what was needed. Although 

it was clear that the effort could only succeed with the warring clans’ 

compliance, it soon became apparent that the clans were unwilling to 

surrender any advantage for fear that an opposing clan also might not give 

up their arms. Without clan disarmament, UNOSOM’s mission was in 

jeopardy. As the UN report emphasized, “the lawlessness, insecurity, and 

violence prevented the delivery of much of the food aid in the pipeline.”28

Looters stole food intended for the refugees, and armed gangs would 

stop the aid workers and take their supplies. Without the consent of all 

the warring parties, security for all workers and for the relief distribution 

system was impossible. Despite the growing scale of the operation, 

Somalis continued to die in dramatic numbers.29

The Pakistani battalion lacked any heavy weapons, air support, or 

artillery. Consequently, the local gangs with their technicals outgunned the 

peacekeepers regularly. The obvious mismatch caused the UN to increase 

the size of the peacekeeping force to 3,500 in August, but as the Somali 
19

gangs recognized the value of the food aid, they turned to robbing the 

relief effort. Despite the UNOSOM peacekeepers’ best efforts, it became 

clear that no effective solution to the humanitarian relief crisis could occur 

without disarming the rival clans.

By 26 July 1992, Security Council Resolution 767 demonstrated 

that this was not at all clear to the UN. The resolution called for the 

immediate airlift of food aid to the “triangle of death” in southern Somalia. 

President George Bush authorized a US operation that would be known 

as Operation PROVIDE RELIEF. This operation flew nearly 2,500 flights 

out of Mombasa, Kenya, and although the operation provided nearly 

28,000 metric tons of food aid, it failed. The airfields and landing strips 

in south Somalia had no protection, so looters and even local militias 

extorted money and supplies for the “right” of landing.30 US forces 

gained valuable experience from the operation through working closely 

with the nongovernment community, but despite the enormous costs of 

the operation, most of the food never reached the people for whom it was 

intended. Looting, hoarding, and diversions ensured that while the volume 

of food coming into Somalia increased, the percentage reaching the needy 

decreased.31 The UN peacekeepers’ continued inability to control the ports 

or to protect the food aid led the UN, in December, to accept Bush’s offer 

of 30,000 troops, the UN International Task Force.
20 

Notes

 1. Rakiya A. Omaar, Somalia: A Government at War With Its Own People (New York: 

Africa Watch, January 1990).

 2. Helen Chapin Metz, Somalia: A Country Study (Washington, DC: Library of 

Congress, 1993), xxi.

 3. Ibid., xv.

 4. Abdisalam M. Issa-Salwe, The Collapse of the Somali State: The Impact of the 

Colonial Legacy, new edition (London: HAAN Associates, 1996), 3.

 5. Ibid. This unit roughly equates to the subclan. The exceptions to this subclan 

grouping are in the Rahanwein and Digil clans where the primary allegiance is to the 

broader village (clan) grouping.

 6. Omaar, 14.

 7. Terrence Lyons and Ahmed I. Samatar, Somalia: State Collapse, Multilateral 

Intervention, and Strategies for Political Reconstruction (Washington, DC: The Brookings 

Institution, 1995), 14.

 8. Issa-Salwe, 72.

 9. Ibid., 73.

10. Ibid.

11. I.M. Lewis, Understanding Somalia: Guide to Culture, History and Social 

Institutions, Second Edition (London: HAAN Associates, 1993), 28-31. Although 

Shermarke’s assassination seemed to be motivated by personal concerns, it left a power 

vacuum.

12. Lyons and Samatar, 14.

13. Mark Bradbury, The Somalia Conflict: Prospects for Peace (London: Oxfam, 

1994), 9.

14. Omaar, 16.

15. Ibid., 17.

16. Bradbury, 10.

17. Issa-Salwe, 91-92.

18. Bradbury, 11.

19. Issa-Salwe, 94-97.

20. Jama Mohamed Ghalib, The Cost of Dictatorship: The Somali Experience (New 

York: Lilian Barber Press, 1995), 60-62.

21. Issa-Salwe, 98-100. See also Bradbury, 11-12. The actual numbers of killed and 

refugees vary between sources. With the collapse of the Barre regime, the SNM seceded 

from Somalia, declaring the northwestern provinces the Republic of Somaliland.

22. Bradbury, 12-13.

23. Issa-Salwe, 107-8.

24. Metz, 51-52. The incident that apparently ended US support was the string of 

slayings in July 1990. These slayings included members of the Manifesto Group and the 

Roman Catholic Bishop of Mogadishu. 

25. Bradbury, 14. The carrier, USS Guam, had been diverted from its station in support 

of the Persian Gulf war.

26. Metz, xxx. By August 1992, there were 500,000 Somalis in Ethiopia; 300,000 in 

Kenya; 65,000 in Yemen; 15,000 in Djibouti; and around 100,000 in Europe.

27. United Nations Staff, The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-1996 (New York: UN 

Publications, July 1996), 19-20.

28. Ibid., 23.
21

29. Ibid. The UN estimates that between 300,000 and 500,000 Somalis died from the 

famine and fighting in 1992 alone.

30. John L. Hirsch, Robert B. Oakley, and Robert Oakley, Somalia and Operation 

Restore Hope: Reflections on Peacemaking and Peacekeeping (Washington, DC: U.S. 

Institute of Peace Press, June 1995), 24-25.

31. Ibid.
22 
23

Chapter 2

Operation RESTORE HOPE

Phases I and II, December 1992

Lawrence A. Yates

Between 20 and 26 November 1992, the National Security Council 

Deputies Committee convened four times to discuss the worsening crisis 

in Somalia. At the meeting on 21 November, the attendees considered three 

options for dealing with the famine and civil strife. The least complicated 

course of action involved US support for what had been, up to that time, 

largely ineffectual UN peacekeeping activities in the war-torn country. 

A second option contemplated sending an American-organized military 

coalition into Somalia but without US combat units. The last and most 

far-reaching scenario envisaged deploying an American-organized and led 

multinational force in which armed US troops would play the predominant 

role. To the surprise of several at the meeting, the representative from 

the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) indicated that, pending the approval of 

President George Bush, the Pentagon was prepared to execute this third 

option and to support it with a variety of forces, including two American 

infantry divisions.1

Up to this point, the defense department had voiced strong reservations 

about using US ground troops in Somalia, even though congressional 

resolutions, state department recommendations, and humanitarian 

appeals were urging the Bush administration to take decisive action to 

ameliorate the human tragedy brought about by drought and civil conflict. 

What, then, had compelled the Pentagon to reverse its position in late 

November? To begin with, television newscasts continued to bombard 

the American public with graphic footage of starving Somali children 

near death, virtual skeletons save for their distended stomachs. Measures 

the international community had taken to ease the suffering had thus far 

seemed only marginally effective. Certainly, the 564 Pakistani troops sent 

to Mogadishu as peacekeepers under UN auspices had been powerless 

to stop the thousands of armed bandits and militia who, generally acting 

to enhance the power of one warlord or another, routinely seized food 

supplies entering the country. As for Operation PROVIDE RELIEF, the US 

military airlift of food from Kenya into Somalia, the statistics it compiled 

were impressive but well short of what was needed to end the starvation. 

Nor could an airlift counteract the violence and anarchical conditions that 
24 

prolonged the misery. By late 1992, more than 300,000 Somalis were 

already dead from famine and famine-related causes. According to some 

estimates, over 1 million more could expect the same fate, even though the 

food needed to feed them was already on hand, the supreme irony of the 

tragedy. But until the bandits, gangs, young gunmen for hire (“morions”), 

and factional militia could be dissuaded from interfering with humanitarian 

relief efforts, the starvation would continue.2

As pressure grew on the United States to intervene in the crisis, 

many supplicants pointed out that, in a speech before the UN in October, 

President Bush had proclaimed the US military’s readiness to play an 

active role in the post-Cold War “new world order.” To be sure, neither 

Bush nor the Pentagon regarded this pledge as an open-ended commitment, 

but the stipulation that military involvement in overseas ventures would 

be very selective did not, of itself, preclude action in Somalia. The misery 

there clearly moved the president and several of his advisers. Moreover, 

intervention in that country seemed preferable to sending American troops 

to Bosnia, where ethnic cleansing by Serbs against Muslims had many 

Arab leaders demanding that Washington take military action to save their 

coreligionists. This Arab pressure could be deflected, certain presidential 

advisers believed, if US troops were dispatched to improve conditions in 

Somalia, also an Islamic country but one whose troubles seemed to pose 

far fewer risks than those inherent in the complex Balkans crisis.3

With these considerations in mind and with an options paper from the 

Deputies Committee before him, Bush listened on 25 November while 

JCS Chairman General Colin Powell briefed the proposal for sending US 

ground forces into Somalia. Powell had been instrumental in shifting the 

Pentagon’s position on this issue, although he had only reluctantly come to 

believe in the necessity of intervention. “I was not eager to get us involved 

in a Somalian civil war, but we were apparently the only nation that could 

end the suffering,” he later wrote. Sharing this conclusion and the doubts 

that went with it were Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney and National 

Security Adviser Brent Scowcroft. As Scowcroft told the president, “Sure, 

we can get in. . . . But how do we get out?” An extensive discussion of 

the ramifications of committing US forces followed. Then Bush, who was 

spending his last two months in the White House, decided that, if the UN 

Security Council agreed, the United States would intervene in Somalia 

at the head of a multinational force in which US troops would represent 

the largest contingent. That afternoon, Secretary of State Lawrence S. 

Eagleburger went to New York to inform UN Secretary General Boutros 

Boutros-Ghali of the president’s decision.4
25

The administration’s offer elicited mixed reactions at the UN. 

Some officials suspected that America’s dominant role in the proposed 

undertaking would compromise ongoing and future UN operations in 

Somalia. Also of concern was the US position that the Security Council 

should invoke, for the first time, Chapter VII of the UN Charter authorizing 

“peace enforcement”—a term used when the belligerents in a conflict do 

not request the intervention of outside troops to maintain peace—by “all 

necessary means,” including deadly force. Boutros-Ghali, while mindful 

of these reservations, was inclined to accept the American proposal, 

including the request for Chapter VII authority. He opposed, however, 

President Bush’s condition that the US-led coalition be replaced as quickly 

as possible by a UN peacekeeping force. The UN, Boutros-Ghali insisted, 

should not increase its commitments in Somalia until the country had been 

stabilized, a long-term proposition. There followed a week of deliberation 

during which no consensus emerged on how the US operation would 

mesh with UN efforts to end the crisis. Nevertheless, on 3 December, the 

Security Council adopted Resolution 794 in support of a “member state,” 

forming and leading an international coalition that would “establish a 

secure environment for humanitarian relief operations in Somalia as soon 

as possible.” In effect, the Security Council was endorsing an operation 

that, like DESERT SHIELD/DESERT STORM, would not be under the 

UN’s formal control. The next day, Bush appeared on television to inform 

the American people and the world that the United States would send 

28,000 troops to Somalia at the head of an American-led multinational 

force.5 The operation was code-named RESTORE HOPE.

Planning, Preparation, and Deployment

The plan that Bush approved for military intervention in Somalia 

had been developed at the US Central Command (CENTCOM), MacDill 

Air Force Base, Florida. Somalia fell within CENTCOM’s area of 

responsibility, which meant that the unified command, already in charge 

of Operation PROVIDE RELIEF, would now execute RESTORE HOPE 

as well. The president’s decision to act quickly meant that planning at 

CENTCOM and subordinate and supporting headquarters would be done in 

the “crisis-action” mode, entailing severe constraints on the time available 

to acquire essential intelligence; flesh out the concept of operations and 

write an operation order (OPORD); coordinate with other participants; 

identify, schedule, and prepare troop units for deployment; and, in general, 

make decisions on a variety of complex matters. Referring to this frenetic 

predeployment period, one commander observed, “It was surprising how 

little we really knew” about many issues the planners considered crucial.6
26 

Under the circumstances, staff officers and commanders preparing 

for Operation RESTORE HOPE, like their predecessors in other US 

contingency operations, simply had to make the best use of what little 

time they had, often basing critical decisions on estimates, guesses, 

and intuition, with the clear understanding that adjustments would be 

inevitable once the operation was in progress.

In keeping with crisis-action procedures, General Powell directed 

CENTCOM’s commander in chief (CINCCENT), General Joseph Hoar, 

US Marine Corps (USMC), to prepare an estimate of the situation. 

Hoar’s staff accomplished this promptly by referring to the Gulf War 

experience, a recent command post exercise, an off-the-shelf plan that 

covered humanitarian problems and natural disasters, and the command’s 

continuing experience with Operation PROVIDE RELIEF. CENTCOM’s 

Army component, ARCENT, participated in the process. On 3 December, 

the day of the Security Council resolution, Hoar briefed his estimate to 

the National Command Authorities (NCA), after which President Bush 

approved the courses of action contained therein. Two days later, the 

command published its OPORD for RESTORE HOPE, containing, among 

other essentials, a mission statement, a strategy for accomplishing the 

mission, the composition of the forces to be committed, and the command 

and control arrangements for them.7

The mission statement developed at CENTCOM and coordinated 

through the interagency process was succinct but indicative of the difficult 

undertaking upon which US and other forces were about to embark. 

“When directed by the NCA, CINCCENT will conduct joint and combined 

military operations in Somalia, to secure the major air and sea ports, key 

installations and food distribution points, to provide open and free passage 

of relief supplies, to provide security for convoys and relief organization 

operations and assist UN/NGOs [nongovernmental organizations] in 

providing humanitarian relief under UN auspices.”8

Based on this mission, General Hoar issued his commander’s intent and 

a concept of operations. Combined, they envisaged creating the security 

essential to moving relief supplies freely into Somalia and throughout 

designated areas of the country. Only the southern half of Somalia, the 

“famine belt,” would be affected, and it would be divided into eight (later 

expanded to nine) humanitarian relief sectors (HRSs), each named after 

the major city or town contained within its borders. In keeping with the 

press of time, the borders drawn up at CENTCOM reflected US military 

considerations more than Somali clan and political affiliations within a 
27

given area. The HRSs began with Mogadishu in the middle and extended 

as far north as Belet Uen near the center of the country and as far south as 

Kismayo (see Map 4). Once the “security and the famine relief situation” 

had been stabilized in the HRSs, the US-led coalition would turn the 

responsibility for securing further humanitarian operations in Somalia 

over to the UN.

Map 4. HRS Map

UNITAF

Area of Operations

February 1993

HRS Humanitarian Relief Sectors

0 200 Miles

0 200 Kilometers

HRS KISMAYO

ETHIOPIA

K

E

N

YA

HRS

BARDERA

HRS BAIDOA

HRS ODDUR

HRS

BELET

UEN

HRS

GIALALASSI

HRS

BALEDOGLE

HRS MARKA

HRS

MOGADISHU

Galcayo

Dusa Marreb

Belet Uen

Oddur

Gialalassi

Awdiinle Baidoa

Buurhakaba

Baledogle

Mogadishu

Bardera

Marka

Qoryooley

Baraawe

Afmadow Jilib

PROVISIONAL ADMINISTRATIVE LINE

Kismayo Hossingo

Indian

Ocean

UNITAF

Area of Operations

February 1993

HRS Humanitarian Relief Sectors

0 200 Miles

0 200 Kilometers

0 200 Miles

0 200 Kilometers

HRS KISMAYO

ETHIOPIA

K

E

N

YA

HRS

BARDERA

HRS BAIDOA

HRS ODDUR

HRS

BELET

UEN

HRS

GIALALASSI

HRS

BALEDOGLE

HRS MARKA

HRS

MOGADISHU

Galcayo

Dusa Marreb

Belet Uen

Oddur

Gialalassi

Awdiinle Baidoa

Buurhakaba

Baledogle

Mogadishu

Bardera

Marka

Qoryooley

Baraawe

Afmadow Jilib

PROVISIONAL ADMINISTRATIVE LINE

Kismayo Hossingo

Indian

Ocean
28 

Under Hoar’s concept of operations, RESTORE HOPE would occur 

in four phases. In Phase I, coalition forces would deploy to Mogadishu, 

Somalia’s capital. The first troops into the city would create a security 

zone, secure the airport and port facilities, protect the humanitarian relief 

supplies in the capital as well as those organizations whose job it was to 

distribute them, and begin to establish a logistics base. Coalition forces 

would also seize and secure an airfield in Baledogle, an HRS adjacent 

to Mogadishu. Phase II would have the coalition securing lines of 

communication (LOCs) leading to major relief centers in the remaining 

HRSs. Phase III entailed expanding operations within each HRS and 

stabilizing the situation to the point that Phase IV, the transition to a UN 

peacekeeping force, could take place. Although arranged in logical order, 

the four phases did not have to be sequential; indeed, as CENTCOM’s 

official history of RESTORE HOPE indicates, there would be some 

overlap as the operation unfolded.9

The CINCCENT OPORD designated the I Marine Expeditionary Force 

(I MEF), Camp Pendleton, California, as the headquarters for Joint Task 

Force (JTF) Somalia, the military organization that would be physically 

present in Somalia to execute RESTORE HOPE under CENTCOM’s 

command. This, according to General Hoar, was a “logical step,” in that 

Map 5. Mogadishu during UNITAF

K4

•

• •

•

•

•

•

•

• US

EMBASSY

DIGFER

HOSPITAL

S. RAMP

N. RAMP

NEW PORT

OLD

PORT

PASTA

FACTORY

CIGARETTE

FACTORY

STADIUM

ARMY FORCES ST

NATIONAL ST

INDIAN OCEAN

21 OCTOBER ROAD

K4

•

• •

•

•

•

•

•

• US

EMBASSY

DIGFER

HOSPITAL

S. RAMP

N. RAMP

NEW PORT

OLD

PORT

PASTA

FACTORY

CIGARETTE

FACTORY

STADIUM

ARMY FORCES ST

NATIONAL ST

INDIAN OCEAN

21 OCTOBER ROAD
29

I MEF had “exercised for this type of operation.”10 I MEF’s commanding 

general, Lieutenant General Robert B. Johnston, a veteran of Vietnam, 

Lebanon, and the Gulf War, learned of this prospective assignment well 

before he received formal notification, so he and his staff gained some 

valuable time to address certain critical issues. Johnston was also able to 

send I MEF planners to MacDill, where they worked with the CENTCOM 

staff to ensure that the JTF’s supporting OPORD meshed with the one 

CINCCENT was publishing.

One of the first issues Johnston had to confront in his imminent role 

as commander of JTF Somalia was how to organize the headquarters. He 

decided on the obvious approach, which was to use the I MEF command 

element as a core around which he would construct a joint staff by bringing 

in augmentees from subordinate and other Marine commands and from the 

sister services. This approach was not without its shortcomings, as some 

sections of the I MEF staff underwent “radical reorganizations” to meet 

the requirements of a JTF headquarters, creating in the process some 

operational problems that arriving augmentees, unfamiliar with the setup, 

only exacerbated. It was, according to one Marine officer, a staff manned 

to some extent by “strangers.” There was also the issue of size. In its 

early stages, the JTF headquarters grew to more than 800 personnel, the 

majority being marines, with the Army filling most of the remaining slots. 

In time, however, about a quarter of these positions would be identified as 

unnecessary.11

Aware of the confusion and dislocations inherent in any period of 

adjustment, Johnston had followed the most logical course in organizing 

his JTF headquarters. He also requested capable and experienced officers 

to head the key staff divisions, and CENTCOM ensured that the requests 

were honored. Within the command group, a US Army major general 

served as Johnston’s deputy and a Marine colonel as his chief of staff. 

In the spirit of “jointness,” two US Army colonels headed the JTF’s J2 

(intelligence) and J4 (logistics) shops, with the deputy in each being a 

marine. The J1 (manpower and personnel), J5 (plans and policy), J6 

(command, control, communications, and computer systems), and J8 

directorates were headed by Marine colonels, three of whom had US 

Army deputies (the J5 being the exception). Rounding out the staff as 

Johnston’s director of operations, or J3, was Brigadier General Anthony 

Zinni, USMC, whose impressive résumé included Operation PROVIDE 

COMFORT, a humanitarian relief effort to help Kurdish refugees in 

northern Iraq following DESERT STORM.12
30 

Once activated, JTF Somalia had operational control over all forces 

participating in RESTORE HOPE. The United States provided most of 

these, including elements from the two principal ground combat units, 

the 1st Marine Division—a logical choice in that it belonged to I MEF—

and the Army’s 10th Mountain Division at Fort Drum, New York. The 

Navy and Air Force also provided essential units and personnel for the 

undertaking (see Figure 2). To fill out the multinational force, 23 countries 

contributed troops. Arranging for each of these nations to participate 

was a time-consuming process that the White House and UN had yet 

to complete by the time JTF Somalia was set to deploy. Johnston, who 

would have preferred only “four or five brigades’ worth of people” from 

a handful of countries, thus had to devise his coalition strategy without 

having a comprehensive list of participating countries or the size, shape, 

and capabilities of the units they would send. Helping to ease his task, the 

first states to sign up for RESTORE HOPE sent liaison officers (LNOs) 

to CENTCOM and JTF Somalia headquarters to facilitate planning and 

to exchange what essential information was available. Despite the initial 

holes in the coalition order of battle, Johnston adopted at the outset the 

general guideline that he would assign the larger, better-prepared foreign 

units to the HRSs outside Mogadishu while restricting smaller, lesscapable units to security missions in the Somalian capital.13

At its peak, the force General Johnston controlled contained nearly 

39,000 military personnel. In determining how to organize this massive 

force within JTF Somalia, the general had to choose between two 

doctrinal models: he could adopt a functional framework, which would 

mean integrating the units and staffs from different services and different 

countries, or he could have each US service stand as a JTF component—a 

Marine Force (MARFOR), Army Force (ARFOR), Air Force Force 

(AFFOR), and Navy Force (NAVFOR). The latter approach had worked 

well in the Gulf War and in various contingency operations, while the 

alternative of a single ground combat element, in the general’s mind, 

would result in “ad hoc, pickup teams” that would not automatically “jell.” 

Thus, with two exceptions—the Air Coordination Authority and the Joint 

Task Force Support Command, both integrated organizations that were 

attached directly to JTF Somalia headquarters—Johnston decided to go 

with service components. To limit his span of control, he also decided that 

some of the foreign units entering the theater, especially the smaller ones, 

would be attached to a US service component; the others would answer 

directly to him (see Figure 3).14
31

Figure 2. US Forces in UNITAF

Figure 3. UNITAF Somalia - Command and Control

USMC (I MEF) 16,200

4 Infantry Battalions 26 Heavy Lift Helicopters

1 Artillery Battalion (30x155mm) 12 Medium Lift Helicopters

1 Tank Battalion (-) (31xM1A1) 16 Attack Helicopters

1 Amtrack Battalion (-) (68xLVTP-7) 21 Utility Helicopters

1 Light Armor Vehicle Battalion (28xLAVS)

Army (10th Mountain Division) 10,200

3 Light Infantry Battalions 30 Assault Helicopters

1 Artillery Battalion (12x105mm) 5 Medium Lift Helicopters

(6x155mm) 8 - 16 Armed Lift Helicopters

Air Force Tactical Airlift Squadron 600

Navy 3 Amphibious Ships 1,550

Special Operations Forces 1 Special Forces Battalion 350

Total Personnel 28,900

Saudi

Arabia

New Zealand

TF (QRF)

2 -87

Air Force Forces Army Forces Navy Forces Australia Sweden

Italy France

Morocco Belgium Canada Greece Tunisia

MARFOR

Pakistan Turkey Kuwait Botswana UAE Egypt Nigeria

Zimbabwe

CJTF

JTF Support

Command

Special

Ops Forces

Saudi

Arabia

New Zealand

TF (QRF)

2 -87

Air Force Forces Army Forces Navy Forces Australia Sweden

Italy France

Morocco Belgium Canada Greece Tunisia

MARFOR

Pakistan Turkey Kuwait Botswana UAE Egypt Nigeria

Zimbabwe

CJTF

JTF Support

Command

Special

Ops Forces
32 

The decision to adopt the component approach to command and 

control in turn required that another choice be made. Who would serve 

as commander of each of the two largest components, the MARFOR 

and the ARFOR? In each case, the officer chosen was the commander of 

the principal combat unit his service contributed to the operation. Major 

General Charles Wilhelm, commanding general, 1st Marine Division, 

became commander, MARFOR, while Major General Steve Arnold, 

commanding general, 10th Mountain Division, became commander, 

ARFOR. Being designated as a service component placed additional 

burdens on both headquarters as the staff in each, besides having to be 

expanded, was compelled to learn quickly how to deal with an assortment 

of unfamiliar issues above the tactical level. The 1st Marine Division 

had something of an advantage over its Army counterpart in making the 

adjustments. Wilhelm’s staff knew as early as 27 November that it was 

likely to become the MARFOR and was thus able to inject LNOs into the 

joint planning process in time to contribute to the estimate and courses 

of action being developed at CENTCOM and, later, at JTF Somalia. An 

instruction team from the Marine Corps Combat Development Command 

at Quantico, Virginia, also augmented the 1st Marine Division staff, 

providing valuable assistance in its transition to a service component.15

The adjustments required at 10th Mountain Division were somewhat 

more difficult for several reasons.16 First, the division received notification 

of its ARFOR designation only on 3 December, well into the planning cycle 

under way at higher headquarters. The lost time could not be made up, nor 

could the division staff adapt overnight to the “broader horizons” it faced 

because of the ARFOR’s responsibility for managing a major deployment 

of Army units, many outside the division, to an overseas operation. 

The new requirements placed on the staff were overwhelming, and few 

officers in 10th Mountain were conversant with such complex, “userunfriendly” systems as the Worldwide Military Command and Control 

System (WWMCCS) and the Joint Operation Planning and Execution 

System (JOPES) designed to meet these requirements. But, as with the 

MARFOR, some assistance was available from other organizations. For 

example, CENTCOM’s Army component, ARCENT, had been present in 

planning sessions at MacDill AFB and Camp Pendleton during which staff 

officers had determined the US force structure for Operation RESTORE 

HOPE. Since 10th Mountain had not been designated the ARFOR in time 

to attend those sessions, ARCENT stepped in to refine the data concerning 

Army forces and to manage the deployment of the affected units, letting 
33

the division provide what input it could through its higher headquarters, 

the XVIII Airborne Corps at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

Another problem associated with having a division headquarters 

serve as an ARFOR centered on the inexperience of 10th Mountain’s staff 

in the joint arena. Thus, the LNOs Arnold sent to Camp Pendleton, like 

several of the Army staff augmentees who joined them there, were not 

always prepared to articulate in a joint forum the long-term and short-term 

requirements of the Army, a “minority service” in JTF Somalia. As Arnold 

observed later, “We were found to be scratching to try and get Army input 

into the Joint Task Force OPLAN [operation plan].” Distance further 

hampered coordination between the JTF and its ARFOR. According to 

Arnold, he had difficulty finding out “exactly what was being done in 

California—which is not exactly right out the main gate at Fort Drum, 

New York.” 

A variation of this sentiment later found its way into the 10th Mountain’s 

after-action report for Somalia, which complained of “the lack of parallel 

planning from the strategic to operational to tactical levels.” It was a 

shortcoming that, despite the belated dispatch of LNOs to Camp Pendleton, 

denied the ARFOR/10th Mountain Division immediate access to updated 

intelligence; restricted its input on such critical issues as force structure, 

mission, and end states; and caused last-minute disruptions when decisions 

made at the strategic or operational level were not communicated immediately 

to tactical planners.

Despite these difficulties, the joint planning process moved ahead, 

with Johnston publishing his JTF OPORD on 6 December. Given the 

synchronization between the CENTCOM and I MEF staffs, Johnston’s 

order reiterated the mission statement and the four-phased concept 

of operations found in the CINCCENT OPORD of the previous day. 

The staffs also defined what constituted the “enemy” in Somalia and 

developed what assessments they could of enemy dispositions, equipment, 

capabilities, and probable courses of action. In a country that had no 

functioning government, the armed factions and other gunmen operating 

in the famine belt clearly presented the most immediate military threat 

to the troops involved in RESTORE HOPE, but US intelligence officers 

had only a general idea of the size, leadership, loyalties, and weaponry of 

the 15 groups analysts identified as being potentially hostile. Initial threat 

assessments, sketchy as they were, relied heavily on overhead imagery, 

which offered ample photographs of Somali weapons but little indication 
34 

of their workability or their owners’ intentions. Once coalition forces were 

on the ground, human intelligence (HUMINT) sources would provide 

information for a more detailed analysis, but that prospect did nothing to 

help tactical planners in the predeployment phase. 

Thus, while the marines and soldiers set to deploy received a lengthy 

list of dangers they could expect to encounter, including ambushes, mines, 

indirect fire, demonstrations, terrorist attacks, and disease, what was 

less clear was how each Somali faction would respond to the influx of 

uninvited and well-armed foreign troops into the country. Army officers 

later criticized strategic planners for failing to consult US Army special 

forces in Somalia, who, as participants in Operation PROVIDE RELIEF, 

could have shed some light on the warlords’ intentions. In a similar vein, 

humanitarian relief organizations (HROs) in Somalia expressed surprise 

that the US military did not contact them for information before executing 

RESTORE HOPE. Also receiving little attention during the intelligence 

preparation of the battlefield (IPB) was the degree to which the warring 

Somali factions were engaged in political maneuvering among themselves 

at all levels of society. Had analysts better understood this dimension of 

the crisis, JTF Somalia and the troops under it might have envisioned more 

clearly the extent to which their mission would take them well outside the 

realm of strictly military activities.17

Within that realm, CENTCOM’s threat analysis could not rule out 

the possibility of US and coalition forces needing to shoot their way into 

Mogadishu and outlying areas or, once their presence was established, 

having to contend with daily acts of military defiance. Even if these worstcase scenarios did not materialize, few planners anticipated a completely 

benign environment, not in a country teeming with weapons, wracked 

by violence, and dominated by a xenophobic warrior class. Given the 

probability of some kind of military resistance, how were RESTORE HOPE 

forces to respond to hostile acts and intentions? To provide guidelines to 

US troops, especially on the critical question of when to employ deadly 

force, the CENTCOM and JTF staffs, relying heavily on their staff judge 

advocates, devised classified rules of engagement (ROE) for the operation 

that owed much to several reference points: the latitude offered by Chapter 

VII of the UN Charter, the constraints imposed by international law, and 

the nontraditional or unorthodox nature of the pending venture.

After the staff work was complete, Hoar and Johnston promulgated 

ROE that granted every US soldier and marine “the right to use force 

to defend yourself against attacks or threats of an attack” and to return 

hostile fire “effectively and promptly.” In other words, American troops 
35

under Johnston’s control could use deadly force not only against “hostile 

acts” but also against what they perceived as “hostile intent,” such as 

someone they considered unfriendly pointing a weapon at them. Having 

allowed these basic measures for self-defense, the ROE also placed 

certain restrictions on the troops, as would be expected in any urbanoriented operation in which thousands of civilians—many friendly or 

neutral, others hostile—were present. Thus, in the event coalition forces 

were confronted by civilian rioters or mobs, they were to use only “the 

minimum force necessary under the circumstances and proportional to the 

threat.” Later, Hoar would explain that the ROE were carefully calculated 

to convince the Somali factions of the coalition’s resolve while giving the 

“on-scene commander maximum flexibility to determine what constituted 

a threat and what response was appropriate, including the first use of deadly 

force.” Commanders would also have to determine what constituted the 

“minimum force necessary” in a variety of situations. In the meantime, 

35,000 wallet-size cards containing an unclassified version of basic ROE 

points were printed at Camp Pendleton for troops in Somalia to use. 

CENTCOM also made the US ROE available to the coalition forces, who 

incorporated them with only slight modification into their own ROE.18

A more difficult task than devising ROE for operations short of allout war involves determining the “end state” for such operations. What, 

in other words, are the conditions that allow one to say that the mission 

has been accomplished? In the case of Operation RESTORE HOPE, the 

CINCCENT and JTF OPORDs defined the end state in very general terms: 

it was the point at which the humanitarian efforts in the country were again 

functioning in an environment that was stable enough to allow the USled coalition to turn responsibility for security and relief operations over 

to the UN (Phase IV in the CINCCENT/JTF concept of operations). But 

having agreed on this generalization, the planners could not arrive at a set 

of specific, measurable criteria that would allow the JTF commander or 

anyone else to know with certainty that the end state had been achieved. 

Deriving these criteria and determining when they had been met would 

remain an issue that Johnston’s staff had to confront continuously, thus 

serving as a reminder that no matter how adamantly military headquarters 

and units demand clear and precise end states before committing to an 

operation, the complex, dynamic, and ambiguous world in which politicomilitary endeavors take place rarely proves so accommodating.19

Just how complicated the end state issue could be was foreshadowed 

as the operation was just getting under way. On 11 December, BoutrosGhali wrote to President Bush, arguing that it was essential for Operation 
36 

RESTORE HOPE to disarm all armed factions throughout Somalia. Only 

then could the secretary general be assured that the environment was 

secure enough to effect the transition from the US-led coalition to a UN 

peacekeeping force. The president strongly disagreed, and CENTCOM/

JTF Somalia planners deliberately omitted disarmament as a RESTORE 

HOPE mission or task. As Hoar later explained, “Disarmament was 

excluded from the mission because it was neither realistically achievable 

nor a prerequisite for the core mission of providing a secure environment 

for relief operations.” Instead, coalition forces, once on the ground, would 

attempt only to control the use of various kinds of weapons—“selective 

‘disarming as necessary,’” in Hoar’s words. Furthermore, the selective 

controls would be enforced only in the southern parts of Somalia occupied 

by Johnston’s forces and not throughout the country. From the beginning 

of RESTORE HOPE, therefore, the United States and the UN were at 

odds over the scope of the operation and what it should accomplish. As 

Johnston later summarized this essential disagreement, “So what we were 

looking for [was] some short-term fixes, as opposed to trying to solve all 

of the problems of Somalia.”20 On this basis, it seemed inevitable that the 

White House and the UN would also disagree, when the time came, over 

whether the desired end state had in fact been achieved, with a difference 

of opinion on this point likely to have an adverse effect on a smooth 

transition from the US-led phase to the follow-on UN phase.

Having some idea of when Operation RESTORE HOPE would achieve 

its end state was a major concern to the Pentagon as well as to President 

Bush, who, in authorizing the operation, expressed the hope that most US 

troops would be out of Somalia before President-elect Bill Clinton took 

the oath of office. Secretary of Defense Cheney quickly dampened the 

president’s unrealistic hopes on this point. Besides, the more pressing 

issue at hand was getting the troops into Somalia, not out. The worrisome 

question still remained: would coalition forces be able to enter the country 

peacefully, or would they have to shoot their way in?

Diplomacy provided the answer. As a politico-military operation, 

RESTORE HOPE needed a ranking statesman on the scene. To that end, 

Bush appointed Robert Oakley, ambassador to Somalia from 1982 to 

1984, to be his special representative in the country. Oakley’s expertise 

on Somalia was unassailable, and while he received no formal guidelines 

for working with Johnston, his brief was, according to an account he 

coauthored, “to act as overseer and coordinator of all US civilian activities 

in Somalia, to provide political advice to UNITAF [a later acronym for 

Johnston’s JTF that stood for Unified Task Force], to act as liaison with 
37

the UN special representative [Ismat] Kittani [of Iraq], and to work closely 

with the NGO community to get humanitarian operations moving.”21

Oakley immediately demonstrated the indispensable role he would 

play in the operation. He arrived in Mogadishu on 7 December, the day 

President Bush ordered CINCCENT to execute Operation RESTORE 

HOPE. Along with establishing a US Liaison Office (USLO), which 

provided a formal American diplomatic presence in Somalia, the former 

ambassador arranged separate meetings with the two key faction leaders 

in the capital, General Mohamed Farah Aideed of the Habr Gidr subclan 

and Ali Mahdi Mohamed of the Abgal subclan, each of whom considered 

control of Mogadishu a critical element in his claim to national leadership. 

To establish that control, both men maintained or employed armed groups 

whose weaponry, besides the ubiquitous AK-47 and other small arms, 

might include rocket-propelled grenades, mortars, some dated artillery 

pieces, the highly effective “technicals”—jeeps and land cruisers mounted 

with recoilless rifles, machine guns, and other heavy weapons—and a 

few US vintage M-41 Walker Bulldog tanks. With this arsenal, the two 

sides waged war on each other over control of relief supplies and streets 

and alleyways, in the process killing, extorting, or in many other ways, 

terrorizing the thousands of noncombatants who inhabited the city. 

Gunfire, fear, and death were accepted as part of Mogadishu’s daily 

rhythm, and the warriors engaged in the slaughter did not relish outside 

interference in their internecine conflict.22

Oakley’s initial diplomatic triumph lay in persuading both Aideed and 

Ali Mahdi not to resist the arrival of US and coalition forces. After meeting 

with President Bush’s special representative, each leader promised to 

keep his armed followers away from the proposed landing sites near 

Mogadishu’s new port and airport. A number of observers, both Somali 

and foreign, praised Oakley’s courage and skill but pointed out a downside 

to his diplomatic feat. In their opinion, his meeting with the two warlords 

conveyed, perhaps unwittingly, an unspoken message that the incoming 

multinational force regarded Aideed and Ali Mahdi as legitimate political 

leaders and that the Americans held these two in higher standing than other 

Somali political aspirants. (Oakley, in fact, had refused to meet one faction 

leader, denouncing him publicly as a “cold-blooded murderer.”) Johnston, 

whose troops would be the beneficiaries of Oakley’s initiative, had little 

sympathy for such criticism. “Well, the fact is,” he stated later, “the center 

of gravity is Mogadishu, [and] you’ve got two major warlords. You had to 

deal with them. It’s that simple.” Johnston’s staff echoed this sentiment, 

although many planners wished that Oakley’s demarche could have come 
38 

sooner, in time to adjust the heavy force packages they had designed and 

deployed on the worst-case assumption that the coalition could find itself 

engaged in significant fighting.23

As it was, the first US combat troops to come ashore as part of 

Operation RESTORE HOPE did so unopposed. During the predawn 

hours of 9 December, Navy Sea-Air-Land forces (SEALs), which 

three days earlier had started conducting clandestine hydrographic and 

reconnaissance survey missions in the Mogadishu area, slipped ashore 

near the city’s airport. They were followed by 170 marines from the 15th 

Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU) (Special Operations Capable) (CENT) 

attached to the USS Tripoli Amphibious Ready Group that had arrived off 

Somalia the week before. As the SEALs and then the leathernecks crossed 

the landing beach, they encountered not hostile fire from unfriendly 

Somalis but a battery of bright lights from camera equipment and a 

barrage of questions leveled by waiting reporters from the international 

news media. The chaos and confusion this unexpected spectacle created 

proved disconcerting to the troops who, at one point mistaking camera 

flashbulbs for muzzle flashes, almost opened fire. Discipline prevented 

a tragedy, however, and after some futile efforts to manage the media’s 

disruptive behavior, the marines assembled and moved inland to secure 

the harbor and airport areas.24 At 1145, the MEU commander, Colonel 

Gregory Newbold, declared the airport open, after which a number of his 

marines went to the American Embassy compound and occupied the site 

selected for Johnston’s headquarters (see Map 2). That headquarters was 

now called the Combined Joint Task Force (CJTF) Somalia, a title more 

in keeping with the deploying force’s multinational composition. In time, 

it would receive its final appellation, UNITAF. As the marines secured the 

embassy, the first plane carrying CJTF headquarters personnel landed at 

the airport. Operation RESTORE HOPE was under way.

December 1992

Lieutenant General Johnston arrived in Mogadishu the next day. The 

long list of tasks requiring his immediate attention included setting up 

his headquarters, establishing contacts with key personnel in the country, 

managing the influx of US and foreign troops and arranging for their 

safety, securing critical locations within Mogadishu, assessing the logistic 

support the operation would require, extending his task forces’ (TFs’) 

control into the countryside, and working with HROs to begin getting 

food to starving Somalis. The initial on-the-ground decisions he and his 

subordinates made on these and other issues shaped the course of the 

operation in the months to follow.
39

While addressing these matters, Johnston and his coalition also had to 

familiarize themselves with the capital itself. Although the headquarters 

and the deploying troops had no usable maps of the city until well after 

their arrival, most had received briefings and other warnings of what to 

expect. Still, when they actually entered Mogadishu, they were appalled 

at what they found. To be sure, all the physical features of a large urban 

area were present: public buildings, commercial and business edifices, and 

a variety of private residences; the matrix of crisscrossing streets, some 

narrow and primitive, others wide thoroughfares; a major airport and, 

given the city’s coastal location, port facilities; and, of course, the tens of 

thousands of Somalis living in various neighborhoods and camps around 

the capital. But with anarchy holding sway in Mogadishu, few public 

services, such as electricity, running water, and sanitation, were working. 

The institutions for maintaining law and order were conspicuously 

absent, as the city’s police force and court system had ceased to function. 

Buildings and homes had been destroyed, others severely damaged and 

stripped by thieves of any item—wiring, fuel, even corrugated roofs—that 

could be sold or bartered. Seemingly, every edifice left standing displayed 

broken windows and shell-pocked walls and doors. Schools were closed, 

and commercial activity had virtually stopped. Debris, burned-out 

vehicles, and man-made barricades blocked main avenues, while narrower 

streets were largely impassable. Vying with these visual images of war, 

destruction, and destitution was the overpowering stench of garbage, foul 

sea air, human feces, and death.

Among the inhabitants of Mogadishu, actual starvation was confined to 

relatively few areas of the city, mainly on the outskirts. Hunger, however, 

continued to be a widespread problem as long as the factions confiscating 

the food relief distributed it selectively to their own people. Swelling the 

ranks of the starving and underfed were those who had fled the famine belt 

for the city and were surviving as best they could in refugee camps that 

appeared in almost every open stretch of land. Whether one lived at home, 

claimed squatter’s rights in a vacant dwelling, inhabited a refugee camp, 

or manned a military compound, the civil war in the capital made daily life 

precarious. Everyone talked about the “green line” dividing Ali Mahdi’s 

people in northern Mogadishu from Aideed’s followers in the south, but, 

as UNITAF quickly found out, this well-defined physical boundary did 

not neatly delineate subclan and sub-subclan loyalties. According to a US 

Marine command chronology, the city “was a hodgepodge of scattered 

clans, with most people unable to move outside of their immediate 

neighborhoods.” Fear was pervasive, and no night passed without 

the sound of gunfire being heard somewhere in the city. Given these 
40 

conditions, it was understandable that many Somalis in the capital greeted 

the incoming troops with waving arms and smiling faces. Perhaps in some 

short time there could be a return to something approaching normal life. 

At least one could hope.25

The American Embassy compound where Johnston was setting up 

his UNITAF headquarters had not been immune from the ravages of 

the factional conflict in Mogadishu. Evacuated in 1991, much of the 

multimillion-dollar complex resembled a war area, with stripped and 

gutted buildings, ankle-deep debris, piles of excrement, and bodies strewn 

around. The cleanup started at once, and staff officers began to set up 

shop. Facilities were also created for the other personnel who would 

work at the headquarters or who would at least visit it regularly. The 

latter category included political representatives from the USLO and UN, 

LNOs from the field components and coalition forces, the international 

news media, representatives from the HROs, and the scores of VIPs who 

would gravitate to a well-publicized hot spot. With no small amount 

of physical labor, CJTF Somalia, or as it will be referred to hereafter, 

UNITAF, quickly became an active, functioning organization. What could 

not be changed by any amount of toil was the site of the headquarters 

itself. Located in southern Mogadishu, it was much closer to the part of 

the city Aideed controlled than to Ali Mahdi’s sectors. In the early stages 

of Operation RESTORE HOPE, Aideed continuously spread the word that 

this proximity was deliberate and thus provided symbolic evidence that 

UNITAF favored his claim to national leadership over that of his rivals. 

Oakley and Johnston went to great lengths to dispel this impression, an 

unanticipated and irksome annoyance that an accident of local geography 

had forced upon them.26

Besides standing up his headquarters, Johnston moved to address 

other pressing issues. Recognizing that his mission would be made 

easier if Aideed and Ali Mahdi continued to honor their pledges not to 

oppose the intervention, he accepted Oakley’s invitation to meet with the 

two faction leaders on 11 December.27 It was the first meeting between 

the warlords since the civil war in Somalia had broken out in full force. 

Both men agreed to attend only because the site, the USLO building, 

was located on neutral territory and because a third party, Oakley, had 

requested the session, thus allowing each leader to avoid the impression 

that he had been summoned by the other. One topic for discussion centered 

on ways to prevent unintended clashes between UNITAF troops and the 

street militia, an issue of primary concern to Johnston. But other, more 
41

politically oriented issues were also considered, including the prospects 

for reconciliation among the warring factions. For this reason, the UN 

representative, Ismat Kittani, also attended the meeting.

The fact that Johnston remained for the political discussion, even 

though it ranged far beyond a narrowly defined interpretation of his 

security mission, was Oakley’s doing. Four hours into the meeting, the 

general complained to Oakley that there were other, more important 

matters that required his attention. Oakley responded, “No, this is the 

most important thing you’ve got to do because they have to understand 

each other and they have to understand us. It is going to make it much 

less dangerous as we move ahead.” Johnston took the advice and soon 

acquired the education that went with it: in such a complex environment, 

one could not hope to compartmentalize political and military matters, 

much less Somalia’s short-term and long-term needs. Consequently, the 

UNITAF commander was soon telling interlocutors that “it became a 

much more complicated mission than I ever contemplated. It was more 

heavily diplomatic than it was military.” In an organizational recognition 

of this fact, he and Oakley established a committee in which they or their 

representatives would meet daily to coordinate policy. In this way, they 

could speak with one voice in sending “a clear message” to the factions.28

At one point during the 11 December meeting with Aideed and Ali 

Mahdi, the two archenemies asked that they and their delegations be left 

alone to confer together. To Oakley’s surprise, the private discussions 

produced a breakthrough of no small significance: a seven-point agreement 

that each leader signed after the news media had been called in. Among 

the seven points were calls to end hostilities between the two sides, to 

cease “all negative propaganda,” to break down “the artificial lines” in 

the capital, and to move each leader’s forces and technicals to locations 

outside the city within 48 hours. In another positive development, Somali 

leaders requested that a permanent “joint” committee be set up so they and 

USLO/UNITAF officials could meet daily. Oakley agreed. In his opinion, 

the dialogue such a forum promised would help the interested parties 

promote understanding, clarify positions, and avoid surprises.29

Oakley later wrote that the signing of the seven-point accord “was the 

starting point of the US strategy for creating a benign security environment” 

in Mogadishu. As implemented, that strategy followed a general pattern in 

which UNITAF and USLO officials, through a combination of persuasion 

and coercion (one verbal form of the latter being a series of pointed 

reminders of what US firepower had accomplished in the recently concluded 
42 

Gulf War) began pressuring the two warlords and their lieutenants to 

implement the agreements they had reached and to initiate additional steps 

that would help end the civil strife, further the humanitarian relief effort, and 

ultimately set the stage for national reconciliation. In taking this approach, 

Oakley, Johnston, and their deputies looked first to what they perceived 

as the two principal points of the 11 December agreement—the cease-fire 

and the removal of each faction’s heavy weapons from the city’s streets. 

Somewhat surprisingly, the cease-fire agreement actually held except for 

a few minor incidents. The movement of the factions’ heavy weapons, 

including technicals, into designated cantonment areas took until the end 

of December. Once that was accomplished, UNITAF warned each side that 

any such weaponry caught on the streets would be “fair game.”30

While UNITAF and USLO pursued their strategy, Aideed and Ali 

Mahdi devised their own ways to manipulate the situation that now 

confronted them. To begin with, each sought to exploit the newly 

established dialogue for his own purposes while both projected themselves 

“as responsible national leaders worthy of U.S. support.” To illustrate this 

self-serving maneuvering, both warlords warned UNITAF about the threat 

of terrorist attacks it faced from the Somali National Islamic Front (NIF), a 

faction composed of Islamic “fundamentalists” receiving outside support 

from Iran and Sudan. Aideed even went so far as to propose coordinated 

military operations in which Johnston’s forces and his own would move 

against the NIF in Mogadishu and elsewhere. UNITAF and USLO, 

while taking the terrorist threat very seriously and making it a target of 

intelligence gathering, refused Aideed’s offer, thus avoiding “being sucked 

into an unnecessary confrontation with Islamic groups or developing an 

anti-Muslim image.” In Mogadishu, the NIF and other like-minded groups 

spewed out propaganda against the United States, the UN, and UNITAF, 

but the dreaded terrorist attacks never materialized. The whole episode 

demonstrated, however, the lengths to which the various factions would go 

in their efforts to manipulate and ingratiate themselves with the powerful 

military coalition now in their country.31

While Johnston was being introduced to the complex political side 

of his mission, he was also handling more conventional military matters. 

One involved the arrival of the multinational force under his command, 

another the continuation of Phase I operations. After the marines had 

secured Mogadishu’s airport on 9 December, a company of French 

paratroopers landed. Two days later—the day of Johnston’s meeting 

with Oakley, Ali Mahdi, and Aideed—Major General Wilhelm and the 

MARFOR command element arrived in the capital, as did the 1st Battalion 
43

(-), 7th Marines, with a reinforced rifle company. The battalion’s presence 

in Mogadishu freed a company from Newbold’s 15th MEU to mount a 

heliborne assault to seize an airfield located about 50 miles from the capital 

in the Baledogle HRS. Because planners believed the facility would take 

pressure off Mogadishu’s airport, they had made taking Baledogle a Phase 

I objective. To accomplish it, marines flew into the HRS on 13 December. 

Shortly thereafter, 10th Mountain Division troops from Company A, 2d 

Battalion, 87th Infantry, landed and, after setting up a TF 2-87 command 

post, relieved the Marine company.

The prompt arrival of US Army soldiers at Baledogle belied the 

difficulties the 10th Mountain Division had encountered in deploying 

the force.32 There were, of course, the numerous problems the division 

experienced as the ARFOR, the time crunch of crisis-action planning, the 

dearth of timely and precise information, and the staff’s inexperience in the 

joint arena and with joint programs. Other complications also arose. Early 

on, staff officers anticipated that the entire division would deploy, but they 

later learned that only the 2d Brigade, in its rotation as the division ready 

brigade, would be sent initially. Moreover, the brigade would deploy with 

only two of its three battalions—the 2-87th and the 3-14th—a decision 

that staff officers at Fort Drum blamed on the “arbitrary” ceiling of 10,200 

that the secretary of defense had set for the number of US Army troops 

that could participate in RESTORE HOPE. Both battalions were short 

of equipment and personnel, but the division’s roundout National Guard 

brigade helped stock the deficient inventories, while personnel shortfalls 

were handled by the “temporary change of station” process.

During all this, the first train carrying 10th Mountain materiel slated for 

Somalia departed for the port of Bayonne, New Jersey, on 7 December. As 

for the troops poised for deployment, they were scheduled to begin leaving 

Fort Drum on 19 or 20 December. The Air Force assured ARFOR planners 

that they would have 28 C-141 transport aircraft available each day to get 

the troops and the priority equipment and supplies to their destinations. 

Then, on 10 December, the day after the Marine landing at Mogadishu, 

Arnold and his staff received orders from Johnston’s headquarters that a 

few 10th Mountain units needed to be in Baledogle on the 13th, in effect 

moving up their departure date by seven days. To make matters worse, the 

Air Force could only provide three C-141s for the deployment, causing 

the 2-87th staff to trim drastically the assets it could deploy. This airlift 

shortage went beyond the immediate deployment to Baledogle, as the 

division also learned that it would have only 12 C-141s a day, not 28, to 

move what remained. This meant that some priority materiel would have 
44 

to be sent by sea. The first two trains that could have carried some of that 

equipment to the port of Bayonne, however, were already loaded with 

other items, and one of them had already departed.

Despite these last-minute obstacles, TF 2-87 managed to get airborne 

and, after a stopover in Egypt, arrived in Baledogle on schedule. That 

same day, an advance team from Fort Drum arrived in Mogadishu where 

its leader, Brigadier General Lawson W. Magruder II, the assistant 

division commander for operations, established liaison with the marines 

and prepared to receive other 10th Mountain units. These troops began 

deploying on 15 December, one day before most of the Marine forces 

started arriving in country. From this point on, Mogadishu airport had 

to handle a near-continuous stream of US and foreign troop transports, 

commercial airliners, and assorted aircraft carrying humanitarian aid and 

military supplies. This increased traffic taxed the facility’s air control 

capabilities to the maximum. Aggravating matters was the ripple effect of 

the congestion, as planes awaiting permission to land at the airport often 

had to adjust aerial refueling schedules or use intermediate staging bases. 

Not until later in the month, after personnel arrived from the Third Marine 

Aircraft Wing, did Johnston have the people with the expertise to man a 

joint air control authority (ACA) that could draw up and enforce a strict 

schedule for arrivals and departures. The fact that the ACA was responsible 

for commercial as well as military flights only added to its burden.33

When Marine and Army units landed, the MARFOR and ARFOR, 

respectively, assumed responsibility for getting them squared away. 

Initially, incoming foreign forces that fell under UNITAF or MARFOR 

control did not receive similar assistance. Johnston, at first, had no 

comprehensive plan for their employment but often determined 

assignments only after the units arrived. When possible, he adhered to 

his desire to confine the smaller coalition elements to security duties in 

Mogadishu, especially around the airport. Political considerations often 

intruded, as was the case with the Italian contingent, which Johnston 

“was not immediately disposed to have . . . in Mogadishu” where, given 

Italy’s colonial experience and its leanings toward Ali Mahdi, the troops 

risked “polarizing the factions” while alienating younger, anti-imperialist 

Somalis. While grappling with these mission-oriented considerations, the 

general also had to confront other, more basic concerns surrounding the 

growing influx of foreign units. Where would they find billets and staging 

areas? Where would they get supplies? Who would help them establish 

liaison with higher headquarters? Who would brief them on their mission 
45

and inform them of ongoing developments? How would language barriers 

be overcome?

The organizational answer to these questions came on 17 December 

when Major General Wilhelm formed a coalition forces support team 

(CFST) of more than 50 marines under a full colonel. The team’s mission 

was “to assist newly arrived coalition forces by orienting them to the 

military situation and the UNITAF structure, coordinating their initial 

logistical requirements, and providing liaison between their forces and U.S. 

units.” In practice, this translated into developing a set of formal procedures 

that could then be “tailored to meet the needs of each contingent.” These 

procedures included providing vehicles and communications to support 

liaison activities; in-processing the forces; building a “transient area” 

to house arriving units; finding the units staging areas; and presenting 

each group with tailored briefings containing the pertinent information 

concerning operations, intelligence, and ROE. Sharing information was 

a two-way proposition, with CFST personnel relaying what intelligence 

the coalition forces had to the MARFOR G2 while assessing for UNITAF 

“the capabilities, political restraints, and views of the commanding officer 

of each national contingent.” Finally, the CFST made sure that the foreign 

units received any supplies and equipment they needed.34

This last requirement depended on the tremendous logistic effort that 

began soon after the first marines came ashore. Initially, supplies came 

from the MEU’s service support group and from pre-positioned ships. At 

least two of the ships, however, could neither fit into the harbor nor unload 

their cargo in rough waters off the coast. Still, very soon after the marines 

secured the port area on 9 December, one pre-positioned supply ship, the 

Lummus, was unloading its cargo, an arduous and at times less than efficient 

process given the deplorable condition of the port and the need for trained 

personnel to manage the offloading. Meanwhile, mechanical problems 

significantly delayed two of the nine ships transporting priority materiel 

for the 10th Mountain Division. Other ships carrying heavy combat 

equipment and weapons, such as artillery, reached Mogadishu only to learn 

that their cargo would not be unloaded because UNITAF had downgraded 

the threat facing the coalition. Further complicating supply efforts at 

the beginning of Operation RESTORE HOPE was that many trained 

logisticians could not obtain priority seating on the troop transports flying 

to Mogadishu. The Army’s 7th Transportation Group, for example, did not 

reach the city “until 50 percent of the ARFOR units had already deployed.”
46 

In time and with a great deal of effort, the supply situation improved. 

The port began to operate smoothly after 54 acres had been cleared—in 

some cases bulldozed—to upgrade its facilities. By the end of December, 

the docks were handling both military and humanitarian aid cargoes. 

The Mogadishu airport also streamlined its logistic operations, while the 

airfield at Baledogle performed its designated role as a second airhead, 

albeit one in need of frequent repair. To sustain Operation RESTORE 

HOPE over the long haul, CENTCOM established, under Johnston, the 

JTF Support Command (JTFSC), a functional organization built around 

the staff of the US Army’s 13th Corps Support Command, headquartered 

at Fort Hood, Texas. (The fact that the JTFSC was composed exclusively 

of Army personnel was no small irritant to the ARFOR commander, who 

believed it should have been placed under his control.) The JTFSC would 

assume its critical role on D+50. Until then, the marines retained primary 

responsibility for logistic support, while a Navy rear admiral, with the help 

of several humanitarian relief personnel, orchestrated use of the port.35

As UNITAF established control over the airport, port, and coalition 

headquarters in Mogadishu and as the buildup of coalition forces 

accelerated, Johnston concentrated on what he considered to be his 

“primary mission,” securing his troops. The means of achieving force 

protection in Mogadishu were diverse, beginning with fortifying and 

continuing to reinforce one’s compound, base, checkpoint, or outpost— 

procedures left to troop commanders, engineer units, and troops. Surprise 

security inspections from higher headquarters also served as an inducement 

to keep defenses credible. Another force protection measure was to make 

sure that UNITAF troops going on patrols or convoys were trained and 

armed to defeat any military action taken against them. In a similar vein, 

shows of force reminded the faction leaders of the massive military 

power UNITAF could turn against them. This was a point Johnston could 

emphasize during his frequent meetings with these leaders, especially 

Aideed and Ali Mahdi, as he tried to persuade them to keep their armed 

followers under control.

The meetings also allowed Johnston to keep faction leaders informed 

about what weapons they could display in public without risk of drawing 

coalition fire. To the general’s relief, President Bush had not made 

disarmament a UNITAF mission. A more feasible approach was “weapons 

control,” which meant getting the factions’ most dangerous weaponry off 

the streets. Toward that end, the 11 December agreement between Aideed 

and Ali Mahdi to place their heavy weapons in designated cantonment 

areas was a promising start but one that still left the warlords and bandits 
47

with small arms and a variety of larger weapons. UNITAF’s ROE 

addressed these circumstances:

Crew served weapons are considered a threat to UNITAF forces and 

the relief effort whether or not the crew demonstrates hostile intent. 

Commanders are authorized to use all necessary force to confiscate and 

demilitarize crew served weapons in their area of operations. . . . Within 

areas under the control of UNITAF forces, armed individuals may be 

considered a threat to UNITAF and the relief effort whether or not the 

individual demonstrates hostile intent. Commanders are authorized to 

use all necessary force to disarm individuals in areas under the control 

of UNITAF. Absent a hostile or criminal act, individuals and associated 

vehicles will be released after any weapons are removed/demilitarized.36

One question this passage from the ROE raised was whether troops 

could fire on technical vehicles or armed Somalis on sight. Johnston decided 

against such an interpretation. As a rule, commanders, while expected to 

assess the risk involved, were not to authorize “all necessary force” until 

an armed vehicle or individual had been approached and challenged. 

Given the low level of violence UNITAF forces were encountering, the 

decision seemed sound. According to one source, “The UNITAF ROE 

were welcomed by the coalition countries, and generally accepted by 

Marines and Soldiers of UNITAF as effective and reasonable.”37

Psychological operations (PSYOP) offered Johnston a less traditional 

means of force protection. The CINCCENT OPORD had emphasized 

the importance of employing PSYOP, and within a week of landing in 

Mogadishu, Army experts in the field joined with USLO officials to 

publish a Somali-language newspaper and to set up a radio station that 

broadcast in Somali. The intent of both media was to enhance coalition 

security by countering hostile propaganda and by calming the fears of 

many Somalis concerning the purpose and scope of Operation RESTORE 

HOPE. Additional PSYOP measures included using loudspeaker teams 

and translators on most UNITAF operations and dropping leaflets over 

the city (and later over the outlying areas) to inform and, when need 

be, instruct the local population. As a precautionary measure, PSYOP 

personnel consulted with Islamic religious leaders in Somalia to ensure 

that the information UNITAF intended to disseminate would not offend 

Muslim sensibilities.38

As a last resort, force protection could entail the actual use of force, 

not to change the balance of power between the two main faction leaders 

but to demonstrate to both the futility of armed resistance. Thus, when 

technicals located northwest of the embassy compound opened fire on 
48 

three US helicopters on 12 December, the Marine crews returned fire, 

destroying two of the armed vehicles and an armored personnel carrier. 

After the shooting, Oakley called Aideed and Ali Mahdi and said, “I 

assume that these were not your people, and I’d appreciate it if you’d go 

on the air with your radios and tell everybody that this was not done by 

you, that you’re not having a war with us. Otherwise it’s going to be very 

dangerous for you.” Both leaders did as the special envoy suggested. In 

this case and others, the use of force was not isolated from diplomacy 

but an integral part of it. “We never broke off the dialogue,” Oakley later 

reported, a fact that in his mind “avoided building up the most dangerous 

thing in operations of this kind—an adversarial mentality.”39

The effectiveness of the various methods Johnston used to enhance 

force protection depended to a great extent on his intelligence people’s 

ability to formulate a more thorough and accurate threat assessment 

once coalition forces were on the ground.40 The US predeployment IPB, 

the MARFOR G2 quickly discovered, contained critical gaps: “The 

information on the political situation,” he observed, “was sketchy and 

simplistic at best.” The ARFOR staff, once in Mogadishu, echoed this 

sentiment: “Applying traditional warfighter considerations to Somalia 

failed to capture the unique character of the operation.” Major General 

Arnold, the ARFOR commander, was even more critical: “So the 

strategic level IPB was not particularly good. We didn’t know much about 

Mogadishu. We didn’t know much about Somalia. We didn’t know much 

about clans, and we didn’t know a hell of a lot about the personalities, 

although we had some information on the clan/faction labels.” To this, 

Zinni, the UNITAF J3, added his succinct observation: “I didn’t know 

Somalis from salamis.”

Overhead imagery showed Zinni where each faction located its heavy 

weapons, but he knew next to nothing about the leaders who owned the 

weapons, the way they interacted with one another, and, in general, the 

way Somali society and politics worked. When he entered the country, he 

later confessed, he naturally brought the individualistic mind-set common 

to Americans, only to encounter a society geared to communal, not 

individual, values. In the course of surmounting his initial ignorance of 

Somali beliefs and values, society, customs and traditions, politics, clans 

and factions, and personalities, Zinni became a fervid advocate of “cultural 

intelligence.” “All of these societies are tremendously complex,” he said 

in an interview. “Their fabric is complex. Their traditions are complex. 

Their methods of interrelationships and communications are complex. 

You have to learn something new every day . . . and every time you learn 
49

something, you get better.” Johnston made the same points in interviews 

he gave, noting that “this is a very, very complex environment,” in which 

it was essential for him to know “the political subtleties of clan loyalties 

[and] of faction leaders who . . . have clan loyalties.” Oakley, too, agreed. 

Without cultural intelligence, he argued, one lacked a meaningful context 

in which to place the programs, events, issues, negotiations, and activities 

that arose in the course of any politico-military operation.

Having identified the need for an armed force to understand the foreign 

society in which it was operating, Zinni lamented the US military’s inability 

to transcend its traditional mind-set in providing relevant predeployment 

information. “We never do a good job of cultural intelligence,” he 

observed, “of understanding what makes people tick, what their structure 

is, where authority lies, what is different about their values, and their way 

of doing business.” In the case of Somalia, a near-immediate recognition 

of this shortcoming resulted in a high-priority task to “determine the 

nature of the clan and factional alliances within Mogadishu and outlying 

areas, a task made all the more difficult by the volatile nature of these 

relationships.” As anticipated, an intensive HUMINT effort helped to fill 

the gaps in cultural intelligence, but before that effort could realize its true 

potential, it required proficient translators, several of whom were native 

Somalis living in the United States, as well as counterintelligence teams, 

few of which were on hand at the outset of the operation. By the end of 

December, however, these much-in-demand specialists, including many 

American civilian translators under contract and in uniform, were arriving 

in country and, along with other duties, working to improve HUMINT 

networks and procedures. Through “low-level source operations, debriefs 

of indigenous personnel, screening operations, interrogations and threat 

analysis via interpreters, humanitarian agencies, official contacts, and 

firsthand observation,” HUMINT allowed intelligence analysts to give 

Johnston a much better appreciation of what he faced politically and 

culturally, as well as militarily, not only in Mogadishu but also in the 

outlying HRSs.

Johnston used this cultural intelligence not only to anticipate better 

the kinds of threats his forces faced and the kinds of responses that might 

be appropriate and effective but also, in conjunction with other sources of 

information, to help the troops adjust more readily to their new, unfamiliar 

environment. Before and during deployment, many US units had been 

briefed on Somalia’s history and current crisis, but as one company 

commander observed, the overviews they received were very superficial. 

Thus, one tasking for PSYOP personnel was to disseminate more detailed 
50 

information to the troops once they arrived in country. Newsletters and 

fliers served this purpose, as did a pamphlet the Army quickly published, 

The Soldier in Somalia. Zinni praised the pamphlet as “an outstanding 

piece of work,” a highly accurate “good first cut and appreciation of the 

environment” that, even if it missed some nuances, at least got the troops 

better informed on the society and culture in which they were operating. 

As related to force protection, the idea was that a marine or soldier who 

understood something of Somalia’s culture could interact better with the 

local population, if only by avoiding the kinds of unintended slights and 

behavior that might unnecessarily trigger hostility and violence. Most US 

forces readily grasped this point, realizing from the outset that maintaining 

a professional and cordial bearing toward the locals, even if one regarded 

them with suspicion or disdain, would likely expedite the accomplishment 

of UNITAF’s mission.41

That mission remained establishing a secure environment in which 

humanitarian relief could reach those Somalis who needed it. If Johnston 

devoted special attention and employed a variety of means to protect 

the force entrusted to him, he did not allow his preoccupation with that 

issue to interfere with the essential tasks the troops needed to perform. In 

mid-December, those tasks included increasing the security environment 

in Mogadishu while, in line with Phase II of the general’s concept of 

operations, sending UNITAF units into the unoccupied HRSs. The security 

issue in the capital could be addressed in part by having coalition forces 

expand their military presence beyond the enclaves and main supply 

routes (MSRs) over which UNITAF had asserted its control in the first 

days of the operation. To that end, Major General Wilhelm, his deputy, 

and his operations cell at MARFOR headquarters produced a four-phase 

program, the first phase of which envisaged using combat engineers and 

Seabees to clear obstacles from Mogadishu’s MSRs. This action allowed 

coalition vehicles to move more freely around the city. Not insignificantly, 

clearing the MSRs would also give the Somalis easier access to street 

markets once the urban environment became safe enough for people to 

venture out at will.42

Although the MARFOR plan for opening the MSRs was ready by late 

December, Wilhelm did not execute it until Johnston had moved to occupy 

and, to some degree, secure the HRSs outside Mogadishu and Baledogle. 

From the beginning of Operation RESTORE HOPE, Johnston had been 

under pressure to send troops into the interior. With coalition units landing 

in full sight at Mogadishu’s airport, the news media and several HROs 

began asking why those forces were not rushing to the famine-stricken 
51

areas. The dire situation, they charged, demanded urgent action. Even in 

the Pentagon, gratuitous remarks began to surface about the marines being 

“too slow.” It was, in Johnston’s words, as if people were saying, “Just 

send a half a dozen Marines up there and everything [will] be wonderful.” 

Such wishful thinking, while stemming from noble sentiments, made for 

unsound military advice. To rush into an operation invited unforeseen 

and possibly disastrous consequences. “We don’t do business that way,” 

the general proclaimed. As far as UNITAF headquarters was concerned, 

RESTORE HOPE was on schedule. Until he had a concrete plan, a better 

threat assessment, and adequate firepower, Johnston tried to resist what 

he perceived as increasing pressure on him to launch the next phase of his 

plan prematurely.

As one commentator summarized the situation, “From the humanitarian 

perspective, the Marines were moving at a glacial pace. From the military 

perspective, however, the Marines were ‘smokin.’” The impasse broke 

after a week. The agreement between Aideed and Ali Mahdi, the lack of 

resistance in Mogadishu, and, as Johnston candidly admitted, the mounting 

calls for action caused him to accelerate his original timetable for moving 

into the outlying HRSs. As he revealed in a later interview, “I did not want 

that media pressure to be translated into JCS pressure to make us do things 

militarily. So, I was anxious to sort of move the tempo and the momentum 

to the extent we could do it and still secure the force.”43

Movement into the countryside began in earnest three days after 

marines seized the Baledogle airfield. On 16 December, US Marine and 

French units calling themselves TF Hope mounted an air-ground assault 

on the airfield at Baidoa, the town called the “city of death” because of 

the ravages of famine, disease, and war it had suffered. Upon their arrival, 

coalition officers, including civil affairs personnel, began conferring with 

the town elders, and the next afternoon, the first UNITAF-escorted convoy 

in the interior got under way with 14 armed vehicles moving from the 

airfield to the town to deliver food to a local orphanage. One journalist 

described the show of force as “embarrassing overkill,” but to a US 

Marine officer on the scene, the “light display of authority [demonstrated] 

that we can carry out our mission.” The success of the Baidoa operation 

led Johnston to declare that Phase I of RESTORE HOPE, establishing and 

securing lodgments in and around Mogadishu, had been completed.44

As TF Hope moved on Baidoa, UNITAF was planning similar 

operations into Kismayo and other HRSs. What made Kismayo 

important—so much so, in fact, that the operation was given a higher 
52 

priority than originally intended—was that it contained a large port and 

an airfield, both of which Johnston desperately needed to supplement 

Mogadishu’s facilities for handling incoming troops and materiel. UNITAF 

also needed to establish an armed presence in the city and HRS because of 

the continued fighting there between General Said Hersi “Morgan,” Siad 

Barre’s son-in-law, and Omar Jess, an Aideed ally who controlled the city 

and its valuable port. The port’s importance determined the method used 

to establish UNITAF’s presence, as Johnston directed US Navy elements 

off the coast to mount an amphibious operation to seize the city. He also 

placed the commander of a Belgian parachute battalion in charge of 

the landing force, which included a US Marine rifle company and two 

Belgian platoons. Like the marines, the Belgians had “sound experience 

in amphibious doctrine,” and on the morning of 20 December, after Navy 

SEALs had reconnoitered the beach area, the landing force came ashore 

and took its objectives without incident. The Belgian commander and the 

amphibious TF commander then met with Jess, who, while protesting 

the presence of “colonial” Belgians, made no attempt to resist the 

incoming force. After several days, ARFOR units under Brigadier General 

Magruder’s TF Kismayo relieved the marines—the Belgians stayed in the 

HRS—and assumed responsibility for security in the city.45

Throughout the rest of December, the other HRSs were secured in 

operations that, in general terms, bore a striking resemblance to one 

another. UNITAF would assemble a joint or multinational force on the 

basis of what units were available and the capabilities of each, plan the 

operation with staff officers and LNOs from the units involved, and issue 

a fragmentary order to the appropriate commanders. Before the order’s 

execution, Oakley (or his representative) would travel to the HRS and 

meet with “a broad cross-section of the local population.” In each case, 

he repeated what he had done so effectively in Mogadishu. He talked to 

the clan elders, military commanders, religious and local political leaders, 

and women’s groups, reassuring them of RESTORE HOPE’s benevolent 

intentions and America’s respect for Islam, and, if necessary, persuading 

those in charge not to resist inserting foreign troops. An airdrop of PSYOP 

leaflets often followed to reinforce this dialogue. Then came the military 

operation in which the designated units would make their way by air, 

land, or sea—or some combination of the three—to the objective, landing 

first at an airfield (and, if on the coast, a port), securing the facility, and 

then moving patrols into the central city. Despite the near certainty of a 

peaceful entry, the troop insertion was planned as a combat operation, 

with fire support, medical evacuation, long-range communications, and 
53

air support on hand to support the combat element. Once the troops had 

secured the area, however, further PYSOP initiatives were conducted to 

emphasize again the peaceful nature of RESTORE HOPE. In this manner, 

all nine HRSs (the ninth being a late addition of Marka to the original 

list of eight) had UNITAF troops on the ground by the end of the month, 

providing security for humanitarian relief efforts. Some HRSs, including 

Mogadishu, were occupied by US and foreign units under the MARFOR; 

others such as Kismayo and Belet Uen were secured by US and foreign 

units under the ARFOR. Over time, the initial division of responsibility 

between UNITAF’s two main components changed frequently, generally 

without friction. MARFOR-ARFOR cooperation across HRS boundaries 

also became routine, with common sense often overriding doctrine if the 

former promised to avoid complications or friction.46

As coalition forces consolidated their presence in Mogadishu and 

moved into the other HRSs, they made contact with the HROs throughout 

southern Somalia. It was these 50 or so groups that UNITAF was there 

to protect as they went about the dangerous business of receiving and 

delivering food and other supplies throughout the famine belt. Providing 

that protection, however, proved more difficult than expected. The 

charters of some humanitarian groups prohibited them from working 

with the military. Other HROs preferred not to work with the military 

or feared that such ties would undermine their credibility with some of 

the people they sought to serve. In some cases, an HRO’s way of doing 

business clashed with the military’s approach. There was also the matter of 

security. Some humanitarian groups had hired Somali gunmen with their 

technicals to guard convoys and relief sites, even though these “guards” 

often turned around and plundered or extorted the organizations they were 

being paid to protect. From the UNITAF perspective, the presence of these 

armed security forces contradicted the command policy of getting heavy 

weapons off city streets. Johnston’s troops, however, could not disarm 

these “technical advisers” without leaving the HROs that employed 

them completely defenseless. UNITAF’s initial efforts to exchange its 

protection for that of the local gunmen enjoyed some limited success but 

only when the HROs involved agreed to relocate their headquarters within 

areas coalition troops controlled, something that some groups would not 

or could not do.47

To improve operational coordination between the military and the 

HROs, as well as to help bridge the “cultural gap” between the two groups, 

Johnston and Oakley requested that a Civil-Military Operations Center 

(CMOC) be set up in Mogadishu and collocated with the Humanitarian 
54 

Operations Center (HOC) at the UNOSOM headquarters—a nod to the 

UN’s long-term responsibility for relief operations—10 minutes from 

UNITAF’s headquarters at the embassy. According to the account of 

Operation RESTORE HOPE by Oakley and John Hirsch, UNITAF’s 

political adviser:

The objective was to share information on the latest security 

developments; explain UNITAF ground rules and operational plans; 

coordinate humanitarian assistance activities, especially the protection 

for food convoys within Mogadishu and moving to the interior; and 

provide an opportunity for information exchange, coordination, and 

cooperation on humanitarian operations generally.48

Initially, the CMOC in Mogadishu served mainly as a forum in which 

the marines received and coordinated HRO requests for convoy security. 

Quickly, however, the organization became the focal point for UNITAFHRO interaction on a variety of security issues. Some of these issues, such 

as continuing to use armed Somalis for HRO protection, proved difficult to 

resolve. For some HROs, the CMOC seemed more a liaison organization, 

given that the military representatives had to report back to UNITAF, than 

“an operations center at which people solved problems at the same table.” 

Thus, the CMOC/HOC arrangement never quite bridged the cultural gap 

or ended the friction between the military and the humanitarian groups. 

But on the whole, the results were more positive than negative, with the 

CMOC receiving high praise. Several civilian veterans of humanitarian 

operations claimed that it offered the best NGO-military interface they had 

ever witnessed. Johnston shared this view, directing the forces under his 

control to set up local CMOCs whenever they established their presence 

in an HRS.49

UNITAF forces had established that presence in all of the HRSs by the 

end of December, weeks ahead of schedule, allowing Johnston to declare 

Phase II of Operation RESTORE HOPE completed on 28 December. 

Three days later, the last of the major US Marine combat units arrived in 

Mogadishu. In looking to the months ahead, the prospects were mixed. 

On the negative side, UNITAF involvement in securing the humanitarian 

relief mission was only getting started, and southern Somalia as a whole 

was not yet secure. Indeed, UNITAF troops throughout their first month 

on the ground routinely became targets of factional violence, mostly in 

the form of inaccurate but annoying sniper fire, occasionally punctuated 

by something more serious. On the positive side, UNITAF had made its 

presence felt, the humanitarian relief program would soon kick into high 

gear, and in most areas, including Mogadishu, the violence showed signs 
55

of subsiding as faction leaders accepted the fact that they were outgunned 

by the coalition force. The threat of a serious military challenge to 

UNITAF forces thus seemed remote. On New Year’s Eve and New 

Year’s Day, President Bush made a morale-building visit to the troops, 

reassuring them that their mission was “limited” and that they would not 

“stay forever.”50 Operation RESTORE HOPE was definitely on track. It 

was now just a matter of taking the momentum built up in Phases I and II 

and applying it to Phases III and IV of the mission. Many troops who had 

deployed to Somalia had missed Christmas with their families and friends. 

It seemed highly unlikely that they would miss Easter as well.
56 

Notes

This chapter is based on unclassified material ranging from published works to official 

histories, after-action reviews (AARs), and documents. Of special assistance in writing 

this and the following chapter was a draft of a manuscript on UNITAF being prepared 

for publication by Colonel Dennis P. Mroczkowski, USMCR, Retired. Mroczkowski 

graciously allowed me to use the manuscript, which has the working title The United States 

Marines in Somalia: With the Unified Task Force During Operation Restore Hope. As my 

citations indicate, I referred to this work often.

 1. Robert B. Oakley, “An Envoy’s Perspective,” Joint Force Quarterly [hereafter 

JFQ] (Autumn 1993), 45; John L. Hirsch and Robert B. Oakley, Somalia and Operation 

Restore Hope: Reflections on Peacemaking and Peacekeeping (Washington, DC: U.S. 

Institute of Peace Press, 1995), 42-43.

 2. Sources differ as to the number of Somalis who died from starvation and disease 

during 1991 and 1992, but most place the number over 200,000 or 300,000. For this 

account, I relied on those figures cited in Lynn Thomas and Steve Spataro, “Peacekeeping 

and Policing in Somalia,” Policing the New World Disorder: Peace Operations and Public 

Security, Robert B. Oakley, Michael J. Dziedzic, and Eliot M. Goldberg, eds. (Washington, 

DC: National Defense University Press, 1998), 181. Thomas and Spataro cite UN sources 

for the figures they use.

Some accounts maintain that by the time the Bush administration considered military 

intervention in Somalia, the worst of the famine had passed, although disease caused by 

starvation was on the rise. This point was made not to argue that the US intervention was 

unnecessary, only that it was late in coming. All accounts agree that Operation RESTORE 

HOPE saved thousands of Somalis from dying of starvation and disease. See Chris Seiple, 

The U.S. Military/NGO Relationship in Humanitarian Interventions (Carlisle Barracks, PA: 

Peacekeeping Institute, U.S. Army War College, 1996), 106; Scott Peterson, Me Against 

My Brother: At War in Somalia, Sudan, and Rwanda (New York: Routledge, 2001), 52.

 3. Hirsch and Oakley, 40-42. Of course, not everyone offering advice came to accept 

the arguments for intervention. U.S. News & World Report, for example, printed excerpts 

from a message from the American ambassador in Kenya to the State Department warning 

against embracing “the Somali Tarbaby.” The chaotic situation in Somalia, he stated, was 

beyond “the quick fix so beloved of Americans.” Associated Press story, 5 December 

1992.

 4. Hirsch and Oakley, 43; Oakley, 45; Colin L. Powell and Joseph E. Persico, My 

American Journey (New York: Random House, 1995), 564-65.

 5. Hirsch and Oakley, 44-47. The text of UN Security Council (UNSC) Resolution 

794, 3 December 1992, can be found in Ibid., 177-81. The text of President Bush’s speech 

is contained in U.S. Department of State Dispatch (4 January 1993), 5.

 6. Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-048, Major General Steven Lloyd Arnold, 26 

February 1993, Mogadishu, Somalia, interviewed by Major Robert K. Wright, Jr., USAR, 

and Captain Drew R. Meyerowich. Arnold was commanding general of the US Army 10th 

Mountain Division.

 7. Hirsch and Oakley, 42-43; I Marine Expeditionary Force (MEF) Command 

Chronology, 27 November 1992 to 28 February 1993, section 3, “Chronological Listing 

of Significant Events,” copy in archives of the U.S. Marine Corps Historical Center, Navy 

Yard, Washington, DC; Jay Hines, Jason D. Mims, and Hans S. Pawlisch, USCENTCOM 

in Somalia: Operations PROVIDE RELIEF and RESTORE HOPE (MacDill AFB, FL: 

U.S. Central Command History Office, November 1994), 21; Robert B. Oakley and David 
57

Tucker, Two Perspectives on Interventions and Humanitarian Operations, Earl H. Tilford, 

Jr., ed. (Carlisle Barracks, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 1997), 4. The NCA consists of 

the president and the secretary of defense or their duly deputized alternates.

 8. The Operation RESTORE HOPE mission statement is quoted in Major General 

Waldo D. Freeman, USA; Captain Robert B. Lambert, USN; and Lieutenant Colonel 

Jason D. Mims, USA, “Operation Restore Hope: A US CENTCOM Perspective,” Military 

Review (September 1993), 64.

 9. Hines et al., 22-23.

10. Joseph P. Hoar, “A CINC’s Perspective,” JFQ (Autumn 1993), 58.

11. On organizing the JTF headquarters, see Katherine A.W. McGrady, CRM 93-114, 

The Joint Task Force in Operation Restore Hope (Alexandria, VA: Center for Naval 

Analysis, March 1994), 4-5.

In an interview with Army historians during Operation RESTORE HOPE, Johnston 

expressed some second thoughts about trying to create a “totally purple” staff in the midst 

of crisis-action planning. Better, he reflected, to ask for only those officers from other 

services who are essential. As examples, he cited the wisdom of having Army officers 

for the intelligence and logistic sections and an Air Force officer for strategic airlift. But 

he questioned whether a Marine staff director should have an Army deputy or vice versa 

just for the sake of integrating the JTF. The bottom line: “We’re trying to validate, What 

the hell does a joint JTF headquarters look like for an operation like this?” Oral History 

Interview RHIT-JHT-085, Lieutenant General Robert B. Johnston, USMC, 12 March 1993, 

Mogadishu, Somalia, interviewed by Lieutenant Colonel Charles H. Cureton, USMCR, 

and Major Robert K. Wright, Jr., USAR.

12. The selection of the key staff directors is covered in more detail in Mroczkowski, 

chapter 2.

The potential for friction in the JTF headquarters arising from the fact that Zinni 

outranked the other staff directors, including Johnston’s chief of staff, all of whom were full 

colonels, never materialized. According to Zinni, Johnston believed that the large coalition 

force that would participate in RESTORE HOPE made it essential that he have a general 

officer as his J3. Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-081, Brigadier General Anthony C. 

Zinni, 11 March 1993, Mogadishu, Somalia, interviewed by Lieutenant Colonel Charles 

H. Cureton, USMCR, and Major Robert K. Wright, Jr., USAR.

13. Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085.

14. Ibid.; Mroczkowski, chapter 2. 

15. I MEF Command Chronology, 27 November 1992 to 28 February 1993, section 2, 

“Narrative Summary,” 1-2.

16. The account of the difficulties the 10th Mountain Division encountered in assuming 

the role of ARFOR is based on Center for Army Lessons Learned (CALL), Operation 

Restore Hope (Fort Leavenworth, KS: CALL, 16 August 1993), I-10-13, IV-2-3, 5-6; U.S. 

Army Forces Somalia, 10th Mountain Division (LI), After-Action Report Summary, 2 June 

1993, 4-5, 18. 

The issue of designating a division as an ARFOR is controversial, with many arguing that 

the staff is simply not large or experienced enough to handle the additional responsibilities. 

The 10th Mountain Division maintained that a division was, in fact, capable of serving 

in that capacity but only if given timely notification, additional staffing (especially for 

deployment and scheduling purposes), and adequate time for planning along doctrinal 

(meaning parallel) lines. See CALL, IV-15-18; U.S. Army Forces Somalia, 10th Mountain 

Division (LI), 6.

17. This brief summary of the threat assessment is based on Mroczkowski, chapter 

3; Task Force Mountain briefing slides on Operation RESTORE HOPE, no date; U.S. 
58 

Army Forces Somalia, 10th Mountain Division (LI), 3-5; Oral history interview with 

David Dawson, 29 January 2003, MacDill AFB, Florida, interviewed by Dr. Larry Yates, 

hereafter cited as Dawson interview; Seiple, 111.

18. Mroczkowski, chapter 3; Lieutenant General Robert Johnston, USMC, briefing 

slides on United Task Force Somalia, no date; Freeman et al., 64-65; Hoar, 58; I MEF 

Command Chronology, section 2, 2; Colonel F.M. Lorenz, USMC, “Rules of Engagement 

in Somalia: Were They Effective?” Naval Law Review (1995), 61-78; Colonel F.M. Lorenz, 

USMC, “Law and Anarchy in Somalia,” Parameters (Winter 1993-94), 30.

19. Mroczkowski, chapter 3; CALL, I-4. 

20. Hirsch and Oakley, 47; Hoar, 58; Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085.

21. Hirsch and Oakley, 49-50.

22. Ibid., 54; Oakley and Tucker, 4. For a gripping depiction of the violence, terror, and 

slaughter that took place daily in Mogadishu during the civil war between Ali Mahdi and 

Aideed, see Peterson, 19-35.

23. On the criticism surrounding Oakley’s “embracing” Aideed and Ali Mahdi by 

meeting with them, see Ibid., 58-59. Johnston’s reaction is in his Oral History Interview 

RHIT-JHT-085. Several ARFOR staff officers voiced criticism, not of Oakley’s 

achievement but of the failure to employ HUMINT assets in Somalia to determine the 

factions’ passive intentions well before the ambassador’s visit.

24. Several Army officers watching the landings on television together were “sickened 

and outraged” by what they regarded as the journalists’ irresponsible behavior and the risks 

the media thus created for the landing party. As one of the group later wrote, “I vowed 

privately that if anyone did that to me, I’d break every light set out there and maybe a few 

cameramen too.” What was not well known at the time was that a US official had told 

the journalists where the landing would take place, and the press had received guidelines 

on how to behave when the troops came ashore. One journalist claimed that Oakley had 

directed the reporters to the landing sites. Oakley, in turn, later placed responsibility at 

the feet of “U.S. military sources eager for good publicity but who had failed to inform 

the landing teams that the media would be on hand.” In any case, as one observer noted, 

it was “a made-for-TV event.” See Martin Stanton, Somalia on $5.00 a Day: A Soldier’s 

Story (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 2001), 75; Dawson interview; Peterson, 54; Oakley and 

Tucker, 4.

For a concise overview of the role special operations forces, including Navy SEALs, 

played in Operation RESTORE HOPE, see U.S. Special Operations Command 

(USSOCOM), USSOCOM History (MacDill AFB, FL: USSOCOM History and Research 

Office, nd), 43-45.

25. Mroczkowski, chapter 4; I MEF Command Chronology, section 2, 2-3.

26. Mroczkowski, chapter 4; Hirsch and Oakley, 60. One source indicates that 

improvements to the embassy compound during the course of UNITAF and UNOSOM II 

came to $50 million. See Peterson, 79. 

27. Unless otherwise noted, the account of the 11 December meeting and its 

ramifications is contained in Hirsch and Oakley, 55-59.

28. For Oakley’s advice, see Robert Oakley, “The Urban Area During Support Missions 

Case Study: Mogadishu—The Strategic Level,” Capital Preservation: Preparing for Urban 

Operations in the Twenty-First Century, Russell W. Glenn, ed. (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 

2001), 324. On Johnston’s realization of the politico-military nature of his assignment, 

see his Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085. See also Mroczkowski, chapter 5.

29. The seven-point agreement is reprinted as an appendix in Hirsch and Oakley, 183. 

On the origin and usefulness of the USLO/UNITAF/Somalia committee, see Oakley, “The 

Urban Area During Support Missions Case Study: Mogadishu—The Strategic Level,” 324.
59

30. Besides Hirsch and Oakley, see Mroczkowski, chapter 5.

31. Hirsch and Oakley, 84-85.

32. This summary of the problems ARFOR/10th Mountain Division planners 

encountered in getting the first troop units to Somalia is based on Oral History Interview 

RHIT-JHT-048; CALL, 4-11, I-2-3, II-4-5, IV-1-6; Stanton, 71-72; U.S. Army Forces 

Somalia, 10th Mountain Division (LI), 1, 4-6, 18.

33. Mroczkowski, chapter 5; Memorandum for Record, Commander, UNITAF Somalia, 

to Potential Users of Somali Airspace, Subj: Control of Somali Territorial Airspace, no 

date, copy obtained from U.S. Army Center of Military History (CMH), Washington, DC; 

I MEF Command Chronology, section 2, 2-3, 19; McGrady, 55-59.

34. The summary of how UNITAF and the MARFOR handled incoming foreign troops, 

including the CFST’s mission and activities, is based on Johnston’s Oral History Interview 

RHIT-JHT-085 and I MEF Command Chronology, section 2, 44-46. David Dawson, who 

as a Marine captain served briefly in Mogadishu as the UNITAF historian and for a longer 

period as the MARFOR historian, tempers these accounts with his own observation that 

many US staff officers and troops involved with the coalition knew little of such basics as 

the proper names of ranking foreign commanders and the proper designations of the units 

they commanded. While some soldiers and marines simply dismissed foreign troops who 

were not well equipped, well trained, or highly motivated, others tried to work closely with 

them, providing them incentives for playing a more active role when possible. See Dawson 

interview.

35. For the account of logistics in Operation RESTORE HOPE, see Ibid.; Kenneth 

Allard, Somalia Operations: Lessons Learned (Washington, DC: National Defense 

University Press, 1995), 46-50; Mroczkowski, chapters 2 and 4; Hirsch and Oakley, 59; 

Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085; Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-048; CALL, 6-7, 

II-1-5; Oakley and Tucker, 6. In the last publication cited, CALL concluded that the “nature 

of the operation was such that [combat support], [combat service support], and Civil Affairs 

units should have had an equal, if not greater, priority during deployment than the combat 

units.” CALL also supported Arnold’s position that the JTFCS, composed entirely of Army 

elements, should have been placed under ARFOR and that the failure to do so, besides 

violating doctrine, severely disrupted ARFOR’s airlift allocation. Transports originally 

assigned to deploy 10th Mountain units were taken from ARFOR’s allotment to transport 

the JTFCS, which, again, was not under ARFOR’s control.

36. Lorenz, “Rules of Engagement in Somalia: Were They Effective?” 64.

37. Ibid. For a fuller discussion of disarmament versus weapons control, see the next 

chapter.

38. Mroczkowski, chapter 5; Hirsch and Oakley, 61-63; Johnston briefing slides.

39. Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085; CMH, Resource Guide, Unified Task Force 

Somalia, December 1992-May 1993, Operation Restore Hope (Washington, DC: CMH, 

1994), 108; Oakley, “The Urban Area During Support Missions Case Study: Mogadishu—

The Strategic Level,” 325-26.

40. This summary of intelligence requirements that emerged once Operation RESTORE 

HOPE commenced is based on I MEF Command Chronology, section 2, 22-23; CALL, 5-

6, I-5; U.S. Army Forces Somalia, 10th Mountain Division (LI), 3-4, 30-31; Oral History 

Interview RHIT-JHT-048; Oral History Interview JHT-RHIT-081; briefing by Major 

General Anthony Zinni, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, 1994, hereafter cited as Zinni briefing; 

Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085; Oakley, “Urban Area,” 318; Interview with Colonel 

Stephen Spataro, 24 February 2003, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, interviewed by Dr. Larry 

Yates.

41. Oral History Interview JHT-RHIT-081.
60 

42. I MEF Command Chronology, section 2, 6-7.

43. Seiple, 122-25; Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085.

44. Mroczkowski, chapter 4; Hines et al., 25; Peterson, 62.

45. Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085; Mroczkowski, chapter 4; CMH, 110-13.

46. Hines et al., 24-27; Hirsch and Oakley, 69, 71; Mroczkowski, chapter 4; U.S. Army 

Forces Somalia, 22.

One case in which the common-sense rule prevailed was in determining command and 

control arrangements for convoys leaving an HRS controlled by ARFOR or MARFOR 

troops and entering an HRS controlled by the other component. Rather than engage in 

elaborate handoffs, it was determined that whoever was responsible for a convoy’s security 

when it set out would remain the responsible party after it crossed the boundary.

47. Zinni briefing. The term “technicals,” referring to the armed vehicles employed 

by Somali bandits and factional militia, was a fallout of the NGOs referring to the armed 

personnel they hired for protection as “technical advisers.”

48. Hirsch and Oakley, 66.

49. I MEF Command Chronology, section 2, 3; Seiple, 113-30; CMH, 117.

50. Seiple, 108.
61

Chapter 3

Operation RESTORE HOPE

Phases III and IV, December 1992-May 1993

Lawrence A. Yates

Phase III of Operation RESTORE HOPE, the “stabilization phase,” 

contained the essence of the UNITAF mission—providing security for 

the effort to get food and other forms of humanitarian relief to Somalis 

suffering throughout the famine belt. This segment of the operation, as 

expected, overlapped to some degree with the first two phases and would 

continue until UNITAF gave way to UNOSOM II on 4 May 1993. The 

transition that day from a US-led coalition to a UN peace-keeping force 

in Somalia signaled another milestone: the completion of RESTORE 

HOPE’s fourth and final phase.

Stabilization

As 1993 opened, optimism ran high that UNITAF could accomplish 

the last two phases in its concept of operations expeditiously. Phases I and 

II, entailing the lodgment of coalition forces in Mogadishu, Baledogle, 

and the main cities and towns of the outlying HRSs, had been successfully 

executed against minimal resistance. The matrices of color-coded 

indicators that US staff officers devised to measure progress, or the lack 

thereof, pointed with confidence to the future. Through a determined yet 

flexible approach, it seemed the coalition could consolidate its initial 

gains, extend UNITAF’s reach into the more isolated areas of each HRS, 

work with UN officials on the handoff to UNOSOM II, and then, having 

been instrumental in ending a human tragedy, withdraw without further 

ado.

In discussing the means to achieve these goals, Brigadier General 

Anthony Zinni, UNITAF’s director of operations, separated the myriad 

of activities engaging coalition forces and other outside organizations in 

Somalia into three broad categories: military, humanitarian, and political. 

Military concerns dealt mainly with security issues; humanitarian activities, 

while concentrating on immediate relief measures, occasionally addressed 

the long-term requirement to reconstruct parts of the country; and political 

initiatives sought to achieve limited but utilitarian accommodations 

among the warring factions while supporting, when possible, the broader 

and more precarious process of national reconciliation. Activities in all 

three categories took place at different political and societal levels and in 
62 

different geographical areas, thereby complicating matters and requiring 

some decentralized execution of general policies. Thus, while Zinni 

maintained that “These three tracks have to work exceptionally close to 

each other, and in parallel,” he would find occasion to lament that this 

was not always the case.1 Still, if the parties involved could achieve some 

progress along each track, it was possible that the situation in Somalia 

could be stabilized to the point that the follow-on UN peace-keeping force 

might anticipate a fair chance of success for its much more complex and 

comprehensive mission of nation building.

The military element. Of Zinni’s three categories, UNITAF naturally 

concentrated on the military track, especially the requirement to provide 

security for its own forces and for an assortment of disparate groups: the 

HROs and NGOs engaged in humanitarian efforts; the officials tackling 

diplomatic problems; VIPs on the scene and a host of visiting dignitaries, 

prominent Somali political, military, and religious leaders; and the Somali 

people themselves. The methods used to achieve this security varied, as 

did the levels of success attained. From the outset, the coalition employed 

the strategy of “deconfliction,” as Zinni termed it, one facet of which 

began with presidential envoy Robert Oakley’s pre-intervention meetings 

with Aideed and Ali Mahdi and expanded once Lieutenant General Robert 

Johnston, the UNITAF commander, joined the talks after his arrival. 

This dialogue with faction leaders and their representatives continued 

throughout RESTORE HOPE and found its organizational underpinning in 

two committees created early in the process. One, the political committee, 

provided the venue for Oakley and other USLO officials to meet regularly 

with prominent Somalis in Mogadishu. The second, the security committee, 

included military officers from each of the factions, with Zinni and his 

staff usually representing UNITAF. Discussions in the security committee 

addressed numerous topics, with one aim being to anticipate and defuse 

“potential conflicts” and “potential confrontations.” Negotiations were 

often delicate, with Zinni striving to “separate the politics from the 

security issues,” a “very difficult” procedure given their close relationship 

but a necessary one if UNITAF hoped to avoid the impression of “showing 

favoritism to one side or the other.” Maintaining UNITAF’s impartiality 

was, according to Zinni, “hard work.” “Many of the factions would like 

us to condemn their adversaries or to openly show that we are siding with 

them,” he observed. “We want a sense of cooperation with each of the 

factions from a military and security perspective.” The pursuit of this goal 

produced a generally productive dialogue in both committees, enabling 

Oakley to conclude later that, despite recurring difficulties, the “strategy 
63

of seeking cooperation, avoiding direct confrontation if possible, and 

gradually increasing pressure on all factions seemed to be working.”2

One issue discussed in the security committee was variously called 

“weapons control,” “weapons collection,” or “selective disarmament,” all 

terms UNITAF employed as an alternative to “total disarmament,” which 

Johnston, from the outset, had no intention or mandate to implement. 

As noted in the previous chapter, he and his superiors fully understood 

that any attempt to disarm the warring factions completely would have 

encumbered UNITAF with a host of unwanted and near insurmountable 

challenges. To begin with, coalition forces were confined to southern 

Somalia and could not disarm the factions there without placing them at a 

disadvantage vis-à-vis their rivals to the north. Similarly, a disarmament 

program in UNITAF-occupied areas of the south would have to be 

implemented in a way that would avoid giving an advantage to one faction 

over another. Such an impartial and simultaneous approach in so complex 

a political and military environment was not feasible during the short time 

UNITAF planned to be in the country.

Posing another obstacle to complete disarmament, there were simply 

too many weapons in Somalia. During the Cold War, first the Soviet 

Union and then the United States had flooded the country with arms, 

and Somali fighters had grown accustomed to the vast array of firepower 

made available to them. “If you think the National Rifle Association 

has a fixation regarding weapons,” Oakley once remarked, “it’s nothing 

compared to the Somalis. It’s part of their manhood. And they learn how to 

use them.” Personal security also bonded a Somali male with his weapon. 

As Zinni later recounted, Aideed relied on the AK-47 and pistol he carried 

to protect himself and his family. He and tens of thousands of other Somali 

males, imbued with a warrior mentality and confronted by daily threats, 

could not surrender these small arms without placing themselves and their 

relatives in grave danger. Nor could UNITAF hope to find all the weapons 

caches in Mogadishu or any other part of the country. In the estimate of 

Major General Steven Arnold, the 10th Mountain Division commander, 

“We think that we would be here for ten years to disarm Somalia and not 

be finished.”3

Given these conditions, Johnston, Oakley, and Zinni, with the backing 

of CINCCENT, advocated a more realistic approach, one of placing 

restrictions and controls on the weapons faction leaders had in their 

inventories and on the streets. In Mogadishu, the 11 December agreement 

between Aideed and Ali Mahdi to remove their technical vehicles to 
64 

cantonments, or Authorized Weapons Storage Sites (AWSS), where 

coalition forces could monitor them, served as a promising start, and 

both warlords had complied with the agreement by the end of December. 

In mid-February, Ali Mahdi took the additional step of relinquishing 

his cantoned technicals to UNITAF, signifying to Oakley that the 

Somali leader would thereafter seek to further his influence through 

political means. At the same time, however, many of Aideed’s technicals 

disappeared from his AWSSs, having been relocated to undisclosed areas 

outside the city. This development troubled Johnston and Oakley, but not 

to the point of recommending punitive action “so long as [the weapons] 

posed no threat to UNITAF forces or humanitarian operations and so long 

as UNITAF was able to confiscate weapons found in the course of its 

operations without setting off a fight with the faction that owned them.”4

Their assessment reflected the view that the coalition’s weapons control 

policy served as both a force protection measure and a means to create the 

secure environment mandated in the RESTORE HOPE mission.

Beyond Mogadishu, weapons control proceeded with an eye to 

local conditions. Recognizing that each HRS had its own “personality,” 

Johnston’s headquarters promulgated general guidelines for dealing with 

the problem, then left it for subordinate commanders throughout the 

south to develop more specific policies based on circumstances prevalent 

within a given area. Thus, after Task Force (TF) Hope flew into Baidoa, 

Colonel Newbold, aware of UNITAF’s guideline that weapons would 

be confiscated if they posed a threat to coalition forces, concluded that 

“it would be impossible to create a secure environment as long as the 

bandits continued to openly carry weapons.” He therefore applied a strict 

interpretation to the guidance when he informed local leaders that his 

troops would “seize any weapon seen on the streets of Baidoa.” Two days 

later, after TF Hope marines came under fire from a nearby compound, the 

colonel’s men surrounded the facility, seized the arms present, and began 

an even more aggressive policy of confiscating weapons, one that went 

well beyond what was then being implemented in Mogadishu.5

US Army units in the outlying HRSs also tailored weapons control 

policy to local circumstances. UNITAF’s general guidelines again provided 

a baseline, to which the soldiers soon appended a checklist approved by 

Major General Arnold on 31 December. Arnold’s directive was referred to 

as the “4 NOs”: no bandits, no checkpoints (erected by armed Somalis for 

purposes of extortion), no technical vehicles, and no visible weapons. In the 

general’s opinion, these rules “would be simple to remember and translate 

well,” lent themselves easily to a PSYOP campaign, and could actually 
65

be enforced. Originally designed for the Marka HRS, the 4 NOs became 

the basis for more specific policies in all US Army-controlled areas.6

Throughout the UNITAF area of operations, enforcing selective 

weapons control involved a variety of measures ranging from diplomatic 

pressure, shows of force, and area sweeps, to raids on unauthorized 

arms caches and, when necessary, the use of significant military force 

against flagrant violators. In determining what particular approach to 

take, UNITAF tried to strike a delicate balance. When political prudence 

dictated, weapons-toting Somalis might be stopped or detained, only to 

be released still clutching their weapons. Similarly, coalition troops might 

keep a known weapons cache under observation but not raid it. In contrast, 

a serious provocation might precipitate a strong military reaction. Such 

had been the case in mid-December when technical vehicles firing on 

Marine helicopters had been quickly destroyed in an impressive display 

of retaliatory fire. In January, an even more serious incident occurred in 

which a Marine convoy in Mogadishu received fire from two AWSSs under 

Aideed’s control. Major General Wilhelm, the MARFOR commander, 

branded the shooting “a flagrant violation of the cantonment area 

agreement” and sought to punish those responsible. Retaliation was swift. 

That night, a reinforced Marine task force, backed by AH-1W Cobra attack 

helicopters, moved LAVs and organic anti-tank weapons into positions 

surrounding both compounds. At dawn, following PSYOP broadcasts at 

one of the sites, the Somalis inside allowed the marines to enter and seize 

the weapons present. At the second site, the Somalis resisted, so “Marine 

ground and air forces opened fire, and after a heated exchange of fire 

silenced all opposition.” The next day, in a follow-up operation, marines 

conducted “the first sweep and clear operation of a major arms market” in 

the capital. Zinni then went to Aideed and offered him a choice: more of 

the same or a return to the strategy of “deconfliction.” The warlord readily 

agreed to the latter option.7

The AWSS incident served as a reminder that Johnston would not 

shrink from using the firepower available to him when he believed a 

situation demanded decisive action. (The incident, according to Oakley, 

also deflated Aideed’s bogus but well-publicized claims that coalition 

forces favored his faction over Ali Mahdi’s.) But such levels of violence 

were rare. Militarily, the faction militias and other armed Somalis chose 

not to mount a serious challenge to the powerful force under Johnston’s 

control. UNITAF headquarters tumbled onto this basic fact soon after 

it became operational. Once coalition troops were on the ground, 

aggressive reconnaissance and “eyes-on-target” patrolling, the manning of 
66 

checkpoints and strongpoints, the conduct of cordon and search or search 

and clear operations, and the cultivation of HUMINT sources generated 

the intelligence that staff officers needed to update their threat assessments. 

The revised calculations indicated that the most likely military peril facing 

friendly forces was not a firefight, much less an all-out assault, but burning 

tires, thrown projectiles such as bottles and bricks, frequent sniper and 

small-arms fire, and occasional mortar, RPG, and artillery rounds, all of 

which, while dangerous and sometimes deadly, did not produce heavy 

casualties and generally did not require a massive response. In the context 

of this threat reassessment, a mortar and recoilless rifle barrage directed at 

coalition troops on New Year’s Eve (after which the MARFOR submitted 

an urgent request for two AN/TPQ-36 counterbattery radars) and the 

AWSS firefight in January stood as atypical occurrences—tests, perhaps, 

of UNITAF’s resolve. A firm response generally discouraged, or at least 

deferred, further provocations, as demonstrated when Aideed swiftly 

acquiesced to Zinni’s ultimatum following the AWSS episode.8

By the middle of December, according to a MARFOR command 

chronology, “It was clear that a smaller force than originally envisioned 

would suffice” in Somalia, and that “large mechanized forces and heavy 

fire support would not be needed.” As a consensus emerged within 

Johnston’s headquarters that the various groups of armed Somalis did not 

pose a serious military challenge to the coalition, the general, his staff, and 

commanders had to determine what weapon systems and equipment were 

really required to establish a secure environment in areas under UNITAF 

control. They soon concluded that mortars, attack helicopters, armored 

personnel carriers, antitank weapons, and small arms were essential for 

accomplishing the mission. Systems geared to heavy operations, however, 

such as Abrams battle tanks, CH-47 Chinook transport helicopters, and 

field artillery, were deemed expendable. Arnold, for one, estimated that the 

ARFOR did not need 17 percent of its materiel. On the basis of this kind 

of advice, Johnston proceeded to cancel or reload onto ships many of the 

weapons and equipment that he no longer thought necessary. In several 

instances, his decision to return what he considered to be nonessential 

invited severe criticism from those who had shipped the materiel at great 

expense.9

UNITAF’s reevaluation of the threat it faced also affected troop 

deployments and dispositions. Some RESTORE HOPE units scheduled 

for a late arrival in Somalia, such as the 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, and 

the 1st Tank Battalion, were simply canceled. Leathernecks from the 3rd 

Battalion, 11th Marines, on the other hand, made it ashore but learned they 
67

would be without their field artillery. The battalion’s artillerymen became 

provisional infantry serving in security roles, thus giving credence to the 

motto, “Every Marine a Rifleman.” Further into Operation RESTORE 

HOPE, more adjustments were made. In mid-January, for example, the 3rd 

Battalion, 9th Marines, redeployed from Mogadishu to Camp Pendleton, 

allowing Wilhelm to reorganize the placement of MARFOR combat units 

by putting “a more mechanized force in the open terrain of the Bardera 

HRS with a less mechanized force in the urban terrain of Mogadishu.”10

The capital generally remained the most volatile area occupied by 

UNITAF, and Wilhelm continued to implement the four-phase program his 

staff had devised in December to stabilize and pacify the city. By the end 

of 1992, combat engineers and Seabees had managed to clear several of 

Mogadishu’s main streets, preparing the way for coalition units to establish 

a formidable presence in the capital and, when necessary, to take direct 

action against hostile elements and other targets. In anticipation of such 

measures, Wilhelm stood up Task Force Mogadishu under the command 

of his deputy, Marine Colonel Jack Klimp. The 15th MEU (SOC) and the 

7th Marines were also available to help out. In early January, UNITAF 

movement into the western part of the city began, with initial activities 

concentrating on intensive patrolling, punctuated by a weapons sweep 

or some other major operation every two days. In a related maneuver, 

elements from the 3rd Battalion, 11th Marines, under Lieutenant Colonel 

Ed Lesnowicz, Jr., occupied a strongpoint just outside the New Port, 

establishing there a permanent presence that the marines hoped would 

curb the area’s well-known criminal activity. Some TF Mogadishu units 

also pushed on into northern Mogadishu, where they came under frequent 

but mostly inaccurate sniper fire, especially in the vicinity of the soccer 

stadium and the 21 October Road. Some of this harassment abated, 

however, as a result of the forceful message UNITAF sent in its swift and 

violent response during the AWSS incident.11

The active patrolling, the sweep and clear operations, and the 

creation of 24-hour strongpoints “began to bring a clear improvement 

in Mogadishu” by mid-January. This assessment prompted Wilhelm to 

launch Mogadishu II, a two-phase plan that, in the words of the Marine 

command chronology, sought “to turn Mogadishu back into a functioning 

city.” To that end, the general’s staff placed specific areas of the capital 

into one of two categories: those sections that required stabilization 

through a continuation of assertive operations, and those sections that 

had been normalized to the point where coalition troops could exercise 

a “benevolent presence” and engage in “humanitarian civic assistance.” 
68 

An example of the second category was the area around Lesnowicz’s 

strongpoint, which fell along the so-called green line separating Aideed’s 

and Ali Mahdi’s factions. Soon after the marines effected an around-theclock presence along the volatile boundary, “the local inhabitants began to 

reemerge and life in this neighborhood began to return to normal.”12

As a consequence of TF Mogadishu establishing a presence in 

various parts of the city, personal contacts between coalition forces and 

the indigenous population increased dramatically. While many Somalis 

in the capital seemed to welcome the foreign troops, that sentiment was 

far from universal, thus resulting in “an environment where a marine on 

patrol at night might be met by a waving, smiling crowd on one corner 

and gunfire on the next.” Aggravating these person-to-person contacts was 

the behavior of many Somali males, including children, who according 

to reports filed by coalition troops would try to steal almost any item that 

was not firmly secured. As a further complication, UNITAF forces ran 

into a cultural barrier that, for many, appeared too incomprehensible to 

overcome. 

Under such conditions, extensive contact with the Somali people 

began to exact a psychological toll on the troops. It was not long before 

many UNITAF personnel in Mogadishu and the outlying HRSs began 

referring to the Somalis as “skinnies,” or using other derogatory terms. In 

some cases, behavioral indicators of a negative attitude appeared in just a 

matter of days, or even minutes. A journalist on the scene recounted how 

one newly arrived marine “put on a happy face” as he held at bay Somali 

children swarming around planes on the airfield. Within 30 minutes, 

the same marine was cursing the children and chasing after them, “the 

transformation from benevolent cop to tough-guy law enforcer complete.” 

The Marine command chronology put it another way: “Many Marines 

began to grow increasingly impatient with the naturally curious Somalis, 

particularly when Somalis crowded them.” Recognizing the stress many 

of the troops were feeling, and concerned that frustrated marines could 

end up hurting or alienating the people they were there to help, Wilhelm 

issued a “30-Day Attitude Adjustment Message” that reminded MARFOR 

troops of the friendly intentions of 90 percent of the population. The 

message also directed his men to take “a brief stand down” periodically 

for “a few moments of relaxation” before returning to the task of “being 

simultaneously friendly and vigilant.”13

The UNITAF command made other adjustments to minimize the 

friction arising from direct personal contact between coalition troops and 
69

the Somali people. PYSOP programs sought to convince the locals that 

coalition forces were there to help not harm them. As for the children 

the troops considered “undisciplined,” if not out-and-out thieves, some 

marines had taken to carrying whipping sticks to keep the ubiquitous 

youths at bay. But administering beatings to kids neither enhanced the 

warrior ethic and self-esteem of the marines nor endeared them to the 

indigenous population. A more effective approach, it was found, was to 

ask or hire Somali elders to keep the youngsters under control and, when 

necessary, to punish them. In the hands of the elders, a stick—a symbol 

of authority in Somali culture—served as a traditional and acceptable 

disciplinary instrument.14

In general, then, creating a secure environment in Somalia confronted 

UNITAF with a dilemma: the mission required that coalition forces 

establish a presence throughout the HRSs and interact with the Somali 

people, but such contact often produced friction, a friction that could best 

be reduced by limiting the contact, especially in highly populated areas 

such as Mogadishu. One organizational solution to this dilemma surfaced 

early in the intervention when UNITAF and USLO addressed the issue 

of reconstituting a Somali police force.15 If Somali policemen could 

perform some of the law-and-order, security, and interpersonal tasks then 

being discharged by coalition forces, the result might not only be a more 

secure environment, but also one in which inevitable tensions between 

the local populace and foreign troops could be reduced. As Oakley 

later commented about indigenous policemen, “They spoke Somali; we 

didn’t. They understood the body language; we didn’t.” Not only would a 

common language and culture enable Somali police to interact effectively 

with the population, but by providing a sort of buffer between coalition 

troops and the people, a resuscitated police force would, in effect, serve 

the cause of force protection. Furthermore, in terms of law enforcement, a 

police force could deal with the petty crimes rampant in urban areas like 

Mogadishu, thus freeing UNITAF to target, in Zinni’s words, the “gross 

problems of violence.” The logic for resurrecting the Somali police force 

thus seemed irrefutable. That did not prevent the initiative from becoming, 

like disarmament, a highly controversial issue.

Prior to the civil war, the Somali national police force had been an 

effective organization of between 15,000 and 18,000 members with 

a reputation for fairness and impartiality. Once factional violence in 

the country began escalating, however, the police found themselves 

outgunned by the warring parties. Simply as a matter of self-preservation, 

many policemen in southern Somalia returned to the towns and villages 
70 

of their subclans and families to weather the storm. With the arrival of 

UNITAF on the scene, the worst seemed to have passed, and several 

“retired” police officers led by General Ahmad Jama, the last chief of the 

national police, approached Oakley, USLO officials, and representatives 

from General Johnston’s headquarters with the request that a police force 

be reestablished in areas controlled by the international coalition. What 

was needed, they made clear, was assistance in the form of uniforms, 

money, and training, and some degree of protection from the factions that 

would almost certainly try to take charge of a resuscitated force. Oakley 

was receptive to the idea and recommended that the rebuilding process 

begin at the district level and work its way up to regional commands.

At first, Johnston did not embrace Oakley’s viewpoint. Resurrecting 

a Somali police organization was simply not part of UNITAF’s mission. 

Indeed, many civil affairs personnel whose expertise Johnston could 

have employed to help revive such an organization had early on been 

dropped from the RESTORE HOPE operation plan. Higher up the chain 

of command, CENTCOM and the Pentagon viewed the project, with its 

obvious overtones of nation building, as another example of “mission 

creep.” There were also laws, specifically Section 2420, Chapter 32 of the 

US Code (Foreign Assistance; Miscellaneous Provisions), that prohibited 

the use of funds for the US military to train, advise, and support foreign 

police and other law-enforcement agencies. Reinforcing these American 

doubts and restrictions, the UN opposed the idea for fear that a newly 

constituted police force would be perceived as simply another armed 

element contributing to Somalia’s internal strife. Furthermore, the UN 

representative on the scene, keenly aware that UNOSOM II’s mandate 

would be nationwide, argued that creating a national police force should 

precede setting up local police authorities, the opposite of Oakley’s 

position.

Having voiced their misgivings, practically all the opponents of a 

revived Somali police force soon changed their minds. Johnston was one 

of the first. From the time of his arrival, he had done what he could to 

prevent his combat troops from becoming “policemen,” but just being 

in Mogadishu, manning checkpoints, providing installation security, 

and escorting convoys had often required them to perform a variety of 

police-like functions. In talks with Oakley and others, Johnston came to 

see that a Somali police force, according to one account, “would eliminate 

the need for UNITAF troops to serve as police, not only freeing them for 

other duties but avoiding confusion about their role and reducing friction 

with the local population, thus minimizing casualties on both sides.” In 
71

his own words, Johnston articulated a related benefit: “To the extent that 

you can get somebody other than the warlords providing security, then you 

enfeeble the warlords.”

Washington took longer to accept the merit of these arguments. 

Twice President Bush’s people rejected Oakley’s entreaties on the matter, 

prompting the special envoy to fire off yet another message warning 

that, absent Somali policemen, the coalition was “going to get people 

killed patrolling in dark alleys.” Just hours after the cable reached the 

president’s national security adviser, a US marine was, in fact, killed in a 

Mogadishu alleyway. Upon the heels of the incident, Oakley and UNITAF 

received White House permission to move forward on the police force, 

although the US government initially offered no material assistance for 

the undertaking.

Once authorized, the process of reestablishing the Somali police got 

under way in several UNITAF-controlled areas, with the main effort—as 

was often the case with other issues as well—taking place in the capital. 

There, Somalis on the political committee agreed to establish a police 

committee and presented names of 10 “former police officers” to serve on 

it. To guarantee that the 10 men—only six of whom turned out to have 

had police experience—were acceptable to Aideed and Ali Mahdi, Oakley 

consulted with both leaders to ensure a balance of “individuals from their 

subclans and other influential Mogadishu subclans.” The two warlords 

voiced support for the undertaking, but from the outset, each maneuvered 

within the committee to gain control over the new force. Their schemes, 

generally, were stymied, in part by timely intelligence UNITAF received 

from US interpreters assigned to committee members and in part by 

the determination of the former policemen on the committee to create a 

professional force isolated as much as possible from disruptive political 

influences. 

While officially UNITAF had no formal responsibility for what was 

touted as a community-controlled Somali police force, Brigadier General 

Zinni served as an adviser to the committee, on call to apply his influence 

in helping to resolve the most serious problems. Of the various Somali 

and coalition personnel who met daily to address the issue, the key 

American participant was US Army Lieutenant Colonel Stephen Spataro, 

the UNITAF provost marshal. As the “top cop” in Johnston’s command, 

Spataro had arrived in Somalia advocating the need for an indigenous 

police force, perhaps contracted, to perform various security functions. 

Told by Oakley (with Johnston’s blessing) to pull a Somali police force 
72 

together, Spataro’s main task on the committee was to help turn the 

concept into a practical plan.

In a memorandum to Zinni, dated 27 January 1993, Spataro spelled 

out the committee’s conclusions and recommendations up to that point. 

Contrary to Oakley’s advice, many on the committee had started out 

wanting to reestablish a national force. Aideed and Ali Mahdi favored this 

approach, in that the power of either would be enhanced through control 

of a national organization. While others on the committee shunned this 

self-serving political calculus, they shared Jama’s opinion that only a 

national force could hope to contend with Somalia’s political crisis. The 

obstacles to creating such a national institution, however, were enormous, 

so the committee soon lowered its sights to the more practicable goal of 

getting the police functioning in Mogadishu. A force of a little over 3,000 

was projected. For a variety of reasons (including the need to circumvent 

the law prohibiting US military personnel from training police), Spataro 

referred to the proposed organization as the Auxiliary Security Force, or 

ASF. Its logistic requirements could be “bare bones”—some trucks, radios, 

uniforms, and small arms—although Spataro thought that, for the force to 

be truly effective, it would need much more support. The committee also 

agreed on how the ASF would be divided geographically throughout the 

city. As for the composition of the force, membership would consist of 

policemen technically still on duty and others who would be put back on 

the job if they had had two years of training. There were many loose ends 

to tie up, Spataro noted, and this would “have to be done at the JTF level 

and also at the worker level.”16

With the help of old police records, the committee set about the work 

of vetting ASF members. It also undertook the difficult task of writing 

a handbook for police operations. Meanwhile, Zinni, Spataro, Oakley, 

and even the White House began seeking out the financial and logistic 

support the ASF would need. Through a number of avenues, assistance 

was solicited, commitments made. The World Food Program, for example, 

agreed to provide food to the families of police personnel. Various NGOs 

also made contributions, and belatedly the UN even made funds available 

for operating the ASF (although UN officials refrained from promising ASF 

members a position in the national police organization that presumably 

would be established after the transition from UNITAF to UNOSOM II). 

Italy proved especially generous in its support, providing uniforms among 

other contributions, and so did the Netherlands and Germany. UNITAF 

stripped technicals of their crew-served weapons and converted them 

into police vehicles, while Somali and US military engineers set about 
73

rebuilding Somali police stations, using material provided from several 

sources. In addition, UNITAF also turned over its own surplus vehicles 

and radios, most left over from the Gulf War, to the fledgling force.

While Johnston helped to find sources of assistance, he still tried to set 

limits on the support UNITAF would offer the ASF directly. To this end, 

he initially opposed a request to have coalition units help protect the new 

force from armed militia and bandits. As time passed, however, the logic 

of the situation again compelled him to reverse his position. For one thing, 

the concern that, in providing protection, UNITAF would be drawn into 

a series of firefights with militia groups seemed to subside when both Ali 

Mahdi and Aideed approved the plan for an ASF. Moreover, the protection 

the ASF requested increasingly came to be regarded as a reasonable price 

to pay for the services the new force offered. Once on the streets, the 

police proved adept at controlling crowds and traffic, patrolling, securing 

key facilities such as ports and airfields, and arresting criminals. Also, at 

Oakley’s insistence Spataro dispatched 100 Somali policemen to replace 

the marines along the “green line,” a move that brought some stability to 

that troubled boundary. Given the important role of the ASF in promoting 

a more secure environment and in freeing coalition forces to perform 

other mission-essential tasks, Johnston consented to providing it some 

UNITAF protection. By late February, armed coalition contingents could 

be found near each newly reopened police station in the capital. From 

these locations, UNITAF troops could provide the ASF communications, 

moral encouragement, and, when need be, fire support.

Even as the ASF demonstrated its value, its supporters recognized that 

a police force alone represented but one element in the larger formula for 

law and order. For the ASF to be effective, there would have to be jails in 

which to incarcerate convicted criminals and people suspected of crimes 

or awaiting trial, a penal code to enforce, and courts to apply the law fairly 

and consistently. In other words, as with the police force, the penal and 

judicial systems would have to be reconstructed from the severe damage 

inflicted on them during the civil war. The task would be extremely 

difficult and invite accusations of nation building, but US officials on 

the scene once again concluded that helping to rebuild some Somali 

institutions was inextricably linked to creating the secure environment 

that would facilitate the RESTORE HOPE mission. 

As part of the more comprehensive approach to law and order, 

UNITAF arranged to open a prison in the capital (and holding facilities in 

the outlying areas under its control). It also held meetings with Somalis 
74 

who had been lawyers and judges and, in early March, supported a 

conference, hosted by the US Information Service (USIS), that brought 

together jurists throughout the city to discuss reviving the judicial system. 

When Aideed and Ali Mahdi objected to the undertaking as usurping the 

work of the political committee on which they were represented, they were 

told that “USIS and UNITAF—setting the stage for UNOSOM II—simply 

wanted to bring together a broad group of Somali jurists.” Although this 

explanation lost some of its plausibility when UNOSOM officials failed 

to attend the meeting, 43 Somalis did show up, some only after armed 

UNITAF soldiers had escorted them through sections of Mogadishu 

deemed hostile. When the jurists agreed to adopt the pre-Barre 1962 

Somali Penal Code as the basis for a revived judicial system, UNITAF 

reproduced and distributed copies of that important document. Johnston 

also made his command’s judge advocate general available to offer advice 

on legal matters. Yet, despite these promising developments, progress 

on rehabilitating the penal and judicial systems in Mogadishu proved 

glacial, thus leaving for UNOSOM II the critical challenge of trying to 

institutionalize the mechanisms for law and order in the capital city.

The successes and failures, accomplishments and frustrations that 

characterized work on the police, penal, and judicial systems in Mogadishu 

were experienced as well in the other HRSs. Initially, the ASF was 

authorized 2,000 policemen for the areas under UNITAF control outside 

the capital, and efforts were made to adapt the judicial system in some 

HRSs to local custom and conditions. By all accounts, the Australians 

were the most successful in this endeavor. In Baidoa and the Bay region, 

they brought in the civil affairs and legal experts needed to set up a 

functional law and order program. In close cooperation with community 

leaders, Australian troops in one location built a police station, jail, and 

courthouse all within a single compound. The setup imparted such a sense 

of security that the area became “a center of communal activity.” More to 

the point, the newly restored and integrated system actually worked. In one 

particular case, the ASF and Australians teamed up to capture a notorious 

bandit leader and bring him to trial—a boost to the credibility of the police, 

lawyers, and judges involved in the case. US officials who applauded 

the overall Australian achievement sometimes qualified their praise by 

observing that, in certain areas, the presence of only one clan simplified 

law and order activities to a degree not found in such faction-ridden HRSs 

as Mogadishu. But other admirers spoke without condition, attributing the 

Australians’ success to the fact that they “had a full civil affairs program 

and they implemented it. UNITAF did not and had to improvise.” 
75

Back in Mogadishu, activation of the ASF “meshed” with preparations 

the MARFOR staff was making for inaugurating a Mass Distribution Site 

(MDS) program.17 Specifically, UNITAF would flood the city with grain, 

to be distributed at 35 locations. The goal was not only to get the grain 

into the hands of the people but to do so in a way that would “break the 

back” of the black market that flourished as a result of faction-generated 

food shortages. The program kicked off in early February, with the ASF 

assuming responsibility for crowd control at all 35 distribution points 

(with coalition forces providing backup support at 27). ASF participation 

in the MDS, while limited, served several purposes: it reduced the chances 

for “disastrous confrontations” between MARFOR troops and the people, 

it provided the new police force with a “manageable task,” and it allowed 

coalition forces and the police to work together in such a way as to confer 

legitimacy on the latter. The venture also provided the ASF an opportunity 

“to prove its mettle.” During the first day of the program, in an incident 

technically unrelated to the distribution of food but occurring near an 

MDS checkpoint, refugees belonging to the Mursade clan tried to resettle 

an area in which the Habr Gidr had come to reside. After violence erupted, 

MARFOR units, State Department officials, and clan elders arrived on the 

scene. Once they had imposed a degree of calm, about 100 Somali police 

took charge, managing to resettle the refugees without further bloodshed. 

The dangers involved in these and other assignments were reflected in 

the casualties the ASF suffered in its initial operations: two killed and six 

wounded.

Standing up the ASF, together with the implementation of weapons 

control measures, the dialogue with faction leaders, and periodic 

demonstrations of military power, did not exhaust the methods by which 

coalition forces sought to establish and maintain a secure environment 

in southern Somalia. In late December, after marines had moved into 

Baidoa, their commander, Colonel Newbold, in essence ignored UNITAF 

guidance to leave humanitarian projects to the HROs and initiated a civic 

action program in the sector. His reasoning was basic: He “knew that the 

best protection for his force was the goodwill of the locals. He also knew 

that the Somali people had trouble understanding the concept of neutrality, 

and that if his Marines and sailors did not actively assist the inhabitants 

of Baidoa, they ran a strong risk of being perceived as enemies.” Thus, on 

Christmas Eve, Newbold launched Project Hand Clasp, in which his troops 

helped construct or repair schools and orphanages, along with some other 

facilities. As the work progressed, the morale of the marines improved, as 

they “were eager to do more than just escort convoys to help those in need.”18
76 

Seeing the link between civic action and security, other HRS 

commanders followed Newbold’s example and began planning projects 

of their own. The effort ultimately spread to Mogadishu, as well, where 

on 14 January, Newbold kicked off Operation RENAISSANCE. Designed 

to stabilize the section of the city between the international airport and 

the port, the operation employed a combination of active patrolling and 

limited medical and dental treatment for the Somalis in the area. Soon 

thereafter, Major General Wilhelm implemented Mogadishu II, which 

also emphasized “humanitarian civic assistance” in areas thought to be 

“normalized.”19

For the most part, the civic action and civil affairs activities 

undertaken by the marines and by the US Army units that came after them 

were decentralized programs, allowing officers in each HRS to determine 

what would work best at the local level. In late December, three 4-man 

Civil Affairs teams from the Army’s 96th Civil Affairs Brigade arrived 

in country. In Arnold’s opinion, they were “force multipliers,” working 

with the CMOC in Mogadishu and branching out when possible to do 

what they could in the countryside. Thanks to the CA teams, Arnold said 

in an interview, the town of Marka had been transformed from a violent 

town into one with a burgeoning marketplace and some political stability. 

This stood in contrast, he believed, to the “great difficulty” experienced 

in those HRSs where UNITAF units attempted to formulate goodwill 

projects without the aid of the CA teams. In contrast with CENTCOM’s 

predeployment decision to cut many civil affairs personnel from the 

OPLAN, Arnold lamented that he should have asked for more teams and 

insisted on giving them, together with CI elements, a high deployment 

priority.20

The humanitarian element. In implementing a variety of measures to 

create a more secure environment in southern Somalia, UNITAF made 

it safer for its forces to concentrate on their main objective—ensuring 

that humanitarian aid reached Somalis in the famine belt. Because that 

principal mission necessitated daily coordination between the coalition 

and the various relief agencies on the scene, the Humanitarian Operations 

Centers (HOCs) and, within them, the Civil-Military Centers (CMOCs) set 

up in December continued operating throughout the course of RESTORE 

HOPE, with the parent organization in Mogadishu providing general policy 

guidance for its counterparts in other HRSs. In general, the HOC remained 

the forum in which military officers and civilian officials met to exchange 

views, coordinate operations, and monitor the evolving situation, while 

the CMOC, manned by UNITAF staff officers, processed HRO requests 
77

for military support. Within this framework, the initial division of labor 

between UNITAF and the HROs remained largely unchanged. Coalition 

forces would secure ports and airfields, protect humanitarian convoys, 

and guard relief distribution points, while relief agencies would distribute 

food, run clinics, and tackle a number of long-term projects. If there was a 

blurring of the line on occasion, it usually occurred when the military got 

involved in distributing food or providing medical treatment to the locals.

While the HOC/CMOC arrangement would be hailed as the 

organizational solution to civil-military interaction in Somalia, the record 

of accomplishment it compiled during the course of RESTORE HOPE 

was mixed. On three of the key issues the participants addressed—convoy 

escorts, general security, and weapons policy—only the first, while 

experiencing some coordination difficulties, could be considered highly 

successful, with coalition troops escorting on an average of 70 convoys 

a month. In the process, many of the relief groups discovered that they 

could expand the geographical reach of their activities by working closely 

with Navy Seabees and the Army Corps of Engineers, both of which had 

the capabilities to build and repair roads and improve airfield and port 

capabilities.21

The condition of the roads was of particular concern. Getting supplies 

from the port cities and airfields out to the HRSs, and from a central 

town in an HRS into the hinterland, required a functioning transportation 

network. The airlift of some supplies to the interior served as a temporary 

expedient but not as a long-term substitute for ground convoys. Yet in 

many areas, roads were nonexistent or in such disrepair or rudimentary 

condition that they could not support heavy trucks and military vehicles. 

To complicate matters, many roadways concealed mines implanted by the 

warring factions. Before routine convoy operations could be mounted 

with limited risks and maximum effectiveness, these various impediments 

had to be addressed and, where possible, removed. Army and Marine 

engineers and Navy Seabees were given the task, and during the course 

of RESTORE HOPE, compiled an impressive record. Nine airfields were 

repaired and maintained to accommodate the coalition’s heavy transport 

aircraft, and 2,500 kilometers of main supply routes were constructed or 

repaired. In addition to this, the engineers built base camps for the troops 

in the interior and took part in various civic action programs—building or 

repairing schools, orphanages, and hospitals; digging wells; and setting 

up medical clinics.22 In that these activities had the concomitant effect of 

improving the country’s infrastructure, concerns about mission creep and 

nation building once again surfaced. But as in other cases, US officials 
78 

on the scene quickly defended such measures as being essential to the 

fulfillment of UNITAF’s principal mission.

As the transportation infrastructure improved and the roads became 

safer, and as more coalition forces inundated the countryside, the number 

of humanitarian relief convoys accompanied by armed escorts increased 

from a trickle to a steady flow by the end of January. What disruptions they 

experienced owed more to mechanical breakdowns and media vehicles 

weaving in and out of the columns than to Somali gunmen. By the end 

of January, ARFOR reports indicated that food was reaching virtually all 

the famine-stricken areas in southern Somalia.23 UNITAF was well on its 

way to accomplishing the humanitarian portion of its mission, although 

the situation was far from perfect. A comprehensive solution to one major 

problem, the security of the HROs, proved elusive. UNITAF troops, try 

as they might, simply could not provide protection to all the humanitarian 

groups and personnel taking part in the relief effort. Many relief agencies 

remained scattered around Mogadishu or the countryside—there were 585 

HRO offices, warehouses, residences, feeding centers, and clinics in the 

capital alone—and, as a matter of expediency, continued to rely on Somali 

“technical advisers” for their security. These bandits and faction-aligned 

gunmen, in turn, continued their practice of looting and extorting money 

and supplies from the relief organizations they were hired to protect. HRO 

personnel who attempted to stop the thievery ran the risk of being beaten 

or shot. 

Responsible for the safety of the humanitarian workers but not 

wanting to mount an all-out challenge to “technical advisers” throughout 

the south, UNITAF sought a compromise that would permit private 

Somali security guards to work for the HROs but only if they carried pink 

identification cards and limited their weaponry to small arms. The new 

“pink card” system quickly ran into trouble. To begin with, IDs lacked the 

holder’s photograph, thus enabling many security guards to pass the cards 

around, with the result that unauthorized personnel gained access to HRO 

compounds. Another problem with the system arose in Mogadishu, where 

not all marines pulling guard duty were familiar with carding procedures 

and thus ended up confiscating the weapons of legitimate security people. 

In an attempt to rationalize the process, some UNITAF tactical units 

began issuing cards on their own, a measure that had the contrary effect 

of increasing the confusion until word got around that only IDs issued 

by Johnston’s headquarters were valid. At the end of February, UNITAF 

revamped verification procedures and began issuing a “blue card” that 

bore a photograph of the authorized holder. As with the pink card program, 
79

Somalis engaged as convoy escorts or guards could only carry small arms. 

The blue cards introduced many improvements over the old system, but 

violations and mistakes continued to plague the overall effort, with still 

too many Somali security personnel being deprived of the weapons that 

permitted them to protect humanitarian relief materiel. Left with perhaps 

a rifle or two for its defense, an HRO whose security guard had just been 

disarmed could be expected to lodge an angry protest with the nearest 

CMOC.24 

These and other types of complaints often exacerbated the negative 

stereotypes that permeated relations between the military and relief 

workers from the outset of Operation RESTORE HOPE. In the eyes of too 

many US officers, the HROs were populated with left-wing, antimilitary, 

disorganized, self-righteous “do-gooders.” Reciprocating, too many 

relief workers viewed most officers as right-wing, insensitive, inflexible, 

“balls-to-the-wall” control freaks who exhibited little understanding of 

the situation in Somalia or what was required of them to alleviate the 

widespread suffering. Over time, the need to work together and the 

organizations set up to facilitate civil-military interaction helped to erode 

the stereotypes and to mitigate much of the friction, even though the 

“cultural gap” was never bridged entirely. Fortunately, according to one 

participant, “Tension between the military and HROs during Restore Hope 

had little operational impact.”25

The political element. The third realm of UNITAF activities, according 

to Zinni’s schema, encompassed political matters, an integral part of 

RESTORE HOPE, but an aspect of the operation that Johnston and his 

staff initially regarded as beyond the military’s purview. That impression 

did not survive the command’s first few days in Somalia. The meetings 

between Johnston, Oakley, and the faction leaders in Mogadishu 

constituted one early example of political engagement. Another derived 

from Oakley’s early forays into the countryside as he paved the way for 

the insertion of UNITAF forces. On these trips, the special envoy not only 

consulted local leaders on the military reasons for his visit but, looking 

to the future, also began laying “the groundwork for the revival of local 

political institutions.” He had broached this subject with Somali leaders 

he conferred with in Baidoa—one of the first HRSs after Mogadishu and 

Baledogle to be occupied—and he subsequently made references to the 

“Baidoa model” when talking about the political arrangements he had in 

mind. Essentially what he was offering local and regional communities 

was a chance to choose their own leaders. In Baidoa and other areas, this 

translated into an opportunity to restore traditional councils while expelling 
80 

those officials that Aideed’s lieutenants in the hinterland had imposed 

on local and regional authorities. Given the risks involved, UNITAF’s 

presence within each HRS was critical to this “ground up” approach to 

political restructuring. To begin with, coalition troops and Civil Affairs 

teams provided a security umbrella under which political authority could 

be restored to “traditional community leaders.” Further, by working with 

local and regional councils on a variety of humanitarian issues, UNITAF 

helped confer legitimacy on these traditional governing bodies. As the 

ARFOR after-action report put it, UNITAF “assisted in empowering the 

elders within the villages to return to the peaceful operation of village 

councils.” Not all local and regional leaders embraced the process. Of 

these, some rejected it categorically and others paid only lip service to it, 

but nearly all feared the retribution that might befall them once UNITAF 

withdrew its troops. Other leaders, however, rallied behind the idea. 

Major General Arnold, in reviewing the situation in the Marka HRS, 

lavished praise on “a vibrant city that’s run by a community council that 

was helped set up by Civil Affairs; that’s got clan representation, elders 

representation. . . . so we’ve gone back to the traditional leadership. And 

it’s been orchestrated by the Civil Affairs and away from self-appointed 

government officials who were really the biggest crooks in town.”26

While these measures contributed to the local and regional stability 

that UNITAF found it in its interest to promote, the UN was pursuing the 

goal of long-term political stability at a higher level by initiating the first 

major steps toward national reconciliation. In early 1993, at the UN’s 

request, leaders from all the warring factions agreed with varying degrees 

of enthusiasm to meet in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia.27 The first 

meeting was scheduled for early January, and USLO and UNITAF helped 

set the stage. In Mogadishu, within the security committee headed by 

Zinni, UNITAF raised various issues with Somali militia leaders as a way 

of “laying the groundwork for a bigger discussion.” Meanwhile, Oakley 

used the forum provided by the political committee to bring faction leaders 

together to discuss their differences before the conference convened. 

Oakley performed another service as well. On 3 January, after UN 

Secretary-General Boutros Boutros-Ghali arrived in Mogadishu en route 

to Addis Ababa, Aideed’s followers staged an all-out demonstration in the 

capital, a display of the faction leader’s distrust of the UN and his personal 

dislike of Boutros-Ghali, a Coptic Christian who, during Somalia’s recent 

civil war, had been Egypt’s deputy foreign minister at a time when that 

country was supporting Siad Barre. Aideed also threatened to boycott 

the Addis Ababa conference, but Oakley used cajolery and persuasion to 
81

change his mind. As a UN concession to help the warlord save face, the 

sessions scheduled to begin on 5 January were labeled “preparatory.”

Contrary to the gloomy expectations of many, not only did the twoday conference convene on schedule, but the delegates chose to continue 

their deliberations after it adjourned, producing between 8 and 15 January 

a series of general agreements on several important issues. Among other 

things, the conferees called for a countrywide cease-fire that would be 

monitored by UNITAF and UNOSOM, the cantonment of all heavy 

weapons in designated compounds, the demobilization of the factional 

(as opposed to legitimate) militia, and the disarmament of other armed 

elements. The consensus on these issues was fragile, causing Johnston, 

in hopes of furthering the cause of weapons control, to insist that the UN 

arrange follow-up meetings in Mogadishu for the purpose of identifying 

additional cantonment sites and establishing timetables for implementing 

other aspects of the accords.

During the first two months of 1993, then, UNITAF and USLO tried 

to advance political stability in Somalia from the bottom up, while the 

UN sought to foster the same objective from the top down. Zinni, for 

one, viewed the opposite approaches as complementary. As he remarked 

at the time, “So from the grassroots level up, and from the top down . . 

. we have to work both sides. There has been some discussion that you 

ought to choose one route or the other, and I think that is wrong to go 

one way. You have to work it from both ends.”28 In the meantime, all 

parties received frequent reminders as to the urgency of the situation. For 

although UNITAF exerted a mitigating effect on the turmoil in southern 

Somalia, violence continued to be a daily fact of life. Coalition forces 

escorting convoys, manning checkpoints, or patrolling city streets came 

to regard as routine the sniper fire directed against them. More serious 

were those episodes in which the violence escalated and threatened to get 

out of control. In those instances, Johnston generally responded quickly 

and decisively with counterforce, the best way to settle things down and 

send a strong message at the same time. Occasionally, however, political 

prudence dictated other courses of action.

The worst episode of escalating violence to affect UNITAF erupted in 

the Kismayo HRS in late February. Its origins, which antedated Operation 

RESTORE HOPE, lay in the military operations mounted by General Said 

Hersi “Morgan,” Siad Barre’s son-in-law, to wrest control of the city of 

Kismayo and its port from his principal rival in the area, Omar Jess, an 

ally of Aideed. The arrival of UNITAF forces in Mogadishu and then 
82 

in Kismayo temporarily halted the fighting, but on 24 January it broke 

out again when Morgan attacked Jess’ militiamen who were guarding 

a weapons compound some distance outside the city. UNITAF charged 

Morgan with violating the Addis Ababa cease-fire agreement and issued 

him an ultimatum to withdraw his troops but to leave his technical vehicles 

behind. When Morgan failed to comply, ARFOR elements, in this case a 

Belgian battalion supported by four US helicopters, destroyed six of the 

technicals, four howitzers, an armored vehicle, and a rocket launcher. 

After this, major fighting in the HRS went back on hold.29

About a month later, however, on 22 February, small groups of 

Morgan’s men slipped past UNITAF positions and infiltrated into the 

center of Kismayo, where they tracked down several followers of Jess 

and mounted raids on buildings occupied by Jess’ militia. Jess and his 

men fled the city, in the process looting some humanitarian warehouses 

they had been guarding and shooting at Belgian soldiers in the area. Major 

General Arnold, the 10th Mountain Division commander whose troops 

were in the Kismayo HRS, ordered Morgan to leave the city. Johnston and 

Oakley followed up the next day with an angry ultimatum: Morgan had 

until midnight 25 February to move his men and equipment out of the city 

to designated locations. “If any of your forces are found outside of these 

locations on February 26 or thereafter,” the written warning continued, 

“they will be engaged. Any weapons located will be destroyed.” Johnston 

and Oakley also ordered Jess “to canton his men and arms at locations 

near Jilib.” As a show of force, UNITAF deployed a theater quick-reaction 

force to Kismayo to conduct security and weapons control operations.30

Both faction leaders complied with the ultimatums. But repercussions 

from the violence in Kismayo quickly spread to Mogadishu, where Aideed 

was already in a belligerent mood.31 One source of his displeasure was 

the political reform being implemented by USLO and UNITAF from the 

bottom up. As Aideed’s lieutenants in the countryside saw their power 

base being threatened through the “empowering” of traditional local and 

regional leaders, they began pressuring their own leader in Mogadishu to 

reverse the trend. In the midst of this disquieting news, Aideed received 

word that his ally Jess had been arrested while making an unauthorized 

trip from Mogadishu to Kismayo, an incident that was reported to have 

infuriated Aideed. Consequently, when the fighting broke out in Kismayo, 

the warlord was ready to vent his anger. Encouraging him to do so were 

erroneous news reports, spread by Reuters and the BBC, that UNITAF had 

conspired with Morgan in the attack on Jess’ supporters in the city.
83

On 24 February, shortly after sunrise, Aideed’s followers began 

demonstrating at the US embassy compound and at other locations within 

his sectors of Mogadishu. The crowds threw rocks and Molotov cocktails, 

burned tires, and established barricades at various locations. Major General 

Wilhelm ordered coalition helicopters to monitor the demonstrations and 

to be prepared to provide support to UNITAF ground units, but, due to 

a lack of intermediate maintenance, only half of the requested aviation 

assets were fit to fly. As it turned out, it was not a critical deficiency, as 

the demonstrations spent themselves before any air support was required. 

Still, the day was a costly one, as three marines were wounded and two 

Somali policemen in a grain convoy were killed. The next day, Nigerian 

forces at the strategic K4 traffic circle came under attack, in part because 

of their small numbers, in part because Nigeria had given sanctuary to the 

deposed Siad Barre. UNITAF had received warning of the attack and had 

sent marines to reinforce the Nigerians. The firefight lasted 4 hours, during 

which three more marines were wounded. That afternoon, two companies 

of marines and one company of the Botswana Defense Force were able to 

sweep and clear the area around K4.

While the firefight produced few casualties, its psychological impact 

on UN officials and HROs in Mogadishu was traumatizing. Again the 

news media heightened the anxiety by claiming that the demonstrations 

and fighting had been citywide, when in fact the most threatening activities 

had been confined to an area of a dozen or so blocks. While wanting to 

prevent widespread panic and to stop the disorder but knowing that the 

estimated 200 demonstrators were mostly unarmed civilians, Johnston, 

Zinni, Oakley, and UNITAF’s political adviser John Hirsch decided that 

the best course of action, once the coalition had provided additional armed 

security for UN and HRO locations in the city, was to wait out the violence 

in hopes that it would subside on its own. Influencing their decision were 

intelligence reports that Aideed had momentarily lost control of the 

situation. It would be pointless, perhaps even counterproductive, to send 

him an ultimatum to which he would be powerless to accede. Within two 

days, the wait-and-see approach seemed to have paid off, as order—or 

what passed for it—returned to the city. 

Mogadishu would not see another violent flare-up during the 

remainder of UNITAF’s stay in Somalia. Indeed, by the end of February, 

less than a week after the demonstrations had subsided, the marines could 

still describe Mogadishu in positive terms as “a changed city.” 
84 

Gunmen no longer roamed the streets; gunfire was seldom heard at night; 

markets were beginning to flourish; civil authority was beginning to 

return. . . . During February, the citizens of Mogadishu began to once again 

sit outside their homes in the evenings, playing dominoes, visiting small 

cafes, or simply walking and talking with their neighbors. Criminal activity 

still occurred, but Mogadishu was well on its way to returning to normal.32

This optimistic portrayal of capital life, while not quite idyllic, was 

echoed in progress reports emanating from many of the HRSs where 

operations similar to those mounted in Mogadishu had produced positive 

results in feeding and caring for the local population and in providing 

oppressed Somalis greater security. But success in the outlying areas 

created at least one unanticipated problem in the capital: the overcrowding 

of coalition forces. Some coalition units never left Mogadishu once they 

had arrived. Others returned to the city after they had secured their HRSs. 

Since all coalition forces in the capital tended to congregate in secure 

areas, the resulting congestion raised concerns about friendly fire. After a 

few close calls, the MARFOR set up the Vital Area Security Committee 

to try to keep the various forces from running afoul of one another. The 

committee, which met weekly, “included all the compounds in northwest 

Mogadishu, had each compound submit an overlay of its defensive 

fire plan and then coordinated to reduce the probability of friendly fire 

incidents . . .”33

The ability to solve these sorts of problems, combined with the progress 

UNITAF had made in accomplishing its mission, raised expectations that, 

despite an occasional violent episode, the coalition forces under Johnston 

would soon be able to turn operations in Somalia over to the United 

Nations. By the end of February, almost a month after Johnston had 

declared that UNITAF had accomplished its Phase III objectives, planning 

for the transition was taking place, but at a fitful pace.

Transition

The violence that rocked Kismayo and Mogadishu in late February 

had occurred as the second round of the Addis Ababa talks, specifically 

the National Reconciliation Conference, was getting under way. As 

was the case after the preparatory conference in January, the delegates 

reached agreements on weapons control and a cease-fire, as well as on an 

accord outlining the framework for a long-term political settlement to the 

country’s crisis. Johnston showed a keen interest in the outcome of both 

rounds of talks, focusing intently on the pledges concerning weaponry in 
85

areas occupied by UNITAF. Following the initial agreements in January, he 

had sent one of his staff, Colonel Pete Dotto, to UN-sponsored meetings at 

which the participants sought to draft a workable plan that would translate 

promises to limit weapons into reality. Throughout the process, Johnston 

reminded everyone that, while UNITAF would assist in executing any 

concrete plan, the UN would have to accept overall responsibility for 

long-term implementation, in that the process under discussion would 

continue to have ramifications well after Operation RESTORE HOPE 

had given way to UNOSOM II. To the surprise of many, Ismat Kittani, 

Boutros-Ghali’s representative in Mogadishu, refused on behalf of the UN 

to accept responsibility. The UN later changed its position, but by then, as 

Hirsch and Oakley have noted, precious time had been lost.34

This particular issue, which had divided the Bush administration 

and the UN from the outset of RESTORE HOPE, revolved around 

the tremendous differences between a program of comprehensive 

disarmament throughout Somalia, which the UN demanded, and one of 

selective arms control within the area of southern Somalia controlled 

by UNITAF. The gap between the two approaches had not been bridged 

after Bill Clinton replaced Bush in the White House in late January. 

Instead, the issue continued to fester to the detriment of the “seamless” 

transition that was supposed to characterize the handoff of operations 

in Somalia from UNITAF to UNOSOM II. That transition constituted 

Phase IV of Johnston’s mission and was inextricably linked to the concept 

of “end state.” As previously noted, the end state incorporated into the 

CINCCENT and JTF OPORDs for Operation RESTORE HOPE had 

been defined only in general terms as an environment in which UNITAF 

could turn operations in Somalia over to the UN. Determining the specific 

indicators that would show when the end state did in fact exist fell to 

Johnston’s staff once RESTORE HOPE was under way. At first, a set of 

objective measurements seemed elusive. By early 1993, however, the staff 

had devised indicators based on regarding Mogadishu and other Somali 

cities as being analogous to American urban areas. US cities experienced 

violence daily, yet they were not considered unstable or lacking in overall 

security. Applied to RESTORE HOPE’s end state, the analogy suggested 

that the area occupied by UNITAF should be considered secured once 

“organized” violence, as opposed to criminal violence, had been placed 

in check. The staff drew up a matrix with five categories: resistance, 

humanitarian relief, infrastructure, populace, and transition actions. The 

criteria for measuring progress or the lack thereof in each category was 

published with the matrix. It was then up to each HRS commander to 
86 

submit a weekly report, often incorporating additional criteria developed 

at the local level.35 Taken as a whole, the reports correctly reinforced the 

view that UNITAF was making progress at an unanticipated pace, so much 

so that in early 1993, Johnston’s headquarters concluded that RESTORE 

HOPE was approaching its end state and that the time had come to begin 

planning for the transition to UNOSOM II.

There was one major flaw in this reasoning. Boutros-Ghali did not 

agree. His convictions concerning the need for a comprehensive program 

of disarmament, which he had conveyed to President Bush in midDecember, were only buttressed by the anti-UN demonstrations that had 

greeted and embarrassed him when he had visited Mogadishu en route 

to Addis Ababa on 4 January. That experience had convinced him that 

Somalia was still a very violent, unstable country, more than ever needful 

of something well beyond the limited scope of UNITAF’s weapons 

control. Until the United States accepted this reality and the responsibility 

that went with it, he concluded, planning for the transition to UNOSOM II 

would be premature; UN forces would be courting almost certain disaster. 

Consequently, UNITAF encountered “a series of delays by the Secretary 

General that may have been detrimental to the transition process in the 

long term.” Against this procrastination, Johnston managed to make only 

limited yet not insignificant headway during Boutros-Ghali’s brief stay 

in Mogadishu. In a meeting with the secretary-general and Kittani, the 

general impressed upon them the fact that, for UNITAF to be supportive 

during the crucial transition period, it was imperative that the UN at least 

name the UNOSOM II force commander and provide him a staff. In 

February, Boutros-Ghali acceded to that one appeal, naming Lieutenant 

General Cevik Bir of Turkey the UNOSOM II commander. The United 

States, in turn, selected Major General Thomas Montgomery to serve 

as Bir’s deputy. Later, with Kittani stepping down for medical reasons, 

the Clinton administration, at Boutros-Ghali’s request, put forward US 

Navy Admiral Jonathan Howe (retired), a former deputy national security 

adviser to President Bush, to become the senior UN representative on the 

scene for UNOSOM II.36

In late February, both Bir and Montgomery arrived for two days of 

meetings in Mogadishu. The timing was bad, in that their visit coincided 

with the demonstrations and firefight that erupted in the capital as a result 

of the violence in Kismayo. By coincidence, just as Johnston was assuring 

the two generals that the threat level in Mogadishu had been reduced to 

mere annoyances, the headquarters in which the briefing was being given 

came under attack, leaving Montgomery, for one, questioning much of 
87

what he had just heard. Within a month, both Bir and Montgomery returned to Mogadishu for further meetings, and for the next six weeks Bir 

would work alongside Johnston. At no point during this time did either Bir 

or Johnston have a comprehensive plan to guide them. Nor were the two 

generals able to “twin” their staffs, largely because a UNOSOM II staff 

was virtually nonexistent at that time. The UNITAF commander vented 

his frustration in an official interview: “But I am very unhappy with what I 

view as being an absence of a strategy on the part of us, JCS, CENTCOM, 

to create a game plan with some milestones. . . . What is the strategy that 

will help us make the UN move?” As late as April, with only a few weeks 

to go to the announced transition date of 4 May, Boutros-Ghali still refused to permit detailed planning for the handoff until UNITAF yielded 

on the disarmament issue, something Johnston had no intention of doing 

given the limited scope of his mission and the additional forces he would 

need to execute the kind of nationwide operation the secretary-general had 

in mind.37

As the transition date neared, numerous critical problems remained 

unaddressed or unresolved. Which coalition forces in UNITAF would 

remain for UNOSOM II? What new forces would be added? What 

would their capabilities be? How and where would they deploy? What 

military operations would they conduct once they arrived? How would 

they interact? Would they serve readily under UN command or would 

they bring their own national agendas? These and many other related 

questions went begging for an answer. Of the important issues that had 

been resolved, one concerned the extent of US military support for 

UNOSOM II. Bush had made a commitment in general terms before 

RESTORE HOPE got under way, and Clinton intended to honor it. Both 

administrations played a role in determining the specifics, which in final 

form amounted to keeping around 4,200 US military personnel in Somalia 

to provide logistic and communication support and another 1,300 soldiers 

from the 10th Mountain Division (and a MEU on call, if needed) to serve 

as a quick-reaction force.38

Sometime before the transition date, Admiral Howe flew to Mogadishu. 

Before leaving Washington, he had conferred on several occasions with 

Oakley, who had returned to the United States after completing his service 

as special representative in early March. Howe had taken the advice Oakley 

proffered to heart, but when the retired admiral arrived in Mogadishu, it 

became clear that he also shared Boutros-Ghali’s views on the need for 

comprehensive disarmament of the Somali factions before Operation 

RESTORE HOPE ended. With that in mind, he tried to persuade Johnston 
88 

and Zinni to keep UNITAF in Somalia until sometime in June, but neither 

yielded to his entreaties. Howe then turned to his highly placed contacts in 

Washington to bring pressure on the White House to support his position, 

but the ploy only precipitated a bureaucratic tug-of-war that CENTCOM 

and the JCS, supporters of Johnston’s viewpoint, won. On 4 May, 

RESTORE HOPE formally ended, and UNOSOM II, with its mandate for 

nation building, began. For many who had witnessed the incomplete and 

at times acrimonious and incoherent transition, the new UN-led coalition 

seemed vulnerable, at least as it struggled to get started, and ill prepared 

and poorly resourced to assume its broad mission. Key UNOSOM II staff 

positions had yet to be filled (Montgomery estimated that only 27 percent 

of the staff were present in Somalia on the 4th) and key military units had 

yet to arrive or even be notified that they would be deploying.39 Given 

Aideed’s animosity toward the UN, Boutros-Ghali, and any approach 

to nation building that would leave the warlord marginalized, those 

monitoring the situation assumed that any violent response to the new 

operation would be initiated on his orders.

Conclusions

Judged by the criteria set forward in the CINCCENT and JTF OPORDs, 

Operation RESTORE HOPE was a resounding success. The worst of 

the famine in southern Somalia was over, thanks to the acceleration of 

humanitarian relief operations following the arrival of coalition forces. 

As one indication of UNITAF’s effectiveness on this front, US authorities 

terminated Operation PROVIDE RELIEF, the airlift of food out of Kenya, 

in February 1993. By the time UNOSOM II assumed responsibility for 

the food program in early May, the relief community had declared the 

“emergency” in Somalia over.

In the process of ameliorating the human tragedy in southern Somalia, 

RESTORE HOPE also set the stage for UNOSOM II’s follow-on efforts 

to work for political stability throughout the country. At the time of the 

transition, the rampant violence that had plagued many areas of southern 

Somalia, especially in Mogadishu and Kismayo, had been reduced 

dramatically, and UNITAF’s weapons control policy had succeeded in 

removing crew-served weapons, RPGs, and the dreaded technical vehicles 

from the streets of most cities. A food for weapons program had enjoyed 

some limited success in reducing the number of small arms on the streets 

as well. Johnston’s headquarters had also helped to implement or enforce 

agreements made among the warring parties on two critical issues, a 
89

cease-fire and the cantonment of the objectionable weapons. And the 

command had assisted in standing up a police force whose performance 

enhanced security in Mogadishu and the outlying HRSs. Meanwhile, 

UNITAF engineers and civil affairs personnel had built and repaired 

miles of Somalian roads; engaged in de-mining operations, dug wells, 

built or repaired schoolhouses and other public buildings; improved the 

capabilities of ports, airports, and other critical facilities; and provided 

medical assistance to the population. In most of the HRSs, UNITAF 

marines and soldiers had initiated civic action and other programs 

designed to win over the population, and these same troops, in line with 

USLO’s strategy of stabilizing Somali politics from the ground up, had 

also played a part in local politics by “empowering” various elders seeking 

a return to more traditional and democratic forms of local government. 

If many of these activities could be construed as improving Somalia’s 

infrastructure, thus constituting a low-level dose of nation building, 

Johnston by 4 May had ceased to mind or make excuses. All had worked 

toward the accomplishment of his mission.

Upon the general’s return to the United States, President Clinton, “in 

a photogenic ceremony on the White House lawn,” personally praised him 

and those he commanded for a job well done. “You have proved,” Clinton 

said, “that American leadership can help to mobilize international action 

to create a better world.” What the president did not say was that this 

benevolent achievement had been accomplished at an “acceptable” price 

in terms of American casualties. Eight US military personnel had been 

killed in action, 10 killed in accidents, and 24 wounded. Oakley estimated 

that somewhere between 50 and 100 Somalis were killed as a result of 

actions taken by coalition forces during RESTORE HOPE.40 One lesson 

seemed clear: with the right combination of good intentions, professional 

leadership, sound judgment, and overwhelming power, it was possible for 

the United States to intervene militarily in dangerous situations in such a 

way as to be effective while keeping its troops largely out of harm’s way.

Not all the verdicts on RESTORE HOPE were so positive. Some UN 

personnel were predictably critical of UNITAF’s record in Somalia. As one 

UN humanitarian official in Baidoa reportedly said, “The Americans could 

have done 10 times more than they have done. Fifty times. They thump on 

their chests, but the biggest part of the job has yet to be done.”41 There was 

a logic behind this bitter outburst, one that had been raised by critics of the 

US intervention at the outset. To send forces to Somalia simply to see that 

starving people were fed did little if anything to remove the underlying 
90 

causes of that human tragedy. A lasting solution to the country’s crisis 

required a long-term program geared to political reconstruction and nation 

building, two areas touched upon but never embraced by UNITAF. 

Stepping outside the contemporary debate to draw conclusions 

about Operation RESTORE HOPE, one might begin with the obvious 

observation that it was a “political-military” endeavor. This is not offered 

in the Jominian sense that political authorities set policies and objectives, 

then give the military a free hand in achieving them. Rather, in RESTORE 

HOPE (as in numerous contingency operations), the success of the 

operation was as dependent on diplomacy as it was on military action, 

political considerations (as opposed to military necessity) often dictated 

military policies and activities at the operational and tactical levels, and 

commanders from general officers down to platoon and squad leaders often 

found themselves engaged in undertakings that tested their political savvy 

and diplomatic skills. This should have been anticipated, in that UNITAF’s 

principal mission was not to fight and destroy the warring factions in 

Somalia, but rather to provide security for the humanitarian relief efforts 

aimed at alleviating the famine. That UNITAF accomplished this mission 

expeditiously was due largely to the ability of coalition officers, starting 

with Lieutenant General Johnston, to adapt quickly to the political aspects 

of the operation and, in doing so, to forge a strong working relationship 

with the civilian diplomats and political operatives on the scene. The 

relationship between Johnston and Oakley was indicative of this essential 

interaction. Oakley could not have achieved what he did on the political 

front without Johnston standing behind him as the man who could assist 

the contending parties or, when necessary, punish them. Johnston could 

not have fulfilled his mission at an “acceptable” cost without Oakley’s 

diplomatic troubleshooting and expertise. It helped matters, of course, 

that Johnston, Oakley, Zinni, Hirsch, and other military and civilian 

officials also got along personally and, for the most part, were working in 

harmony rather than at cross purposes. Organizationally, the intertwining 

of political-military concerns was represented in the close relationship 

established between UNITAF and USLO: UNITAF had a political adviser, 

USLO was assigned military LNOs, and the daily meetings between the 

two elements became standing practice. The Humanitarian Operations 

Centers also provided an organizational framework for political and 

military operators to work together, in this case bringing into the process 

nongovernmental relief agencies as well. 

The predominant role of diplomacy and political considerations 

in Operation RESTORE HOPE resulted largely from the fact that the 
91

warring Somali factions, their survival instincts aroused, avoided any 

sustained military confrontation with the clearly superior UNITAF 

forces. Once that point was established, the door was open to the strategy 

of “deconfliction”—talk backed by military force—that was applied 

to especially good effect in Mogadishu. This strategy had widespread 

repercussions for UNITAF. It allowed Johnston to accelerate both the 

deployment schedule for units coming into Somalia and the schedule for 

moving those units into the designated HRSs, and to stop the buildup of 

forces and materiel well short of what would have been required for all-out 

combat. It also necessitated that he, Zinni, and others in his headquarters 

(and at other echelons as well) who would be doing the talking acquire 

information that shed light on the country’s politics, history, leadership, 

society, and culture, not generally topics singled out by military 

intelligence for in-depth coverage. Above all else, deconfliction made it 

easier for Johnston to accomplish his mission, while generally keeping his 

forces out of harm’s way. On the negative side, the strategy did open the 

door for faction leaders such as Aideed and Ali Mahdi to use the process’s 

political and military forums to further their own agendas, something that 

Oakley and Johnston constantly had to guard against.

While the UNITAF commander and staff learned to operate within the 

framework of deconfliction, they had to make other major adjustments as 

well. As Operation RESTORE HOPE unfolded, Johnston found himself 

authorizing military involvement in several endeavors not listed in his 

mission statement or implied tasks. A partial inventory of the unanticipated 

undertakings initiated or supported by UNITAF includes helping to set 

up a Somali police force, executing civic action programs, working for 

local political reform, assisting in the resettlement of Somali refugees, 

negotiating with clan elders and religious leaders, and performing tasks 

that could be interpreted as falling into the category of nation building. By 

the early 1990s, the military had a term for the kind of activities that took 

commanders beyond a strict interpretation of their mission—“mission 

creep.” What was not clear at the time of RESTORE HOPE was whether 

mission creep was a phenomenon inherent in a dynamic situation, and 

thus something that commanders and their staffs needed to anticipate and 

adjust to, or whether it was an insidious process that commanders could 

avoid through thorough planning and operational discipline.42 Historically, 

the former view seems more plausible. In the case of the United States, 

contingency operations since the founding of the Republic have had to 

adapt tasks and missions to the logic of a changing situation. To cite but 

one example of this phenomenon in Somalia, Johnston initially resisted 
92 

the proposal to help reestablish a Somali police force, but the realization 

that this initiative, although not found in his OPORD, would actually work 

to enhance the security of his own forces while improving the prospects 

for stability in Mogadishu presented him with a logic that quickly 

overcame his objections. Talk in some military quarters today of avoiding 

or even abolishing mission creep thus seems, from a historical perspective, 

nonsensical.

As an unorthodox operation, RESTORE HOPE required military 

commanders and staffs to interact on a daily basis, not just with their 

diplomatic counterparts, but with a host of HROs, the news media, 

and, of course, the Somali people. Working with each of these groups 

posed various challenges, but for the first two, at least, UNITAF had 

an organizational response to facilitate the interaction: the HOC/CMOC 

for the HROs and the Joint Information Bureau for the media. But a 

constructive working relationship demanded more than an organizational 

forum in which to conduct business. It also required for many in uniform 

an attitudinal adjustment, a recognition of the cultural gap that separated 

their profession from the others and the different perceptions fostered by 

that gap. According to several after-action reports, many officers made 

the adjustment, in some cases by overcoming or suppressing their own 

biases against civilian “do-gooders” and the “headline-hungry” press and 

by curbing the ingrained military tendencies that foster the kind of “takecharge” attitude almost certain to alienate many civilians. Also helping to 

bridge the gap was the fact that it is often (but not always) easier to dislike 

someone in the abstract—a journalist, say—than it is once you have 

worked together face-to-face.

Interacting with the Somalian people required its own set of 

adjustments. Most Somalis were friendly, but many were not. No physical 

line divided the one group from the other. And while many were curious 

about the foreigners in their country, few felt any deep-seated compulsion 

to adopt the cultural norms the outsiders brought with them. If anything, 

they believed, the reverse should be the case, a proposition not readily 

accepted by all the coalition troops. But even with the best of intentions on 

both sides, the cultural gap could generate hostility or misunderstanding. 

One anecdote illustrates the point. A US company commander in one of 

the HRSs was invited to a local meeting of the town elders. As she entered 

the room, the door behind her was slammed shut and locked. Fearing for 

her safety, her first inclination was to reach for her 9mm pistol, but she 

resisted the impulse. Later she learned that closing and locking the door 
93

was local custom, done routinely at every meeting once all the participants 

were in the room.

Given the cultural differences, the nonlinear nature of the “battlefield,” 

and the daily contact UNITAF troops had with Somalis, Johnston and other 

commanders did what they could to minimize the chances of unintended 

incidents between their troops and the population. But in the uncertain, 

at times ambiguous environment of Somalia, they also sought to protect 

their troops through a variety of means: promulgating rules of engagement 

that allowed the use of deadly force in self-defense; issuing operating 

procedures carefully crafted to enhance safety in various activities such as 

escorting convoys and guard duty; ensuring that all base camps, enclaves, 

and strong points were well defended; providing preventive medical 

treatment against disease; and negotiating with local leaders to remove or 

reduce potential causes of friction. Commanders protected their troops in 

another way as well—by demonstrating or using the overwhelming force 

they had at their disposal. Johnston himself had employed this method as 

a response to several major provocations. Invariably, the demonstration 

or use of force had produced the desired effect. While Somali militiamen 

were warriors, most were not martyrs.

Some of these general observations concerning RESTORE HOPE 

were included in the after-action reports published by various units and 

other military organizations soon after the operation ended. But most of 

the so-called lessons learned that appeared within the US military were 

oriented toward specific services, mainly the Marine Corps and the Army. 

These two “land” services contributed the majority of the troops and staff 

officers who participated in RESTORE HOPE, and not surprisingly, many 

of their service-specific lessons overlapped. Both services, for example, 

experienced disruption during the preparatory phase of RESTORE HOPE, 

when headquarters staffs had to be fleshed out or learn new duties to 

meet the additional responsibilities placed on them: I MEF becoming the 

JTF, 1st Marine Division the MARFOR, and 10th Mountain Division the 

ARFOR. In many cases, staff officers lacked the qualifications for what 

they were being asked to do. This was particularly true at the ARFOR and 

MARFOR level, where divisional staffs suddenly had to deal with strategic 

and operational issues, with joint planning, and with the deployment of 

nondivisional units, all within a constricted and constantly changing set 

of deadlines. Compounding the problem for the Army was the lack of 

personnel trained in articulating the Army’s service-specific requirements 

to a joint headquarters. Over time, however, adjustments were made, and 

problems solved.
94 

Many of the other service-specific lessons also emphasized the need 

for flexibility and adjustments. The initial gathering of intelligence did not 

address many issues that UNITAF would confront once inside Somalia; 

nor did the intelligence existing at CENTCOM and the JTF during the 

planning phase filter down to the tactical level in a timely way. In time 

this changed, but not until many units had deployed. Once UNITAF forces 

began arriving in Somalia, they had to adjust to the fact that there would be 

little organized resistance to their presence. That meant jettisoning much 

of the heavy weaponry they brought with them, except where such items, 

say a heavily armored vehicle, could be used for psychological purposes. 

Units stationed inside cities and towns had to hone their skills in urban 

operations. Among many specific techniques, this meant learning that 

roadblocks set up to confiscate weapons were most effective when moved 

every few hours. It also meant learning that time-honored methods for 

clearing rooms in a house or building had to be modified in a town or city 

where much if not most of the population was friendly. As one company 

commander put it, “there are so many civilians around that when you go 

crashing through doors there’s a potential to massacre innocent civilians.”43

Once the humanitarian relief picked up, the troops providing protection for the food convoys had to determine what mix of vehicles, weapons, 

troops, air cover, translators, engineers, and PSYOP personnel would be 

most effective given the threat in a particular area. If a convoy had to traverse long distances, the conditions of the roads had to be checked and adequate long-range communications established. When such an operation 

involved a handoff in command and control from MARFOR to ARFOR, 

or vice versa, the procedures had to have been arranged to make the transition as smooth as possible. In almost every case, trial and error led to the 

necessary adjustments being made.

To conclude, the success of Operation RESTORE HOPE can be 

related to a plethora of complex factors, many of which may still not be 

known. Of those that are, several compete for top billing. UNITAF by-andlarge had experienced commanders and staff officers who, while lacking 

a precise method of measuring their end state, understood their mission 

and were not reluctant to exercise the resolve and flexibility needed 

to achieve it. This determination, when combined with overwhelming 

force and the willingness to use it against a determined but outgunned 

opponent, set the stage for a successful outcome. Fog and friction were 

present in every phase of the operation and at every level in UNITAF, but 

adjustments were made, initiatives seized, reason and judgment applied. 

As a result, the groundwork was laid for further progress. That it would 

be achieved under UNOSOM II, however, was by no means certain.
95

Notes

This chapter is based on unclassified material ranging from published works to official 

histories, after-action reports (AARs), and documents. Of particular assistance in writing 

this chapter was a working draft of a manuscript on UNITAF being prepared for publication 

by Colonel Dennis P. Mroczkowski, USMCR (Retired). Mroczkowski graciously allowed 

me use of the manuscript, and as the notes below indicate, I referred to it often. Many of the 

issues I treat in this chapter are covered in much more detail in the colonel’s manuscript, 

the working title of which is The United States Marines in Somalia: With the Unified Task 

Force during Operation Restore Hope. Readers interested in the operation can only look 

forward to publication of his work.

1. Oral History Interview JHT-RHIT-081, Brig. Gen. Anthony C. Zinni, 11 March 

1993, Mogadishu, Somalia, interviewed by LTC Charles Cureton, USMCR, and Major 

Robert Wright, Jr., USAR.

2. Ibid. and John L. Hirsch and Robert B. Oakley, Somalia and Operation Restore 

Hope: Reflections on Peacemaking and Peacekeeping (Washington, DC: United States 

Institute of Peace Press, 1995), 82.

3. Robert Oakley, “The Urban Area During Support Missions Case Study: 

Mogadishu—The Strategic Level,” in Russell W. Glenn, ed., Capital Preservation: 

Preparing for Urban Operations in the Twenty-First Century (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 

2001), 311; Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-048, Major General Steven Lloyd Arnold, 

26 February 1993, Mogadishu, Somalia, interviewed by Major Robert K. Wright, Jr., 

USAR, and Captain Drew R. Meyerowich; Briefing by Maj. Gen. Anthony Zinni, Fort 

Leavenworth, KS, 1994.

4. Hirsch and Oakley, 58-59.

5. I Marine Expeditionary Force (MEF) Command Chronology, 27 November 1992 

to 28 February 1993, Section 2, “Narrative Summary,” 4, 37, copy in archives of the U.S. 

Marine Corps Historical Center, Navy Yard, Washington, DC.

6. U.S. Army, Center of Military History (CMH), Resource Guide, Unified Task Force 

Somalia, December 1992-May 1993, Operation Restore Hope (Washington, DC: U.S. 

Army Center of Military History, 1994), 120; Arnold Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT048.

7. I MEF Command Chronology, Section 2, 9-10; U.S. Army, CMH, Resource Guide, 

124; briefing by Maj. Gen. Anthony Zinni, 1994.

8. Oakley, “Urban Area,” 325; I MEF Command Chronology, Section 2, 7; Zinni Oral 

History Interview JHT-RHIT-081.

9. I MEF Command Chronology, Section 2, 7, 18; Johnston Oral History Interview 

RHIT-JHT-085; Arnold Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-048. Regarding what weapon 

systems were needed and which were not, the ARFOR AAR did suggest that an AC130 and unmanned aerial vehicles might be useful in some future operation, meaning 

UNOSOM II, but this was a suggestion, not a prediction.

10. I MEF Command Chronology, Section 2, 7, 12.

11. Ibid., 6-10.

12. Ibid., 11. Which of the two categories a particular area of Mogadishu fell under 

was based on an evaluation that constituted the fourth phase of Wilhelm’s original plan 

for securing the capital. As for establishment of a continuously manned strongpoint, the I 

MEF narrative makes it clear that this action was based on the Marine experience with the 

Combined Action Program (CAP) in Vietnam. CAP marines actually lived in the village or 

hamlet they were assigned to protect, thus avoiding the pattern followed by conventional 
96 

line marines of occupying an area during the day only to leave it at night, thus allowing the 

Viet Cong to move back in a reassert their influence.

13. Ibid., 10. The episode recounted by the journalist is in Scott Peterson, Me Against 

My Brother: At War in Somalia, Sudan, and Rwanda (New York: Routledge, 2001), 55.

14. On the use of sticks, see Peterson, 55; and Oral History Interview, David Dawson, 

29 January 2003, MacDill AFB, Florida, interviewed by Dr. Larry Yates. In one wellpublicized incident, a marine shot and killed a Somali youth who, as it turned out, was only 

trying to steal the marine’s sunglasses.

15. Unless otherwise cited, the account of UNITAF’s involvement in the reestablishment 

of a Somali police force is taken from Zinni Oral History Interview JHT-RHIT-081; Oral 

History Interview, Colonel Stephen Spataro, 24 February 2003, Fort Leavenworth, 

Kansas, interviewed by Dr. Larry Yates; Hirsch and Oakley, 87-92; Mroczkowski, Chapter 

5; Martin R. Ganzglass, “The Restoration of the Somali Justice System,” Learning from 

Somalia: The Lessons of Armed Humanitarian Intervention, edited by Walter Clarke and 

Jeffrey Herbst (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), 20-29; Oakley, “The Urban Area 

During Support Missions Case Study,” 332-37; and Lynn Thomas and Steve Spataro, 

“Peacekeeping and Policing in Somalia,” Policing the New World Disorder: Peace 

Operations and Public Security, edited by Robert B. Oakley, Michael J. Dziedzic, and 

Eliot M. Goldberg (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1998),175-214.

16. Memorandum from Provost Marshal to J-3, “Auxiliary Security Force,” 27 January 

1993, copy in PMO/ASF folder, USACMH.

17, A summary of the MDS program can be found in I MEF Command Chronology, 

Section 2, 13-14.

18. Ibid., 5-6.

19. Ibid., 6, 11.

20. Ibid., 38; Arnold Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-048; Thomas and Spataro, 

“Peacekeeping and Policing in Somalia,” Policing the New World Disorder, 187 note. 

According to one account, the initial plans for RESTORE HOPE called for the activation 

of eight to 10 Reserve Civil Affairs units (from 200-300 personnel) to help restore the 

government, mainly by rebuilding the police and the judiciary system. Given the limited 

mission set by President Bush, however, and the limited time to accomplish it, the JCS 

opposed this part of the plan. CINCCENT was also reluctant “to risk any political action in 

Somalia.” Thus, only three dozen CA specialists deployed, compared with the 1,000 used 

in Kuwait (and Panama after JUST CAUSE). Walter Clarke and Jeffrey Herbst, “Somalia 

and the Future of Humanitarian Intervention.” Learning from Somalia: The Lessons of 

Armed Humanitarian Intervention, edited by Walter Clarke and Jeffrey Herbst (Boulder, 

CO: Westview Press, 1997), 244-45.

21. Hirsch and Oakley, 67-68; Jonathan T. Dworken, “Restore Hope: Coordinating 

Relief Operations,” Joint Forces Quarterly (Summer 1995), 14-20. Dworken’s article 

provides a succinct overview of the HOC/CMOC organization, the issues requiring 

military-HRO coordination, and the friction arising from differences in “organizational 

culture” between the military and the relief organizations. Except where noted, the 

remainder of this section is based on Dworken’s observations.

22. I MEF Command Chronology, Section 2, 9; Lt. Gen. Robert Johnston, USMC, 

briefing slides, Unified Task Force Somalia, no date.

23. I MEF Command Chronology, Section 2, 39; U.S. Army Forces Somalia, 10th 

Mountain Division (LI), After Action Report Summary, 2 June 1993, 2.

24. Zinni Oral History Interview JHT-RHIT-081; I MEF Command Chronology, 

Section 2, 43-44.

25. Dworken, 20.
97

26. Hirsch and Oakley, 69-72, 75, 83-84; U.S. Army Forces Somalia, After Action 

Report Summary, 2; Arnold Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-048.

27. This overview of the “preparatory” sessions of the conference on national 

reconciliation at Addis Ababa is taken from Hirsch and Oakley, 93-95; and Mroczkowski, 

Chapter 5.

28. Oral History Interview JHT-RHIT-081.

29. U.S. Army, CMH, Resource Guide, 136-37; U.S. Army Forces Somalia, After Action 

Report Summary, 23. Between its arrival in HRS Kismayo and the fight on 25 January, the 

Belgian battalion had seen six of its soldiers wounded in 10 different grenade attacks on its 

positions.

30. Hirsch and Oakley, 76-77; U.S. Army, CMH, Resource Guide, 151; Written 

statement, R.B. Johnston and R.B. Oakley [to Morgan], 23 February 1993, CMH archives; 

U.S. Army Forces Somalia, After Action Report Summary, 24.

31. The account of the violence in Mogadishu following the factional fighting in 

Kismayo is based on Hirsch and Oakley, 77-79; CMH, Resource Guide, 152-53; I MEF 

Command Chronology, Section 2, 15-17.

32. I MEF Command Chronology, Section 2, 17.

33. I MEF Command Chronology, Section 2, 12-14.

34. Hirsch and Oakley, 95.

35. Mroczkowski, Marines in Somalia, working draft, Chapter 5.

36. Hirsch and Oakley, 108-10; Montgomery Report, United States Forces Somalia, 

After Action Report (Washington, D.C.: US Army Center of Military History, 2003), 233.

37. Hirsch and Oakley, 105, 108; Johnston Oral History Interview RHIT-JHT-085; Oral 

history interview with Lieutenant General Thomas Montgomery, USA (Ret.), 17 February 

2002, interview conducted by Dr. Robert Baumann; Telephone interview with Lieutenant 

General Thomas Montgomery, 11 July 2003, interview conducted by Lawrence A. Yates. 

With respect to the threat assessment presented by Johnston to Bir and Montgomery, one 

should note that three months later, Oakley was quoted as making a similar prognosis for 

a much wider audience. “There will be violence in Somalia for a long time, but it will be 

low-level violence,” he predicted. “The cycle [of anarchy and starvation] has been broken.” 

Time, 17 May 1993, 42.

38. Hirsch and Oakley are adamant in their account that the Bush administration was 

first to commit US troops to UNOSOM II (beginning with the Cheney-Powell press 

briefing on 4 December 1992) and that Clinton honored and elaborated that commitment. 

Conventional wisdom, of course, has it that Clinton was solely responsible for committing 

US forces to Somalia beyond RESTORE HOPE.

39. Ibid., 111; Montgomery telephone interview.

40. Time, 17 May 1993, 42; Hirsch and Oakley, 82.

41. Time, 17 May 1993, 42.

42. This uncertainty on how to regard “mission creep” can be found in the Center for 

Army Lessons Learned volume on RESTORE HOPE. On one page, the phenomenon is 

treated as something commanders should anticipate and prepare for, on another page as 

something they should avoid. Operation Restore Hope, Center for Army Lessons Learned, 

5, I-15.

43. Operation Restore Hope, Project Report, MCCDC Collection and Lessons Learned 

Project, 2-C-3. 
98 
99

Chapter 4

UNOSOM II

Robert F. Baumann

The story of the UN Operation in Somalia (UNOSOM II) is largely 

that of a mission that began with one purpose and ended with another. As 

a result of a meeting of key players in Addis Ababa in March 1993, the 

UN undertook the Herculean task of nation building in Somalia, a process 

that unleashed a whirlwind of trouble. Assembled as a peacekeeping 

force with the broad objective of influencing conditions across Somalia 

as a whole, UNOSOM II soon found its attention and resources 

concentrated overwhelmingly on an increasingly tense and explosive 

situation in Mogadishu. Eventually, combat operations superseded routine 

peacekeeping duties, and a manhunt displaced the initial strategy.

Based on UN Security Council Resolution 814, approved 26 March 

1993, the turnover of the Somalia mission from the Unified Task Force 

(UNITAF) to UNOSOM II commenced. The UNOSOM II plan of 

operations, Operation Plan (OPLAN) 1, affirmed that the situation in 

southern Somalia had substantially improved: “Southern Somalia itself 

has transitioned from total anarchy, with the assistance of UNITAF, to 

a much more stabilized state ready to take the next steps supported by 

UNOSOM II throughout Somalia.”1 Later on, regarding this assessment 

with the benefit of hindsight, the command of UNOSOM II would find 

it unreasonably sanguine, particularly in light of the expanded mission, 

embracing the broad problems of nation building and extended territorial 

responsibilities. Alert to the difficulties associated with such a vast 

mandate, the UNITAF command worked steadfastly to circumscribe its 

own obligations as narrowly as possible. This approach served the musclebound UNITAF well, enabling it to avoid encumbrance by a myriad of 

tasks for which, as a blunt instrument of military power, it was not ideally 

suited.

Consequently, the redesigned mission passed to an eclectic hodgepodge 

of military formations that collectively bore the UN imprimatur. Certainly, 

the circumstances of transition from the US-led UNITAF to UNOSOM 

II were even less favorable than first appeared to be the case. As noted 

by Special Representative of the UN Secretary General in Somalia, 

Admiral Jonathan T. Howe, “the early May change of command marked 

the transformation of the force from one dominated by a superpower with 
100 

more than 20,000 troops of its own on the ground to one led by a weak 

organization of many small contingents, the largest being 4,000 Pakistanis 

still waiting for a portion of their equipment.”2 As the mission grew larger, 

capabilities diminished. Scholar John Hillen noted, “It was incredible to 

many involved that the Security Council could pass such an overreaching 

resolution.”3

The OPLAN rested on a robust list of 21 assumptions, several of 

which addressed the environment in which UNOSOM II forces would 

operate. Assumption 12 asserted, “The primary threat to security will 

be isolated lawlessness, armed looters, and small scale inter-factional 

fighting. Areas that were declared ‘secure’ under UNITAF will remain so.” 

Assumption 20, moreover, maintained that an “interim auxiliary security 

force composed of former police officers” would assume responsibility for 

securing key traffic routes and relief centers. Neither of these conditions 

was close to realization. Finally, assumption 21 noted that creating a 

neutral Somali police force was an indispensable precondition to success.4

The overarching logic of these assumptions was that Mogadishu would 

remain calm and that the maintenance of order would slowly but surely 

become the Somalis’ business. UNOSOM II would watch over the nationbuilding process within the context of a standard peacekeeping operation.

The UNOSOM II mandate, stated in Resolution 814 under Chapter 

VII of the UN Charter, included eight broad tasks:

• Monitoring the factions to maintain peace.

• Preventing and responding to outbreaks of fighting.

• Controlling heavy weapons.

• Confiscating small arms from those who were unauthorized to 

possess them.

• Securing all ports and lines of communication.

• Protecting UN personnel and installations.

• Continuing mine-clearing efforts.

• Repatriating refugees and displaced persons.

At the Secretary General’s guidance, military operations consisted of 

four phases:

• Assuming operational control from UNITAF.

• Deploying and assuming operational control across Somalia.
101

• Scaling down military activity and turning greater authority over 

to civil officials.

• Redeploying or reducing UNOSOM II forces.5

OPLAN 1 stated the military mission succinctly: “When directed, 

UNOSOM II FC [force commander] conducts military operations 

to consolidate, expand, and maintain a secure environment for the 

advancement of humanitarian aid, economic assistance, and political 

reconciliation.”6 As such, UNOSOM II faced the expansive challenge 

characteristic of international peace operations of the 1990s. While 

exercising maximum restraint, it was to maintain basic public safety—

typically a difficult, if not always dangerous, task—while diplomats 

sought to perform the major miracle of mitigating hostilities between 

implacably bitter adversaries. The remarkable supposition that such 

chasms could be bridged found no starker reflection than the attempt to 

forge mixed police forces pledged to political neutrality and an ethos 

of Western-style professionalism after a crash training course spanning 

weeks not years. Moreover, such amazingly ambitious programs unfolded 

against a political backdrop of international impatience to quit the scene 

and forge ahead to other, not necessarily greener, pastures.

Even in the process of its birth, UNOSOM II faced extraordinary 

challenges. The UN named Turkish Lieutenant General Cevik Bir the 

force commander of UNOSOM II. The authorized strength of the force 

K4

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Map 6. Mogadishu during UNOSOM II
102 

was roughly 28,000 soldiers, a total drawn from more than 20 contributing 

countries. This sounded good in concept, but in reality, it was a motley 

assemblage, and the anticipated fifth brigade, the Indians, would reach 

Somalia only in September. During the interim, the force commander 

would dilute his strength in the capital to cover broader responsibilities 

around the country.7 US Army Major General Thomas Montgomery acted 

as Bir’s deputy as well as serving as commander, US Forces Somalia. 

Faced with the daunting task of assuming the Somalia mission in May, 

the UNOSOM II command had minimal time to prepare and at first only a 

skeletal staff with which to do it.

Unity of command posed another question. Analyst Norman Cooling 

asserted, “There simply was no unity of command or effort in Somalia 

during UNOSOM II . . . unity of command was jeopardized by US attempts 

to operate independently outside of the UNOSOM II command structure.”8

At the same time, some felt US Forces Somalia itself was not a genuine 

headquarters since its staff officers were actually part of a UN command. 

Command and control responsibilities for US ground forces ultimately fell 

to the 10th Mountain Division’s aviation brigade, although it did not have 

all of the capabilities normally associated with such a role.9

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103

Still, Montgomery and Bir began a hasty effort to assemble a 

functioning operations team tailored roughly to a European model. 

Identifying the component forces of the coalition and pinning down their 

reporting dates was as much an act of diplomacy as it was of planning. 

With no force of its own, the UN first had to appeal for contingents from 

nations that were willing to participate to execute its varied missions. Even 

then, it lacked any means by which to compel member states to fulfill their 

promises.

Attempting to size up the developing mission in late February, 

Montgomery and the commander in chief, US Central Command (CINCCENT), Lieutenant General Joseph Hoar, joined Lieutenant General Bir in 

Somalia for a meeting with Lieutenant General Robert B. Johnston and the 

UNITAF staff. The occasion included a dinner with Ambassador Robert 

Oakley and Osman Atto, General Mohamed Farah Aideed’s deputy. 

Despite the effects of jet lag, Montgomery could hardly fail to notice the din 

outside during the formal briefing on UNITAF. Smoke and the distinctive 

scent of burning rubber wafted into the meeting room. Moments later the 

sound of machine guns and helicopters precipitated a brief adjournment of 

the session. The disturbance occurred at a particularly awkward moment. 

Reflecting the position of both the Army and the Clinton administration, 

Johnston was anxious to return the Somalia mission to UN control. 

However, the official transfer of authority depended on UN authorities 

agreeing that the situation in Somalia was stable and secure. In point of 

fact, the turmoil in the streets outside the meeting reflected the outbreak 

of a riot rather than pitched combat, but it was a decidedly inauspicious 

omen nonetheless.10

Undaunted, Johnston put the best possible face on the situation. 

Later on in May, on the eve of the official transition of authority, Bir 

pressed Johnston once more for a “worst-case assessment.” The UNITAF 

commander estimated that street demonstrations, such as the one that 

greeted Montgomery upon his previous visit to the Somali capital, were 

probably the most violent incidents to be expected.11 Events later proved 

this assessment, on the basis of which the UNOSOM force commander 

concluded that he could spread his disparate units out across Mogadishu, 

to be unduly optimistic. For the time being, however, it was the foundation 

for Bir’s and Montgomery’s sense of the local threat. This misperception 

would prove hard to correct. The UNOSOM II staff’s understanding of 

actual conditions suffered from a poor transfer of the intelligence mission 

that left it scrambling for detailed information on the politics and outlook 

of Somali factions. This occurred for three reasons. First, most of the US 
104 

Central Command (CENTCOM) Intelligence Support Element (CISE) 

departed with UNITAF, with the result that presence in the streets shriveled 

from several dozen to only a few collectors. Furthermore, as conditions 

became more dangerous, intelligence gathering in the streets of some 

parts of the city, such as the Bakara Market area, became too dangerous.12

Second, despite the presence of Montgomery and a number of American 

staff officers, releasing highly classified intelligence information to a nonUS command raised security concerns. The reverse was sometimes true 

as well. According to one UNOSOM II staff officer, “There also wasn’t 

a good exchange of information between the Pakistani brigade with 

responsibility for security in South Mogadishu and the CISE.”13 Third, 

the UN, and therefore many of its international staff officers, harbored a 

cultural aversion to the very idea of intelligence gathering during a nationbuilding operation. Another change with adverse consequences was the 

abrupt rupture of established personal relationships between the UNITAF 

leadership and the local factions. UNOSOM II lacked the extensive 

personal lines of communication to Aideed that Johnston and Ambassador 

Oakley had carefully nurtured.14

Part of the problem may have stemmed from Aideed’s relationship 

with the UN. Oakley later commented, “Certainly in my talks with Aideed 

he made it clear he did not trust [Boutros] Boutros-Ghali in particular 

and the United Nations in general.” In this instance, the personal history 

between the two old adversaries played a role. Years earlier when serving 

as the deputy foreign minister of Egypt, Boutros-Ghali supported Siad 

Barre’s government of Somalia that Aideed and others subsequently 

toppled.15 By the same token, some in the UN felt that unrest which had 

been building under UNITAF had already reached a boiling point.16

Among those with a valuable perspective on the transition of 

command was Major Frank Gorski who served under UNITAF and helped 

plan the turnover to UNOSOM II. Having worked extensively in Somalia 

with both the Belgian and Italian contingents, Gorski was not a captive of 

the American point of view. He thus observed the regional nuances of the 

mission as well as the varied approaches of different coalition members. 

In particular, he noted a sudden and sharp change in public opinion in 

February following a firefight near the infamous K-4 circle in Aideed’s 

sector of the capital. According to Gorski, natives who only days before 

had freely passed him information were hurling insults at him. Still, in 

late April, Gorski surmised that, in general, the Somalian situation was 

relatively stable.17 In Montgomery’s view, the essence of the situation 

was that UNOSOM II had a nation-building mission that undermined 
105

the authority of the warlords. He summarized, “That [to build a nation] 

was not in the best interest of the warlords, who wanted, each of them, to 

control, and of course Aideed was the strongest of the warlords.”18

Even so, UNOSOM II assumed the mission as scheduled on 4 May 

1993. Of particular significance was the order to form the Army Forces 

(ARFOR) as the quick-reaction force (QRF) in Mogadishu and turn over 

command of humanitarian relief sector (HRS) Marka to the Pakistani 

contingent. The QRF was under Montgomery’s tactical control but 

would remain under the operational control of Hoar at CENTCOM. 

Retired Admiral Howe, the UN Secretary General’s man on the scene, 

later suggested that this arrangement was less than optimal: “What 

they [the QRF] did had to be blessed in Washington or at least by the 

Central Command. And so therefore it was not necessarily a force that 

the commander General Bir could control, necessarily, or even General 

Montgomery, if he wanted to do something, it required a lot of constant 

liaison back and forth.”19

Although it was not obvious at first, the QRF, formed from units of the 

10th Mountain Division (Light), would play an ever-expanding role. As 

outlined in OPLAN 1, the QRF mission consisted of three essential parts. 

First, it was to provide a military response capability to deal with attacks 

or apparent threats to UNOSOM II forces. Second, it was to stand ready 

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Map 7. UNOSOM II - Force Structure, 4 May 1993
106 

to support the expansion of the security zone through central and northern 

Somalia. Third, it was to provide a reaction force to support contingency 

operations, particularly in Mogadishu and Kismayo.20

However, the need for a muscular QRF to mount numerous tactical 

operations was yet to present itself. At the assumption of control from 

UNITAF in May, the environment seemed only mildly threatening. In 

June it would become abundantly clear that the superficial calm in the 

capital belied a far more dangerous reality. Montgomery later speculated 

that Aideed had merely been waiting until the more militarily powerful 

UNITAF departed to play his hand.21 Walter Clarke, the deputy chief of the 

mission, US Embassy, from March through July 1993, concurred: “I think 

he [Aideed] tended to look at the UNITAF period as a period for putting 

his force together, restoring some of his units, but certainly in preparation 

for other events after UNITAF had gone. . . . If he was going to get the UN 

out of there, which I think was clearly one of his objectives, he was going 

to have to take some actions.”22

In contrast, others believed that UN policy departures, coupled 

with UNOSOM II actions on the ground, provided the prime catalyst 

for trouble. Cooling argued, “Disregarding the long-established Somali 

cultural order, the U.N. felt that, in the interest of creating a representative, 

democratic Somali government, they would be better served by excluding 

the clan leadership. The policy reeked of arrogance coupled with cultural 

ignorance.”23 As a result, Aideed may have believed that UN policy 

makers were giving tacit support to his enemies. Whatever the causes of 

subsequent clashes, they set events in Somalia on a new course.

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Figure 5. USFORSCOM - Command and Control
107

According to the official UN After-Action Report (AAR) of 

UNOSOM II, “the UNOSOM II staff, like that of UNITAF, underrated 

the intentions of the Aideed-led [United Somali Congress] USC/[Somali 

National Alliance] SNA. At worst, UNOSOM II expected large-scale street 

riots.”24 Cognizant that his combat capabilities were far less than those of 

UNITAF, Montgomery was concerned from the start to strengthen his 

forces. Among other steps to fortify UNOSOM II’s constituent elements, 

especially the Pakistani brigade, Montgomery obtained 72 M-113 armored 

personnel carriers (APCs) and a small number of M-48 tanks from NATO 

stockpiles. Later, in July, he would request far more robust firepower for 

the QRF as well but would find his own national chain of command less 

forthcoming.

Within days of UNOSOM II assuming the mission, events gave 

credence to Montgomery’s apprehensions. One indicator was the attempt 

by elements of Colonel Omar Jess’ faction of the SNA to recapture 

Kismayo on 6 to 7 May 1993. Belgian forces responded quickly and 

effectively to the developing situation and thwarted Jess’ scheme. Further 

trouble appeared on the horizon with the failed Galcayo Peace Conference 

in mid-May, during which a contentious Aideed demonstrated his resolve 

to dominate the political process in Somalia.25

Meanwhile, in Mogadishu, UNOSOM II launched a concerted effort 

to inspect authorized weapons storage sites (AWSSs) in accordance with 

interfactional agreements dating from February. The plan designated 

five such sites for inventory on 5 June. One chosen site was collocated 

with Radio Mogadishu, the source of a seemingly endless stream of antiUNOSOM vitriol that Aideed sponsored. In fact, there were no weapons 

at the site—as inspectors would soon discover. Rather, as members of 

the UNOSOM II staff would later view the matter, Aideed had arranged 

to have the compound listed as a site under his control to gain access to 

the radio station. Although the station was not formally an objective of 

inspection patrols on 5 June, its proximity to the weapons storage facility 

may have nurtured suspicion among the Somalis about the true purpose 

of the inspection and contributed to the escalation of tension. To be sure, 

many among Aideed’s rivals, and even some in UNOSOM II, believed that 

shutting down the radio station would have been entirely appropriate. Still, 

no such plan was in motion on 5 June, although Aideed’s men logically 

might have anticipated such an act.26 Indeed, Ambassador Oakley later 

argued that the UN “showed very bad judgment in doing what they were 

authorized to do, because without knowing that, they touched off this 

confrontation.”27
108 

Right or wrong, that day Pakistani troops arrived to conduct a weapons 

inspection with instructions to enter forcibly if faced with noncompliance. 

This should not have been a surprise since UNOSOM II forces had abided 

by terms of the weapons control agreement and given prior notice of its 

intended inspection on the preceding day. Yet, the initial reaction of USC 

and SNA representatives to the letters had not augured well. In fact, the 

minister of internal affairs became visibly disturbed and warned that the 

inspections would start a war.28

On 5 June, Aideed’s forces took a fateful step. They mounted two 

ambushes against different Pakistani units: one ambush attack came on 

21 October Road against a company-size security element in movement 

between AWSS 3 and the Baluch battalion area at the stadium; the second 

came against a team of guards at feeding site 20. At the end of the day, 

Pakistani casualties stood at 23 dead, some horribly mutilated, and 56 

wounded. In addition, Aideed’s men seized six Pakistani soldiers, one 

of whom would perish during his imprisonment. Overall, as information 

streamed in to the UNOSOM II headquarters about a cluster of incidents 

across the city, a pattern emerged that revealed a coordinated scheme of 

attack against UN personnel and resources. In other words, there was 

nothing spontaneous about the events of 5 June. On the contrary, they 

constituted deliberate acts aimed at derailing the UNOSOM II mission.29

The first hint of orchestrated trouble began with a minor confrontation 

at the radio compound during the inspection. The episode typified the risks 

attending the conduct of military operations in an urban environment. 

As a considerable crowd of unfriendly Somalis gathered in the street, 

trouble erupted and may have resulted in the shooting death of one of the 

demonstrators. At that time, a soon-to-be-familiar Somali tactic revealed 

itself, as agitators employed women and children in the crowd as human 

shields. Despite this turbulence, the overall inspection mission proceeded 

successfully. By 0930, inspection teams had completed their assigned 

tasks and began returning to their base areas.

Then, as noted, a Pakistani escort unit ran headlong into an ambush 

on 21 October Road en route to the stadium. Delayed at hastily erected 

barricades, UNOSOM vehicles came under intense fire not only from 

small arms but also machine guns and rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs). 

Calls went out for reinforcements, but the relief column, in a scenario that 

foreshadowed the events of 3 and 4 October, immediately came under 

attack. In the ensuing chaos, Italian helicopters inadvertently sprayed 

fire at the very personnel they came to aid. At the same time, scattered 
109

roadblocks appeared around the city to hinder relief forces’ movement, 

and additional ambushes ensued.30 Fighting continued into the afternoon. 

Ultimately, the list of wounded included an Italian and three Americans.

Meanwhile, a second action occurred when a Pakistani platoon 

guarding a food distribution station at National Street attempted to hold 

off an angry mob. To their peril, they permitted unarmed civilians to draw 

close enough to grab at their weapons and otherwise obstruct their ability 

to defend themselves. Then, according to the official UN account, “From 

positions behind the women and children in the crowd, weapons were fired 

at the troops.”31 Three of the 24 Pakistani dead that day fell at this location. 

A rescue convoy of four APCs attempted to reach the scene from a nearby 

Pakistani strongpoint, but it could not pierce the obstacles and fire in 

its path. The same fate awaited a separate rescue force that embarked 

from a different point in the city. Only at about 1600 did a column of 

Italian tanks manage to reach the scene. The seemingly late dispatch 

of tanks later became a source of controversy. Records subsequently 

indicated that the Italian brigade at Balad only received an order from 

UNOSOM II headquarters to move out at 1400. An official assessment 

concluded sadly, “The inadequacy of the military equipment and lack of 

preparedness of UNOSOM II forces for such armed confrontation was 

starkly demonstrated.”32

Almost overlooked in light of the explosion of violence on 5 June 

were the facts of the weapons site inventories. UNOSOM II inspectors 

found that the quantity and types of weapons actually present at the 

storage locations deviated markedly from the official lists UNITAF had 

passed on. Site 3 contained 12 times the antiarmor rounds previously 

logged, not to mention an SA-7 surface-to-air missile and 86 TOW 

missiles. Furthermore, in contrast to existing records, the inspectors found 

no “technicals.” The import of these discoveries was indeed ominous.33

The subsequent passage on 6 June 1993 of UN Security Council 

Resolution 837, authorizing a forceful response against Aideed’s SNA 

faction and the arrest of responsible parties, marked the transformation 

of the humanitarian mission into something entirely different. A briefing 

prepared for Secretary of Defense Les Aspin on 16 June 1993 emphasized 

the significance of a shift to offensive operations implied by the UN 

directive.34 From that point forth, US forces on the ground would assume 

an increasingly prominent role, beginning with a series of missions 

assigned to the QRF, composed of elements of the 10th Mountain Division, 

and followed by the arrival of Task Force (TF) Ranger, consisting of US 
110 

special operations forces. They would encounter dangerous situations 

regularly, a trend that marked an important new aspect of the mission 

in Somalia as a whole. In responding to the aggressive new posture of 

Aideed’s forces, the UNOSOM II Force Command (Bir’s headquarters) 

became increasingly preoccupied with the tactical struggle in the capital. 

This fact of life was readily apparent to some on the scene. According to 

a former intelligence officer in Somalia, then Captain John Evans, after 

5 June, all attention focused squarely on Mogadishu.35 Similarly, then 

Lieutenant Chuck Walls, an aviator who served as the executive officer 

for B Troop, 3-7 Cavalry, later recalled June as marking the beginning of 

combat operations for pilots serving with the QRF.36

UNOSOM II offensive action could not begin immediately. Neither 

the necessary combat assets nor a comprehensive strategy were in place. 

At the same time, even as UNOSOM II staffers intensified their planning 

efforts, Aideed labored furiously to turn events to his political advantage. 

While conducting psychological operations (PSYOP) of his own to fan 

the flames of public animosity toward UNOSOM II, Aideed skillfully 

maintained the public posture of a reasonable and willing peacemaker. 

Radio Mogadishu proclaimed the firefights a victory for the Somali people 

in the face of unjustified assaults by UNOSOM II personnel against 

civilians engaged in peaceful protest. Aideed then made public overtures 

to the UN to reduce tensions. The command of UNOSOM II, however, 

was now convinced that its credibility was at stake and that criminal 

proceedings against the USC and NSA leadership would be appropriate. 

In short, the respective sides had crossed a political Rubicon of sorts, and 

compromise—assuming it had ever been possible—now was beyond 

reach. Equally important, events in Mogadishu increasingly assumed a 

central position in the struggle to save Somalia, and the UNOSOM II force 

commander explicitly referred to it as the “center of gravity.”37 Rising 

tensions would undermine success in Somalia, which largely depended on 

the ability of nongovernmental and UN agencies to function without fear 

of attack.

UNOSOM II tactical operations began in earnest on 12 June, although 

Italian and Pakistani armored patrols began on 6 June. The focal points of 

this heightened activity included the ambush sites as well as other critical 

traffic nodes in the city: K-4 circle, the Bakara market, 21 October Road, 

the cigarette factory, feeding point 20, strong point 50, and checkpoint 89. 

The execution of such patrols encountered friction within UNOSOM II 

because of the inevitably complex and ambiguous command relationships 

between different national contingents. For example, according to the 
111

UNOSOM II AAR, “In order to get the operation executed, Italian forces 

could only be tasked to conduct separate patrols and operations within 

the Pakistani [area of responsibility] AOR under the control of the Italian 

forces commander.”38 In turn, the Pakistanis did not want to reenter certain 

areas of the city without armor support.

On 12 to 14 and 17 June, UNOSOM II forces attempted to regain 

the tactical initiative with the help of AC-130 gunships authorized by 

CENTCOM. The additional firepower was reassuring but could not fix 

inherent UNOSOM II organization problems. Because the diverse UN 

combat elements could not work together effectively, Bir and Montgomery, 

by default, assumed responsibility for coordinating tactical operations. 

Often the problem boiled down to a simple unwillingness of different 

national contingents to subordinate themselves to a commander of another 

country. For example, in the aftermath of 5 June, the governments of 

France and Morocco authorized their armored forces to support the 

Pakistanis in the city only if they were under the operational control of 

Deputy Force Commander Major General Montgomery.39

Despite such frustrations, once it was ready, UNOSOM II exerted 

its will with heretofore unseen demonstrations of resolve. This was fully 

consistent with the overall concept of operations, which stipulated that 

military operations must reinforce political initiatives. As UNOSOM 

II Commander Lieutenant General Bir subsequently observed in a 

confidential UN cable dated 16 July, “it is felt that negotiations without 

complementary military action would not have the positive effect needed 

to bring about factional reconciliation and posture the city for future 

disarmament operations.”40

Meanwhile, early on 12 June, UN forces struck three weapons 

storage sites with AC-130 gunships. For good measure, they also knocked 

Radio Mogadishu out of action with planning and direct support from 

Special Operations Command and Control Element (SOCCE) 5200. This 

operation enjoyed the benefit of superb photographic intelligence. Among 

the participants was First Sergeant John Buckley, A Company, 1-22, 10th 

Mountain Division. The assault force airlifted in before dawn and scaled 

the compound walls with aluminum ladders with knotted ropes attached to 

slide down on the interior side.41

The successful raid delivered a powerful message of UN resolve 

but also foretold what would become increasing reliance on US forces 

for operations requiring speed and surprise. Even as they curbed Somali 

broadcast communications, UNOSOM II forces secured an important 
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radio relay site so that it might later support UNOSOM-sponsored 

Radio Manta. Overall, the reliance on aerial strike platforms gave a 

clear indication of a change in methodology. Most important, this shift 

reflected a determination to avoid entrapping ground forces in the city. 

Aerial operations continued for two more days, focusing on arms and 

ammunition stores in neighborhoods that Aideed controlled. Although 

conducted with considerable force, the mission design emphasized 

limiting casualties and destruction. Thus, the approved modus operandi 

entailed broadcast warnings to Somalis on the ground to clear the area, 

after which the gunships would fire precision munitions.42

Unfortunately, in raising the level of violence, UNOSOM II drew 

increased attention from the international community, especially the US 

government. Planned operations for 17 June, which entailed the further 

use of AC-130 gunships, received White House scrutiny before approval. 

Following the mission, authorization for tactical operations using US 

Army ground or air assets became still more difficult to obtain.43

In any case, the follow-on mission of 17 June sought to disrupt 

Aideed’s command and control by dismantling its infrastructure. The 

target list included Aideed’s headquarters compound and the residential 

compounds of two top lieutenants. The elimination of weapons stores 

would, in turn, incapacitate his forces to some extent. Operations began in 

the middle of the night at 0130 with selective strikes by AC-130 gunships 

against known storage sites. Then, shortly before daylight, French, 

Moroccan, and Italian troops converged on the area between the Bakara 

market and the Benedir hospital to permit the Pakistanis to conduct a 

clearing operation unhindered by crowds or hostile militias rallying to the 

trouble spot from outside. This scheme of maneuver took accurate account 

of Somali street tactics, particularly the ability to move crowds so as to 

harass and impede UNOSOM II forces.44 Unfortunately, however, the 

conduct of several mission rehearsals may have tipped off SNA observers 

about the operation’s intent and modus operandi.

Minutes after establishing the outer cordon, Italian and Moroccan 

soldiers began to encounter angry protesters, while the French received 

scattered hostile fire near the cigarette factory. Sometime after 0730, 

the Pakistani 7th Frontier Force and the 6th Punjab finished the initial 

stage of the clearing operation while US helicopters provided overwatch. 

Still, within 2 hours, hostile activity around the outer cordon intensified, 

especially against the Moroccans, who engaged in a firefight that lasted 

about 4 hours. Because the shooting took place at close quarters, aerial 
113

support was too risky to friendly elements. This compelled French troops 

to force their way along 21 October Road to relieve the pressure. As the 

battle developed, in a situation that epitomized the surreal unraveling 

of a humanitarian mission gone haywire, French tanks engaged snipers 

hiding in the Digfer hospital with main gun rounds. As the fury of the fight 

intensified, the Pakistani commander, judging his forces to be too small 

to risk prolonging the effort, suspended clearing operations in the vicinity 

of Aideed’s house. Back at headquarters, the force commander greeted 

this decision skeptically, believing that the mission objective was still 

achievable and the risks were within tolerable limits. Nonetheless, events 

yielded to the appraisal of the commander on the spot, and the Pakistanis 

withdrew. In their totality, the actions of the day gave yet further indication 

of the escalating perils of operating in Mogadishu. Among coalition 

units, the Moroccans suffered by far the most, absorbing four deaths and 

an additional 41 wounded out of a total of five killed in action and 46 

wounded in action. Unverifiable estimates of Somali losses suggested that 

as many as 150 locals perished.45

The UNOSOM II command judged the mission a success, and the 

operation confirmed that its evolving approach to operations in urban 

Mogadishu was effective. In material terms, the raid collected more 

than 2,000 grenades, 50 rockets, 20 82-millimeter (mm) mortar rounds, 

assorted small-arms ammunition, and more than 100 prisoners. Indeed, 

for the moment, the UNOSOM II leadership was flush with confidence 

and planned follow-up operations on Aideed’s own turf. Despite the 

populace’s worsening animosity in Aideed-controlled areas of the capital, 

evidence of public support for UN efforts abounded elsewhere. Even as 

the firefight transpired on the 17th, a vast pro-UNOSOM demonstration, 

largely unnoticed by the press corps, drew as many as 30,000 participants 

in the northern sector of Mogadishu.46

Yet, whatever momentum the UNOSOM II command thought it had 

gained in Mogadishu quickly evaporated. The magnitude of the battle 

caused the separate national contingents that formed the 17 June coalition 

to reconsider their participation in future missions. French forces would 

no longer stray out of their AOR in Baidoa to join such operations without 

specific approval from the chief of defense in Paris. In turn, the Italians, 

Moroccans, and Pakistanis concluded that further missions into the socalled Aideed enclave posed unreasonable dangers. As if to follow suit, 

US President Bill Clinton declared that the success of 17 June obviated 

further operations in the USC/SNA-dominated sector of the capital.47

The collective reluctance to challenge Aideed militarily on his own turf 
114 

avoided major combat in the near term. However, it also weakened the 

UNOSOM command’s leverage to influence Aideed’s behavior. Secure 

within his enclave, Aideed was able to regather his strength.

Another complication resulting from the events of 17 June was the 

sudden need to deal with large numbers of Somali detainees. The mission 

to secure more than 100 Somalis fell to the 300th US Army Military 

Police (MP) Company from Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, a unit whose 

tasks already stretched its capabilities. When it had arrived in Somalia in 

May, the 300th MP Company took the place of a battalion of MPs that 

had supported UNITAF. To that point, MP operations had gone smoothly. 

Captain David Kelly, who commanded the 504th MP Company from 

January to April, believed the populace received his troops very well. He 

attributed this to the relatively unthreatening posture the MPs assumed, 

which to some degree, allayed public fears.48

Among the tasks the 300th MP Company inherited were operating 

customs for redeploying UNITAF soldiers, maintaining convoy security, 

patrolling key main supply routes (MSRs), conducting area security for 

the logistics command, and handling civilian internees. Faced with the 

sudden requirement to take care of about 100 prisoners, Captain David 

Farlow, commander of the 300th, directed one of his platoons to set up a 

hasty camp. Farlow quickly realized, however, that his legal authority to 

detain the new Somali wards was at best ambiguous. A prompt visit from 

a representative of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), 

as well as a consultation with UN lawyers, reinforced his misgivings 

and brought about the abrupt release of all detainees under his control.49

Fortunately for Farlow and the 300th MP Company, the task of operating a 

detention facility passed to the Pakistanis. Clarification of the camp’s legal 

status followed shortly as well.

The general situation in the capital remained cloudy, but the overall 

effect of 17 June was to reshape the political environment in Mogadishu 

to Aideed’s advantage. Weapons raids and other operations occurred 

elsewhere in the city, but in the absence of direct military pressure, the 

USC and SNA could begin to turn the tables, especially in their own 

urban strongholds. Starting on 22 June, harassing fire with small arms and 

RPGs became nightly fare around UNOSOM II compounds. The material 

impact was modest, but the message that coalition forces were vulnerable 

was clear. One response was to increase the level of helicopter overwatch 

as part of “eyes over Mogadishu.” Carried out primarily under the cover 

of darkness, this operation consisted of route reconnaissance and aerial 
115

photography for the dual purpose of protecting UN and US troops and 

monitoring Somali militias’ activities. As hostilities intensified during the 

summer, road blocks, ambushes, and land mines posed an increasing hazard 

to ground movement. Aware of regular aerial surveillance, Aideed’s forces 

carried out a constant “shell game” below, frequently relocating barricades 

and mines to keep coalition forces off balance. Even air travel entailed 

significant risks, however. Operating at low altitudes and slow speeds, US 

helicopter pilots well understood their vulnerability to ground fire. This 

fact also was not lost on the SNA militiamen whose improving proficiency 

would eventually enable them to strike back at American aviators.50

Events in early July revealed that Aideed and UNOSOM forces were 

in a contest for dominance. On 2 July, Aideed’s militia lashed out at Italian 

forces in the vicinity of the pasta factory following a search operation. 

Despite the arrival of QRF aviation and Italian armor, Italian forces 

sustained three deaths and numerous wounded. UNOSOM II intelligence 

subsequently learned that operations security had been compromised, 

thereby enabling hostile militias to synchronize their attack along wellplanned axes.51 The dangerous implications of this revelation led to even 

greater hesitancy among coalition contingents to act assertively or even to 

comply with the force commander’s directives.

The vagaries of coalition politics and tortuously complex chains of 

command caused UNOSOM II to assume a more reactive stance at a 

most inopportune moment. At the level of the UN Secretary General, a 

campaign to marginalize Aideed politically and even seek his capture was 

well under way. The USC/SNA leader was not about to submit quietly. In 

early July, UN convoys found themselves subject to harassing fire in broad 

daylight, and on 7 July, six Somali UN employees died in an ambush. 

Two days later, Aideed’s militias lobbed the first mortar rounds into the 

Embassy compound that housed the American QRF. To be sure, scattered 

firing around the perimeter of UNOSOM bases at the university, the 

port, and the airport had become routine, but such harassment noticeably 

increased in intensity in July.

Remarkably, a situation assessment contained in fragmentary order 

70, published on 7 July, sounded optimistic. The arrival of additional 

forces placed Force Command “in a position of strength” and made the 

disarmament of the capital a realistic objective. In more concrete terms, as 

outlined in the statement of commander’s intent, Lieutenant General Bir 

planned to “retake the streets of Mogadishu with an aggressive presence 

in the city, keep the USC/SNA militia off balance, and then focus combat 

power to clear Mogadishu of all unauthorized weapons.” The document 
116 

further indicated Bir’s explicit aim “to arrest Mr. Aideed and investigate 

his complicity in the events of 5 June 1993.”52 To dramatize the point, 

the UN even announced a $25,000 reward for the so-called warlord’s 

capture.53 The declaration of a manhunt, in fact, altered the focus of the 

mission in Somalia and would have far-reaching consequences.

Curiously, even as its planning became increasingly emboldened, 

UNOSOM II documents reflected an underlying mood of concern. 

Observations of activity in the streets of the capital led the UNOSOM II 

staff to begin to sense that its influence was inexorably ebbing. A 9 July 

assessment of enemy forces aptly summarized the dangers that lay ahead:

The general population in Mogadishu is slowly losing confidence in the 

ability of UNOSOM II forces to protect them. Enemy forces are moving 

freely within the city. . . . Small groups of 10-20 armed militia may 

conduct ambushes against isolated UNOSOM II forces. Children may 

be used by USC/SNA forces to approach UNOSOM positions with hand 

grenades. Aideed has started a guerilla war, utilizing hit and run tactics 

against UNOSOM II forces.54

Major General Montgomery realized that UNOSOM II would have to 

strengthen its hand in the capital and directed the Pakistanis to concentrate 

their armor, including well-maintained if outdated M-48 tanks, in that 

strategic center. The arrival in the capital of the Malaysian contingent, 

complete with armor, furthered improved the odds. Once again, UNOSOM 

II patrols became more assertive. Despite its bold posture, the UNOSOM 

II command privately voiced profound reservations about the evolving 

course of events. During a July visit, the State Department coordinator 

for Somalia, David Shinn, led an interagency review of the UN mission. 

Most important, Bir and Montgomery offered a candid appraisal that 

there was no military solution to the stalemate in Mogadishu.55 By the 

same token, the UNOSOM II command refused to sit by passively and 

wait for the situation in Mogadishu to develop on its own. Outside of 

public view, Montgomery sought release of a US Army armored cavalry 

squadron complete with tanks and Bradley fighting vehicles. Montgomery 

realized that available forces were not fully equipped to address future 

contingencies. Yet, concerned about the political signals attending such 

a step, Secretary of Defense Les Aspin declined the request. Subsequent 

events would ultimately make this a hotly controversial decision.

Meanwhile, the seminal event during the midsummer phase of the 

mission in Mogadishu was a raid conducted on 12 July at what was known 

as the Abdi House. Some members of the press corps at the time viewed 
117

this as a watershed event.56 According to Mark Bowden, whose journalistic 

history of events, Black Hawk Down, appeared several years later, the 

Abdi raid irrevocably altered the political environment in Mogadishu, 

effectively extinguishing any lingering hopes of a settlement with Aideed’s 

faction.57 One veteran of the mission, First Sergeant Buckley of the 1st 

Battalion, 87th Infantry, 1-87, later reflected, “I guess we created trouble 

for those who followed.”58 Perhaps he was right. Looking back, however, 

Montgomery remained convinced that Aideed had already made up his 

mind to escalate the conflict, a decision amply illustrated by increasing 

attacks on UNOSOM and UN personnel long before 12 July.59

The genesis of the raid on the Abdi House was the accumulation of 

intelligence at UNOSOM II headquarters that it was the site of regular 

meetings of USC and SNA leaders at which they planned attacks on 

coalition soldiers. Consequently, the command regarded the raid as a 

legitimate defensive action, one that would undermine Aideed’s support 

within the Habr Gidr clan. The UNOSOM II staff also received credible 

reports suggesting that Italian officials in Mogadishu were engaged in 

unilateral talks with Aideed. At such a delicate moment, Montgomery’s 

advisers feared that Aideed’s prestige within the USC and SNA could only 

improve if he enjoyed de facto recognition by a member of the coalition. 

Figure 6. QRF Attack on ABDI House, 12 July 1993
118 

Subsequently, an 18 July cable from the special representative of the 

secretary general in Somalia warned the UN leadership in New York that 

the Italian forces’ passivity was jeopardizing the UNOSOM position.60

The takedown of the Abdi House, situated no more than one-half mile 

from the US compound at the university, benefited from superb intelligence, 

meticulous planning, and precise rehearsal. Awaiting an execution order 

for several weeks, the force was prepared to launch on 5 minutes’ notice. 

The chosen force to execute the deliberate attack comprised QRF air (TF 

Safari) and ground elements (1-22, 10th Mountain). US aviation arrived 

shortly after 1000. Following a brief broadcast warning, the assault began 

with a 6-minute preparatory fire by six AH-1 and four OH-58 helicopters 

employing TOWs and 20mm cannon rounds. Liberalization of the rules of 

engagement (ROE) mirrored the shift to combat operations. Somalis who 

did not evacuate the building were “fair game.”61

Unfortunately, despite careful application, the use of such firepower 

in the compact environs of Mogadishu resulted in limited but deadly 

collateral damage when a few 20mm rounds and a single TOW missile 

struck the nearby French Embassy compound. Minutes later, both air 

assault and ground troops converged on the scene. While the former, 

consisting of 53 men arriving in three UH-60s, landed on an adjoining 

street and entered the compound, the latter established blocking positions 

in the vicinity. During the course of the operation, helicopters dispersed 

22 CS grenades to chase away gathering crowds. Inside the house, soldiers 

found 17 dead and 10 wounded Somalis. Among the dead were several 

notable figures among the USC/SNA leadership, including Sheik Aden 

Mohamed, the movement’s spiritual leader. While soldiers of the 1-22 

inspected the compound, one helicopter landed on the nearby French 

Embassy roof to provide further security. The force withdrew after about 

20 minutes, taking along two prisoners. The yield also included assorted 

documents, reel-to-reel tapes, and miscellaneous small arms.62 From a 

tactical standpoint, the mission was an unquestioned success.

However, there was little optimism that overall conditions in the city 

would immediately change. On the contrary, a “source reported that armed 

men are in the streets of Mogadishu hoping to exact revenge on the UN.” 

Moreover, the word was that the SNA had announced a bounty for killing 

any US or UN personnel. Such a reaction was not unexpected. As the 12 

July assessment added, “The reaction to this type of attack [the Abdi raid] 

has typically been an immediate low-intensity counterattack on the part 

of the SNA. . . . it is highly likely that attempts will be made to ambush 
119

vehicles and perhaps take hostages.” In reaction to the heightened state 

of alert in the capital, the command kept QRF helicopter support on call 

at 30-minute notice, directed daily aerial reconnaissance of key facilities, 

and maintained active coordination with PSYOP broadcast teams.63

Increased, sustained pressure produced limited results. According 

to a staff assessment of 29 July, “Indications are that increased activity 

by UNOSOM II forces have affected the enemy’s capability to conduct 

operations. We expect attacks (low intensity) on key facilities such as 

ports, the Force Command HQ, the airfield, Hunter Base and Sword 

Base.”64 In other words, the apparent reduction of Aideed’s strength had 

not crippled his ability to resist in a variety of ways.

In the meantime, the aftermath of the Abdi House mission aroused 

considerable controversy from other perspectives. An angry mob 

murdering four Western journalists in the area of the attack highlighted 

the continuing instability pervading Somalia’s capital city. A particular 

point of contention, however, arose over allegations concerning the deaths 

of Somali noncombatants during the raid. The ICRC estimated the total 

Somali casualties at 54 dead and 161 wounded. In turn, the USC and SNA 

claimed 73 Somalis perished during the raid, with a number of women and 

children among them, and put bodies on display to focus media attention.65

Of course, bullet-riddled corpses were not hard to come by in Somalia, 

and the UN maintained that the bodies had no connection to the Abdi raid. 

Montgomery, who had been at the scene, flatly disputed the ICRC and 

SNA accounts, asserting that Somali deaths ranged from 20 to 25 and that 

women and children were not present. Indeed, UNOSOM II planners had 

carefully sifted through available intelligence before the strike to minimize 

the risk to noncombatants, and combat videotape shot during the event 

reportedly accorded with official accounts. Consequently, Montgomery 

termed the USC/SNA claim as “ridiculous” and added, “From a military 

standpoint, [it was] a very precise, and very decisive operation”66

The UNOSOM II report concurred, indicating that all those killed at 

the compound were adult males. Still, Aideed’s backers stirred further 

controversy by claiming that the gathering at the Abdi House had been a 

political rather than a military meeting. Among those surviving the meeting 

was Mohamed Hassan Farah, a clansman of Aideed, who later asserted 

that the intent of the gathering was to consider the latest UN initiative for 

a political solution to the multisided conflict that beset the country. In his 

view, UNOSOM II actions on 12 July united the clan leadership against 

aggressive, foreign intrusion.67
120 

Criticism in the US domestic press corps rose as well. In an editorial 

column in The New York Times on 22 July, Frances Kennedy questioned, 

“Are the military decision-makers becoming dominant in what is meant 

to be a humanitarian mission?”68 Other critics, such as Edward Luttwak, 

argued that the humanitarian, nation-building mission in Somalia was ill 

conceived and faced impossible obstacles: “outside intervention would 

make sense only if it were prolonged indefinitely, in effect turning Somalia 

into a colony again, this time under U.N. control. Otherwise, all the costs 

and risks of intervention can achieve only ephemeral results at best.”69

In this context, late July saw a continuation of aggressive UNOSOM 

patrolling and weapons searches. Aviation, operating by night as well as 

by daylight, struck at militia forces and soon proved an effective constraint 

on their activities. Still, at UN force headquarters there was a perceived 

lack of initiative among national subordinate commands, which meant that 

centralized direction of tactical operations remained necessary. Ultimately, 

Force Command believed that managing the situation in the capital would 

entail mustering two full brigades, a goal that appeared achievable with the 

Indian Brigade’s scheduled arrival. In the meantime, control of the main 

routes within the city depended on more effectively employing available 

resources. One timely development was integrating the Somali police into 

the network of Pakistani checkpoints.70

Nurturing the Somali Police Force and gradually expanding its level 

of involvement required delicate balancing. The police force plan carefully 

stipulated that it would not to be used against the clan militias. According to 

the concept of operation, “The police do not have the equipment, training, 

confidence, or freedom of action to fight directly against a particular clan 

militia. Do not risk the collapse of the police with an improper tasking, 

or by shaping the police into a paramilitary force.”71 Nevertheless, the 

synchronization of military and humanitarian efforts proved more difficult 

to accomplish due to divergent operating styles and the variety of agendas 

among humanitarian relief organizations themselves. Moreover, the entire 

campaign struggled due to the simple impossibility of disarming a capital 

city in a war-torn country where weapons abounded.72 This was especially 

true since UNOSOM II forces did not range into the central Bakara market 

area.

In a general sense, the entire mission floundered due to an inadequate 

understanding of the cultural, social, and political context in which it took 

place. The normal logic of military operations, and perhaps even more 

the delicately nuanced intricacies of peace operations, did not apply in 

Somalia. In particular, there was a failure to appreciate the depth of clan 
121

loyalties and the profound repercussions of making Aideed the focal point 

of the mission. As noted in the UNOSOM II AAR, “Military planners 

had clearly underestimated the intentions of the Aideed-led USC/SNA 

militia.”73 A crucial underlying problem was the acute resource deficit that 

plagued the UNOSOM II intelligence staff. UNOSOM II staffers and the 

various national contingents had to practice “discovery learning” upon 

taking over their AORs. In this culturally complex urban environment, 

intelligence, or “information” as the UN euphemistically referred to it, 

was at a premium, and at least for a while, it was hard to come by.74 Still, 

the overt indicators of trouble were unmistakable.

USC and SNA aggression manifested itself in a variety of ways. In 

mid-August, during the scheduled rotation of US Army units in Somalia, 

four MPs died when their vehicle was destroyed by a carefully placed 

command-detonated mine. The soldiers were members of the 977th and 

300th MP companies, which were patrolling together while the 977th 

was learning the ropes of urban operations in Mogadishu. The attack 

was indicative not only of mounting Somali aggressiveness but also 

of a dilemma facing the American contingent. Increasingly frequent 

skirmishes slowly led to a decreased presence of UNOSOM II forces 

in the streets. One manifestation of this trend was a decision to curtail 

round-the-clock patrolling of the key MSRs by the 300th. The intent was 

to keep US soldiers in their compounds by night, when the risk of ambush 

was greatest. Avoiding some risks meant exposure to others, however. MP 

Company Commander Captain Chad McCree, who served in Somalia 

until the transition to UNOSOM II, later argued that direct control of the 

terrain and 24-hour operations were crucial to success in Mogadishu.75

One who was directly affected by the decision was Captain Farlow, 

who believed that maintaining MP visibility on the main roads by night 

constituted a sound doctrinal use of his company. While recognizing 

the perils confronting his 300th MP Company soldiers during periods 

of darkness, he feared that their absence would only embolden hostile 

elements. The sequence of events leading up to the tragic incident lent 

credence to his argument. Following the cessation of night patrols, 

Farlow’s MPs would conduct an initial reconnaissance of the main routes 

to begin each day with the benefit of overhead observation by TF Safari 

aviation. Of course, the command-detonated mine had been planted 

overnight. With hindsight, it was clear to see that the Somalis had set the 

stage carefully. Days earlier, US patrols had noticed what appeared to be 

a minor road repair in progress. Gradually, they became accustomed to 

seeing signs of routine digging, thereby diminishing the probability that 
122 

anyone would become alarmed at the sight of any freshly turned ground 

where the mine had been laid. While in the aftermath it remained uncertain 

whether night patrols would have prevented the attack, they would, in 

Farlow’s estimation, have made such a scheme harder to carry out.76

Broadly speaking, the mine incident had a powerful psychological 

impact on all concerned. Members of the departing 300th had lost a valued, 

veteran noncommissioned officer on the eve of departing for home. At the 

request of the 977th, he had volunteered to accompany a patrol for one 

final “right-seat ride.” The 977th MP Company, in turn, faced the deaths 

of three soldiers before it had even fully taken over the mission. Indeed, 

the deaths resonated beyond the units directly involved. Concurrently with 

the 977th, a number of fresh units arrived from the United States to receive 

news of the tragedy. For instance, members of B Company, 46th Forward 

Support Battalion (FSB) who assisted in recovering the wreckage, found 

the incident sobering to say the least.77 Ultimately, this episode stood as 

one more reflection of the transformation of the Somalia mission from 

a nation-building operation with a humanitarian purpose into a combat 

operation.

To be sure, Americans were not the only targets of SNA ambushes. On 

5 September, Aideed’s militia attacked Nigerian forces that were stepping 

in for the Italians at strong points 19 and 42 in north Mogadishu. Upon 

arrival at strong point 42 that morning, a Nigerian company commander 

encountered a clan elder who insisted that there was no agreement to 

permit new forces to occupy the strong point. The Nigerian commander 

refused to back down and, within minutes, was under attack. Nigerian 

reinforcements immediately deployed from strong point 19 in two elements 

along separate routes. On one of the routes, Balad Road, a Nigerian APC 

became isolated and absorbed serious casualties. Overall, 17 UNOSOM 

soldiers were wounded that day. Once again, the implications of a street 

clash rose above the tactical level.78

One source of concern was the Italian contingent’s failure to provide 

support, itself an episode of such seriousness that the UN Security 

Council called for an investigation. Montgomery acknowledged that a 

rift developed between the Italian contingent and UNOSOM II. In the 

general’s opinion, “They [the Italians] felt they had a special relationship 

with the Somalis. . . . And they were rather independent and there were 

problems between the headquarters, Admiral Howe, and the Italians that 

resulted in the Italians leaving North Mogadishu and moving to a new 

location.”79 A second consequence was a delay in turning over other strong 
123

points. Direct involvement of the Force Command operations staff in talks 

with local clan leaders became necessary, but the immediate result was 

improved cooperation.80

Trouble quickly flared elsewhere in the city, however. On 9 September, 

the QRF responded to an emergency in the Pakistani sector when roughly 

100 UNOSOM II soldiers with three tanks and four APCs became 

embroiled in a raging firefight, in which SNA militia unleashed not only 

a torrent of small-arms fire but also a barrage of RPGs. The episode 

began after the 362d Engineer Company, on a routine mission, cleared a 

roadblock on 21 October Road near the cigarette factory. Scattered hostile 

fire prompted the company’s Pakistani escort to deploy in defense of the 

position, and a battle ensued. Throngs of Somalis, many with weapons, 

swirled about in the combat zone. After a protracted shootout and the 

arrival of US Cobra helicopters, the crowd scattered and the besieged 

elements on the ground extricated themselves from trouble. During the 

fight, helicopters from TF Falcon “established ‘racetrack’ patterns for 

mutually supporting fires.” The Cobras employed 20mm cannons until 

they exhausted their ammunition and then switched to 2.75-inch rockets 

and TOW missiles. The TF headquarters authorized use of “whatever 

means were necessary to suppress hostile fire.”81

This show of overwhelming strength achieved tactical success, but 

its strategic implications were unclear. The bitter reality of fighting in 

Mogadishu was that combatants seldom operated as discrete elements. 

Indeed, on the contrary, they typically welcomed the presence of 

noncombatants, seeking protection in the knowledge that American 

ROE emphasized avoiding casualties. Of course, this Somali tactic was 

becoming increasingly familiar by September. On this day, to relieve the 

pressure on the fellow UNOSOM forces, the aircraft opened fire with 

2.75mm rockets and 20mm cannons, killing a large but undetermined 

number of Somalis. The repercussions in the global press cast growing 

doubt over the common sense of a mission that had begun with lofty 

humanitarian objectives and had devolved into an apparently senseless, 

bloody turf battle in Mogadishu. Meanwhile, the TF Raven AAR added 

this ominous note: “The Somali SNA militia demonstrated a strong will to 

fight not evident during previous employment of attack aircraft.”82

On the way to 3 to 4 October, the episode of 9 September was one of 

five major missions the QRF undertook that entailed significant combat 

with the USC and SNA militias. The next and most violent such mission 

occurred on 13 September. At the center of events that day was Captain 
124 

Mark Suich, who led Company B, 2-14 Infantry, as part of the QRF the 

10th Mountain Division provided to UNOSOM II. Suich had come to 

Somalia expecting to find combat. Before his deployment, he had seen 

videotapes from the 1-22 Infantry, 10th Mountain Division, that showed 

evidence of a more dangerous environment than contemporaneous news 

coverage on television suggested. In addition, Suich had been a member 

of the 2-14’s advance party before it replaced the 1-22 and saw for 

himself that the situation in Mogadishu was not benign. The wary captain 

subsequently told his soldiers in no uncertain terms that they must not 

hesitate to shoot when confronted with dangerous circumstances. As if to 

reinforce his point to the soldiers, Company B’s arrival at the beginning of 

August was greeted by mortar fire during the very first night.83

Despite this inauspicious omen, Suich’s company quickly fell into a 

sequential pattern with its sister companies of the 2-14, rotating every four 

days between duty as the QRF company, training for military operations 

on urban terrain, and maintenance. All the while, Suich’s Company B, 

which was about 20 percent below authorized strength, worked to become 

familiar with the Somali capital. What it found was that land navigation 

was extremely difficult, especially due to the inadequacy of available 

maps that gave only a crude approximation of the layout of blocks 

and buildings. It also discovered that parts of the city, such as around 

the Bakara market, were virtually off limits. Mogadishu was awash in 

weapons. Suich’s interpreter advised that he could purchase an RPG at 

Bakara for about $10.84

During his first two missions in the city before 13 September, Suich’s 

intuition told him that hostile elements in the population were increasingly 

emboldened. Crowds in parts of the city, such as the area north of the K-4 

circle, were growing larger and mobilized more quickly. Rock throwing 

was more common. “I think at this point they were casing us a little bit,” 

he later surmised.85 Certainly, the general perception that hostile incidents 

were on the rise is borne out by the official UN chronology for 31 July to 

13 August, during which time 13 separate episodes occurred.86

Efforts to keep aggressive Somalis back from US vehicles seldom 

worked for long. At one time, members of the 1-22 tried fixing bayonets on 

their rifles to intimidate the bolder Somalis and maintain minimal physical 

separation. At least during the early days of the mission, the real concern 

of US soldiers on the streets of Mogadishu was not self-defense against a 

direct attack; rather, they tried to prevent theft by destitute and determined 
125

young men in a society in which any piece of American equipment might 

have significant value on the open market. Unfortunately, the locals soon 

concluded that the Americans had no intention of actually wielding their 

bayonets as weapons and became emboldened once again. Afterward, one 

Somali interpreter recommended using sticks to ward off swarming locals. 

This approach better conformed to local customs. Furthermore, because 

sticks, unlike bayonets, could not inflict lethal wounds, they would be 

perceived as more likely to be employed.87

Nonetheless, on numerous occasions, US personnel found themselves 

in real danger. Most who left the living compounds with any frequency 

found themselves subjected to occasional hostile fire. Sergeant Buckley 

began to think of himself as a target in a carnival shooting gallery. He just 

kept moving, prohibited by the ROE from firing back at enemies he could 

not positively identify. “When’s my day?” he repeatedly asked himself.88

The experience of driving around Mogadishu proved equally harrowing 

to members of Company B, 46th FSB, who arrived in August as violence 

was spiking. Each convoy outside the base seemed to be an adventure, 

although gradually a sense of routine developed. Captain Marian Vlasak 

described a 2-mile trip in August between the university and Sword base as 

“the longest 10-minute drive of my life.” The danger did seem to improve 

some aspects of soldier performance, though. According to Vlasak, her 

soldiers took exceptionally good care of their vehicles—nobody wanted 

to have a breakdown in Mogadishu. Meanwhile, the presence of female 

soldiers, especially officers, continued to surprise the natives.89 In fact, 

UNOSOM II personnel did not even have to get out into the streets to 

appreciate the changing nature of the environment. Late-night mortar 

fire directed against the university living compound grew not only more 

frequent but also more accurate.90

As part of the UNOSOM II response, on 13 September Companies B 

and C departed the university compound on a cordon and search mission 

to find weapons thought to be stored near an identified SNA enclave. The 

force included a mounted infantry platoon with 40mm Mark 19s and 

7.62mm M-60 machine guns. The objective lay 21⁄2 kilometers away. The 

aim was to arrive on the objective by 0507 when the search was to begin. 

The timing would also put US troops on location before the residents arose 

for early morning call to prayer. Intelligence did not anticipate aggressive 

resistance, although a worst-case scenario envisaged an organized defense 

of the area.91
126 

On location, the mounted vehicles provided an outer protective 

cordon. Company B formed an inner cordon made up exclusively of 

light infantry around its objective, which consisted of six buildings 

wrapped within an encircling wall. Company C did the same at a virtually 

collocated objective, a five-building compound just to the north. The plan 

required Companies B and C, upon establishing their positions, to notify 

Somali personnel inside the objectives that they were surrounded and that 

a search would be conducted. Even before the PSYOP message concluded, 

members of 2d Platoon noticed Somalis inside the main building removing 

firearms. Unfortunately, the objective was surrounded by concrete walls 

topped with shards of glass, thus denying Company B unobstructed access. 

Moreover, having declared its presence and purpose, Suich’s Company B 

was not granted immediate admission to the compound. Unwilling to take 

no for an answer, Suich decided to cut the gate lock. Prior intelligence 

indicated that SNA militiamen inhabited the compound, an assessment 

that was corroborated upon entrance when only able-bodied males were 

present. Inside, Suich’s men seized a modest assortment of weapons and 

mortar rounds, not to mention a few maps of the university compound that 

served as home to the QRF. Nearby, Company C uncovered a similar arms 

stash.92 The entire process took approximately 2 hours, during which time 

about 30 to 40 Somalis were detained on the premises.

At some point during the search, Company C received scattered hostile 

fire from the Benedir Hospital, located about 200 meters to the northeast, 

and began to return fire.93 Also in reply, Suich placed M-60 gunners on 

the roof of the Bravo objective, with the order to return fire if they could 

confirm a target. Of course, an additional element of complexity in this 

scenario was that the source of fire was a civilian hospital. The complete 

willingness of the Somali militias to seek cover behind noncombatants 

or in a humanitarian facility such as a hospital typified the difficulties of 

operating in Mogadishu. Gradually it became clear to Suich, as well as his 

battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Bill David, that armed, hostile 

elements were beginning to apply pressure all along the eastern edge of 

the two company objectives. Burning road obstacles, a sure indicator 

of brewing trouble, were visible in the distance. Subsequently, brigade 

intelligence concluded that Aideed’s militias could mass anywhere in his 

area within 20 to 40 minutes.94

According to the plan, Company C was to exit the area, with its 

detainees on board trucks, by the same route on which it arrived. One 

platoon of Company B would accompany it on the return to the university 

compound. As the QRF elements began their departure, “All hell broke 
127

loose.”95 RPG explosions now added to the din created by small-arms fire. 

One blast shattered the western gate of Company B’s objective, injuring 

seven soldiers who were subsequently treated for concussions, including 

Lieutenant John Reynolds, the company executive officer.96 Suich 

concluded that his remaining platoons, as well as the company command 

group, would be moving directly into an ambush if they were to follow the 

same route as Company C. Consequently, he decided to blow a hole in the 

wall along the west side of the of the search objective compound to bound 

across an adjoining intersection while avoiding prolonged, direct exposure 

to enemy fire. Suich’s intent was to let his force of three platoons slip away 

by a more westerly route and, if necessary, request aerial support to enable 

his force to break contact with the SNA militia. Lieutenant Reynolds was 

in command of the final 3d Platoon as it departed the objective. Reynolds 

had noticed several men still on the objective and returned with his 

platoon to retrieve them. The stranded individuals turned out to be from 

the battalion and brigade tactical command post. No one in the company, 

it seemed, was responsible for getting them out.

Amid the confusion, Captain Suich was on the radio trying to discover 

the nature of the delay. To make matters worse, Reynolds’ platoon was 

delayed by hostile fire on the way to link up with the rest of the company 

near the university where the first two platoons occupied an extended 

position along a small berm running from east to west. From that location 

they were receiving considerable hostile fire along a 180-degree arc from 

the south. Out of concern for inadvertently directing fire toward his own 

men from 3d Platoon as it was on its way to rally with him, Suich kept 

a tight reign on return fire against the enemy. General confusion and 

obstructed visibility within the city brought Suich face to face with the 

friction of combat. The wait for the rest of his force was not the only 

problem. Suich later observed, “Really, I was outgunned at this point.”97

The essence of the dilemma was that Suich’s company would have to move 

through the gauntlet and then take an exposed left turn that constituted, for 

practical intents and purposes, a chokepoint between him and the entrance 

to the university compound.

Reynolds finally rejoined his company but had little time to savor 

this success. He later described the scene: “It was so bad you could see 

the bullet holes hit the embassy wall over our heads.” Under pressure, 

Reynolds had his platoon squad automatic weapon gunner take out a 

Somali RPG nest and put his force on line, thereby enabling Suich’s lead 

platoon to `engage the enemy freely. During the ensuing action, a soldier 

in 3d Platoon suffered a serious stomach wound. Luckily, an allied APC 
128 

happened by. Reynolds dashed over and asked for assistance in evacuating 

his soldier back into the university. Reynolds placed his injured man inside 

the vehicle and pointed the way but realized upon closing the vehicle hatch 

that the driver, instead of following his lead, was moving out smartly in 

the opposite direction. Meanwhile, the company medic advised by radio 

that the soldier’s condition demanded urgent attention. Reynolds then 

Map 8. Contact Under Fire
129

removed his man from the vehicle and sought a shortcut into the safety of 

the embassy grounds. He successfully conscripted help from an engineer 

team to blow a hole in the embassy wall to facilitate this maneuver. Once 

inside the embassy wall, movement to the UNOSOM compound at the 

university would be relatively easy because the soldiers could bypass the 

perilous intersection near the entrance. As usual, however, executing a 

good idea proved tricky. After some discussion of where to place the blast, 

the engineers unfortunately chose one of the thickest points in the wall. 

The explosion produced a hole that was too small to allow the wounded 

soldier to pass through. By this time, the soldier’s survival depended on 

the timely arrival of the company reserve’s antitank (AT) platoon that 

had been detained at the gate by Tunisian guards who had received no 

authorization to permit its departure. Thoroughly exasperated, the AT 

platoon leader opened the gate himself and arrived in time to rush the 

victim to medical assistance.98

At the same time, Suich was deeply concerned that if he could not 

achieve fire superiority, he would not be able to complete his return 

without taking serious additional losses. Fortunately, Colonel Mike Dallas, 

Suich and David’s brigade commander, was present at the scene that day 

and was able to expedite requests for air support. The fact that he was on 

the ground rather than aloft, however, later became a point of discussion 

with Major General Montgomery, who had become accustomed to Dallas’ 

predecessor observing from above.

In this instance, it so happened, Dallas was seeking to obtain the ground 

commander’s perspective. To be sure, Dallas’ situation was peculiar as the 

10th Aviation Brigade functioned as the command and control headquarters 

for ground and air fire support. Whatever the pros and cons of the situation, 

having already spent several months in Somalia, Dallas had reached the 

personal conclusion that “probably the single greatest impact . . . continues 

to be now both operationally and psychologically” the attack helicopter. 

He added, “When the Somali warlords started to threaten action and in 

some cases carried through with threats and moved—or thought they were 

moving on rival factions or possibly on US forces—the attack helicopters 

showed up and stopped them dead in their tracks. In many cases, [they] 

didn’t have to fire a shot; all they had to do was show up.”99

Able to communicate directly with gunships overhead, Suich directed 

the fire by marking enemy positions with smoke rounds. To provide 

complementary ground reinforcement, Lieutenant Colonel David called 

out the QRF AT platoon to help cover Company B’s withdrawal into the 

compound and, in particular, to extract several seriously wounded soldiers. 
130 

At about the same time, QRF scout snipers, upon learning from David of 

the situation just outside the compound, assumed firing positions along the 

southern wall to reverse the fire equation still further in Suich’s favor. Thus 

supported, Suich’s platoons bounded their way to the university’s front 

gate. As Suich later reflected, this near brush with disaster bore striking 

similarity to the scenario of 3 and 4 October.100 Above all, he observed, 

“To this day I still can’t figure out why it [the 13 September firefight] did 

not serve as a catalyst to get more stuff over here.” The essence of the 

problem was that on more than one occasion, Suich’s troops on the ground 

lost fire superiority in addition to facing superior numbers.101

How had circumstances in Somalia evolved to the point where the 

QRF was becoming the force of choice for an assortment of dangerous 

urban missions? A memorandum for the QRF commander dated 19 

October addressed that very question. The essence of the problem, the 

memo concluded, was that the peacekeeping forces provided to UNOSOM 

II were not necessarily well suited to what had become a far more violent 

environment than had been anticipated. In short, the memo argued, 

UNOSOM II lacked sufficient “quality tactical forces.” Conversely, the 

QRF was a combat force whose inherent advantages were now manifestly 

clear: “The soldiers are prepared for this environment because they are 

prepared for warfighting. . . . If we are prepared for war we can make 

modifications to our tactics, techniques, and procedures based on the 

environment.”102

The main difficulty associated with being the premier combat element 

in Somalia was that the QRF mission gradually grew to include protecting 

UNOSOM II forces by all means at its disposal. One assessment noted 

grimly, “Because of the inability, unwillingness, and incompetence of 

many coalition forces, the role and involvement of the QRF in daily operations expanded.” What made this widening of responsibility of its mission 

more troublesome was the fact that the QRF by definition controlled no 

territory, meaning that wherever it went it was operating in someone else’s 

area of operations.103 Equally important, some coalition partners had limited interoperability with US forces, thereby presenting an additional source 

of friction in what was already an inherently dangerous environment.

Still, such assertions hardly meant that a combat force did not struggle 

with some aspects of adapting to a peace enforcement mission in an alien 

urban setting. One notable adaptation was learning to depend on the staff 

judge advocate (SJA) in the planning and execution of all operations. 

Interpretation of the ROE and assessing the risks of collateral damage 
131

helped keep the QRF on the straight and narrow path to success. The 

employment of the QRF’s substantial combat power in densely populated 

Mogadishu demanded an acute sensitivity to the presence of noncombatants. 

Accordingly, among the SJA functions was the maintenance of operational 

summaries in the unit log to confirm compliance and provide a basis for 

subsequent adjustments to the ROE.104

The ROE in Somalia eventually gave UNOSOM II personnel extensive 

latitude. The command, with the UN’s blessing, declared “open season” 

on so-called technicals—any vehicle mounting a heavy or crew-served 

weapon. Snipers from Company B, 1st Battalion, 5th Special Forces 

Group, facilitated force protection in Mogadishu by placing accurate fire 

on targets at 1,000 meters or more. Snipers also rode aboard TF Raven 

helicopters as part of eyes over Mogadishu to provide aerial coverage 

above 2-14 Infantry.105

One clear manifestation of restraint in conducting QRF operations was 

the principle of graduated response. The execution of cordon and search 

operations, for example, required the open and peaceful formation of a 

security cordon around the objective followed by PSYOP announcements 

conveyed via loudspeaker and in translation to the effect that armed 

resistance could result in injury or death. If this initial step failed, the first 

graduated response was to saturate the premises with CS (tear gas). If this 

measure failed, the second graduated response was to enter the objective 

forcibly by using a cutting charge to create a hole in a wall. Soldiers 

would then lob concussion grenades and move in to seize control of the 

inhabitants with as little violence as possible. In a volatile urban context 

such as Mogadishu, exercising restraint helped keep a damper on violent 

public passions. At the same time, however, restraint gave the inhabitants 

of the objective extra time to formulate a response or to summon outside 

assistance. This time lapse posed risks for the QRF element, which could 

be subject to direct attack or could find its chosen exit route blocked.106

Such was the situation before the 13 September firefight.

Meanwhile, in late August, the United States was quietly reconsidering 

its role and strategy in Somalia. In part as a result of the Shinn mission, 

the Americans initiated a search for political solutions even as they moved 

to bolster their military strength. The former approach manifested itself 

in the form of intense pressure on the UN to seek a settlement among the 

factions. The latter, requested by Admiral Howe to carry out an intensified 

search for Aideed, arrived in the form of an elite combat formation that 

came to be known as TF Ranger.
132 

Overall, however, it would be easy to overlook the peaceful 

achievements during the first months of UNOSOM II. Even in Mogadishu, 

August witnessed a voluntary disarmament initiative and establishing 

district councils to restore a semblance of real local government. 

Nevertheless, as on the military front, the key to the UN’s strategy was to 

use its leverage to marginalize Aideed. As one UNOSOM II staff officer 

later summarized, “Force Command’s plan sought to convince clan 

leaders that continued support of Aideed would result in their exclusion 

from political and economic processes.”107 Still, the broad UN effort 

suffered from serious problems of its own. Central to the plan was the 

attempt to work in concert with nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 

including UN agencies that did not answer to the force commander. The 

NGOs were understandably anxious to maintain a perceived distance 

between their humanitarian activities and the mounting UNOSOM II 

military campaign. Even so, the presence of so many independent actors to 

some degree impaired the common cause. As one Pakistani officer in the 

UN Department of Peacekeeping Operations put the problem, the NGOs 

simply could not understand the military dimension of the mission.108

The events of summer 1993 in Mogadishu revealed an unmistakable 

pattern of escalating and better-coordinated resistance to UNOSOM II. 

At the same time, the mission grew more complex and dangerous. The 

decision to conduct an overt campaign against Aideed raised the ante in 

Somalia to a level that strained the military capabilities of UNOSOM II. 

Coalition members were progressively more reticent to undertake the 

challenge of controlling the capital. The American QRF, although combat 

hardened and well trained, was a light infantry force that lacked the 

mobility, firepower, and protective capabilities of heavier units.

Equally important, UNOSOM II simply did not possess the 

intelligence capabilities the mission in Mogadishu demanded. Success in 

the Somali capital and the campaign to capture Aideed required superb 

local intelligence. In a society that lacked a developed communications 

infrastructure, this meant that human intelligence was crucial. 

Unfortunately, from the start, the Americans lacked deep insight into the 

Somali culture. Capable, unbiased, or politically neutral translators were 

in short supply. UNOSOM II personnel stood out in Somalia and had no 

hope of infiltrating the streets even if they had been disposed to do so. 

Thus, they were unable to sense the rhythm or dynamic that governed 

local behavior. Even so, UNOSOM II elements were doing a good job of 

constructing a behavioral profile of their adversary. What they learned was 

disturbing indeed. Somali militiamen were proving tactically adept and 
133

developed a system of night signals with tracers to allow them to mass 

on an objective. By late September, noted Staff Sergeant Mike Claus, “ a 

force on the ground had 20-30 minutes” before it would be under intense 

pressure.109

The SNA’s rapid responses to breaking events were indicative of the 

other side of the information coin. Ubiquitous observers around US and 

UNOSOM II bases, not to mention Somali contract employees, were 

able to pass intelligence to Aideed and his commanders quickly, thereby 

almost completely denying coalition forces any chance of stealth or 

surprise within the city. Even more disturbing was a creeping perception 

within UN and US headquarters that some coalition elements had ensured 

their own safety by cutting private deals and trading information with the 

clans. As SSG Mike Horan recalled, “the contingents that stick out most 

in my mind in regard to these safe passage agreements were the Italians 

and Saudis. They both drove around Mogadishu without a care in the 

world.”110 Whatever the truth of the situation, a pervasive suspicion that 

the coalition was an information sieve threatened to tear the delicate fabric 

of unity on which UNOSOM II efforts depended.

Finally, UNOSOM II forces had to wrestle with unending ambiguity. 

This began with the inexorable devolution of the mission from a 

humanitarian campaign to a manhunt. Foreigners could not discern friend 

from foe, a fact that immeasurably increased the danger of operating 

in a complex urban environment. ROE kept pace with the shifting 

political climate but could never eliminate the need to make quick, subtle 

judgments. Somalis routinely put noncombatants, even young children, 

in harm’s way, a fact that served as a testament to their own cold-blooded 

insights into the cultural norms of coalition and especially American 

soldiers. Members of the 10th Mountain Division never grew comfortable 

with the presence of noncombatants in a combat zone. If this stood as a 

credit to their professionalism, it also put them in danger.
134 

Notes

 1. UNOSOM II, OPLAN 1, Mogadishu, Somalia, May 1993, 1.

 2. Jonathan Howe, “Somalia: Frustration in a Failed Nation,” Soldiers for Peace: 

Fifty Years of United Nations Peacekeeping, Barbara Benton, ed. (New York: Facts on 

File, Inc., 1996), 165.

 3. John Hillen, Blue Helmets: The Strategy of UN Military Operations (Washington, 

DC: Brassey’s, 1998), 213.

 4. UNOSOM II, OPLAN 1, 4.

 5. “United Nations Operation in Somalia II, Profile,” UN Department of Public 

Information, 31 August 1996 at <www.un.org.Depts/DPKO/Missions/unosom2p.htm>.

 6. UNOSOM II, OPLAN 1, 4.

 7. Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Daze, “Centers of Gravity of United Nations 

Operation Somalia II,” unpublished master of military arts and science (MMAS) thesis, 

US Army Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 1995, 48. The 

author is deeply appreciative for Daze’s help in obtaining copies of numerous UNOSOM 

documents.

 8. Norman Cooling, “Operation Restore Hope in Somalia: A Tactical Action Turned 

Strategic Defeat,” Marine Corps Gazette (September 2001), 100.

 9. Lieutenant General Carl Ernst, e-mailed observations, 19 October 2001.

10. Lieutenant General Thomas Montgomery, US Army, Retired, interview with Dr. 

Robert Baumann, Colorado Springs, CO, 17 February 2002, hereafter cited as Montgomery 

interview.

11. Ibid.

12. Tom Daze, e-mail message to the author based on data retired Lieutenant General 

Thomas Montgomery provided, 10 December 2002.

13. Tom Daze, e-mail to the author, 17 January 2003.

14. Montgomery interview; Thomas Montgomery, PBS FRONTLINE interview, 

“Ambush in Mogadishu,” at <www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/ambush/

interviews/montgomery.html>, hereafter cited as Montgomery FRONTLINE interview; 

Tom Daze, e-mail message to the author, 10 December 2002.

15. Ambassador Robert Oakley, PBS FRONTLINE interview, “Ambush in Mogadishu” 

at <www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/ambush/interviews/oakley.html>, hereafter 

cited as Oakley FRONTLINE interview.

16. Major Khan A. Gulraiz, Pakistan, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort 

Leavenworth, KS, 26 September 2001, hereafter cited as Khan A. Gulraiz interview.

17. Lieutenant Colonel Frank Gorski, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann and Major 

Versalles Washington, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 24 October 2001.

18. Montgomery FRONTLINE interview.

19. Admiral Jonathan Howe, PBS FRONTLINE Interview, “Ambush in Mogadishu” at 

<www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/ambush/interviews/howe.html>.

20. UNOSOM II, OPLAN 1, 12.

21. Montgomery interview.

22. Walter Clarke, PBS FRONTLINE interview, “Ambush in Mogadishu” at 

<www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/ambush/interviews/clarke.html>.

23. Cooling, 95.

24. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter III, “Mission and Operational Concept.”

25. Daze, unpublished MMAS thesis, 57-58.

26. Report of the Commission of Inquiry established pursuant to Resolution 885 (1993) 
135

to investigate armed attacks on UNOSOM II personnel, 1 June 1994, as printed in The 

United Nations and Somalia, 1992-1996 (New York: United Nations Publications, July 

1996), S/1994/653, 375, hereafter cited as Report of the Commission of Inquiry. Some 

personnel even within UNOSOM suspected the 5 June inspection at the radio station 

compound was, in reality, a reconnaissance of the station itself in expectation of a future 

attempt to close it. The observation that the Radio Mogadishu site was not a real storage 

facility is drawn from US Forces Somalia AAR, chapter IV, “Review and Analysis of 

UNOSOM II Operations, Reception and Consolidation (4 May-5 June 1993).” This AAR 

was evidently based on the UNOSOM II AAR but expanded on it substantially in some areas.

27. Oakley FRONTLINE interview.

28. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Reception and Consolidation (4 May 1993-5 June 

1993).”

29. Ibid.; The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-1996, Executive Summary of the 

report prepared by Professor Tom Farer of American University, Washington, DC, on the 5 

June attack on UN forces in Somalia, 298. Farer concluded that the attack was premeditated. 

He cites as evidence the SNA militia establishing an infantry killing zone and obstacles on 

21 October Road as well as tactical flank protection and camouflaged positions.

30. First Sergeant John Buckley, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Drum, NY, 

28 August 2002, hereafter cited as Buckley interview. Buckley was a member of the QRF 

that day. As would happen later in October, US troops did not bring night vision goggles on 

a daylight mission. As it became apparent that US personnel would secure the ambush site 

past darkness, Buckley was asked to lead a small element back to base to retrieve them. The 

appearance of roadblocks led to canceling the mission.

31. Report of the Commission of Inquiry in The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-

1996, S/1994/653, 376. See also Thomas Mockaitis, Peace Operations and Intrastate 

Conflict: The Sword or the Olive Branch (Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 1999), 63. The 

author is highly critical of the UNOSOM II decision to conduct the inspection in the face of 

explicit warning. Of course, Bir and Montgomery were convinced of the need for firmness 

to preserve the credibility of UNOSOM II.

32. Report of the Commission of Inquiry in The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-

1996, S/1994/653, 377.

33. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Reception and Consolidation (4 May 1993-5 June 

1993).”

34. Somalia AAR, briefing for the Secretary of Defense, 16 June 1993, slide 27.

35. Major John Evans, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 29 

September 1999, hereafter cited as Evans interview.

36. Major Chuck Walls, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 7 

November 2001.

37. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Combat Operations (5 June 1993-29 August 

1993).”

38. Ibid.

39. Daze, unpublished MMAS thesis, 75. Here Daze cites his own field notes from 

Somalia concerning the Pakistani command relationship to Major General Montgomery.

40. Lieutenant General Bir, code cable to Admiral Howe, Subject: Concept of 

Operations in Mogadishu, 16 July 1993.

41. Colonel Joe Celeski, “A History of SF Operations in Somalia,” Special Warfare

(June 2002), 21; Buckley interview.

42. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Combat Operations (5 June-29 August 1993).”

43. Ibid.
136 

44. Report of the Commission of Inquiry in The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-

1996, S/1994/653, 378.

45. Ibid.

46. Ibid.; UN Operation Log of Events, 17 June 1993, final update as of 1130 C 18 June 

1993. Suspicions of passing information to the Somalis fell on the Italian contingent, which 

ever more seemed to be working according to their own script. There is reason to believe 

that the Italian government doubted the wisdom of a policy that focused on Aideed as the 

“bad guy.”

47. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Combat Operations (5 June 1993-29 August 

1993).”

48. Major David Kelly, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 14 

February 2000.

49. Major David Farlow, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann and Lieutenant Colonel 

Walter Kretchik, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 5 May 1999, hereafter cited as Farlow interview.

50. Mike Horan, “Eyes Over Mogadishu,” chapters 4 and 9. This as yet unpublished 

monograph is a personal memoir and was available online as accessed on 6 January 2003 

at <http://www.megapass.co.kr/~horanjoh/>. See also AAR, Task Force Mountain Warrior, 

Operation Restore Hope/Continue Hope, Somalia, 10 April-1 August 1993, 3-25 Aviation 

Battalion, tab G.

51. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Combat Operations.”

52. Fragmentary Order (FRAGO) Number 70 to UNOSOM II OPLAN 1, 7 July 1993.

53. Some critics would later contend that the bounty was too small to do any good and 

merely served as an insult to Aideed.

54. FRAGO Number 73 to UNOSOM II OPLAN 1, 9 July 1993.

55. Tom Daze, e-mail to the author, 12 December 2002.

56. Major David Stockwell, “Press Coverage in Somalia: A Case for Media Relations 

to be a Principle of Military Operations Other Than War,” 18 April 1995. This unpublished 

master’s degree thesis is available online at <http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/

library/report/1995/SDB.htm>.

57. Mark Bowden, Black Hawk Down: A Story of Modern War (New York: Atlantic 

Monthly Press, 1999).

58. Master Sergeant John Buckley, conversation with Dr. Robert F. Baumann, Karshi, 

Uzbekistan, 6 March 2002.

59. Montgomery interview.

60. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Combat Operations,” and Daze, “Centers of 

Gravity of United Nations Operation Somalia II,” 75, 78-79.

61. Walls interview; Buckley interview; and AAR Task Force Mountain Warrior, 

Warrior Brigade Unit History in Somalia, tab B, 9.

62. TF Mountain Warrior, Operation Restore Hope/Continue Hope, Somalia, 10 April7 August 1993, AAR; 3-25 Assault Helicopter Battalion, TF Safari/Operation Continue 

Hope, briefing slides, 26 August 1993.

63. FRAGO Number 77 to UNOSOM II OPLAN 1, 12 July 1993.

64. FRAGO Number 92 to UNOSOM II OPLAN 1, 29 July 1993.

65. The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-1996, “Synopsis of the Attacks on 

UNOSMOM II Personnel,” annex V, 404-5.

66. Montgomery FRONTLINE interview. See also Scott Peterson, Me Against My 

Brother: At War in Somalia, Sudan and Rwanda (New York: Rutledge, 2001) 123-35. 

Peterson, a reporter for The Christian Science Monitor, arrived on the scene just in time 

to view the conclusion of the raid on the Abdi House (referred to as Qaybdiid house in his 

book). There, he was confronted by an angry mob and suffered a machete wound to the 
137

head. In the aftermath, Peterson doubted the wisdom of the raid against what his informants 

asserted was a political gathering and questioned whether it complied with the law of 

war. Based on the damage he observed, he concluded that UNOSOM II underestimated 

the number of Somali dead. More important, he concluded that the raid provoked rage 

among Aideed’s clan and only set the stage for escalating violence. Peterson reiterated this 

assessment in a phone conversation with me on 16 November 2003.

67. Bowden, 70-74.

68. Frances Kennedy, “In Somalia, Machiavelli Vs. Rambo,” The New York Times, 22 

July 1993.

69. Edward Luttwak, “Wrong Place, Wrong Time,” The New York Times, 22 July 

1993.

70. USFORSOM AAR, chapter IV, “Review and Analysis of UNOSOM II Operations, 

Search for Aideed (31 August 1993-3 October 1993).”

71. Major Mark Inch, Deputy Force Provost Marshal, UNOSOM II, Somali Police 

Program, briefing notes, 2 November 1993.

72. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Combat Operations.”

73. Ibid.

74. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter V, “Special Subject Areas: Intelligence.”

75. Major Chad McCree, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 

1 April 1999.

76. Farlow interview; Dan Bolger, “Down Among the Dead Men,” Savage Peace: 

Americans at War in the 1990’s (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1996), 266-338. In an 

otherwise fine article, Bolger attributes the mine incident, in part, to mixing troops from 

two different MP companies and asserts that this reflected a pattern of employment that 

plagued the mission. In fact, the units in question were not thrown together but engaged in 

a standard “right-seat ride” in which an experienced unit helps acquaint a replacement unit 

with its responsibilities. Of course, no one can ever establish whether the 8 August mine 

incident would have occurred had the MPs maintained 24-hour operations. Certainly, the 

capabilities of a single company of MPs were limited.

77. Major Marian Vlasak, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 

8 August 2002.

78. The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-1996, “Synopsis of the Attacks on 

UNOSMOM II Personnel,” annex V, 405-406.

79. Montgomery FRONTLINE interview.

80. UNOSOM II AAR, chapter IV, “Search for Aideed (31 August-3 October)”.

81. TF Raven AAR, entry for 9 September 1993.

82. Ibid. TF Raven replaced TF Safari as the principal aviation element in Somalia.

83. Major Mark Suich, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann and Lieutenant Colonel 

Walter Kretchik, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 3 March 2000.

84. Ibid.

85. Ibid.

86. The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-1996, “Military Operations,” annex IV, 

392-93.

87. Buckley interview.

88. Ibid.

89. CPT Marian Vlasak, Somalia Journal, entries for 10, 15, and 21 August 1993.

90. Evans interview.

91. John Reynolds, The Operation of Company B, 2-14 Infantry, 10 MTN DIV (LI), 

Battle of 13 September, Mogadishu, Somalia (personal experience of a rifle company 

executive officer), unpublished paper, 6; Eric Patterson, “Breaking Contact Under Fire,” 
138 

Infantry (January-April 1999), 7-8; Major Eric Patterson, Interview with Dr. Robert 

Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 17 March 2003. Patterson commanded the 2-14 support 

platoon that took a position next to the battalion tactical operations center at the objective. 

The timing of the arrival was intended to precede the Somalis’ emergence into the streets 

after the morning call to prayer.

92. Major Mark Suich, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 1 

June 2000, hereafter cited as Suich interview; Reynolds, 9. Suich did not recall the correct 

date of the operation in the interview, but his account conforms perfectly with official 

records of the events of 13 September. See also Patterson, “Breaking Contact Under Fire,” 

7. Patterson’s account concurs but describes the open, exposed area along the embassy 

compound wall differently. When US forces, including Cobras and snipers along the wall, 

brought their fire to bear on the Somali militia, they were able to prevent the enemy from 

closing. In other words, with the shift in fire superiority, the open space became an obstacle 

to the enemy. 

 93. Patterson, “Breaking Contact Under Fire,” 7. Concerning the round directed at US 

forces from the hospital, Patterson explained that determination of the source of fire was 

based on the angle of impact.

 94. Major John Reynolds, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 

December 2001.

 95. Suich interview, 1 June 2000.

 96. Reynolds, 9.

 97. Suich interviews, 1 June 2000 and 3 March 2000.

 98. Reynolds, 11-12.

 99. Colonel Mike Dallas, interview with Lieutenant F.D.G. Williams, Center for 

Military History Catalog No. RHIT-C-040, 12 July 1993.

100. Suich interview, 1 June 2000.

101. Suich interview, 3 March 2000.

102. Memorandum for Commander, QRF, Mogadishu, Somalia, 19 October 1993.

103. Ibid.

104. Ibid.

105. Colonel Joe Celeski, “A History of SF Operations in Somalia, 1992-1995,” Special 

Warfare (June 2002), 20-21.

106. Memorandum for Commander.

107. Daze, unpublished MMAS thesis, 85.

108. Khan A. Gulraiz interview.

109. Staff Sergeant Mike Claus, e-mail to Dr. Robert Baumann, 18 August 2002. In 

addition, Colonel David Buckley, who commanded the 1-22 as a lieutenant colonel for 

part of the summer of 1993, later related to the author in a conversation on 24 March 2003 

that it was altogether too easy to underestimate the seemingly primitive techniques of the 

Somalia militias. He noted, for example, that they would mark their mortar firing positions 

in the streets so that they could return to those spots at any time and know the range to 

specific targets.

110. Horan, chapter 10.
139

Chapter 5

UNOSOM II: PART II

The Battle of Mogadishu

Robert F. Baumann

The horrid shock: now storming fury rose,

And clamor such as heard in heav’n till now

Was never, arms on armor clashing brayed

Horrible discord, and the madding wheels

Of brazen chariots raged; dire was the noise

Of conflict; overhead the dismal hiss

Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew,

And flying vaulted either host with fire.

—Paradise Lost, John Milton

Even before the battle of 13 September, a new and critical element had 

unobtrusively entered the Somali stage. During late August, Task Force 

(TF) Ranger arrived to as little fanfare as it could manage. Its mission was 

to break the Somali National Alliance (SNA) leadership and, if possible, 

to snatch General Mohamed Farah Aideed. This extraordinary venture 

would require an extraordinary force. To be sure, Secretary of Defense 

Les Aspin; General Colin Powell, the outgoing chairman, Joint Chiefs of 

Staff; and General Joseph Hoar at U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) 

initially opposed the decision to deploy special operations forces to 

Somalia because they doubted whether Aideed’s capture was possible and 

were concerned about the unforeseen consequences of such a step. Indeed, 

an air of skepticism about this new facet of the Somalia mission pervaded 

the joint staff at the Pentagon.1 Conversely, Admiral Jonathan T. Howe 

held to his conviction that a force with increased capabilities was critical 

to executing the UN Security Council mandate in Somalia and would 

make possible a more robust campaign to track Aideed.

Without doubt, events took a hand in shaping the US course of action. 

Washington’s decision to deploy TF Ranger, which had been training 

for weeks, followed the 8 August detonation of a mine that killed four 

American military police (MPs). As American casualties mounted, highlevel thinking changed. Powell recalled, “In late August, I reluctantly 

yielded to the repeated requests from the field and recommended to Aspin 

that we dispatch the Rangers and the Delta Force [an elite commando unit]. 

It was a decision I would later regret.”2 Appropriately, TF Ranger brought 
140 

a distinctive modus operandi (MO). Consisting of an elite commando 

unit and elements (a battalion minus) of the 3-75 Ranger Battalion, TF 

Ranger was under the command of Major General William Garrison, 

who reported not to the UN force commander (FC) but through a parallel 

chain back to CENTCOM. This particular fact went unmentioned to the 

press corps, which cheerfully assumed that TF Ranger worked for Major 

General Thomas M. Montgomery that along with the quick-reaction force 

(QRF). The reality was quite different. TF Ranger brought with it a distinct 

approach as well as a special objective. Viewed another way, there was no 

unity of command although there was unity of purpose.

TF Ranger appreciably elevated the striking power of US forces in 

Somalia. Superbly supported and trained to a fine edge, its soldiers were 

supremely confident. Their mission was to cripple the SNA by grabbing 

Aideed or taking down his command infrastructure. Focus quickly shifted 

to the latter in the form of his top lieutenants as it became apparent that 

Aideed would be difficult to locate. Either way, success would hinge on 

superior intelligence followed by a rapid, resolute response. Such tactical 

agility could only come at the expense of any opportunity for detached 

reflection or second thoughts.

TF Ranger operated under a cloak of complete secrecy because its 

missions normally resulted from late-breaking intelligence—obtained 

primarily through its own exclusive and jealously guarded sources—and 

were extremely time-sensitive in their execution. Meticulous information 

collection and analysis could at any time give way to a furious burst of 

activity. Thus, when targets of opportunity appeared, the luxury of patient 

planning or careful prior coordination with the QRF was unavailable.

TF Ranger wasted little time reaching Somalia before moving 

aggressively to capture Aideed. Just days into the mission, TF Ranger 

raided the Legatto House north of K-4 in Mogadishu, believing it to 

be a command center that assisted in directing mortar fire against the 

UNOSOM II forces situated at the airfield. Unfortunately, this episode 

highlighted the difficulty of coordination with UN personnel in the 

capital. Contrary to the wishes of the security manager of the special 

representative of the secretary general, a small number of UN personnel 

were present at the Legatto House and became TF Ranger’s temporary 

detainees.3 This embarrassing mishap demonstrated the need to notify 

Major General Montgomery before initiating each operation—a process 

that was subsequently formalized. Even so, Montgomery would learn 

of impending TF Ranger operations only minutes before launch. This 
141

would, however, allow enough time to ensure that no UNOSOM II or UN 

personnel were in the target area.

In fairness, the tactical execution of the mission at the Legatto House 

went smoothly, but that fact did not entirely erase the stigma of fiasco 

associated with the episode. Not surprisingly, the press pounced on the 

incident. In turn, some of the conventional soldiers in Mogadishu felt the 

affair was mildly amusing and might even administer a healthy dose of 

humility to TF Ranger.4 It would not be the last time that TF Ranger would 

unintentionally detain the wrong individual. A subsequent operation in 

mid-September resulted in capturing a former Somali police chief, who 

was speedily released.

If nothing else, the September TF Ranger missions eloquently 

demonstrated that accurate, timely information concerning Aideed’s 

whereabouts was a scarce commodity. Among the conventional 

contingent in Mogadishu, awareness of this reality had already become 

common currency. The close-knit fabric of Somali society, combined 

with the formidable concealment offered by a heavily populated urban 

environment, enabled the Habr Gidr leadership to move invisibly within 

the capital. In addition, their “low-tech” communications infrastructure 

neutralized many US means of electronic surveillance. Ironically, the 

successful capture of a key Aideed adviser, Osman Atto, on 21 September, 

only compounded the difficulty of locating Aideed, who responded by 

increasing his personal security measures.5

Map 9. Mogadishu - Black Hawk Down

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142 

Persistence, however, finally yielded the opportunity that Major 

General Garrison’s men had been waiting for. On 3 October, TF Ranger 

undertook a daring daylight raid to capture top members of the United 

Somali Congress (USC) and SNA leadership. Based on real-time 

intelligence, Garrison seized the moment to conduct a lightning raid in 

the heart of hostile territory in Mogadishu, not far from the Bakara market 

and the Olympic Hotel. These areas generally had been off-limits to US 

personnel for months. Nevertheless, TF Ranger had trained carefully 

and had conducted previous operations in Aideed’s area of influence. Its 

personnel were acquainted with the main routes through the city, which is 

not to say that orientation on the ground was in any way easy or routine.6

Garrison was well aware of the risks and, pointing to the Bakara vicinity 

on a map, had once informed an assembly of company officers, “I will not 

send you in here unless it is a lucrative target. I know if I send you guys in 

we’ll get in a gunfight.”7

On this occasion, both the time of day (just after 1530) and the 

location of the objective elevated the danger. Ordinarily, given their 

night-vision capabilities, US soldiers enjoyed a huge combat advantage 

after dark. The cover of night afforded the chance to achieve stealth and 

surprise against forces that lacked comparable capabilities. Still, TF 

Ranger had no control over where and when opportunities to strike at 

Aideed might occur. Knowing it was taking a calculated risk, TF Ranger 

tried to seize the moment in broad daylight on 3 October. This meant that 

the enemy would be able to mass on the target area within minutes, leaving 

TF Ranger almost no margin for error or delay. Making a decision they 

would later rue, TF Ranger soldiers left their night-vision goggles behind 

to minimize their already substantial loads in the intense Somali heat. On 

one level, this choice made sense. By reducing their individual loads, TF 

Ranger personnel were maximizing their chances of success based on the 

mission plan. Striking in midday on a mission designed to take under an 

hour, no one expected to need specialized night gear. On the contrary, 

operational requirements placed a premium on quickness and agility. 

Unfortunately, once Clausewitzian “friction”—an amalgam of bad luck, 

accident, and other unforeseeable factors—took over, initial assumptions 

went out the window.8

The plan was elementary in concept but exquisitely difficult in 

execution. Based largely on well-rehearsed battle drills, the scheme came 

together quickly on 3 October. Lieutenant Larry Perino, then a platoon 

leader in Company B, later recalled that the time elapsed from briefing 
143

to mission launch was only about 40 minutes to 1 hour.9 Junior officers, 

as well as some noncommissioned officers who would carry out the 

operation, had a hand in the planning. AH-6 Little Birds would first drop 

specially trained commandos on the target. Then, even as they landed, 

Black Hawk helicopters were to fly TF Ranger to the objective where 

its personnel would “rope” down to the street. This was trickier than it 

may at first seem. As noted in a TF Mountain Warrior after-action review 

(AAR) for the preceding rotation ending on 7 August, “There are very 

few [landing zones] LZ/[pickup zones] PZs in a [military operations in 

urbanized terrain] MOUT environment.”10 Wires and blowing debris posed 

a constant hazard. Once on the ground, the commandos would seize and 

clear the objective while Company B, 3-75 Ranger Battalion, organized 

into four “chalks,” would secure the approaches along adjoining streets. 

Then, within minutes, a well-synchronized truck convoy would arrive to 

remove both detainees and TF Ranger personnel. In all, the scheduled 

mission involved about 160 men, 19 aircraft, and 12 vehicles.11

Friction was to visit the TF early and often. One Ranger on his first 

mission suffered serious injury while descending from a helicopter. He 

missed the rope and to this day does not know why.12 His fellow Rangers 

responded swiftly, but this mishap added a further element of complexity 

to the situation, as did the fact that the same helicopter had made its dropoff a block or more from the intended spot. This was probably a result 

of brownout as aircraft rotors produced thick dust clouds. Subsequently, 

perhaps 1⁄2 hour later when the mission was all but complete, a second 

event created a tragic cascade of first- and second-order consequences. A 

Somali rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) struck one of the Black Hawks 

providing cover for operations on the ground. The crash of the Super 61, 

as it was known, made the helicopter an objective in itself. TF Ranger 

would not return without all of its personnel or without securing and, if 

necessary, destroying the downed aircraft.

Although not expected, such a contingency was not unimagined. 

Colonel Lawrence Casper, who had recently assumed command of 

the QRF, had asked his predecessor, Colonel Mike Dallas, what would 

constitute a worst-case scenario in Somalia. The answer was a downed 

aircraft on Aideed’s turf.13 Apparently, the enemy had reached the same 

conclusion. Just a week earlier, a Somali militiaman had downed a Black 

Hawk helicopter participating in “Eyes Over Mogadishu” with an RPG in 

what most observers at the time judged to be a lucky shot. Traveling at an 

altitude of about 100 feet and a speed of 110 knots, the Black Hawk went 

down at around 0200.14 On that occasion, the Black Hawk belonged to US 
144 

conventional forces in Somalia, a fact of modest note except that it seemed 

to create an artificial psychological distance between the event and TF 

Ranger personnel. Although everyone was well aware of the incident, TF 

Ranger’s aura of invincibility remained unaffected.

In any case, organizational reactions differed. The aviation brigade 

suspended all Black Hawk flights over the so-called Black Sea area in 

central Mogadishu. The decision reflected not only a frank appraisal of 

aircraft vulnerabilities but also a grim understanding of the terrible risks 

associated with any extraction attempt. Some perceived this decision to be 

a mistake. SSG Mike Horan later contended that the Somalis quickly drew 

their own conclusions and assumed US forces would “be less aggressive 

in their search for Aideed.”15 If Horan’s assessment was correct, it might 

well also have occurred to the SNA leaders that by inflicting casualties 

they could rapidly influence American behavior. Ominously, even before 

this incident, the QRF began to suspect that the SNA would try to lure lowflying helicopters into an ambush.

Meanwhile, perhaps because of their extraordinary experience and 

rigorous training, there was little sense among the special operators that 

they were as vulnerable as their conventional brethren.16 Major General 

Montgomery later recalled his concern: “They routinely flew in low 

circles above the ground force at about 500 feet—well below the burnout 

elevation of an RPG. . . . It was almost as if they thought they could not be 

hit.”17 This is not to say that they were contemptuous of SNA capabilities, 

but their unalloyed faith in their own skills meant that they did not measure 

themselves by conventional standards. In reality, TF Ranger, and above all 

the elite commandos at its core, were the Army’s very best; difficult or 

perilous missions were their stock in trade. Still, to at least a few observers 

in the conventional forces, TF Ranger behaved with a swagger that was 

irksome at best and reckless at worst. Of course, what was not fully known 

to any of the US forces at that time was the great number of RPGs the 

Somalis had or their increasing tactical proficiency in firing them. Experts 

would later recognize that former Mujahideen fighters from the SovietAfghan war played a significant role in passing on the lessons of that 

unconventional struggle against a technologically advanced opponent.18

Although the TF Ranger command knew it faced a dangerous foe, it had 

experienced rather little misfortune on previous missions.

Years later, the former battalion assistant S3, then Captain James 

Klingaman, realized that he would have benefited from a more detailed 

knowledge of the harsher experiences of 2-14, 10th Mountain Division, 
145

in August and September. It was fate’s decree that in 2001-2002 he would 

serve as the battalion commander of 2-14. Only then did he have the 

opportunity to examine carefully the unit’s historical record. The signs 

were there, he concluded, not only that the SNA militia posed a real danger 

but that its ferocity was intensifying.19 Similarly, Jeff Struecker, a sergeant 

in the 3-75 in 1993, subsequently observed, “We didn’t have time for a 

formal review of 10th Mountain’s mission.” Informal channels to some 

extent compensated, however. Shortly before TF Ranger’s deployment, 

the battalion received a new staff sergeant fresh from service with the 10th 

Mountain Division in Somalia. Small-unit leaders in the 3-75 “picked 

his brain” extensively.20 In addition, Struecker remembered carefully 

reviewing the details of the command-detonated mine incident that killed 

the MPs as well as the routine sniping at troop convoys. “What caught me 

off guard on 3-4 October,” he added, “was how intense the enemy fire was. 

It was a shower of bullets almost all night long.”21

With the deaths of three crew members, the 25 September crash was 

certainly a tragedy. Only a series of fortuitous circumstances prevented 

greater losses. On that occasion, the crippled Black Hawk had hit the 

ground much closer to a less hostile area that coalition forces routinely 

patrolled. Even then, a QRF company arriving at the scene had a relatively 

modest but extended firefight on its hands. Fortunately, the surviving crew 

members, armed only with 9-millimeter (mm) pistols, managed, with a 

friendly civilian’s assistance, to find their way to UNOSOM II forces. 

In contrast, on 3 October, the Habr Gidr clan militias enjoyed all the 

advantages of a perfect scenario. Organized by neighborhood and able to 

act promptly according to prearranged signals, they began to flood the area 

where TF Ranger remained on the ground. As the situation was beginning 

to develop, the trucks arrived and Sergeant Struecker led a small caravan 

with the injured private back to base. The caravan was to return to nearby 

National Street, a wide road facilitating easy movement, and then back via 

K-4 circle to their seaside compound.

For Struecker and others, the return trip marked the start of a nightmarish 

journey. Swarming crowds, burning tires and other obstacles, and above 

all, ambushes at seemingly every turn marked his route. Suddenly, the full 

spectrum of the perils of urban operations appeared with blazing clarity. 

Fire came from every direction, high and low. Struecker, noticing that his 

high-mobility, multipurpose wheeled vehicle (HMMWV) gunners were 

spraying return fire, hastily improvised a more rational order. To provide 

general but more accurate fire suppression, he had one fire ahead, one to 

the right, and one to the left. Struecker’s small force suffered numerous 
146 

casualties, including the mission’s first confirmed soldier killed in action. 

Upon his return, one sage veteran of previous combat advised him to clean 

the blood out of the rear of his HMMWV. Otherwise, over the course of 

the day it would affect the men who would go back out in the vehicle. It 

turned out that Struecker, fighting fear and the logic of the situation, would 

be one of those going back out.22 In fact, because he had just come from 

the scene of trouble, he was directed to guide the rescue force back to TF 

Ranger’s location.

Struecker knew orientation in the city would be difficult as he tried to 

evade hostile strong points. Fortunately, a Black Hawk overhead would 

guide him. What the pilot above apparently could not discern was that, 

upon exiting the airfield, Struecker’s vehicles were driving headlong into 

an ambush. Backing away from the firing, Struecker received guidance 

to leave the compound in the opposite direction. Eventually, he opted for 

a circuitous route to the besieged TF that took him virtually around the 

city.

In the meantime, two helicopters, an MH-6 assault aircraft and an 

MH-60 ferrying a 15-man combat search and rescue (CSAR) team, flew to 

the crash site. The MH-6 immediately airlifted two wounded Rangers back 

to a field hospital.23 On the ground, as well, Rangers began to move rapidly 

from the mission objective to the Super 61 Black Hawk crash site. Ranger 

chalk 2 held the northeastern perimeter. Knowing the crash site was close 

by and that a crowd would form, Ranger Specialist Shawn Nelson wanted 

to move out right away. His platoon leader, who shared that assessment, 

simply informed his chain of command over the radio that the chalk would 

advance to secure the site several blocks away. Before they could depart, 

the company commander, Captain Mike Steele, insisted that some men 

remain behind to hold the intersection.24

Eventually, what would be known as the first, or northern, crash 

site would lie at the edge of a hastily formed defensive perimeter as TF 

Ranger rallied to a common location. It would hold that position for the 

duration of the fight. Special operations helicopters provided unrelenting 

fire support under a furious enemy barrage in addition to dropping 

much-needed ammunition and medical supplies. As the toll of damaged 

aircraft mounted, further evacuations became impossible. As for all likely 

contingencies, TF Ranger had rehearsed a CSAR exercise in the event 

of a downed aircraft but in a relatively open area. Here, the constricted 

environs and withering fire posed a tougher dilemma.
147

Even before the first helicopter crash, Lieutenant Perino’s men had 

already begun to encounter Somali urban tactics. Four or five young 

Somali boys cautiously but steadily approached his position near the target 

building, giving directions to unseen persons behind them. Recognizing 

that the youths were acting as spotters and hoping to chase them off before 

real fire started, Perino fired a few rounds into the dirt not far away. The 

ploy succeeded in scattering the unwelcome observers and also provided 

a defining moment for a young lieutenant with 31⁄2 years of experience. 

“That was a big moment for me,” he remembered. “I had to pull the 

trigger.” Soon, Perino’s M-60 gunner fired on an armed man who was 

creeping forward while concealing himself behind a woman.25 Matters 

escalated abruptly.

With the completion of the mission at the objective, from which the 

sound of nearby shooting was audible, Perino’s Rangers began moving 

toward the crash site. In their approach, they suffered one casualty and 

then came over a gentle rise as they closed in on the crippled Black 

Hawk. There, upon making a left turn, “All hell broke loose.” Perino 

remembered flying concrete fragments and bullets dancing between his 

legs, and realized the situation was turning bad. One soldier suffered a 

mortal wound as the shocked lieutenant stood next to him with his hand on 

his shoulder. As best they could manage, Perino’s men scrambled into an 

adjoining courtyard, but soon only three members of his chalk remained 

unwounded.26 Beleaguered on all sides, the Rangers hunkered down to 

survive the night. AH-6 Little Bird helicopters provided life-saving fire 

support, breaking up advancing militia groups and attacking hostile firing 

positions. Brilliantly piloted, the Little Birds demonstrated an extraordinary 

capacity to maneuver in tight spaces and place fire accurately. During the 

engagement, OH-58 Scouts and Cobra attack helicopters from the QRF 

offered to assist but received guidance from Major General Garrison to 

“back off.” The concern was primarily one of air space management.27 The 

sky directly over the battle area could only accommodate a small number 

of aircraft at any one time.

Still another piece of the puzzle that day was the ground convoy 

transporting Somali detainees from the objective. Unable to work its 

way to the first crash site, this element returned to base. On the way, it 

encountered another convoy that had set out from the airfield in an ill-fated 

attempt to locate the second downed Black Hawk. The two forces returned 

to base together.
148 

All the while, observers back at the various coalition headquarters in 

Mogadishu were trying feverishly to grasp the dimensions of the breaking 

crisis. Colonel Casper, the QRF commander, had just returned to the 

capital from travel elsewhere in Somalia. Once at the tactical operations 

center, he learned that a mission was under way but little else. “I was 

astounded by the lack of information,” he recalled later in his book, 

Falcon Brigade. “We were the reinforcements for every US and UN force 

in theater, and we didn’t know what was occurring in our backyard.”28 To 

be sure, the QRF had a TF Ranger liaison officer on the staff, but due to the 

secrecy surrounding the operation, he knew only the operation’s general 

location. Immediately before launching any assault operation, TF Ranger 

routinely passed this information to the QRF, as well as to Major General 

Montgomery. A principal reason for withholding detail was concern over 

leaks from within the UN headquarters.

As the crisis unfolded, Casper received word from Brigadier General 

Greg Gile, the assistant division commander, 10th Mountain Division, that 

Major General Garrison wanted the quick reaction company on standby 

for immediate departure under his control. In this instance, Company 

C, under Captain Mike Whetstone, was the ready force. As commander 

of the 2-14 Battalion, Lieutenant Colonel Bill David faced a difficult 

decision concerning moving the force to the airport, home to TF Ranger. 

In a moment of extreme urgency, he had to choose between the fastest, 

and almost certainly most dangerous, route and a much longer but more 

certain one. To select the former would not only mean increased danger 

to his men but also a much higher risk of being stopped. Therefore, he 

opted for the latter course of action after receiving assurances that the TF 

Ranger perimeter, although under pressure, was not in danger of imminent 

collapse. Of course, the men inside the perimeter anxiously awaited the 

arrival of reinforcements, even though most believed they could hold the 

position.29 Meanwhile, even as the relief operation was getting under way, 

a second Black Hawk, piloted by Michael Durant, went down as a result 

of enemy fire about 1 mile from the first.

Many would later question how matters could have gone so far 

wrong. One much-discussed point was whether trouble was inevitable as 

TF Ranger’s MO became more familiar to the USC/SNA military leaders. 

Certainly, Colonel Casper was among those who suspected that TF Ranger 

was slowly losing the element of surprise. He explained:

The complexity of the mission, the congestion and diversity of urban 

terrain, and the heavy reliance on near-real-time intelligence drove 
149

TF Ranger to a templated approach for the accomplishment of its 

task. . . . Garrison and his task force attempted variations to mask 

their procedures, but repetition and consistency had unintentionally 

telegraphed their mode of operation to those who were interested.30

Ultimately, given that TF Ranger’s purpose was widely known, 

strategic surprise was impossible. Aideed did not have to conduct exhaustive 

analysis to deduce that any Ranger mission could turn out to be an attempt 

to seize him. In addition, the airfield from which TF Ranger helicopters 

departed was itself visible to observers on rooftops outside the perimeter 

not more than 1 kilometer (km) away. Operating in a small city and highly 

dependent on rapid aerial insertion, TF Ranger could conceal only the 

timing and specific location of its operations—and even then only briefly.

Still, as seen through Lieutenant Perino’s eyes, everything possible 

was done to remain unpredictable. Several times daily, at irregular hours 

and along varying routes, TF Ranger helicopters left the airfield and 

toured the Mogadishu environs. Sometimes they landed on an objective. 

The intent was that the frequency of activity would make it appear routine, 

thereby to some extent “desensitizing” Aideed’s militias to TF Ranger’s 

movements around the city. Furthermore, to avoid establishing a pattern, 

the Rangers would at times depart the objective by air, at other times by 

land.31 Despite everything, however, certain facts were inescapable. The 

Map 10. Battle, Mogadishu, 3-4 October 1993

UN HQ

University

Compound

Barkara

Market

N

Mogadishu

Indian Ocean

Olympic Hotel

Crash

Site #2

Crash

Site #1

Pakistani

Compound

Mogadishu

International

Airport

New Port

ROUTE IN

ROUTE OUT

Platoon

Ambush X Site

X

X

National Street

UN HQ

University

Compound

Barkara

Market

N

Mogadishu

Indian Ocean

Olympic Hotel

Crash

Site #2

Crash

Site #1

Pakistani

Compound

Mogadishu

International

Airport

New Port

ROUTE IN

ROUTE OUT

Platoon

Ambush X Site

X

X

National Street
150 

airfield was easily observable from the city. Moreover, from the enemy’s 

“threat” perspective, Aideed’s men knew well that their leader had become 

a UNOSOM II target. It was not hard to conclude that any mission to grab 

him would entail using US helicopters.

In any case, the rescue now focused on two objectives—the first 

crash site where the Rangers had congregated and the more isolated 

second crash site. Given the extraordinarily difficult situation, the rescue 

attempts were not assured of success. Major General Garrison directed 

Lieutenant Colonel Danny McKnight, already leading a convoy of trucks 

and HMMWVs complete with captives back to the airfield, to divert to 

the desperate scene of the first crash site. Given the hail of hostile fire, 

mounting casualties, and the virtual impossibility of orientation through 

the cramped side streets, the convoy became badly disoriented and finally 

returned to base.

Similar circumstances plagued the rescue column headed by the 

QRF’s Company C. Under Lieutenant Colonel David’s command, the 

relief force assembled at 1747, about 2 hours after the first alert. The aim 

was to travel via the K-4 traffic circle to the objective. David asked for 

and received air cover from TF 2-25. Unfortunately, the overhead support 

did not arrive before Company C approached K-4 and came under fire. 

Undeterred, the convoy returned suppressing fire and made its way to 

National Street. Yet, a short distance farther along, David’s force became 

mired in a major fight until Colonel Casper ordered it to break contact and 

return to the airfield.32

With frustration mounting, Casper moved by air with his staff and 

coalition liaison officers to the airfield to plan a new reaction effort. 

Company A, under Captain Drew Meyerowich, would spearhead the new 

reaction force. While Casper labored over the plan, UNOSOM II Deputy 

Force Commander Major General Montgomery worked on fortifying 

Lieutenant Colonel David’s column. Montgomery wanted to use the Italian 

mechanized battalion, but its commander could not oblige without first 

consulting Rome for authorization. A comparable request for support from 

Indian T-72s met a similar fate.33 Instead, critical assistance came from the 

Pakistanis and Malaysians, who readily agreed to provide tanks and armored 

personnel carriers (APCs), respectively. In fact, due to a rare piece of good 

luck that day, four Pakistani tanks were already poised to go at the airfield.

By 2130, Lieutenant Colonel David had his varied forces at hand at 

the new port up the road from the Ranger base and presented the operation 

plan. In all, he had at his disposal two Malaysian companies, comprising 
151

32 wheeled APCs; one Pakistani tank company; three US Army light 

infantry companies from the 2-14 Battalion; four HMMWVs; a Ranger 

platoon; and a few dozen volunteers who wanted to help their stranded 

comrades. Potentially contentious issues were inescapable with such an 

eclectic force. After consulting with Brigadier General Gile, David wanted 

the Malaysian APCs to transport his men, not theirs. Malaysian infantry 

was not part of his tactical vision. Only soldiers trained in the tactics 

he planned to employ would fit in. David’s proposed solution was not 

particularly diplomatic, but it met his intent and addressed the urgency of 

the situation. Even then, however, there was the language barrier. Some, 

but by no means most, of the Malaysians and Pakistanis spoke English. It 

was a given that the Americans did not speak Urdu or Malay. Furthermore, 

as light infantrymen, 10th Mountain Division soldiers had little experience 

with armored vehicles.

Perhaps the greatest challenge confronting all of the coalition personnel 

in the rescue column was psychological. All were aware, in at least broad 

terms, of the dire predicament at the northern crash site. On top of that, 

they knew that there was no chance they would enjoy the advantage of 

stealth or surprise. Their coming would be expected, and they would be 

driving through obstacles and ambushes, exposed to withering small-arms 

fire, mines, and explosives.

The convoy departed at 2323 but encountered its first obstacle about 

1 km away. Concerned that a key intersection might be mined—not an 

outrageous assumption—the Pakistani tank commander declined to 

cross until a US lieutenant sprayed fire into the barricade. The column 

then proceeded as far as the last Pakistani checkpoint, but the Pakistani 

tanks were not authorized to lead past that point. Several Malaysian APCs 

moved to the front but quickly strayed off the planned route, taking one US 

infantry squad and a platoon leader with them. Somali RPGs subsequently 

disabled the APCs. Captain Meyerowich’s efforts to communicate by 

radio with his accidentally detached element were to no avail. They would 

not make contact again until the next day as Meyerowich kept the main 

column oriented on the crash site. In the interim, the US squad took shelter 

in an adjacent building and held out until Company C arrived hours later.

With tanks in the lead once again, the column’s main body proceeded 

along the designated path toward National Street. Meyerowich decided 

that he had to deal with the situation at the objective first and then attempt 

to locate his missing men. On the way, however, the lead Pakistani tank 

paused in an intersection where it came under attack by RPG fire. By 
152 

stopping to engage instead of forcing its way through the gauntlet, the tank 

driver responded in a manner that was out of step with US doctrine, which 

regards stopping in a “kill zone” as tantamount to suicide. Over the radio, 

both Lieutenant Colonel David and Captain Meyerowich urged the driver 

to push forward, but excruciating minutes elapsed before he did so.34

This episode was a perfect example in microcosm of the problems 

encountered when mixing forces with different training, doctrine, and 

standing operating procedures in a combat scenario. Meyerowich later 

surmised that many of the coalition soldiers did not have the same level 

of combat training as his own men and therefore tended to “freeze” 

under fire. Scared soldiers, he believed, would revert to whatever their 

training told them to do.35 This was a reasonable supposition since only 

the QRF had prepared explicitly for a combat mission instead of peace 

keeping. Members of the 2-14 Infantry had ample reason to respect their 

adversaries. As Company A’s executive officer, Lieutenant Chuck Ferry, 

summarized, previous operations had shown the Somalis “were capable 

of operating in fire team and squad-size elements and of coordinating the 

movement and actions of larger elements. They seemed to know when we 

were coming, and on which routes, and built hasty obstacles to try to slow 

our mounted movement.” It just so happened that Company A had spent 

the preceding three days carrying out close-quarters, live-fire drills at a 

training base just outside the capital. In addition, only days before that the 

company had withstood a brief firefight following a successful raid on a 

militia mortar site.36

Toughened and confident by virtue of training and experience, 

Meyerowich’s Company A had already gone out as a QRF on six occasions 

and twice had come under fire.37 Dubbed the “terminator element” on 3 

October, the company’s past experiences would pale in comparison with 

the mission now under way. According to the plan, Company A and the 

QRF worked their way north to National Street near the Olympic Hotel. 

Squads bounded forward by teams, alternately moving and providing 

covering fire. Meyerowich’s company proceeded to the northern crash 

site while another diverted toward the southern one. They would make the 

journey with overhead cover from TF Raven aviators.

Along the way, Meyerowich and some of his soldiers had to exit the 

Malaysian vehicles to dismantle a roadblock on the Hawaldig Road. Like 

the Pakistani tank driver before him, the Malaysian driver of the lead APC 

feared that the roadblock concealed mines. Even before the obstacle was 

cleared, Meyerowich decided that they were already close enough—not 
153

more than a few hundred meters—to the trapped TF Ranger element to 

go the rest of the way on foot. As the company advanced, Lieutenant 

Ferry ran from vehicle to vehicle in a vain attempt to get the drivers to 

push forward. Finally, he rushed to rejoin the company. As he reached 

his unit, Ferry hollered, “XO coming through!” It was an act of prudence 

to avoid being shot at by fellow soldiers.38 Ahead, Meyerowich and 1st 

Platoon were stuck in an enemy crossfire between the Olympic Hotel and 

other nearby structures. The maps were confusing and by now the unit 

had suffered casualties. There was no immediate chance of aerial medical 

evacuation.

As the convoy with Meyerowich’s soldiers on board neared the first 

crash site, members of TF Ranger were unable to see their rescuers but 

could monitor their approach by tracking the intensifying roar of gunfire 

and explosions. Not surprisingly, members of both combat elements 

shared the same concerns about the impending linkup, which actually 

occurred at 0155 on 4 October. Lieutenant Perino wondered whether there 

was a plan and who was leading the convoy. He could well imagine the 

frame of mind of members of the 2-14 who had waged a fierce, running 

gun battle all the way into the middle of the city. Moreover, they were in 

near total darkness. He noticed that QRF soldiers (or so he assumed) were 

firing flares to light their way, a technique that helped them but tended at 

times to create “whiteout, ” thus blinding the Little Bird pilots who were 

wearing night-vision goggles.39

From Company A’s point of view, the prospect of approaching the 

lines of besieged TF Ranger posed yet another a source of apprehension. 

Although, in fact, there had been several linkup rehearsals with the 

Rangers, these had largely been “communications exercises” conducted 

during the light of day within the relatively benign context of such 

scenarios as turning over prisoners from one unit to the next.40 Fortunately, 

for orientation purposes, TF Ranger had infrared (IR) strobe lights to help 

guide the QRF to its position. Moreover, there were Rangers with the QRF 

to facilitate coordination. Still, Meyerowich did not anticipate the relative 

quiet as his men drew near the objective. The way matters turned out, 

he was able to walk to the Rangers’ defensive perimeter, where he met 

Captain Steele. There, in large measure due to the lack of opportunity for 

prior coordination, a momentary disagreement ensued over who was in 

control of what. More-senior officers of TF Ranger who came in with the 

convoy soon clarified the issue.41 Having joined forces, Company A and TF 

Ranger waited almost 3 additional hours to extract a body from the downed 

aircraft, crumpled and wedged between two buildings, before departing.
154 

Meyerowich also found that the crash scene was not as he had mentally 

pictured it. Normally a besieged force would form a 360-degree perimeter, 

presumably with the downed aircraft in the middle. Because a defensive 

circle is hard to form in an urban environment consisting of rectangular 

grids, somehow the defense would adjust its shape to the terrain, perhaps 

by holding four city blocks and controlling the approaches. In this instance, 

because of the way the street fight had evolved, the stricken Black Hawk 

was actually along the edge of the defensive perimeter, making the work 

of extraction appreciably more dangerous and difficult.42

Meanwhile, Pakistani observers passed word that hostile forces were 

beginning to clog the expected route of egress. As Little Birds and Cobras 

pulverized the sources of enemy fire, Meyerowich made certain that all 

personnel were accounted for. The Rangers and Company A finally left 

the northern crash site at 0537 with 40 to 50 wounded in tow. In the mad 

scramble under fire to get on board the Malaysian APCs, many soldiers 

ended up riding on top of the vehicles. Others, Lieutenant Perino among 

them, were supposed to jog alongside, using the vehicles for cover. This 

method, never rehearsed, broke down quickly as frightened drivers left 

those on foot behind. Perino, a small group of astonished fellow Rangers, 

and a few soldiers from Company A’s 2d Platoon made the best of a bad 

situation and exited at a brisk trot. Along the way, one of the men grabbed 

a water bottle from inside the hulk of a smoking HMMWV. The thirsty 

soldiers passed the bottle around as they ran. Eventually, they overtook 

and stopped a Pakistani M-113—though not before one soldier threatened 

to shoot at the driver—and managed to jam inside with more than 20 other 

exhausted soldiers. The door would not even close, and Perino had to hold 

on to one of the men to keep him from falling out. Finally, they rolled into 

friendly territory, where they met smiling, waving crowds of Somalis who 

were not affiliated with the Habr Gidr clan and proceeded to the Pakistani 

base at the stadium.43

In the meantime, Whetstone’s Company C (Tiger element), which had 

split off earlier to investigate the southern crash site, had a tough trip as 

well. Although receiving machine gun and RPG fire, they found neither 

Rangers nor helicopter pilot Michael Durant, the only survivor of the crash. 

Not yet known, of course, was that Durant had been taken captive. There, 

shortly after the Black Hawk hit the ground, two special operations Army 

snipers, Sergeant First Class Randy Shughart and Master Sergeant Gary 

Gordon, had bravely requested permission to be dropped on the ground to 

hold the site as armed Somalis began to overrun it. Both gave their lives 

in the attempt but probably deserve credit for Durant’s survival.44 In any 
155

case, Lieutenant Colonel David directed Whetstone to find the Malaysian 

platoon and “to ensure that we did not leave anyone on the battlefield. ”45

This order applied to Malaysians as well as Americans.

Overall, soldiers of TF Ranger and the QRF from 10th Mountain 

Division acquitted themselves admirably on 3 to 4 October. Yet, in the 

aftermath, 18 American deaths far overshadowed every other aspect of 

the event. Especially disturbing were televised images of jubilant Somalis 

dragging the corpse of an American soldier through the street. Meanwhile, 

hundreds of Somali dead, not to mention Malaysian and Pakistani 

casualties from the battle, went virtually unnoticed by the press corps. 

A policy reversal, entailing the scheduled withdrawal of US personnel 

and followed by Secretary of Defense Les Aspin’s resignation, marked 

the politicization of the public review process. One contentious question 

concerned the refusal of Major General Montgomery’s July request for 

armored reinforcement, including a full mechanized battalion and an air 

cavalry squadron. In fact, the scenario of 3 to 4 October was the very sort 

of which Montgomery was thinking when he had asked for help. As the 

general later explained, “It was increasing concerned over my inability to 

get to US or UN forces in extremis that led to my request for armor/mech 

reinforcements earlier in July and August. The Pakistanis had the only 

armor in the city and it was old and inadequate.”46

Without doubt, US M-1 tanks could have plowed through roadblocks 

with ease. Yet, as Meyerowich later pointed out, American tanks and 

Bradleys would have been vulnerable to some extent in the narrow 

alleys where much of the urban fighting took place.47 Nor, because of 

their enormous potential to cause collateral damage, was using deadly 

AC-130 aircraft permissible under the rules of engagement in place on 3 

to 4 October. Upon assuming the mission with TF Ranger, Garrison had 

sought AC-130 support but did not receive it. Still, Garrison later declined 

to fault the refusal, expressing doubt as to whether AC-130s could have 

operated effectively during the battle in the same constricted airspace the 

more maneuverable Little Birds and Cobras already occupied.48 In any 

case, it was evident that it was not Meyerowich’s or Garrison’s concerns 

that led to denial of combat assets but the perception in Washington that 

these tools were ill suited to a peacekeeping mission and would send the 

wrong message by their presence.

Accordingly, the principal fire support role fell to Army combat 

helicopters. In fact, the extensive use of rotary-wing aviation over urban 

terrain was something new for many pilots. Early in UNOSOM II, 10th 
156 

Mountain TF Safari aviators experimented with various combinations of 

OH-58D Kiowa Warriors and AH-1F Cobras for security and observation. 

During attacks, orientation and aiming proved tricky, especially after dark. 

But, working together, the OH-58D and Cobra crews developed effective 

night targeting procedures. The OH-58D crew would use its laser to help 

the Cobras identify a target. The Cobras then would put their IR laser on 

the target for verification and await clearance to engage.49

IR spotlights and hand-held lasers also proved their value under 

darkened conditions. By day, ground elements used M203 or M79 grenade 

launchers to mark targets. This was no small matter on 3 to 4 October 

when TF Raven rotated 14 aircrews for 7 hours to provide cover and 

support for the QRF. At the same time, TF Ranger Little Birds defended 

the northern crash site throughout the night. As noted in the TF Raven 

after-action review, “This operation, conducted at night exclusively 

over densely populated urban terrain, is the first of its type in the history 

of Army aviation.”50 Still, despite the excellent performance of Army 

aviators, challenges arose not only with regard to air-ground coordination 

but air-to-air as well. During the combat of 3 October, Major General 

Garrison’s headquarters directed the QRF scout and attack helicopters to 

stay out of the compact airspace over the TF Ranger perimeter because 

of the complexity of integrating forces in combat that employed different 

procedures and had not previously trained together.51

Notwithstanding the enormous services Army aviation provided in 

Mogadishu, vast collateral damage and civilian casualties were virtually 

unavoidable. Still, some allowance could be made to minimize likely 

errors with most types of ordnance. Bad missiles, for example, tended to 

fall short, while errant 2.75-inch rockets overshot the target. Moreover, 

experience showed that it was best to begin attacking a series of targets by 

starting with those that were downwind. This limited obfuscation by dust 

and smoke. Overall, the AH-1 Cobra proved in Mogadishu that it could 

be effective during periods of limited visibility, and 20mm fire had the 

greatest utility because of its superior accuracy.52

For all the lessons uncovered about conducting military operations 

in urban terrain, attention after the fact focused heavily on higherlevel questions such as the complex command structure that prevailed 

under UNOSOM II. Although Major General Montgomery was Turkish 

Lieutenant General Cevik Bir’s deputy as UNOSOM II FC, he was also 

the commander of U.S. Forces Somalia. Because of political sensitivities 

at home about placing American personnel under UN command, a separate 
157

chain of accountability existed. The absence of a U.S. Forces Somalia 

headquarters meant relying on the UN headquarters for coordination. 

Then, with the arrival of a joint special operations TF, TF Ranger, in 

August, there were essentially three parallel chains of command. The TF 

Ranger commander, Major General Garrison, reported to CENTCOM 

separately and was obliged only to consult with Montgomery.

Despite excellent liaison and daily meetings between the two US 

commands, neither would enjoy full and timely knowledge of what the 

other was doing because of their separation. Further, at least hypothetically, 

integrated training would have been simpler to plan and coordinate within 

a unified command. Overall, in practice, mutual understanding between 

organizations was probably stronger at the command level than down at 

the unit level. Many officers in the QRF felt completely ignorant of TF 

Ranger operations. To some degree, the unique status of special operations 

forces—and the extreme secrecy in which they operated—created a 

psychological distance between the two elements.53 Of course, to some 

degree, such cultural gaps, based on different standards, procedures, 

and terminology, often exist between similar conventional units as well. 

Working relationships under such conditions are routinely discontinued 

and new ones begun.54 Therefore, were it not for the extreme security 

attending all TF Ranger activities, the regular rotation of conventional units 

in Somalia could be said to have produced a similar degree of friction.

A much greater source of command friction was embedded in the 

structure of the UNOSOM II coalition. As one scholar put it, “The loose 

interpretation of command necessarily used by a voluntary organization 

such as the United Nations could not be effective in complex and 

controversial missions.”55 Different national agendas and institutional 

cultures translated directly into varying interpretations of the mission and 

definitions of operational readiness. In practice, UNOSOM II could not 

consistently depend on compliance, at least in a timely manner, with its 

directives. Assembling the rescue convoy on 3 October, although handled 

professionally by all parties, entailed precious time for coordination and 

authorization.

Finally, as if the complexity were not great enough, the arrival after 

4 October of a new joint task force (JTF) under Major General Carl F. 

Ernst created a situation that was almost without precedent. The new 

command became yet another distinct player with its own perspective on 

the mission. One possible solution would have been to place the JTF under 

Montgomery’s operational control. As the situation stood, however, the 
158 

United States did not speak with a single voice in Somalia. To be sure, 

the arrival of robust new forces served momentarily to overawe Aideed’s 

clan, which was still in turmoil after heavy losses sustained in the bitter 

fight of 3 to 4 October. The new leverage also quickly procured the release 

of pilot Michael Durant. One key to the impact of JTF Somalia was a full 

headquarters and joint combined arms formations.56

A lesson less often discussed but equally fundamental was the 

importance of cultural-historical insight into the operational environment. 

Certainly, US forces across the board knew little about Somali society 

and behavior.57 This ignorance, combined with the limited utility of 

conventional intelligence-collection methods, plagued US and UN 

decision making from the strategic to the tactical level. Those in Somalia 

learned their way around in the unforgiving school of trial and error. Under 

the best of circumstances, understanding the Somalis did not come easily. 

Yet, for at least some, the experiences that most gave meaning and a sense 

of purpose to their presence were those such as visits to schools that put 

them in direct personal contact with the natives they had ostensibly come 

to assist. It is worth remembering that even as conditions in Mogadishu 

deteriorated, the mission in most of the country went well, and the UN 

enjoyed genuine popularity.

From this point, although US forces would remain in Somalia until 

early in the new year, debate focused on what went wrong. Much concern 

centered on the more aggressive policy toward Aideed following the start 

of UNOSOM II. US Marine Corps Brigadier General Anthony Zinni 

believed that this shift made the Somali operational environment far more 

hostile and cost the coalition staff critical sources of information. Overall, 

he believed a poor grasp of the local culture and politics “maybe led to 

things like not understanding where a particular individual was, or who he 

was, or what his relationship was, and maybe caused mistargeting in some 

cases by those that were after Aideed or his lieutenants.”58

Ultimately, however, the lessons of Somalia would not be applied 

there. This was a source of disappointment to Force Command, which 

“was placed in a position of accepting a unilateral cease-fire during a period 

when Aideed was arguably at his weakest.”59 An impressive show of force 

aside, the military mission in Somalia drew to a quiet, if slightly prolonged, 

close. Reflecting the change, UNOSOM II ceased assertive disarmament 

operations and resorted to the expedient of a voluntary program among the 

factions. Above all, US policy changed irreversibly after 3 to 4 October, 

proving once again that a major tactical event can have profound strategic 
159

consequences. Lacking an active US presence, UNOSOM II attempted to 

limp forward but no longer possessed the muscle or political backing to 

sustain an ambitious nation-building program.
160 

Map 11. Map of Mogadishu

1. Courage 53 struck by RPG, crashes trying to reach the New Port. (25 September)

2. TF Ranger capture 24 Somali prisoners at Olympic Hotel. (3-4 October)

3. Super 61 shot down. Rangers secure crash site. A Co, 2-14th Infantry join Rangers, retrieve 

Wolcott’s body at first light. Relocate to Pakistani stadium.

4. Super 64 shot down. MSG Gordon & SFC Shughart reach crash site. C Co., 2-14th Infantry arrive 

crash site reach soldiers from two lost APCs.

5. LTC David & Charlie Co. QRC head for airport.

6. LTC David and soldiers arrive Ranger headquarters. Remainder 2-14th Infantry head to airport 

fromuniversity complex.

Map unavailable for online viewing

per copyright holder.
161

Map 11 cont. Map of Mogadishu

 7. LTC David and force ambushed enroute to Super 64 crash site.

8. Four Pakistani M48 tanks relocate, link up with 2-14th Infantry and Malaysian APCs at the New 

Port.

 9. LTC David and force pass Checkpoint 69.

10. Two Malaysian APCs make wrong turn, become separated from LTC David’s force. TF Raven’s 

AH-1 Cobra hit Malaysian APCs..

11. The rescue force and TF Ranger pass Checkpoint 207.

12. LTC David and convoy reach Pakistani stadium.

Map unavailable for online viewing

per copyright holder.
162 

Notes

1. Dr. (Colonel, USAR, retired) Bruce Menning, conversation with Dr. Robert 

Baumann, 19 August 2002. Menning served on the Joint Staff in summer 1993.

2. Colin L. Powell and Joseph E. Persico, My American Journey (New York: 

Ballantine Books, 1996), 569.

3. Report of the Commission of Inquiry in The United Nations and Somalia, 1992-

1996, S/1994/653, 380.

4. Based on author’s conversations with participants in the Somalia mission.

5. USFORSOM AAR, chapter IV, “Review and Analysis of UNOSOM II Operations, 

Search for Aideed (31 August-3 October 1996).”

6. Major Larry Moores, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 

20 August 2002.

7. Major Larry Perino, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 21 

March 2002 hereafter cited as Perino interview.

8. Lawrence E. Casper, Falcon Brigade: Combat and Command in Somalia and Haiti

(Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2001), 33; Mark Bowden, Black Hawk Down: A 

Story of Modern War (New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 1999), 21. For another account 

of the events of 3-4 October based on personal recollections, see Kent DeLong and Steven 

Tuckey, Mogadishu Heroism and Tragedy (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1994).

9. Perino interview.

10. Task Force (TF) Mountain Warrior AAR, Operation RESTORE HOPE/

CONTINUE HOPE, Somalia, 10 April-7 August 1993; TF 3-25 Aviation (TF Safari) AAR, 

10th Mountain Division (LI), Mogadishu, Somalia, 8 September 1993.

11. Bowden, 5.

12. Captain Jeff Struecker, address to Men of the Chapel, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 18 

April 2002.

13. Casper, 25; Colonel Michael Dallas, interview with Lieutenant Colonel F.D.G. 

Williams, Center of Military History Catalog No. RHIT-C-040, 12 July 1993, 39.

14. TF Raven After-Action Report, Operation CONTINUE HOPE, Somalia, 27 August 

1993 to 9 July 1993, Incident Report of 25 September 1993; Casper, 275.

15. Mike Horan, “Eyes Over Mogadishu,” chapter 10. This as yet unpublished 

monograph is a personal memoir and was available at <http://www.megapass.co.kr/

~horanjoh/>, accessed by the author 6 January 2003.

16. Mark Whitaker, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Bragg, NC, 31 July 

2002 hereafter cited as Whitaker interview; Colonel Jim Oeser, interview with Dr. Robert 

Baumann, Fort Bragg, NC, 31 July 2002 hereafter cited as Oeser interview. Retired Colonel 

David Hackworth concluded that US forces in Somalia had forgotten the experience of 

Vietnam, which exposed repeatedly the vulnerability of helicopters to small-arms and other 

fire. See David H. Hackworth and Tom Mathews, Hazardous Duty: One of America’s Most 

Decorated Soldiers Reports From the Front With the Truth About the U.S. Military Today

(New York: Avon Books, 1996), 181.

17. Lieutenant General Thomas M. Montgomery, US Army, Retired, observations on 

3 to 4 October faxed to the author, 24 October 2001, hereafter cited as Montgomery faxed 

observations to the author. The author also wishes to acknowledge insights on the 3-4 

October mission offered by Major General William Boykin.

18. Norman Cooling, “Operation RESTORE HOPE in Somalia: A Tactical Action 

Turned Strategic Defeat,” Marine Corps Gazette (September 2001), 97; Yossef Bodansky, 

Bin Laden: The Man Who Declared War on America (Rocklin, CA: Forum, 2001), 78-79.
163

19. Lieutenant Colonel James Klingaman, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort 

Leavenworth, KS, 17 August 2002.

20. Captain Jeff Struecker, e-mail to Dr. Robert Baumann, 23 April 2002.

21. Ibid.

22. Captain Jeff Struecker, talk to men of the Chapel, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 18 April 

2002.

23. U.S. Special Operations Command History (MacDill Air Force Base, FL: U.S. 

Southern Command, 1998), 46.

24. Perino interview; Bowden, 84-85.

25. Perino interview.

26. Ibid.

27. Casper, 77.

28. Ibid., 24.

29. One of those inside the perimeter, Mark Whitaker, acknowledged moments of doubt 

but recalled feeling that their position was relatively secure, especially with the benefit of at 

least some night-vision capability and aerial support. See Whitaker interview.

30. Casper, 37.

31. Perino interview.

32. Quick Reaction Force (QRF), Falcon Brigade, 10th Mountain Division, “U.S. Army 

Support to UN Operations in Somalia (UNOSOM II),” Summary of Combat Operations, 

3-4 October 1993, Mogadishu, Somalia.

33. Lieutenant General Thomas M. Montgomery, US Army, Retired, interview with Dr. 

Robert Baumann, Colorado Springs, CO, 17 February 2002.

34. First Lieutenant Chris Hornbarger, “TF Raven’s Role on 3 October,” unpublished 

paper dated 27 December 1993, 10.

35. Major Drew Meyerowich, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, 

KS, 19 March 1999, hereafter cited as Meyerowich interview.

36. Captain Charles P. Ferry, “Mogadishu, October 1993, Personal Account of a Rifle 

Company XO,” Infantry (September-October 1994), 4-6; Major Charles Ferry, interview 

with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 9 November 2000, hereafter cited as 

Ferry interview.

37. Ferry interview.

38. Ferry, “Mogadishu, October 1993, A Personal Account of a Rifle Company XO,” 8.

39. Perino interview.

40. Ferry interview. There was, however, at least one linkup rehearsal under simulated 

combat conditions according to a former TF Ranger officer.

41. Meyerowich interview.

42. Ibid.

43. Perino interview.

44. For a detailed account, see Bowden, 164-65, 189-95.

45. Major Robert Biller, battalion S5, Untitled Summary of 3 to 4 October.

46. Montgomery faxed observations to the author.

47. Meyerowich interview.

48. Major General William F. Garrison, US Army, Retired, e-mail correspondence 

concerning lessons learned from Somalia, September 2001.

49. Major Chuck Walls, interview with Dr. Robert Baumann, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 7 

November 2001.

50 TF Raven After-Action Report, Operation CONTINUE HOPE, Somalia, 27 August 

1993-9 January 1994, Summary for 3 to 4 October 1993.
164 

51. Casper, 77; Whitaker interview; Oeser interview.

52. TF Raven After-Action Report, Operation CONTINUE HOPE, Somalia, 27 August 

1993-9 January 1994, 3-9, 3-11.

53. There was also much discussion in Mark Bowden’s Black Hawk Down over 

perceived friction with TF Ranger. Many of the individuals I consulted, such as Major 

General William Boykin, felt that such tension never reached the level of creating any 

real dysfunction. Most of the commandos were former Rangers. To be sure, differences 

in uniform standards and demeanor were a genuine source of consternation to some in the 

Ranger command chain. Because the Rangers were younger and more impressionable, 

there was a very human tendency to emulate their more veteran comrades, even when it 

meant deviating from their own regiment’s standards. The most serious problems, however, 

appear to have been isolated to a few individuals and did not pervade the relationship 

between the two units.

54. This point was raised in particular by Dr. Chuck Briscoe in a conversation with 

the author during a research trip to Fort Bragg in July 2002. Indeed, because each arriving 

unit must learn the ropes of operating in the mission environment, the Army tends to have 

a process of “discovery learning” over and over again. To some degree, this problem 

is mitigated by the right-seat ride process and efforts by the Center for Army Lessons 

Learned to disseminate the latest wisdom from the field.

55. John Hillen, Blue Helmets: The Strategy of UN Military Operations (Washington, 

DC: Brassey’s, 1998), 208; C. Kenneth Allard, Somalia Operations: Lessons Learned

(Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1995), 32.

56. Lieutenant General Carl Ernst, US Army, Retired, e-mail observations, 18 October 

2001.

57. Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Odom, US Army, Retired, conversation with Dr. 

Robert Baumann, Fort Polk, LA, 22 July 2002.

58. Cooling, 102-3.

59. Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Daze, “Centers of Gravity of United Nations Operation 

Somalia II,” unpublished master of military art and science degree thesis, US Army 

Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, KS, 1995. LTC Mark Inch, 

who served as a captain in Mogadishu working with the local police and was therefore 

unusually well connected, contended that Aideed’s support within the Habr Gidr clan 

reached a low point after 4 October. In short, a sustained effort might well have brought 

about Aideed’s downfall.
165

Chapter 6

Buildup and Withdrawal

October 1993 – March 1994

Lawrence A. Yates

On 4 October, just hours after Task Force Ranger’s ordeal in the 

streets of Mogadishu ended, the UNOSOM II force commander, Turkish 

Lieutenant General Cevik Bir, sent a message to retired US Admiral 

Jonathan Howe, the special representative of the UN Secretary General 

in Somalia, reiterating the widely held conviction that Mogadishu was 

the political and military “center of gravity” in Somalia and that future 

UNOSOM II military operations would focus on “stabilizing the security 

situation” in the capital. Bir’s staff continued to work on plans for 

“offensive action” against USC-SNA targets in Mogadishu, believing that 

such operations, by “enhancing the local environment for reconciliation,” 

would still be supported within the coalition, despite the months of 

fighting to date and the casualties suffered on 3-4 October. Task Force 

Ranger, under the separate command of US Army Major General William 

Garrison, certainly echoed Bir’s assessment, as members voiced their 

eagerness for a rematch with Aideed’s militia. In essence, then, few if any 

UN or US officers in Mogadishu during the immediate aftermath of the 3-

4 October battle perceived the engagement as an event that would reverse 

existing policy and strategy.1

The decision on what course of action to take, however, would not 

be made by UNOSOM II officials on the scene or even by the United 

Nations in New York, but by President Bill Clinton in Washington. And 

it would be a decision based as much on political considerations as on 

the correlation of forces in Mogadishu. Well before 3 October, opinion 

polls in the United States were showing diminishing public support for 

American involvement in Somalia,2 even as the Clinton administration 

was considering increasing US military commitments abroad by sending 

troops to Bosnia and Haiti. The opinion polls themselves did not connote 

any organized pressure on the government to disengage from Somalia, but 

they did indicate that should something in that country go wrong, it would 

be extremely difficult for the White House to justify a policy of continued 

involvement on the basis of national interest. As details of the battle 

between Task Force Ranger and Aideed’s militia surfaced, complete with 

film footage of the body of a US soldier being dragged through the streets 
166 

of Mogadishu, the American public soon concluded that something, in 

fact, had gone wrong in Somalia.

This conclusion took a few days to develop. The first reports reaching 

Washington Sunday night, 4 October, indicated that the fighting had 

been limited, with only a handful of US casualties in what had otherwise 

been a successful mission. On the basis of that initial information, the 

president issued a statement regretting the loss of life but applauding the 

operation. By the next day, perceptions had changed, as word spread that 

the engagement had been much worse than originally described. When 

the full extent of the battle became known, a barrage of public criticism, 

some reasoned, some shrill and clearly partisan, rained down on the 

administration. Republican senators and congressmen literally lined up 

to denounce the new president’s policy—or, as they would have it, the 

lack thereof—and to demand that US troops in Somalia be withdrawn. 

Several Democrats, including senior leaders such as Senator Robert Byrd 

of Virginia, joined the hue and cry. How had Somalia turned into such 

a disaster, the critics wanted to know. Who had changed the mission? 

To Major General Thomas M. Montgomery, the US Forces commander 

in Mogadishu, the question seemed disingenuous. “You’ve got 25,000 

staffers on the congressional staff, and you didn’t know that there was a 

UN mandate that the United States authored in the Security Council in 

May that clearly set out the expanded mission? . . . Give me a break. They 

were playing politics with this finger pointing. It was infuriating.”3

While others, too, deplored the partisan nature of the ensuing 

debate, many supporters of the president were even more distressed by 

the administration’s seeming ineptitude in countering its critics. When 

Secretary of State Warren Christopher and Secretary of Defense Les Aspin 

appeared on Capitol Hill to explain US policy, the latter incurred the wrath 

of his interlocutors by inviting their views on what the president should 

do (thus conveying the impression that Clinton and his advisers did not 

themselves know what course to chart). Nor did it help the White House 

when word circulated in the press that, since late September, administration 

officials had been putting pressure on UN Secretary General Boutros 

Boutros-Ghali to deemphasize the military hunt for Aideed in favor of 

a more political approach to resolving Somalia’s woes. If this was the 

direction in which American strategy was moving, some asked, why was 

Task Force Ranger conducting a raid against Aideed’s lieutenants on 3 

October? Had US commanders in Mogadishu been left in the dark about 

this shift, and if so, why? As one US officer on the UNOSOM II staff later 

observed, “We now know that a political settlement was being pursued at 
167

the same time that US and UN forces were increasing the level of hostility. 

The different efforts could have worked wonderfully had they been 

coordinated—they were not.” As the questions and criticism mounted, 

more bad news came out of Mogadishu: just two days after the firefight, a 

mortar round landed in the TF Ranger living area at the airfield, wounding 

13 US soldiers (one of whom later died from his wounds). The retaliatory 

rounds of a Cobra attack helicopter firing its 20mm machine gun at the 

offending mortar crew could be heard on a CNN broadcast then in progress.4

As the administration weighed its options under increasing pressure, 

Secretary of State Christopher lamented, “We are really the victims 

in many ways of instant communications, instant polling. That has 

its purpose, but we need to be steadier, and have a longer view of 

American interests.” Having thus articulated the predicament diplomats 

in a democratic society habitually face in a high-speed electronic world, 

Christopher bowed to the reality that US policy in Somalia was about 

to change because of a tactical military engagement, the immediate 

and largely visceral reaction to its coverage in the news media, and the 

consequent political fallout in Washington. On Tuesday, 6 October, 

Clinton met at the White House with his national security advisers. Robert 

Oakley, President Bush’s special envoy to Somalia during UNITAF, was 

also present. Over the course of many hours, the participants hammered 

out a new policy. US troops would leave Somalia, but only over the 

course of the next six months. The deadline for withdrawal—attributed by 

some sources to the lobbying of General Joseph P. Hoar, the CENTCOM 

commander—would be 31 March 1994, a date administration officials 

admitted was arbitrary, but which recognized that the United States could 

not “cut and run” without undermining its credibility in international 

affairs.5 As additional insurance against such a spectacle, the president, as 

a prelude to the withdrawal, decided to increase the US military presence 

in Somalia. If Aideed or any other warlord lashed out again at American 

troops on the scale of 3-4 October, he would be met with overwhelming 

and decisive force. Meanwhile, on the diplomatic front, the United States 

would undertake immediate initiatives to reverse UNOSOM II’s policy of 

coercive disarmament and seek a political settlement that would include 

Aideed’s SNA. This, in turn, entailed renewing official and frequent 

contacts with the faction leader and his close advisers. 

 After deciding on this course of action, Clinton met with 

congressional leaders, and, then, on 7 October, announced his new policy 

to the nation. His statement made no explicit reference to Task Force 

Ranger or its mission but focused on the humanitarian aspects of the US
168 

 military commitment. In emphatic terms, he explained why the 

United States could not leave Somalia immediately: the Somali people 

would be denied the chance to rebuild their society, the country itself 

would return to anarchy, and “Somali children would again be dying in the 

streets.” Moreover,

Our own credibility with friends and allies would be severely damaged. 

Our leadership in world affairs would be undermined at the very time 

when people are looking to America to help promote peace and freedom 

in the post-Cold War world. And all around the world, aggressors, thugs 

and terrorists will conclude that the best way to get us to change our 

policies is to kill our people. It would be open season on Americans. 

Having made the case against a precipitous pullout, he announced the 

31 March departure date for US forces, revealed that civilian contractors 

would replace US military logistics personnel, and proclaimed that “the 

solution to Somalia’s problems is not a military one, it is political.” As 

for the reinforcements he intended to deploy, he briefly discussed their 

missions and assured his audience, “These forces will be under American 

command.”6

Many of the president’s critics welcomed the new policy. Others 

continued to question his judgment in foreign affairs. Former Secretary 

of State Henry Kissinger, for one, condemned Clinton’s pledge that the 

United States had “no interest in denying anybody access to playing a 

political role in Somalia’s political future.” To reward Aideed instead of 

punishing him for his “brutal” action against US forces, Kissinger argued, 

sent the wrong message to troublemakers around the world. Others took 

this position as well, but the dye was cast. As Oakley later observed, if 

Clinton had sought to maintain the status quo in US policy or to adopt a 

more aggressive posture in Somalia, Congress would have immediately 

passed a resolution undercutting him.7 

The Political Track. As a symbolic gesture of his commitment to revive 

the “political track” initiated during UNITAF, Clinton designated Oakley 

as his special envoy to Somalia.8 When Oakley arrived in Mogadishu on 9 

October, he was accompanied by another UNITAF veteran, Major General 

Anthony Zinni, USMC. UNOSOM II officers and officials extended the 

two men a cordial welcome, even though for many in the UN operation, 

Clinton’s policy reversal had come as an unpleasant surprise. To begin with, 

the timing seemed all wrong. As Bir’s memorandum to Admiral Howe on 

4 October indicated, several senior UNOSOM II personnel believed that 

an unparalleled opportunity existed for exploiting the military situation, 
169

and subsequent intelligence reinforced their view. The 3-4 October 

firefight, according to Somali sources, had cost Aideed dearly, in that 

many families aligned with the warlord had suffered casualties. Aideed’s 

position within the Habr Gidr/USC/SNA ranks seemed to be weakening. 

“He was on the ropes,” one US general stated. Given this vulnerability, 

decisive UN military moves, it seemed to many on the scene, would result 

in his downfall. A few weeks of turbulence might follow, Montgomery 

predicted, but then things would quiet down. Instead, in Montgomery’s 

opinion, “We wound up . . . giving a victory to Aideed that Aideed did not 

win on the third of October.”9 

To Montgomery, the decision to withdraw US forces startled the 

commanders in Mogadishu and had a negative impact on the morale of 

the troops. Besides being ill timed and poorly conceived, the decision 

was also “an embarrassment.” During the course of UNOSOM II, 

Montgomery and Howe had found it necessary to prod often-reluctant 

coalition partners into performing a variety of risky tasks. Complicating 

the process was the fact that the commanders of many foreign units had 

to receive approval from their national governments before accepting any 

assignment. As Montgomery put it later, “Everybody’s calling home.” At 

least one of the coalition units that he and Bir had found it necessary to 

goad into action on occasion was the Pakistani contingent responsible for 

Mogadishu, a unit that had seen over 40 of its members killed by Aideed’s 

militia. Now, US troops, after suffering significant casualties themselves, 

received word from Washington that they would be pulled out. To many 

within UNOSOM II, President Clinton’s decision broke faith with those 

coalition units that had taken casualties but stayed the course. Prior to 7 

October, Montgomery had often found aggravating the degree to which 

foreign governments directed the activities of their military forces in 

Somalia. Now, to his chagrin, his own government had become a source 

of that aggravation, to be weighed in with “the almost daily decisions of 

coalition partners to revisit their national commitments to the mission” in 

light of Washington’s shift in policy.10

Adding to the consternation of Montgomery and other UNOSOM II 

officials in Mogadishu was Clinton’s choice of Oakley and Zinni to get 

political negotiations back on track. Both men were critical of the UN’s 

strategy at almost every step, beginning with what they regarded as a 

regrettable decision to curtail the daily contacts UNITAF military personnel 

had established with Aideed and his key lieutenants back in December 

1992. UNOSOM II, in Oakley’s opinion, “didn’t really understand the 

need to maintain the dialogue, to maintain communications.” Thus, he 
170 

argued, the UN’s inspection of the AWSS at the radio station on 5 June, 

having been only cursorily coordinated with Aideed’s people, had resulted 

in tragedy. In a similar vein, he considered the Abdi house raid of 12 

July a “disaster” that served mainly to radicalize Somalis throughout the 

country and increase support for Aideed. Since Zinni shared this negative 

assessment, both men professed to be shocked by how dramatically the 

situation had deteriorated since the end of Operation RESTORE HOPE.11

Montgomery and others on the scene regarded the Oakley-Zinni 

critique as inaccurate and unfair. To the charge that UNOSOM II had 

allowed the dialogue with Aideed to lapse, Montgomery countered that, 

even before the UN took over from UNITAF, Admiral Howe was already 

talking with several Somali groups and leaders. In the month between the 

beginning of UNOSOM II and the 5 June attack on the Pakistanis, “the 

UN political side,” Montgomery later stated, “was in contact as much 

as was possible with Aideed,” who was often out of the country. As for 

UN military contacts with the Somalis, Montgomery noted that he and 

Lieutenant General Bir worked under a different setup than Zinni and his 

boss, Lieutenant General Robert Johnston, the UNITAF commander, and 

also had a different set of responsibilities. Even so, military officers in 

UNOSOM II met with Somali leaders in such appropriate venues as the 

disarmament committee. As for the 5 June inspection of the AWSS, the 

operation had been well coordinated in advance with Aideed and his people.

Thus, Montgomery argued, it was not a lack of communication that had 

triggered the crisis but the lashing out of a warlord who realized, as did all 

the involved parties, that UNITAF and UNOSOM II had related but very 

different missions: that of the first was to secure humanitarian relief; that 

of the latter was nation building, a long-term and much more complex—

and, to Aideed, a much more threatening—endeavor. Whereas UNITAF 

engaged in “weapons control” in an attempt to create and maintain just 

enough security to let the humanitarian effort succeed, UN nation building 

included the specified task of countrywide disarmament that warlords such 

as Aideed were certain to resist. Understanding clearly that the UN’s plan 

necessitated a weakening of his military power and political status, Aideed 

calculated that his ambitions to lead Somalia could best be furthered by 

striking out violently against the peacekeepers. Ironically, as Montgomery 

told Zinni, the sense of personal threat and insecurity that drove Aideed 

to take armed action had been aggravated by what UNITAF itself had 

started at the local level—the political “empowering” of village councils 

and the reliance on traditional leaders in many villages and towns, often at 
171

the expense of Aideed’s followers, who, given their military muscle, had 

previously dominated local politics in many areas of the south. UNOSOM 

II’s policy may have been to “marginalize” Aideed, but UNITAF, too, had 

taken the initial steps in that direction. Add to all this Aideed’s hatred for 

Boutros-Ghali and his contempt for the UN, and the fact that UNOSOM 

II had a larger mission but fewer resources and a smaller force than 

UNITAF, it was highly probable from the outset that Aideed would mount 

a deliberate and desperate attempt to disrupt the nation-building process. 

After the 5 June incident, any effort to accommodate Aideed would have 

constituted appeasement, the very term that Montgomery later employed 

to characterize the purpose of Oakley’s new mission in Mogadishu.12

The day Oakley arrived in the capital, Aideed held a press conference 

in which he proclaimed a unilateral cease-fire with the UN forces. Bir 

and Montgomery rejected the arrangement out of hand: they did not need 

Aideed to provide them a respite, but vice-versa; furthermore, neither 

general trusted the SNA to abide by its own offer. Still, the gratuitous 

gesture set the stage for Oakley’s first meeting with Aideed’s top 

representatives, during which the special envoy achieved his two principal 

goals. First, after recalling the dialogue that existed under UNITAF, he 

reassured the SNA of President Clinton’s decision “to depersonalize 

Somalia policy.” Then, after warning the Somali participants that the 

arriving US forces had the power to lay waste to any part of Mogadishu 

that attempted armed resistance, he demanded of Aideed’s people the 

unconditional release of the American helicopter pilot captured during the 

3-4 October fighting, together with a Nigerian peacekeeper who had been 

held for over a month. After a reportedly heated debate within the SNA, 

Aideed acceded to Oakley’s demand on 14 October.13

Subsequent talks followed, reaffirming that the renewed US policy 

of inclusive dialogue had in fact superseded UNOSOM II’s more 

confrontational approach. Among other indications of the shift, the UN 

Security Council on 6 November adopted Resolution 885, which suspended 

the hunt for Aideed while an international commission investigated the 

5 June incident. Two months later, as the result of increasing political 

pressure on Boutros-Ghali, the Secretary General ordered the release of the 

eight people, including Osman Atto, Aideed’s deputy, still being detained 

by UN forces for being SNA members or suspected sympathizers. In 

short, by the end of 1993, the UN had accepted the inevitable: “political 

reconciliation would continue to be the primary focus of UNOSOM to 

achieve security goals.”14
172 

Military Adjustments. Together with Washington’s decision to revive 

the “political track” in Somalia, President Clinton’s announcement 

that US forces would be out of that country by 31 March 1994 had 

immediate and far-reaching ramifications for the UNOSOM II Force 

Command, USFORSOM, and all the coalition partners. The plans of 

Admiral Howe, Lieutenant General Bir, Major General Montgomery, and 

others for realigning units in several sectors, for expanding operations 

into the central region of the country, for employing incoming coalition 

forces, for arbitrating command and control arrangements, for executing 

“offensive action” against USC/SNA strongholds, and for continuing to 

implement UNOSOM II’s policy of countrywide disarmament all had 

to be reevaluated. Meanwhile, coalition units in the capital found their 

movement restricted to neighborhoods that openly supported—or at least 

were impartial toward—the UN effort. To reduce risks to UN troops 

even further, UNOSOM II let the population and the warlords know that 

coalition forces would remain neutral “in any inter-clan conflicts that 

erupted in the city,” a position that left Ali Mahdi’s Abgal clan feeling 

abandoned by the people it had “vocally and consistently supported.” 

Complicating matters for the force commander was the decision by other 

governments—mainly Germany, Italy, and Turkey—to withdraw their 

forces in conjunction with the American pullout. In a briefing to UN 

officials in November, Bir recommended that UNOSOM II operations 

revert to a Chapter VI peacekeeping mode. After the departure of US 

and other forces, he maintained, the coalition “would not be capable of 

coercive disarmament” under Chapter VII peace enforcement guidelines, 

and it would be “severely constrained logistically.” Further, the shift in 

political strategy “did not allow for the aggressive type of action needed 

to contain increasing incidents of limited militia activity and banditry.” 

At the time Bir was making these points, UN troops in Mogadishu were 

already experiencing a degree of “military paralysis,” in part as a result 

of the numerous “garrison activities” to which they had reverted once 

Washington assumed “leadership in the political arena,” leaving Force 

Command with “no firm political guidance to anchor itself to.”15

As UNOSOM II headquarters adjusted to the disruptive impact that 

changing policies and troop commitments had upon the coalition, Bir 

and Montgomery had to direct their attention as well to accommodating 

the additional US forces being deployed. The first units arrived on 8 

October, the day after the president announced the shift in US policy, and 

consisted of a mechanized company from the 24th Infantry Division that 

CINCCENT, early on 4 October, had authorized to deploy via strategic 
173

airlift. As part of a battalion task force, designated TF 1-64, the company 

included two platoons with Bradley fighting vehicles and one platoon 

with Abrams tanks. The remainder of the task force began arriving a few 

days later, accompanied by the 43rd Combat Engineer Battalion (Heavy). 

In between, a battalion—the 2nd of the 22nd—from the 10th Mountain 

Division (Light) and four AC-130 gunships made their appearance in 

Mogadishu, as did various Marine and naval units off the coast, including 

the carrier battle group of the USS Abraham Lincoln. The arriving 

forces made their presence felt immediately. On 10 October, an AC-130 

demonstrated a sample of its firepower by destroying weapons in a former 

SNA storage area north of the capital. The next day, planes from the 

Lincoln began air reconnaissance and other sorties throughout UNOSOM 

II’s area of responsibility.16

Once the US buildup reached its peak, American forces inside 

Somalia had doubled to over 4,300, with an additional 9,100 positioned 

offshore. In line with these dramatic increases, the Quick Reaction Force 

(QRF), commanded by Colonel Lawrence Casper of the 10th Mountain’s 

10th Aviation Brigade, adopted the name “Falcon Brigade,” with over 

3,500 troops in six battalions attached to it. It was an arrangement that, to 

Casper’s frustration, generated no small degree of controversy.

Even before 3-4 October, when the QRF constituted “a hybrid 

organization of one light infantry battalion, one mixed attack-lift aviation 

battalion, one forward support battalion and numerous small platoons and 

detachments,” the use of an aviation brigade as the command element for 

ground maneuver units had been questioned by officers who argued that 

such a headquarters was “not ideally suited to the task by organization or 

Mission-Essential Task List.” The debate over this issue intensified with 

the buildup of US forces, as the Falcon Brigade assumed control over 

additional light infantry battalions, an engineer battalion, and the heavy 

maneuver TF 1-64 with its Abrams tanks. Critics of the arrangement 

argued that the intelligence requirements of aviators and infantrymen were 

considerably different; that an aviation brigade was not familiar with the 

organization, weapons, and tactics of an infantry fighting force; and that 

an aviation brigade had neither the fully functional fire support element 

nor the “dedicated divisional engineer assets” of an infantry brigade. All 

this meant, according to the critics, that the Falcon Brigade would have 

difficulty “conducting the complex missions assigned to the U.S. Quick 

Reaction Force” and that its staff would have to master “functions that 

they are not normally required to perform.” Casper himself admitted that 

he had to be educated on the “maintenance nuances” of heavy firepower, 
174 

but he defended the QRF command and control setup as doctrinally sound. 

Regarding the acknowledged deficiencies of an aviation brigade operating 

as a maneuver headquarters, he recounted how with staff augmentation and 

the help of others, he and his team managed to overcome the challenges 

posed by an organization that “has thin resources, possesses little depth, 

and lacks some essential staff functions.” Although Casper’s outfit learned 

to manage the extensive combined arms capability that had accumulated 

under it, the various adjustments it had to make to do so ensured that the 

debate over the use of an aviation brigade as a headquarters for ground 

maneuver units would find its way into after-action and lessons-learned 

reports geared to future operations.17

The transformation of the QRF into the Falcon Brigade was not the 

only organizational change to follow President Clinton’s policy statement 

of 7 October. Driving home his pledge that deploying units would be 

under American command was the activation of Joint Task Force Somalia, 

a headquarters under CENTCOM that would exercise operational control 

(OPCON) or tactical control (TACON) over most of the incoming US 

forces, as well as over some already in Somalia.18 Picked to command the 

JTF was Major General Carl Ernst, who was then making the transition 

from his assignment as the assistant division commander for support, 82nd 

Airborne Division, to new duties with the US Army Training and Doctrine 

Command at Fort Monroe, Virginia. When Ernst received word on the 

day after the president’s speech that he was to become the JTF Somalia 

commander, he flew immediately to CENTCOM headquarters at MacDill 

Air Force Base, Florida, where he was later joined by Brigadier General 

Peter Pace, USMC, slated to be the JTF’s deputy commander. Following 

briefings from the CENTCOM staff, Ernst and Pace met with General 

Hoar to obtain guidance regarding their mission and a plethora of related 

issues.19

As the talks got under way, Hoar let both men know that, once the JTF 

deployed, its “basic mission” would be force protection; there was to be 

no recurrence of the 3-4 October episode. How Ernst was to accomplish 

this mission raised a series of complex, at times subtle issues. On one 

point, however, Hoar was blunt: Ernst was not to allow UN forces to 

provide security for US troops; that was the task of the JTF. Referring to a 

security survey CENTCOM had taken in Somalia, the CINC indicated that 

UN forces and bases were vulnerable in many respects. Effective force 

protection would thus require JTF Somalia to develop a comprehensive 

plan that would emphasize active as well as passive measures. Ernst 

would be expected to increase patrols, conduct surveillance, set up 
175

outposts, engage in interdiction and ambushes, and find ways to remove 

Americans from exposed positions within Mogadishu proper. He also 

needed to enforce the rules of engagement (ROE) as they applied to various 

weapons the Somali factions were permitted or forbidden to employ. On 

a related issue, the CINC reminded Ernst that the Somali militia possessed 

antiarmor weapons and possibly Stinger and SA-7 surface-to-air missiles 

that could be used against US and UN aircraft. Despite this threat, it was 

not JTF Somalia’s mission to go hunting for Aideed. On that point Hoar 

was emphatic. If, however, the JTF was forced into a fight, Ernst was to 

do what was necessary to accomplish his mission while trying to minimize 

collateral damage, especially civilian casualties.

To the JTF’s principal mission of force protection, Hoar added two 

others. One entailed support of UN forces in Somalia. Guidance for this 

mission prohibited JTF Somalia from taking the lead in UNOSOM II 

operations but did permit the headquarters to assist UN planning efforts 

when appropriate. The third mission addressed the perceived need to keep 

the lines of communication (LOCs) in Mogadishu open and to reopen 

those that the factions had shut down with roadblocks, strongpoints, and 

hostile fire. Of the LOCs and strongpoints that needed to be reopened or 

dismantled, Hoar specifically named the 21 October Road, the cigarette 

factory, and the pasta factory. He also indicated that the mechanized forces 

Ernst would control were ideally suited to this mission.20 

Map 12. Mogadishu - JTF Somalia

K4

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EMBASSY

DIGFER

HOSPITAL

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NATIONAL ST

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21 OCTOBER

ROAD

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176 

As the talks with CINCCENT concluded, Ernst believed that he had 

been given three specified missions—protecting US forces, supporting 

the UN, and keeping the LOCs open—and one implied mission based on 

President Clinton’s speech—planning and executing the withdrawal of US 

forces from Somalia. JTF Somalia, Ernst understood, would take control of 

the expanded QRF, whose activities Hoar saw as critical to accomplishing 

the JTF missions. The QRF, in Hoar’s phrasing, held everything together 

by supporting the UN. But the CINC wanted the QRF returned to its 

original status as a reserve force, a role from which it had strayed, he 

believed, when it began conducting operations, such as search and clear, 

that should have been left exclusively to the UN. As for how far Ernst 

could go in employing the QRF and the other US forces under his control, 

the guidance he received was general but straightforward enough. He was 

to take no unnecessary risks and was not to be unnecessarily provocative. 

But, in what Ernst regarded as a major caveat to this cautionary guidance, 

Hoar assured him that he had the authority to determine if a situation 

required action and, if in his view it did, to use the full combat capability of 

his heavy force to resolve the problem. When Ernst took the point further 

by asking if, in the event of another firefight along the lines of 3-4 October 

where US and UN forces were in extremis, he could blow down an SNA 

enclave if he thought it necessary, Hoar answered in the affirmative. 

From CENTCOM, Ernst flew to Washington where, in meetings at 

the Pentagon, Chief of Staff of the Army General Gordon Sullivan and 

members of the Army staff pledged their support to JTF Somalia. As one 

gesture of that support, Sullivan “loaned” Ernst an officer—a UNITAF 

veteran—to serve as the JTF chief of staff until Ernst could acquire one 

of his own. Moreover, when Ernst asked for public affairs guidance and 

for a terrain database to use in Somalia, his requests were readily granted. 

When the conversation turned to his mission, he found Sullivan even more 

adamant than Hoar that US forces in Somalia should not be protected by 

UN, but by fellow US troops. Sullivan also shared Hoar’s concerns about 

the security situation in Mogadishu and expressed the desire that the JTF 

should work to improve it. Above all, the Army chief wanted to know 

how Ernst planned to use the forces under him, especially armor. In 

response, Ernst elaborated his intention to employ his armor as part of a 

combined arms reserve, trained and positioned for use as a mobile strike 

force, “locked and cocked like a coiled spring, so that if anything happens 

in Mogadishu, we can just blow into that town with tanks and Brads.” In 

Ernst’s opinion, this was a doctrinally sound approach, unlike that of the 

“reaction” force, in that the former allowed for “positioning, rehearsals 
177

based on anticipated commitments (branches), reconstitution,” and so 

forth.21 Sullivan’s response, according to Ernst’s notes of the meeting, 

was an enthusiastic, “Exactly!” 

Another issue Ernst raised with Sullivan was whether or not there 

would be an Army Forces, or ARFOR, component under JTF Somalia. 

CENTCOM plans did not call for one, and Ernst felt this to be a glaring 

omission. The JTF would have a Marine Forces (MARFOR) component 

and a Navy Forces (NAVFOR) component. Ernst believed that it was 

essential for him to have an ARFOR that could deal with the other service 

components on the same level. Also, as the operational commander, he 

wanted to be able to give mission-orders to his component commanders 

and let them determine the best means of tactical execution. Not having 

an ARFOR in control of all Army combat units in the country would 

preclude, or at least complicate, this approach. Finally, whether Ernst 

considered it or not at this point, having a general officer as the ARFOR 

would allow for the establishment of a ground maneuver brigade alongside 

the aviation brigade, thus resolving the aforementioned problems that 

many professed to see in having the aviation brigade headquarters 

control ground maneuver elements. Ernst wanted to name the assistant 

10th Mountain Division commander as the ARFOR commander, but 

CENTCOM did not approve the request. After Ernst arrived in Somalia, 

organizational arrangements evolved, but he would not get the ARFOR 

he wanted. Instead, he initially assumed the role himself, delegating the 

various functions of a component headquarters to his chief of staff and, 

when appropriate, certain subordinate units.22

From Washington, Ernst traveled to Fort Drum, New York, home of 

the 10th Mountain Division (Light). There, together with Pace and the 

designated J3 for JTF Somalia, Colonel Buck Bedard, he met with the 

division’s commander, Major General David C. Meade, and others. The 

talks focused largely on staff issues, since 10th Mountain had been tasked 

to prepare for CENTCOM, without any guidance from that headquarters, 

the manning document for JTF Somalia. Meade had received the tasking 

because his division was to provide the nucleus of Ernst’s 145-man 

staff. Initially, Meade offered Ernst the division’s tactical command 

post (TACCP), consisting of 30-some soldiers. The problem with this, 

as reported later, was that many of these soldiers lacked experience in 

the joint arena, as was also the case with most of the individuals picked 

from other units and services to round out the staff. In another issue 

reminiscent of the UNITAF phase of the US military’s involvement in 

Somalia, the assignment of a significant number of 10th Mountain’s 
178 

headquarters personnel to Ernst’s JTF Somalia left the division without 

a functioning staff. It would have been better, in the view of the Army’s 

Center for Lessons Learned, for an operational-level JTF staff to be taken 

from a corps headquarters, a more “robust” echelon that could absorb the 

personnel loss better than a tactical-level division and that, theoretically, 

would have more officers with joint experience.23 At the time, however, 

CENTCOM approved 10th Mountain’s manning document without 

change.

For Ernst, however, the manning document contained a number of 

shortfalls, the most critical of which was that it provided him no planning 

capability, something he regarded as essential if he hoped to plan, prepare, 

and execute operations in support of his missions. To fill this gap, he 

talked to the US Third Army commander, Lieutenant General Larry Ellis, 

and strongly requested that the JTF be assigned five planners from Army 

resources. The criteria Ernst laid out included the following: all five 

should be graduates of the School of Advanced Military Studies (SAMS) 

at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas; all should have had some practical planning 

experience; and the group should be able to cover specific operating 

systems—namely, maneuver, intelligence, special operations, engineering, 

and logistics. Ernst hoped to get four of the five. To his surprise, he 

was authorized all five. (He was also pleased to learn that other SAMS 

graduates would be among the officers sent by 10th Mountain to serve on 

the JTF staff.) 

Besides a plans shop, Ernst also needed a fire support element that 

he could make into a joint targeting board within the JTF. He especially 

wanted an expert on digitized firing networks, radars, and laser positioning 

for the precision-guided weapons that would be so critical if he hoped 

to limit unnecessary damage and casualties during any fight in an urban 

environment. Meade took the expert Ernst wanted out of the 10th 

Mountain. Finally, from XVIII Airborne Corps at Fort Bragg, North 

Carolina, Ernst received the strategic and tactical communications he 

would require.

JTF Somalia. Elements of the JTF staff began arriving in Somalia on 

13 October. The remainder, including individual augmentees from all 

the services, filtered in over the next few weeks. Major General Ernst 

landed in Mogadishu on 15 October and immediately immersed himself 

in the process of getting JTF Somalia stood up and running. One of the 

many tasks facing him in this respect concerned the physical location 

and security of his headquarters and of the units under JTF control. In 
179

that the old US Embassy compound housed the UNOSOM II Force 

Command, USFORSOM, the QRF, and US diplomatic personnel, it was 

the logical place for the general and his staff to set up shop. In Ernst’s 

judgment, however, the whole compound was vulnerable to hostile fire, 

so he arranged for the building housing the JTF headquarters to have a 

countermortar roof, a surrounding wall capable of stopping RPGs, and 

guards from the10th Mountain Division posted 24 hours a day. He also 

ensured that the units OPCON to him had adequate protection. In the case 

of the JTF’s armored task force, for example, he called on US military 

engineers, assisted by hired Somali workers, to build Victory Base, a camp 

located north of Mogadishu beyond the direct and indirect firing range of 

SNA weapons.24

In keeping with the guidance he received from CINCCENT, Ernst also 

assessed the security of UNOSOM II troops who had established their 

positions in and around Mogadishu before 3-4 October. As was the case 

with the embassy compound, he concluded that several of these positions 

were vulnerable. The location of the UN Logistics Support Command’s 

two principal bases, Sword and Hunter, particularly concerned him. Sword 

base, he observed, sat on the edge of an SNA enclave in the capital; Hunter 

base was only slightly less exposed to hostile action. Both bases had been 

built during UNITAF and inherited by UNOSOM II, which did not have 

the money or resources to relocate them. Concerned as well about their 

vulnerability, Montgomery told Ernst to focus on force protection and to 

do contingency planning that would allow the JTF to “react” to any threat 

to Sword, Hunter, and logistics convoys.25 

Besides dealing with issues of force protection and security, Ernst also 

spent his first days in Somalia getting his headquarters organized. As an 

ad hoc element, it lacked SOPs and methodology, and those who would 

man it were people Ernst in most cases was meeting for the first time. 

The staff he had acquired before deploying was small but efficient and 

had at its core personnel from the 10th Mountain Division. To augment 

this group, he enlisted the services of liaison officers (LNOs) sent to his 

headquarters by those components over which he had operational control: 

the Falcon Brigade, a joint special operations task force (JSOTF), and a 

psychological operations task force (POTF) composed of one company 

(-). As for the Marine and Navy units offshore over which he exercised 

only tactical control, he could not formally task them to assist the JTF 

staff. But in what became a series of informal “gentlemen’s agreements” 

or “handshakes,” the Marine and Navy component commanders readily 

provided liaison teams to the JTF headquarters that, in Ernst’s words, “not 
180 

only augmented our capabilities but also provided the vital immediate 

access to their headquarters essential when orders had to be transmitted 

rapidly and clearly and a response of equal quality had to be received 

in turn.”26 When Ernst’s staff was fully constituted, the Army provided 

about 80 percent of the personnel, with the Marines providing another 10 

percent.

As would be expected, Ernst’s initial activities in Somalia also entailed 

a round of meetings and briefings with key US and UN personnel. Over 

the ensuing weeks, he would work closely with several of them, and all had 

something to contribute to his in-country orientation. One man to whom 

he wanted to talk right away was Major General Garrison, TF Ranger’s 

commander and an old friend. In the course of a lengthy presentation, 

Garrison gave Ernst a detailed account of his unit’s operations, including 

the 3-4 October firefight. Present for the discussion was a CIA team leader 

with whom Ernst struck up a conversation. Later, Ernst described the 

encounter as fortuitous. The CIA official informed him that the human 

intelligence (HUMINT) system in Mogadishu lacked synchronization. 

Ernst responded by saying, “I’ve got an offer for you.” The outcome was 

another “gentleman’s agreement” in which the CIA official agreed to have 

Figure 7. USFORSOM/JTF Somalia - Command and Control

(After 20 October 1993)

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181

his people set up and run for Ernst’s use a Intelligence Support Element 

(ISE) to handle HUMINT in a more systematic way. In return, Ernst would 

“cut” some of his intelligence officers to the ISE. That deal, together with 

the spy aircraft made available to JTF Somalia, bolstered the headquarters 

intelligence capability. So, too, did the ongoing presence of CENTCOM’s 

Intelligence Support Element (CISE), which had “downlinks” to national 

intelligence systems. In his headquarters, Ernst had other intelligence 

downlinks as well.27 

Besides Garrison, Ernst also met with Oakley and Zinni and received 

their take on the situation. Ernst was particularly impressed with Oakley’s 

desire to learn as much as possible about the combat capabilities of the 

forces under JTF Somalia. The reason for the special envoy’s curiosity 

was clear enough. In meeting with Aideed, Oakley sought to promote 

reconciliation, explaining that the United States once again considered the 

faction leader to be a “player” in Somali politics. In return, the Clinton 

administration expected Aideed to meet certain conditions, one being that 

he should start working again with Ali Mahdi toward a comprehensive 

resolution of Somalia’s problems. To both warlords Oakley was also 

to “stress the need to adhere to certain UN guidelines by removing 

roadblocks and technicals and permitting free movement of UN convoys.” 

If either leader “failed to agree to this minimum requirement then the 

additional U.S. deployed forces (JTFSOM) would be used to ensure the 

LOCs were opened and safe.” In Ernst’s opinion, the answers he gave to 

Oakley’s questions about JTF Somalia’s combat power were intended to 

be conveyed directly to Aideed and Ali Mahdi in a blunt warning of what 

they could expect if they ignored US demands.28 

Ernst met with Oakley whenever possible, and the special envoy 

briefed the JTF after each of his meetings with faction leaders. At one 

point, Ernst received Oakley’s permission to have an officer from the 

JTF’s J5 shop attend meetings held by the US negotiating team with the 

various subclans and factions. The extent to which Ernst became involved 

in the political process, however, did not approach the level attained by 

Lieutenant General Johnston during the UNITAF experience. Ernst’s man 

on the negotiating team was there mainly to keep the JTF commander 

abreast of developments and, on occasion, to deliver messages from Ernst 

to SNA representatives. In a similar vein, JTF Somalia did not interact 

closely with humanitarian organizations as UNITAF had. Ernst’s principal 

mission was not to beef up security for relief efforts but to provide force 

protection for US forces.29
182 

Perhaps the most important meetings Ernst held at the time of his 

arrival were with the UNOSOM II military commanders, particularly 

Major General Montgomery in his role as commander of US Forces 

Somalia. Since all of JTF Somalia’s missions, specified and implied, 

in some way affected or involved the US and coalition troops under 

UNOSOM II, there would be a high degree of interaction between Ernst’s 

headquarters and Montgomery’s. On the surface, there was little reason to 

believe that this interaction would not be harmonious. Montgomery and 

Lieutenant General Bir both wanted the US reinforcements and supported 

JTF Somalia’s missions, especially force protection, which CINCCENT 

had also made a primary mission for USFORSOM. Montgomery, whose 

“pocket staff” worked mainly within the UN Logistics Support Command 

under his operational control, also welcomed the more robust staff that 

Ernst brought with him. In assessing the situation confronting them, 

the two US generals acknowledged the “military paralysis” and “bunker 

mentality” that permeated UNOSOM II contingents, and both shared the 

view that, should Aideed or any other faction leader reopen hostilities with 

coalition forces, the full combat power of JTF Somalia would be brought 

to bear decisively against the offender.30

Despite agreement on these important points, the personal and 

professional relationship between Ernst and Montgomery was fractious 

almost from the outset.31 The friction derived from several causes. While 

both men were Vietnam veterans, the same could not be said with respect 

Figure 8. JTF Somalia Troop List

FALCON BDE

TF 2-14 INFANTRY

TF 2-22 INFANTRY

TF 1-64 ARMOR

TF 2-25 AVIATION

C/1-41 FIELD ARTILLERY

43D ENGINEER BATTALION

46TH FIRE SUPPORT BATTERY

TACTICAL AIR DEFENSE

JOINT SPECIAL OPERATIONS

TASK FORCE

OPERATIONAL DETACHMENT B (-)

4 AC-130

2 KC-135

4 C-130

PSYCHOLOGICAL OPERATIONS

TASK FORCE

PSYCHOLOGICAL OPERATIONS CO (-)

TOTAL: 4,360

CTF 156 (COMNAVBATFORSCOM) (COMCARGRU SIX)

(When Directed, TACON)

CTG 156.1 CTG 156.3

TG 156.1 TG 156.3

USS America (CV-66) USS New Orleans (LPH-11)

CVW-1 USS Denver (LPD-9)

USS Simpson (FFG-56) USS Comstock (LSD-45)

VP DET MOMBASA USS Cayuga (LST-1186)

CTG 158 (COMCARGRU SIX) (When Directed, TACOM)

TG 158.1(13th MEU [SOC]

GCE-BLT 1/9

ACE-HMM-268 (REIN)

CSSE-MSSG-13

NAVY FORCES 7,084

MARINE FORCES 1,996

TOTAL: 9,080

FALCON BDE

TF 2-14 INFANTRY

TF 2-22 INFANTRY

TF 1-64 ARMOR

TF 2-25 AVIATION

C/1-41 FIELD ARTILLERY

43D ENGINEER BATTALION

46TH FIRE SUPPORT BATTERY

TACTICAL AIR DEFENSE

JOINT SPECIAL OPERATIONS

TASK FORCE

OPERATIONAL DETACHMENT B (-)

4 AC-130

2 KC-135

4 C-130

PSYCHOLOGICAL OPERATIONS

TASK FORCE

PSYCHOLOGICAL OPERATIONS CO (-)

TOTAL: 4,360

CTF 156 (COMNAVBATFORSCOM) (COMCARGRU SIX)

(When Directed, TACON)

CTG 156.1 CTG 156.3

TG 156.1 TG 156.3

USS America (CV-66) USS New Orleans (LPH-11)

CVW-1 USS Denver (LPD-9)

USS Simpson (FFG-56) USS Comstock (LSD-45)

VP DET MOMBASA USS Cayuga (LST-1186)

CTG 158 (COMCARGRU SIX) (When Directed, TACOM)

TG 158.1(13th MEU [SOC]

GCE-BLT 1/9

ACE-HMM-268 (REIN)

CSSE-MSSG-13

NAVY FORCES 7,084

MARINE FORCES 1,996

TOTAL: 9,080
183

to Somalia. Since 5 June 1993, Montgomery had dealt firsthand with 

the bloody effects of Aideed’s hostile actions and regarded the UN’s 

strong response to them as fully justified. Ernst, on the other hand, 

was a newcomer who, in the course of the meetings and briefings he 

attended before and after deploying, embraced the highly critical view 

Oakley, Zinni, and others he consulted were voicing about UNOSOM 

II. This did not sit well with Montgomery, any more than did what Ernst 

himself conceded must have appeared to USFORSOM as an attempt by 

JTF Somalia, with its larger and multifaceted headquarters, to come in 

and start running things. There was also the force protection issue: both 

generals might have had the same mission, but they did not always see eye 

to eye on how to execute it. When, for example, Montgomery told Ernst 

to be ready to “react” against any hostile move against the UN logistics 

bases and convoys, Ernst became angry. He later wrote that he objected 

to the word itself when used in a military context and favored, instead, 

the creation of mobile reserves that “acted,” not “reacted.” Ernst also 

disagreed with how the UN Logistics Support Command wanted him 

to disperse his armor in order to guard the fixed log bases. In a heated 

exchange with the US logistics commander, he rejected the dispersal 

scheme in favor of keeping his heavy forces in reserve, an argument that 

reinforced Ernst’s negative impressions about UNOSOM II, even though 

Montgomery did not disagree with the reserve concept. Montgomery, 

however, did come to suspect—as did other officers on “the US side of the 

UN staff”—that, on certain critical issues, Ernst was deliberately trying to 

isolate, circumvent, or ignore USFORSOM and the UN Forces Command 

and to “marginalize” their staffs. The USFORSOM commander, to cite 

one minor example, did not know that JTF Somalia had asked for and 

received Oakley’s permission to have a staff officer attend talks between 

US diplomats and Somali leaders. 

Besides these annoyances, there were major and substantive 

disagreements between the two commanders. The most divisive was a 

difference of opinion over JTF Somalia’s mission—not over its wording 

but over the tenacity with which it should be executed, especially, as will 

be seen, with respect to keeping the LOCs in Mogadishu open. On the 

basis of his conversation with General Hoar, Ernst clearly believed that he 

was supposed to reopen supply routes in Mogadishu. More than that, he 

believed he had the authority to determine when hostile activity warranted 

the employment of the forces under him in combat. To Montgomery, 

all of this exceeded and even contradicted the more cautious guidance 

CINCCENT had conveyed to him in their daily telephone conversations.
184 

The friction between the two commanders and many officers in their 

respective headquarters could have been reduced by a set of precise 

command and control arrangements in which either Montgomery or Ernst 

was clearly subordinate to the other. Such unity of command, however, 

did not exist. While Montgomery as commander, US Forces Somalia, 

remained under the operational control of CINCCENT, he exercised only 

tactical control over JTF Somalia, which meant that he could provide 

Ernst specific, local direction on tactical operations and that Ernst was 

responsible to him for the planning and execution of tactical operations 

in Somalia. Montgomery, however, could not formally issue Ernst 

orders except under certain specific circumstances. This arrangement 

notwithstanding, Montgomery understood from conversations with 

CINCCENT that JTF Somalia was established with its robust staff in order 

“to relieve COMUSFORSOM and U.S. members of the UNOSOM II staff 

of the burden of tactical command and control of U.S. combat forces.” 

This, in turn, would free Montgomery and his pocket staff “to focus on the 

operational level and UN force employment.” Thus, to USFORSOM and 

its commander, General Hoar’s intent seemed clear: he would “continue to 

exercise OPCON of all U.S. forces through COMUSFORSOM.” The only 

problem was that Ernst, according to the USFORSOM AAR, “came with 

a different view of the command relationships with COMUSFORSOM.” 

Ernst, like Montgomery, was formally OPCON to CINCCENT, and except 

on those matters where he was required to answer to Montgomery, he 

intended to use his direct channel to CENTCOM whenever he considered 

it necessary. As all this played out, according to one source, the “actual 

relationship between USFORSOM and JTF-Somalia was more than 

TACON but less than OPCON,” particularly since CENTCOM directed 

that JTF Somalia contingency plans be “routed through USFORSOM.” 

Still, to most of the staff officers on the scene, the “appearance of parallel 

lines of command and control especially at the staff level” lent itself to no 

small amount of confusion and friction.32 

During Ernst’s first hectic days in Mogadishu, there was only a dim 

perception of the impact the command and control problem would have on 

upcoming US operations. The more pressing issue at the time was simply 

getting JTF Somalia stood up and running. On 17 October, CENTCOM 

issued the execute order for the JTF, in the process also revising “the 

mission, task organization, and command relations” of USFORSOM. 

Under the order, Montgomery, in the words of the USFORSOM AAR, 

continued “to control all U.S. military operations in the Somalia Theater 

in support of UNOSOM II.” Furthermore, the logistics command 
185

remained under the UNOSOM II chain of command, answerable directly 

to Montgomery. For its part, JTF Somalia assumed OPCON of the QRF, 

which put under its control all tactical US forces on the ground in Somalia. 

Working out the details of a few issues not addressed in the order delayed 

formal activation of the JTF until 20 October. Once activated, the new 

organization immediately published its first operations order (OPORD) 

incorporating the four specified and implied tasks that Ernst had acquired 

in his talks with General Hoar (and that, with slightly different wording, 

were reiterated in the CENTCOM execute order). Ernst would later say 

about the JTF OPORD, “We never replaced this original; we instead 

‘fragged’ off this plan with the basic plan remaining constant.”33

In the days and weeks that followed the activation of JTF Somalia,

planning and operations became, in Ernst’s term, the “hallmark” of the 

JTF staff. “We never stopped planning.” Contingency plans fell to 

the J3 shop, while long-term planning, including the withdrawal plan, 

went to the J5. Ernst used this continuous planning as a mechanism for 

synchronization and team-building. Once a plan had been written and all 

the identified branches had been run, the field commanders joined the staff 

in going over the details, conducting map exercises, and engaging in further 

discussion. The forces involved then prepared and trained for execution, 

often rehearsing the plan in detail. Consequently, joint exercises became 

daily occurrences, to include when possible those using live fires.34

The first major operation mounted by JTF Somalia, Operation SHOW 

CARE, occurred at the end of October. Billed as a humanitarian operation 

in Marka and the surrounding area, the undertaking had a politicalmilitary purpose as well. The town sat astride a major north-south coastal 

highway from Mogadishu to Kismayo, and factional strife in the latter 

city was almost always boiling over. Consequently, the SNA was putting 

pressure on Marka in order to control the key highway and, by doing so, 

assist its allies in Kismayo. To intercept this initiative and, in the process, 

send a signal to Aideed, JTF Somalia employed marines from the 13th 

Marine Expeditionary Unit (Special Operations Capable) [MEU (SOC)] 

to conduct amphibious and helicopter landings into the town. There, by 

prearrangement, the marines linked up with the Royal Moroccan Task 

Force, the UNOSOM II unit in control of Marka. Once the combined 

force had established secure areas there and in the nearby town of 

Qoryooley, the medics who accompanied the troops set up shop, providing 

the local population—which had been informed in advance by US PSYOP 

handbills—food and medical and dental treatment. Meanwhile, JTF 

forces and the Moroccan troops “conducted a link up, combined tactical 
186 

road march, helicopter borne landings, show-of-force operations, security 

operations, and civic action projects,” thus reminding Aideed “about the 

mobility and capabilities of U.S. forces.”35

Operation SHOW CARE also served as a model for how operations 

conducted by JTF Somalia could be planned and coordinated with other 

headquarters. After Ernst’s staff planned the venture and the JTF had 

discussed it with the US units and the Moroccan task force involved, the 

plan was presented to Montgomery for his approval. (As commander, 

USFORSOM, Montgomery had the authority to reject or approve most 

JTF operations. If, however, a proposed undertaking entailed a risk 

of combat, or if it exceeded standing CINCCENT guidance, he was 

obliged to forward the plan to CENTCOM for a decision.) This process, 

which worked very efficiently in the case of SHOW CARE (and other 

operations), demonstrated that, despite the difficulties caused by the 

CENTCOM-directed command and control arrangements, USFORSOM 

and JTF Somalia could and would cooperate on a variety of activities. 

Daily briefings and planning meetings, weekly updates, and several other 

mechanisms facilitated this cooperation and coordination. 

After SHOW CARE, JTF Somalia focused its attention on Mogadishu. 

The biggest operation it would launch—a joint amphibious operation—

came in early November and employed “every piece of the Joint Task 

Force.” Given the command and control relationships between JTF Somalia 

and the combat units OPCON or TACON to it, arranging for this massive 

event was no mean feat. Ernst only had TACON of Marine and Navy units 

offshore, which meant that he could not employ them or provide them 

with planning guidance until they were released to him by CENTCOM 

on a case-by-case basis. What kept this arrangement from hindering JTF 

operations was the willingness of those commanders involved to work 

around it. As Ernst put it, “everybody came with the attitude that, ‘We’ve 

got a problem. Forget about the command arrangements—let’s just figure it 

out on the ground.’” As staff, in organizing the JTF, the key commanders 

entered into informal agreements to ensure that planning, preparation, 

and execution would go as smoothly as possible and that units required 

for an operation would be available with as little red tape as possible. 

(One means among others of circumventing the cumbersome command 

and control requirements associated with “real” operations was simply to 

label certain undertakings “training” events, a convenient “subterfuge,” 

according to Ernst).36 

Years later, Ernst would summarize the JTF’s joint amphibious 

operation in Mogadishu as follows: 
187

We brought one MEU ashore and then embarked an Army mech/tank 

company team on LCACs that came in on the second wave. A Marine 

battalion landing team came into the old port area. They established a 

presence there and operated in the vicinity for three or four days. The 

Army task force brought in two mech company teams, leaving one at 

the airport and the other at the new port, then established a reserve 

force ashore. We positioned artillery throughout the area to provide 

fire support if needed. That gave us the Copperhead capture angles we 

needed to shoot into Mogadishu if it became necessary. The artillery 

fired out to sea for precise registration that night and it was a max 

sortie day over Mogadishu for carrier and other aircraft, including the 

AC-130s. We conducted synchronized target engagement employing 

A-6s, FA-18s, and AC-130s, not over the horizon, but in sight so that 

everybody could see them. It was just a big firepower demonstration.37

In addition to this, US warships sailed within view of the shore in “a 

parade of ships,” and special reconnaissance and special snipers began 

“active work that day.” As a result of all this maneuver and activity, 

JTF Somalia forces, with the help of some UN contingents already on 

the scene, established “a big ring around Mogadishu.” The purpose was 

to demonstrate to the warlords, particularly Aideed, the overwhelming 

force the United States had deployed since early October and the serious 

intent to use that combat power if necessary. The demonstration seemed 

to have had the desired effect. Aideed’s command net “lit up,” Ernst later 

recalled, as the faction leader’s confused lieutenants tried to assess for him 

what was happening. Several subordinates apparently saw the operation 

as an attempt to pressure Aideed into attending a new round of national 

reconciliation talks in Addis Ababa and recommended that he accept the 

invitation. (Whether the operation or other factors compelled Aideed to 

take this advice is not clear, but he soon announced that he would go to 

the conference. To make sure Aideed followed through on this pledge, 

Ambassador Oakley offered him the use of the airplane Montgomery had 

placed at the special envoy’s disposal. When the day came for Aideed to 

depart, US marines escorted him to the plane in full view of American 

troops in the area of the airport and embassy. The morale of those 

onlookers, by all accounts, plummeted.)38 

Besides sending Aideed and Ali Mahdi a strong message, the operation 

in Mogadishu proved to JTF Somalia that it could plan, prepare, rehearse, 

and execute a military demonstration of this magnitude. The operation 

also helped the commanders and staff to understand better the “geometry” 

of urban operations and to test air-space command and control. For Ernst, 

there was another critical lesson. In the course of working on the specifics 
188 

of the operation, he concluded that it did not fit into any broader context, 

“an unfortunate reflection of the lack of both U.S. and UN campaign 

planning.” To fill what he regarded as a serious void, he directed his staff 

to develop a JTF Somalia campaign plan.39

Having developed an IPB for the joint task force but lacking guidance 

from higher headquarters regarding the “desired end state” that would 

obtain once JTF Somalia had accomplished its mission, Ernst’s staff 

assumed one: the JTF would leave the country after it had overseen the 

withdrawal of US forces from Somalia with minimum casualties and with 

American honor intact. Thus, a critical question driving the campaign 

planning was, What if the troops have to withdraw under fire? Or, put 

another way, What needs to be done to defeat any attempt by hostile forces 

to challenge the withdrawal militarily? The answer came in a four-phased 

campaign plan, completed around the end of October. In Phase I, JTF 

Somalia would attack hostile elements in Mogadishu while maintaining 

a posture of operational defense in other areas of the country. Once 

hostilities in Mogadishu were concluded, Phase II would begin, with UN 

forces being entrusted with the tactical defense of the capital, while JTF 

Somalia went on the operational offense in other sections of the country, 

possibly achieving its objectives by establishing a presence rather than 

through combat operations. Phase III consisted of being on the tactical 

and operational defense in the capital and countryside while conducting 

routine operations and setting the conditions and configuring the force for 

a phased withdrawal. Phase IV would be the withdrawal.40 

Ernst believed that Phase I, combat operations in Mogadishu, was 

the key to the success of the plan but would also be the hardest part to 

accomplish. Like other UN and US officers, he saw the capital as the 

center of gravity: “If you crack that nut,” he told Oakley, one of the 

first US officials to be briefed on the plan, “you’ll send a very powerful 

message to the rest of the country.” Oakley’s response: “Exactly right!” 

The problem, of course, was how to subdue hostile elements in an urban 

environment. To Ernst, the answer was not in close, hand-to-hand street 

fighting. “If we were going to get into a fight,” he later said, “we didn’t 

want it to be rifle against rifle. We made that decision early on. . . . We 

would use maximum, overwhelming force. We would engage using 

standoff and precise overwhelming combat power whenever we could. . . . 

The best way to clear a room was precision-guided munitions.” 41

And, he added, there was “a whole menu” of these that he could 

call upon: ground, air, direct, and indirect. Beginning with specially 
189

trained snipers and their assortment of deadly, long-range rifles, the list 

of “precision fire support assets” escalated quickly to AC-130 gunships, 

US Army laser-guided Copperhead artillery rounds and wire-guided TOW 

missiles, US Marine laser-guided Hellfires, and laser-guided bombs from 

marine and naval aircraft. In that most of these were highly complex 

systems and ones that could be used effectively only through interservice 

cooperation (for example, Army OH-58D helicopters setting the laser 

markings for Marine Hellfires), it was essential that the units involved train 

and rehearse daily to synchronize the operating systems and to prepare for 

the variety of contingencies in which they might be used.42

The best way to deter hostile action, Ernst and others believed, was 

to develop the appropriate plans, prepare the troops to execute them, and, 

in the process, conduct exercises and operations that were highly visible 

and intimidating. In this context, Ernst held that his campaign plan was 

an “internal document,” not meant to drive a real campaign but to be used 

as a reference for determining where the JTF should devote its attention 

over time, and how the JTF should conduct its mission in an orderly way, 

prioritizing and planning for sequential actions. These reassurances 

notwithstanding, many outside JTF Somalia found the plan cause for 

concern, if not alarm. Ernst himself conceded that the document caused 

some consternation at CENTCOM, and that consternation was transmitted 

to USFORSOM by the CINC himself. According to Colonel Casper, 

the Falcon Brigade commander who now worked for JTF Somalia, the 

impression Ernst imparted when he arrived in Mogadishu was of a general 

“focused entirely on warfighting,” an officer who “lived and breathed 

maneuver warfare and had rarely served away from troops.” Furthermore, 

Casper later wrote, the belief persisted that “General Ernst had arrived 

ready to fight, and championed the notion that it was time to ‘retake the 

city.’” Montgomery may or may not have shared this impression, but 

he also found the campaign plan—about which he was briefed only at 

the last moment and only after, unbeknownst to him, it had been sent to 

CENTCOM—cause for consternation. The first two phases, in his opinion, 

seemed to contradict the spirit of CINCCENT’s expressed guidance that 

US forces were to minimize US, UN, and Somali casualties and were not 

to expand or engage in offensive military operations unless provoked or 

unless they “contributed directly to political solution.”43 

The disagreement over the campaign plan added to the friction between 

USFORSOM and JTF Somalia. While the two headquarters continued to 

cooperate and coordinate on a daily basis, the relationship was, in the 

words of one commander, “testy.” In short time, that strained relationship 
190 

was exacerbated by another disagreement, this one over what to do about 

reopening 21 October Road, a principal east-west thoroughfare in northern 

Mogadishu. The issue arose from the fact that, during the conflict between 

Aideed and UNOSOM II, the SNA had constructed blockades, conducted 

ambushes, and taken over strategically located buildings along this key 

route used by the UN to supply its troops throughout the city. Traversing 

portions of 21 October Road unscathed was virtually impossible.

General Hoar had given Ernst the mission of reopening several key 

LOCs, and Oakley, when he met with Aideed, warned him of grave 

consequences if the warlord did not voluntarily stop trying to impede 

the flow of traffic. When the blockades did not come down, Ernst began 

planning an operation that would reopen a 2-mile stretch of 21 October 

Road. UNOSOM II had already built a road bypassing the disputed 

segment of this main supply route (MSR), but in Ernst’s opinion, that 

did not obviate the military action he contemplated. Without such action, 

he believed, Oakley’s not so subtle threat would be perceived by the 

SNA as hollow, the result being a blow to US credibility and possibly an 

inducement to Aideed to ignore future US warnings and even to resume 

hostile actions. 

The plan JTF Somalia developed was elaborate (“a lot of moving 

parts”) and called for a week of rehearsals, with emphasis on the 

synchronization of precision fires. Summarized, the operation would 

have a Pakistani infantry battalion, using their US-made armored 

personnel carriers and M48 tanks and accompanied by American military 

engineers, move east along 21 October Road toward the pasta factory. 

If the unit were engaged by the SNA, JTF Somalia would “take over” 

and put a “wall of fire” around the Pakistanis. US forces would then end 

remaining resistance using precision-guided weapons, Army-Navy-Air 

Force-Marine aviation assets, two US Army battalions (with another in 

reserve), and elements from the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit, which 

would conduct an amphibious landing and then link up with Army forces. 

Ernst personally did not believe Aideed would challenge the Pakistanis. 

Since the arrival of the JTF, the warlord had refrained from any largescale violence against the vast force arrayed against him. Occasionally, he 

mounted a test or probe, but on the whole, he seemed content to sit back 

and wait for the Americans to leave. Thus, while JTF Somalia viewed the 

proposed operation as risky, the risk appeared worth taking.44

When Montgomery learned of the plan, he objected strongly. “Why 

would I do that?” he asked. To begin with, the bypass route had rendered 
191

21 October Road’s value as an MSR irrelevant. Reopening it would 

be largely symbolic, but not just in terms of US policy. The road itself 

carried a symbolic meaning for Aideed’s supporters: it had been named 

for the date the faction leader had defeated Siad Barre’s forces in the 

Somali civil war. With honor on both sides at stake, Montgomery viewed 

the proposed operation as a very risky venture, one that could provoke 

hostilities and incur casualties. In light of General Hoar’s guidance to him 

to avoid combat unless attacked, and given that US troops would soon 

withdraw from the country, the USFORSOM commander saw nothing 

that would justify an offensive operation that could trigger another major 

battle in Mogadishu. If Montgomery needed further reason to oppose the 

operation, there was also the issue of the Pakistanis to consider. He was 

not about to send a force that had already taken significant casualties into 

harm’s way again, not unless it was absolutely necessary. “I won’t do 

that,” he said. Finally, according to the USFORSOM after-action report, 

“UN and U.S. political will to use force waned as the chances of a Somali 

political reconciliation appeared to decline. Virtually no one wanted to 

undertake operations to open roads today that might be closed tomorrow 

because of renewed civil war.”45

Montgomery conveyed his objections to the plan to Lieutenant General 

Bir, who as UN force commander would have to approve the Pakistani and 

any other coalition involvement. Meanwhile, Ernst, believing he would 

receive authorization to execute the plan, had coordinated it with the UN 

and JTF Somalia elements involved, had conducted daily rehearsals, 

including live-fire exercises, and had positioned his forces to begin the 

operation. It thus came as “a shock to everybody” at the JTF headquarters, 

Ernst later recalled, when Bir told him that the plan would not be executed. 

Ernst lamented the lack of will on the part of UNOSOM II and what he 

perceived as a failure to follow through on statements both Clinton and 

Oakley had made about the need to reopen the LOCs in Mogadishu. But 

he also accepted the verdict and turned his attention to other activities 

demanding the attention of JTF Somalia.

46

Withdrawal. The controversy over the plan to reopen 21 October 

Road did not interfere with JTF Somalia’s other missions, as Ernst’s 

organization continued to support UN operations and provide the “strong, 

visible presence” that discouraged faction leaders from attacking coalition 

troops. JTF forces continued to train, conduct joint exercises, and execute 

a variety of operations that included providing humanitarian assistance (as 

in Operation MORE CARE), escorting convoys, patrolling, and securing 

fixed sites. Meanwhile, planning efforts focused more and more on 
192 

two missions: noncombatant evacuation operations, in case the crisis in 

Somalia took a turn for the worse, and the redeployment of US forces.

To Montgomery, the projected troop withdrawal involved him in 

the most complex planning of his career. On 24 October, he formally 

“assigned Commander, JTF Somalia the specified task to ‘be prepared to 

redeploy U.S. forces,’” thus turning what Ernst originally had regarded 

as an implied task into a specified one. The withdrawal planning team 

worked directly for Montgomery, and while planning began soon after 

JTF Somalia was formed, it accelerated only in early December. Even 

then, the team’s efforts were complicated by the “political uncertainties 

surrounding the future of the UN in Somalia.” (Throughout November 

and into December, the UN in New York and the UN Force Command 

under Lieutenant General Bir grappled with the issue of what strategy 

the UN would adopt once the United States and some other nations had 

pulled their troops out of Somalia. That debate was still in progress when 

planning for the US withdrawal “accelerated” in December.)47 Based on 

Montgomery’s guidance to plan a tactical redeployment that would ensure 

continuous force protection, JTF Somalia planners drew up a series of 

options. In early December, the headquarters also sent representatives to 

a planning conference at Amphibious Ready Group Three headquarters in 

San Diego, California, to determine the approximate composition of the 

naval force that would be needed for the redeployment and to coordinate 

the relief in place between remaining Army ground forces and the Marine 

elements that would come ashore to cover their withdrawal.48 

As the planning progressed, Montgomery and Ernst again found 

themselves at loggerheads. In general terms, Montgomery wanted to keep 

a robust US force in Somalia through the last stages of the redeployment in 

late March. The last thing to leave, he said to emphasize his point, should 

be an Abrams tank with its gun tube pointing toward Mogadishu. Ernst 

understood the need to keep a “full combat capability” in Somalia up to 

the last day, but he voiced objections to moving US forces on the ground 

into a redeployment support area next to the airport and port facilities. The 

resulting congestion of troops, he maintained, would make them vulnerable 

to hostile fire. He also advocated pulling out more troops and the heavier 

units sooner than Montgomery desired. Montgomery overruled Ernst, and 

in December, as the Malaysian battalion in Somalia assumed the QRF role 

from US forces, the American withdrawal began along the lines directed 

by USFORSOM. Thus ended what Ernst later referred to as “the last 

major disagreement” between JTF Somalia and USFORSOM.49
193

There would not be much opportunity for another. On 17 January 

1994, Major General Ernst redeployed to the United States, and Major 

General Montgomery became the commander of JTF Somalia. With the 

American pullout in progress, USFORSOM was rolled into the JTF and, in 

Colonel Casper’s words, “General Montgomery traded in his blue beret.” 

At about this time, the Somali leaders vying with one another agreed to 

peace terms, although most observers doubted that the tentative settlement 

would provide the basis for reconciliation and a lasting peace.50

When he left Somalia in mid-January, Major General Ernst could 

look back on his tenure as commander of JTF Somalia with a sense 

of accomplishment. Beginning with his arrival in the country in midOctober, he had established a JTF headquarters from scratch, assembled 

and directed an energetic and highly productive staff, and employed a 

variety of unconventional and informal means to forge a truly joint force 

capable of training, rehearsing, and conducting highly complex and 

technically sophisticated operations in varying terrain, including the builtup area of a city. And when he departed, he left behind a situation in which 

major violence leveled at US and coalition forces had virtually ceased. 

Under his command, JTF Somalia had, in fact, provided force protection 

and security for US and other troops in Somalia, had supported the UN in 

a variety of operations, and had helped set the stage for an orderly, phased, 

and safe redeployment of American forces.

The phased redeployment continued through February and into 

March. On 4 March, a Marine ground combat unit came ashore to conduct 

a relief in place with the remaining Army task force. By the 25th, “all 

U.S. forces, including the JTF headquarters and amphibious forces, had 

withdrawn from Somalia in good order.”51 For Montgomery and his staff, 

leaving Somalia evoked a wide range of emotions as they reflected on 

their experience. Montgomery personally had been involved with the UN 

effort for over a year, from the frustrating attempts to arrange a seamless 

transition between UNITAF and UNOSOM II, through the dark days 

of the 5 June massacre of Pakistani troops and the subsequent hunt for 

Aideed that culminated with the fierce battle on 3-4 October in the streets 

of Mogadishu, to the withdrawal of US forces. As Deputy Commander, 

UN Forces Command, and Commander, US Forces Somalia, he had 

helped hold the UN effort together during adversity, despite the disparity 

between missions and resources. In the process, he had taken pride in the 

US staff officers who, from scratch, had been instrumental in organizing, 

training and leading the multinational headquarters, and with the US 
194 

soldiers, marines, airmen and sailors and their coalition partners who 

had engaged in a myriad of activities, including combat, to accomplish 

the mission. Now, as Commander, JTF Somalia, he was executing an 

operational-level withdrawal that he had been given the responsibility for 

planning. In this final phase of the American military’s involvement in 

Somalia, he later observed with satisfaction, US and UN soldiers suffered 

no additional casualties. 

Because of the US and UN intervention in Somalia, hundreds of 

thousands of Somalis had received the humanitarian assistance that 

enabled them to survive the combined ravages of drought, famine, and 

civil strife. What would happen to the country and its people in the 

coming weeks, months, and years, however, remained unclear. Progress 

in resolving the political crisis had been marginal, and what gains had 

been made were generally dismissed by commentators as transitory. In 

part for this reason, Montgomery regretted the Clinton administration’s 

decision not to stay the course. TF Ranger along with 10th Mountain 

Division and UN rescuers had taken heavy casualties during 3-4 October, 

but other US troops had also been killed in Somalia, together with many 

more soldiers from coalition units. Now the Americans were pulling out 

in what was, in Montgomery’s opinion, an embarrassing breach of faith 

with those coalition forces that remained behind, reduced to a “hunker 

down” posture during the UN’s remaining year in Somalia, and also with 

the Somali people in general, who now awaited an uncertain fate. Within 

a global context, he believed, the message this spectacle sent to America’s 

friends and foes alike was that the will power of the world’s strongest 

nation was vulnerable to adversity. Finally, in reflecting ten years’ later 

on the US involvement in Somalia, Montgomery voiced the conviction 

that the experience had provided the United States with “a rich, if painful, 

introduction to the realities of the new strategic environment after the Cold 

War that remain valid today.”

Ironically, within months of the redeployment, U.S. forces—many of 

whom had served in Somalia—would be intervening in Haiti to effect a 

change of regime. Soon after that, American troops would be deployed to 

Bosnia, part of a complex operation to maintain a shaky peace agreement 

in that volatile area. The experience in Somalia would influence each 

of these commitments, as government spokespersons, both civilian and 

military, went to great lengths to assure the American people that the 

deployments affected US national security, that force protection would be 

a principal concern, and that the forces sent would not engage in nation 

building. As for events in Somalia, the American public quickly lost 
195

interest in the political and military struggle or the welfare of the Somali 

people. When the UN ended operations in the country in 1995, the sparse 

news coverage of the event reached or mattered to few Americans.
196 

Notes

1. United States Forces, Somalia, After Action Report [hereafter, USFORSOM 

AAR] (Washington, DC: US Army Center of Military History, 2003), 108-9; Television 

documentary, “The True Story of Black Hawk Down” (A&E Television Networks: The 

History Channel, 2002); Oral history interview with Lieutenant General Thomas M. 

Montgomery, USA (Ret.), 17 February 2002, interviewed by Robert F. Baumann. The first 

document cited is an unclassified and nearly complete version of a SECRET after-action 

report written soon after the US military withdrawal from Somalia.

In the immediate aftermath of the 3-4 October firefight, the Force Command staff 

continued “to finalize plans that would initiate offensive action against USC/SNA targets 

in Villa Somalia, the Digfer Hospital/SNA Enclave (Digfer Triangle) and 21 October Road 

(stadium area).” While Force Command was confident that support still existed within the 

coalition for these operations, the USFORSOM AAR raises the point that the casualties 

incurred during the TF Ranger firefight and the consequent rescue mission did in fact call 

into question “the political will of the coalition to remain committed to the mission . . . .” 

USFORSOM AAR, 108-9.

2. Time, October 4, 1993, 40. The poll cited was taken in September 1993 by Time/CNN.

3. Montgomery interview, 17 February 2002.

4. Time, October 18, 1993, 40+; Letter, Boutros Boutros-Ghali to Warren Christopher, 

25 September 1993; David Halberstam, War in a Time of Peace: Bush, Clinton, and the 

Generals (New York: Scribner, 2001), 260, 263-64; Email message, Edward Ward to 

Thomas Montgomery, 3 November 2003; Lawrence E. Casper, Falcon Brigade: Combat 

and Command in Somalia and Haiti (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2001), 95-97. 

5. Halberstam, 264.

6. The White House, Office of the Press Secretary, Press Release, “Remarks by the 

President to the Nation,” 7 October 1993.

7. Senator Byrd unsuccessfully proposed a resolution that would have pushed the 

deadline forward to 1 February 1994; Senator John McCain, a Republican from Arizona, 

called for an immediate withdrawal, but to no avail. Time, 18 October 1993, 75; “The True 

Story of Black Hawk Down” television documentary. 

8. A more ignominious fate awaited Les Aspin, who, blamed for rejecting the 

requests for armor made by US commanders in Mogadishu prior to October, became the 

administration’s scapegoat for much of the debacle and ended up resigning as secretary of 

defense in January 1994. Ironically, according to one source, Aspin had been the one key 

official in the new administration that had from the outset expressed reservations about US 

policy in Somalia. Halberstam, 254, 260.

Another casualty of the administration’s change in policy was the State 

Department’s Robert Gosende, whom Clinton removed as the head of the US Liaison 

Office in Mogadishu. Gosende had strongly supported the hunt for Aideed and UNOSOM 

II’s policy of refusing to negotiate with the warlord.

9. USFORSOM AAR, 108-9, 111; Montgomery interview, 17 February 2002. In 

the account of the crisis Oakley coauthored, he noted that Howe and other UNOSOM 

II officials were “upset” with the US reversal of policy and by the fact that they were 

hearing about it firsthand from Oakley, not the UN secretary general. John L. Hirsch and 

Robert B. Oakley, Somalia and Operation Restore Hope: Reflections on Peacemaking 

and Peacekeeping (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press, 1995), 130; 

Telephone interview, Lieutenant General Thomas M. Montgomery, USA (Ret.), 11 July 

2003, interviewed by Lawrence A. Yates.
197

10. Montgomery interview, 17 February 2002; Montgomery telephone interview, 11 

July 2003. 

11. Interview with Robert Oakley and Interview with Anthony Zinni, Frontline website 

for program, “Ambush in Mogadishu, ” http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/

ambush/interviews/; Hirsch and Oakley, 58; Interview with Robert Oakley on videotape, 

Somalia: Good Intentions, Deadly Results, Knight Ridder Co., 1997.

12. Interview with Thomas Montgomery, Frontline website for program, “Ambush in 

Mogadishu”; Montgomery telephone interview, 11 July 2003.

13. Hirsch and Oakley, 130-31. Oakley and Zinni did not meet immediately with either 

Aideed or Ali Mahdi, but rather with their representatives.

According to Hirsch and Oakley, Representative John Murtha, a Democrat from 

Pennsylvania, while visiting Mogadishu on 14 October, “explained forcefully to Howe, 

other UNOSOM leaders, and the US military commanders the importance of supporting 

the new policy direction.” Ibid., 131 note 37.

14. Ibid., 133-34, 133 note 41; USFORSOM AAR, 115.

15. The military ramifications for UNOSOM II forces of the shift in US policy are 

discussed in USFORSOM AAR, 108-14. See also, Casper, 127.

16. USFORSOM AAR, Chapter 4, Strategic Reset; Casper, 93, 99-102. In a telephone 

interview with the author, Montgomery related that Oakley asked that the AC-130 

demonstrations be stopped; they were making the SNA nervous. Montgomery indicated 

that this was his intent but acceded to Oakley’s request. Montgomery telephone interview, 

11 July 2003.

17. Casper, 100, 102-3; U.S. Army Center for Army Lessons Learned (CALL), U.S. 

Army Operations in Support of UNOSOM II: 4 May 93–31 March 94 (Fort. Leavenworth, 

KS: CALL, no date), I-3-2-3.

18. As several observers have noted, US troops in Somalia had always been “firmly” 

under US control: under Lieutenant General Johnston during UNITAF, and under Major 

General Montgomery during UNOSOM II.

19. The following account of Ernst’s discussion with General Hoar (CINCCENT), 

Major General Meade, Lieutenant General Ellis, and General Sullivan is based on two 

interviews the author conducted with Major General Ernst on 13 April and 20 May 1994 

at Fort Leavenworth, KS, and two telephone interviews with Major General Ernst, USA, 

(Ret.), on 13 February and 20 February 2003. In the interview on 20 May 1994, the one in 

which Ernst went into the most detail concerning his predeployment activities, the general 

read from notes he had taken during the course of visits to CENTCOM, Fort Drum, and 

the Pentagon.

On CINCCENT’s decision to set up JTF Somalia, it might be noted that joint doctrine 

at the time stated that a JTF could be established for “an operation that has limited 

objectives; does not require centralized control of logistics; and is to be executed by two 

or more services.” These criteria were largely met by the situation that required attention 

in Somalia.

20. The next day, a front-page story in the New York Times informed readers that US 

commanders in Somalia would use armor and infantry to “evict” the armed Somali militia 

surrounding coalition bases and located along main roads in downtown Mogadishu. New 

York Times, October 10, 1993, 1.

21. In addition to the interviews cited in note 19, Ernst’s views on the need for a 

combined arms and mobile reserve are contained in comments he made on an Information 

Paper, 17 October 2001, Subject: Select Lessons from US Operations in Somalia, 1992-

1994, Combat Studies Institute, Fort Leavenworth, KS. 
198 

22. For additional considerations concerning the need for an ARFOR, see CALL, 

U.S. Army Operations in Support of UNOSOM II, I-2-5. Ernst’s elaboration on ARFOR 

arrangements is contained in his 13 February 2003 telephone interview with the author.

23. CALL, U.S. Army Operations in Support of UNOSOM II, I-2-6-7.

24. Carl F. Ernst, “The Urban Area During Support Missions Case Study: Mogadishu—

The Operational Level,” in Russell W. Glenn, ed., Capital Preservation: Preparing for 

Urban Operations in the Twenty-First Century (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2001), 367; 

Ernst interview, 13 April 1994; Ernst telephone interview, 13 February 2003.

25. Ernst telephone interview, 13 February 2003; Email, Lieutenant General Thomas 

Montgomery, USA (Ret.), to Lawrence A. Yates, 3 November 2003.

26. Ernst interview, 13 April 1994; Ernst, “Mogadishu,” 362. The JSOTF under JTF 

Somalia did not include the SOF elements of Task Force Ranger, which redeployed to the 

United States on 17 October.

27. Ernst interview, 13 April 1994.

28. Ernst telephone interview, 13 February 2003; USFORSOM AAR, 110.

29. In contrast to keeping NGOs, other humanitarian organizations, and the Somalian 

factions at arm’s length, JTF Somalia, when it proved advantageous, did work with the 

subclans and elders. During the construction of Victory Base, for example, Ernst’s civil 

affairs and PYSOP people explained what was going on to the locals and hired many of 

them to help with the project. Ernst interview, 13 April 1994.

30. Montgomery telephone interview, 11 July 2003; USFORSOM AAR, 140-41; Ernst 

interviews, 13 April and 20 May 1994; Ernst telephone interviews, 13 February and 20 

February 2003.

Ten years later, Edward Ward, who had been the U3 on Bir’s staff, made the following 

observation about the arrival of the JTF and its more robust staff. “I spent countless hours 

with counterparts on the US staff of Ernst’s JTF. No one welcomed them more than the 

UN staff and specifically the US members of that staff. Below his level we worked through 

countless challenges on a daily basis. We welcomed the contingency planning.” Email 

message, Ward to Montgomery, 3 November 2003.

31. On the friction between Montgomery and Ernst, see the interviews cited in 

the previous note, as well as Montgomery email to Yates, 3 November 2003; Ernst, 

“Mogadishu,” 405; Email message, Ward to Montgomery, 3 November 2003.

32. USFORSOM AAR, 122, 242; CALL, U.S. Army Operations in Support of UNOSOM 

II, I-2-1, I-2-3. For additional observations on command and control problems between 

USFORSOM and JTF Somalia, see Kenneth Allard, Somalia Operations: Lessons Learned

(Fort. McNair, Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1995), 54-61; Ernst 

interviews, 13 April and 20 May 1994; Ernst telephone interviews, 13 February and 20 

February 2003; Montgomery telephone interview, 11 July 2003.

33. USFORSOM AAR, 140; Ernst, “Mogadishu,” 360. On 24 October, JTF Somalia 

issued a message also containing its mission statement: “Joint Task Force Somalia provides 

force protection for U.S. Forces in Somalia and facilitates continued U.S. support of UN 

operations. As required, conduct operations to secure lines of communication to ensure 

the continued flow of supplies. Be prepared to redeploy U.S. forces.” USFORSOM AAR, 

141.

34. Ernst interviews, 13 April and 20 May 1994; Casper, Chapter 11.

35. Ernst telephone interview, 20 February 2003; Ernst, “Mogadishu,” 371; 

USFORSOM AAR, 142-43.

36. Ernst telephone interview, 20 February 2003; Ernst, “Mogadishu,” 365, 384.

37. Ernst, “Mogadishu,” 384.
199

38. Ibid., 385; Ernst telephone interview, 20 February 2003; Montgomery telephone 

interview, 11 July 2003. 

39. Ernst telephone interviews, 13 February and 20 February 2003.

40. Ernst telephone interview, 13 February; Ernst interview, 20 May 1994.

41. Ernst telephone interview, 13 February 2003; Ernst interview, 20 May 1994; Ernst, 

“Mogadishu,” 359, 361, 369-70. 

42. Ernst, “Mogadishu,” 361, 381-82. That the training and rehearsals conducted by 

JTF Somalia could be valuable for a variety of contingencies was brought out in an example 

that Ernst often cited. “I mentioned to you that we chopped the SEALs to the Joint Special 

Operations Task Force and they did a marvelous job. The first day the SEALs went to 

downtown Mogadishu they got into a firefight. They did what they were supposed to do; 

the snipers dropped some guys and a SNA swarm started. But we just happened to be on 

the USS New Orleans in a commander’s huddle . . . . I was asked, ‘What are we going 

to do?’ ‘Execute the CONPLAN,’ I replied, and it happened. The joint operations center 

(JOC) announced REDCON One, the radios lit up, and everybody responded. The petty 

officer on the roof of the building with the sniper could trigger employment of the assets 

dedicated to the CONPLAN. He had two AC-130s, four Hellfire-equipped Cobras, and 

OH-58 Deltas backing him up. They could’ve put a Copperhead ring around the building 

if they’d needed to as well as calling on everything else the JTF owned. At that point the 

armored task force would have been put on REDCON One, standing by for commitment. 

Everything was on a 15-minute string. A deck alert pair of aircraft immediately appeared 

overhead with 500-pound laser-guided bombs. We had prepared CONPLANs for events 

that could happen, those that had happened, and had trained down to the point that 

execution was like a drill for all of them, including what actions might the JOC officer be 

able to order without any general involvement.” Ibid., 382-83.

43. Ernst interview, 20 May 1994; Casper, 116; Montgomery telephone interview, 

11 July 2003; Telephone interviews, Lieutenant General Thomas M. Montgomery, USA 

(Ret.), 29 October and 3 November 2003, interviewed by Lawrence A. Yates; USFORSOM 

AAR, 140.

44. For further details of JTF Somalia’s plan to reopen 21 October Road, see Casper, 

117-19; Ernst, “Mogadishu,” 386-87; Ernst interview, 20 May 1994; Ernst telephone 

interview, 20 February 2003. The JTF commander’s intent, according to the USFORSOM 

after-action report, included the following: “(1) Use standoff and precision fires before 

maneuvering, if engaged; (2) Integrate combined arms; (3) Generate and demonstrate 

overwhelming combat power, but use it only if necessary; (4) Seize and maintain the 

imitative; (5) Destroy key buildings, if engaged from them, but clear them only if 

necessary; and (6) Secure key terrain, including key buildings.” USFORSOM AAR, 143.

45. Montgomery’s response to the 21 October Road plan can be found in Montgomery 

telephone interviews, 11 July and 29 October 2003; Casper, 119; USFORSOM AAR, 143-

44.

46. Ernst interview, 20 May 1994.

47. For an overview of the debate over future UN strategy in Somalia, see USFORSOM 

AAR, 112-16.

48. Montgomery telephone interview, 11 July 2003; USFORSOM AAR, 145.

49. Montgomery telephone interview, 11 July 2003; USFORSOM AAR, 145-46; Ernst 

telephone interview, 20 February 2003.

50. Casper, 123, 131.

51. USFORSOM AAR, 146.
200 
201

Conclusion

Lawrence A. Yates and Robert F. Baumann

“Somalia: Fights Break Out at Peace Talks.”1 This front-page headline 

ran in the New York Times 10 years after the US-led coalition under 

Operation RESTORE HOPE set up its headquarters in Somalia, and 

almost nine years after the United States withdrew its military support 

for the UN’s ambitious effort at nation building in that country. The 

headline, an evocation of the turmoil plaguing Somalia since the mid1990s, suggests that the American military presence there from December 

1992 through March 1994 had little positive effect in transforming what 

the fashionable jargon of the day labeled a “failed state” into a peaceful, 

stable, and functioning nation.

Certainly, most Americans recalling their nation’s involvement in 

Somalia regard the mission as a failure. For many, this judgment requires 

no further evidence than that produced by one traumatic event: the firefight 

on 3-4 October 1993 in which Somali militiamen killed 18 US soldiers and 

wounded over 70 others. Black Hawk Down, the name of a best-selling 

book and motion picture based on the firefight, has become a popularized 

term whose significance goes well beyond the event to which it refers.2 It 

has, in a brief time, become a catchword for all those things that critics 

of the American intervention in Somalia claim were misguided or wrong 

with the venture: vague political guidance and the lack of an attainable 

“end state,” “mission creep,” political considerations overriding military 

necessity, a multilateral collaboration that conceded to the United Nations 

too much influence over American armed forces, and the subordination 

of genuine national security interests to idealistic humanitarian impulses. 

Of the numerous prescriptions derived from the experience, the most 

frequently voiced are couched in normative generalizations to the effect 

that American troops should not be put in harm’s way unless vital national 

interests are at stake; the US military should not engage in nation building; 

American forces should not answer to non-American authority, whether 

national or supranational, military or civilian; and once committed to an 

operation, US troops should have the wherewithal to protect themselves, to 

prevail over hostile parties, and to accomplish their mission. 

Stated in these terms, several of the so-called lessons of Somalia 

sound very much like those derived from another US military setback, 

Vietnam. The “Vietnam syndrome,” part of which was manifested as an 

aversion to sending US troops into life-threatening combat operations 
202 

for fear that America lacked the political and popular will to stay the 

course, was pronounced dead after quick and decisive military action 

in Operation JUST CAUSE in Panama (1989) and the first Gulf War 

(1991). Somalia, however, demonstrated that the syndrome was only 

moribund. After the battle of 3-4 October, emotions aroused by the loss of 

American soldiers in Mogadishu meshed with memories of the “lessons” 

of Vietnam as encapsulated in the restrictive Weinberger/Powell doctrine 

of the 1980s to produce what diplomat Richard Holbrooke dubbed the 

“Vietmalia syndrome.” In retrospect, this new synthesis had a significant 

but selective impact. It complicated high-level national security debates 

in Washington, but it did not prevent President Bill Clinton from sending 

American forces into Haiti less than a year after they had left Somalia; 

nor did it deter him from committing US troops to Bosnia as a condition 

of a tenuous peace accord designed to replace genocide with stability in 

that volatile part of the Balkans. In both cases, as US troops deployed, the 

syndrome asserted itself in Pentagon statements that seemed to emphasize 

force protection—someone coined the term “zero casualties”—as much as 

mission accomplishment. Similarly, in both deployments, utterances from 

high-ranking civilians and military officers sought to reassure the American 

people that US troops would not fall victim to mission creep, would be 

under US command, and would steer well clear of nation building. Some 

of those pledges, however, proved difficult to honor once American forces 

on the ground confronted the complexities of their mission and the shifting 

demands of the highly fluid and dynamic situation confronting them.

In January 2001, George W. Bush succeeded Clinton in the White 

House. When, following the terrorist attacks in the United States on 11 

September 2001, the president committed US forces to combat in Afghanistan, he heard few dissenting voices among the American public, even 

though many of the troops in Operation ENDURING FREEDOM would 

operate as part of a coalition over which Washington exerted only limited 

control and even though many would discover that some degree of nation 

building was inherent in the tasks they were being directed to perform. 

Although the Vietmalia syndrome did not prevent President Clinton 

or President George W. Bush from ordering US armed forces into 

ambiguous, complex, unorthodox, and highly dangerous situations, the 

perceived lessons from Somalia associated with the syndrome have not 

lost all currency within government circles and with the American public. 

Unfortunately, some of these lessons have been proclaimed with little 

regard for the context from which they were extracted. In coming to 

view Black Hawk Down as a metaphor for the overall experience of the 
203

US military in Somalia, many Americans have unwittingly distorted what 

actually occurred between December 1992 and March 1994. 

This book has sought to provide a lens through which some of the 

distortion can be corrected. To begin with, the chapter titles themselves 

serve as a reminder that American military involvement in Somalia 

encompassed four distinct and sometimes lengthy phases: Operation 

PROVIDE RELIEF, the humanitarian airlift out of Kenya that began 

in mid-1992; Operation RESTORE HOPE, the U.S.-led multinational 

coalition from December 1992 to May 1993 that, under UNITAF, secured 

the humanitarian relief effort seeking to feed and assist starving Somalis; 

the UN’s nation-building program under UNOSOM II that followed the 

departure of UNITAF and included the establishment of USFORSOM; 

and the activities of JTF Somalia during the buildup and withdrawal of 

US forces from October 1993 through March 1994. This last phase, while 

occurring during UNOSOM II, is listed separately because of America’s 

virtual repudiation of the UN’s strategy in Somalia as a result of the 3-4 

October 1993 battle.

Each phase of the US military involvement in Somalia, while 

possessing its own distinct mission, its own agenda, its own armed forces, 

and its own coterie of officials and officers, was inextricably linked to 

the other phases by logic, decisions, and events. These links can be 

summarized by way of a brief chronology that begins in late 1992, when 

most observers had concluded that UNOSOM and the US airlift of relief 

supplies out of Kenya into Somalia could at best alleviate a very small 

portion of the Somali people’s suffering. Only the presence of a large, 

well-armed force could compel Somalia’s warlords in the southern famine 

belt to stop using food and other humanitarian aid as a weapon in the 

factional struggle for political supremacy. Understanding this, President 

Bush placed the United States at the head of an international military 

coalition that began entering Somalia in December 1992 with the primary 

mission of providing the security necessary for humanitarian relief to reach 

the starving population. But the president also realized that this short-term 

approach could not resolve the fundamental issues that had caused the 

crisis in the first place. If images of starving children were not to reappear 

on American television sets soon after the departure of coalition forces, the 

United States would have to make some commitment to a long-term policy 

to stabilize Somalia. Bush rejected UN appeals to include countrywide 

disarmament and nation building in UNITAF’s mandate, but he agreed to 

provide logistic support and a QRF to a UN-led effort to implement those 

programs as a follow-on to Operation RESTORE HOPE. 
204 

In the meantime, on the ground in Somalia, the UNITAF commander, 

Lieutenant General Robert Johnston, USMC, and key members of his staff 

worked closely with special envoy Robert Oakley and other diplomats in 

initiating several programs designed to accomplish UNITAF’s mission 

and to “lay the groundwork” for the UN effort that would follow. Such 

programs included road building and repairs, other civic action measures, 

and the revival of a Somali police force. The command also worked with 

Oakley in establishing a “dialogue” with the key faction leaders, including 

Aideed, even while taking action in the countryside to “empower” 

traditional leaders, often at the expense of Aideed’s supporters in the 

affected localities. On 4 May 1993, in something well short of a seamless 

transition, UNOSOM II succeeded UNITAF. President Clinton, who had 

followed Bush into the White House, hailed the success of Operation 

RESTORE HOPE and praised the troops involved for all but ending the 

famine and related suffering in southern Somalia. 

Whether a showdown between UNOSOM II and Aideed could have 

been avoided is problematic, but given the far-reaching mission of UN 

officials, their strategy of marginalizing the warlords, the insufficient 

number of troops and other resources they had to accomplish their goals, 

and the long-standing animosity and distrust that Aideed felt toward the UN 

and its secretary general, the groundwork for confrontation was certainly 

in place. With the massacre of the Pakistani troops just one month after 

UNOSOM II replaced UNITAF, it was only logical for the UN to strike 

back at the hostile forces who had killed coalition soldiers, openly defied 

the peacekeeping/nation-building program, and continued to threaten what 

chances it had of success. The US QRF took part in the hunt for Aideed 

and the fighting it entailed, but fissures among the UN military contingents 

diluted concerted and effective coalition action against the warlord. At 

the insistence of retired US Admiral Jonathan Howe, the UN’s top official 

on the scene, President Clinton dispatched TF Ranger to help hunt down 

Aideed and his principal lieutenants. That elite unit, after conducting 

several operations, found itself in the fierce street fight of 3-4 October. 

When the number of US casualties in that battle became public, domestic 

politics in the United States forced a change in the Clinton administration’s 

policy and led to the withdrawal of all American forces in Somalia by the 

end of March 1994.

The preceding chapters, in elaborating this overview, have in part 

sought to reevaluate several points that still pass for conventional wisdom 

regarding the US intervention in Somalia. At no time, for example, in 

any phase of the undertaking, were American troops under the operational 
205

control of anyone but US commanders: Lieutenant General Johnston during 

UNITAF, and Major General Thomas Montgomery and Major General Carl 

Ernst during UNOSOM II. Furthermore, the US commitment to nation 

building in Somalia was made at the outset by the Bush administration; it 

was not “mission creep” resulting from UN pressure on a new American 

president inexperienced in foreign affairs. President Bush definitely 

sought to limit the US military’s involvement in nation building but did 

not seek to shun it altogether—the latter being a course that would have 

risked undoing all that he hoped to accomplish under UNITAF. In other 

words, at no point was the termination of UNITAF meant to signal an end 

to the US military presence in Somalia. Indeed, without UNOSOM II, it 

made no sense to set up UNITAF, and without some US military (including 

combat) support, however limited, UNOSOM II stood very little chance 

of success.

In a similar vein, it is clear that many other activities judged to be 

examples of mission creep in Somalia were, in fact, the result of logical, 

well-considered decisions based upon a desire to accomplish—not 

expand—a given mission in the midst of a complex and dynamic 

situation. Lieutenant General Johnston’s decisions to join the political 

dialogue with Aideed and Ali Mahdi, to allow the coalition to engage 

in civic action projects, to stand up the ASF, and to empower traditional 

local and regional leaders in southern Somalia were clearly designed to 

facilitate what he had been sent there to do. Likewise, it should also be 

clear that UNOSOM II’s attempts to capture and punish Aideed stemmed 

not just from some emotional desire for revenge but, more important, 

from a logical conclusion that to leave the faction leader at large would 

almost certainly result in further UN casualties, the continuous disruption 

of UNOSOM II activities, and the ultimate failure of the peacekeeping/

nation-building mission.

 Just as an examination of the US intervention in Somalia in its entirety 

can provide a corrective to certain misperceptions surrounding the affair, it 

can also remind readers of the valid military “lessons” that emerged from 

the experience. Many of these lessons receive coverage throughout this 

study. Many can also be found, often accompanied by detailed discussion, 

in such excellent publications as the two-volume study on Somalia by the 

US Army Center for Army Lessons Learned, Kenneth Allard’s book on 

the subject, the US Forces Somalia After-Action Report (often referred 

to as the Montgomery Report), the book-length account, Somalia and 

Operation Restore Hope, written by Ambassador Robert Oakley and John 

L. Hirsch, and a series of presentations on urban operations published by 
206 

the RAND Corporation. In listing and examining the military lessons of 

Somalia, each of these studies takes its own approach—functional, level of 

operation, technical, and so forth—while offering valuable insights. 

The lessons of Somalia discussed in this book, in the works referred 

to above, and in other studies cited in the endnotes of this volume are far 

too numerous to be summarized in this brief concluding chapter. Instead, 

only six very general points will be touched upon. Presented in no order 

of priority, the first suggests that there needs to be a new approach to 

the phenomenon of mission creep, a term that came into being around 

the time—and perhaps as a result—of the US intervention in Somalia. 

Although the term lacks a precise, or even workable, definition, embedded 

within it is the pejorative notion of military forces engaging in activities 

that they had not planned to do and that they should not have been doing. 

Often, the phenomenon is blamed on poor military planning or poor 

political guidance, and to be sure, there was some of each in the Somalia 

experience. But even allowing for that, what passed for mission creep—

the civic action projects, activities to empower the local leaders, standing 

up the ASF, committing some US forces to a nation-building mission, and 

joining the hunt for Aideed—was rarely the consequence of negligence, 

ignorance, stupidity, bad judgment, or hubris but more often the result of 

deliberate calculation arising from a need for policy makers and military 

commanders to adjust to a continuously changing environment over which 

the United States exercised degrees of influence but never complete 

control. This observation, if correct, calls into question the US military’s 

approach to mission creep, namely that it is something that can and should 

be eliminated through thorough planning and focused judgment. A more 

productive approach would be to accept the inevitable gaps in information, 

the time constraints often imposed on military planning, the fallibility of 

human beings, and the complexity and dynamism of world affairs and, in 

the process, to recognize that almost any lengthy military operation will 

necessitate adjustments not anticipated in the predeployment phase by the 

best of policy makers, military commanders, and staff officers. In short, 

one should not think that “mission creep” is a phenomenon that can be 

banished from military operations. It would be more realistic either to 

anticipate the phenomenon or to do away with the term and the unrealistic 

expectations and distorted analyses it tends to generate.

The second point concerns a lesson that, unlike mission creep, is rarely 

mentioned in studies of the US experience in Somalia. In the absence 

of all-out combat and in the presence of a variety of “actors,” both from 

within and outside the country, US officers at the operational and tactical 
207

levels often found themselves involved in activities that were as much or 

more political in nature than military. In an official interview he granted, 

Lieutenant General Johnston repeatedly referred to the political dimension 

of his day-to-day routine, as he took part in the dialogue with Aideed and 

Ali Mahdi, adjudicated differences and assuaged the sensibilities of foreign 

forces under his control, and dealt with the stream of political guidance 

emanating from Washington. Brigadier General Anthony Zinni, USMC, 

and Major General Montgomery all echoed Johnston when discussing the 

political nature of their respective assignments. So, too, did numerous 

company and field grade officers in Somalia’s cities and countryside who 

found themselves negotiating with clan elders, keeping the news media 

occupied, and performing a variety of other “political” activities that they 

had not anticipated and for which, in many cases, they were not trained or 

prepared. As most officers came to realize, however, their involvement in 

the politics of intervention was in most cases unavoidable, not to mention 

essential to the accomplishment of their mission.

This political-military dimension of the Somalia intervention, when 

examined at the operational and tactical levels, can be loosely categorized 

as follows. There was, to begin with, the political guidance Johnston, 

Zinni, Bir, Montgomery, and others received from external sources such as 

the White House, Pentagon, and UN, and with which they had to contend. 

Often, in their opinions, the guidance betrayed an ignorance of the local 

situation, imposed unnecessary restrictions on officers on the scene, and 

amounted to unwanted interference and unwarranted micromanagement. 

Second, these commanders and their staffs had to deal with the politics 

of coalition operations, making sure that each participant was gainfully 

employed in a way that would not insult national honor, smoothing over 

national rivalries inherent among coalition partners, and dealing with the 

different agendas various contingents brought with them. A third type of 

political activity involved meeting and talking with Somalia’s various and 

contending leaders and groups, with negotiations spanning the gamut from 

such critical issues as weapons control to such lesser concerns as seeking 

permission to repair a roof on some village edifice. To be effective in 

these negotiations, it was essential to know the players, their previous 

history together and their current interactions, their agenda, the political 

and social framework in which they operated, and how they might attempt 

to take advantage of outsiders possessing only a smattering of knowledge 

of Somalia and the crisis it faced. A fourth form of political activity 

encompassed issues internal to the US military itself: being sensitive 

to service sensibilities in a joint environment, ensuring cooperation and 
208 

coordination among the participating headquarters and components, 

deciding the best courses of action to adopt, getting the resources essential 

to mission fulfillment, and, in the case of Montgomery and Ernst, trying to 

aqccomplish something productive in the face of awkward command and 

control arrangements. 

A third point that is sometimes overlooked in the lists of lessons 

learned generated by the US involvement in Somalia has to do with how 

one regards hostile or potentially hostile forces. When hostilities occurred, as during the hunt for Aideed from June to October 1993, US commanders had to remind themselves that, even if by their standards Somalia 

was a backward and impoverished country, their adversary was shrewd, 

experienced, and could adjust and perhaps even sneak inside their decision cycle. Arguably, by 3-4 October, Aideed’s forces had found the way 

to seize the initiative—down a US aircraft and inflict significant American 

casualties. But, even before and after that firefight, Aideed had shown 

himself capable of adapting to the military situation that confronted him. 

Under UNITAF, he stood no chance of prevailing militarily over the coalition forces arrayed against him, so he did not engage in major hostilities. 

He knew that when UNITAF left and the UN took over, the force he would 

face would be less formidable, and it was that force that he attacked. Following Black Hawk Down, he revised his assessment again: knowing that 

he could not hope to defeat the US forces under JTF Somalia, he simply 

opted to wait them out until they withdrew on or before a date that the US 

president had publicly announced. In short, Aideed, despite his mistakes 

and miscalculations, proved a credible military adversary, and each successive US commander on the ground had to learn not to underestimate 

him.

A fourth point concerns the “battlefield” in Somalia. Almost all US 

commanders, regardless of level, had to adjust to the fact that, whether in 

city, village, or town, their area of operations was full of civilians, many of 

whom welcomed and benefited from the international intervention, others 

who did not. The civilian presence itself did not come as a surprise to most 

American officers; what did was the variety of ways in which civilians 

could affect the operations at hand. Somalis might readily assist the coalition, as when they were hired to help with UNITAF or UN construction 

projects. Or they might become sources of information, helping coalition 

intelligence officers—when the information was accurate—build up the 

databases necessary for determining what was transpiring in the country. 

Or Somali assistance might come after no small amount of haggling, as 

when a local leader would promise to facilitate humanitarian relief opera-
209

tions in his village only after he had secured a coalition pledge to undertake some kind of civic action project. In other circumstances, groups of 

Somalis, driven by poverty, might mob foreign soldiers, making off with 

anything of value. The children were especially adept at this, which often 

caused troops not trained in crowd control to overreact, on occasion with 

negative, even tragic, results. There were also Somalis who could be openly hostile, taking part, when called upon, in anti-coalition demonstrations 

and riots, or in extreme cases, in open attacks on coalition forces. During 

the battle of 3-4 October, for example, Aideed’s militiamen used what was 

for them a traditional tactic of employing women and children to shield 

gunmen and to identify the position of US troops. Killing these women 

and children did not come easily to American soldiers, but in the effort to 

stay alive, kill them they did, and at close range.

Whether negotiating with Somali leaders or interacting daily with the 

population in cities, towns, villages, and the countryside, most US and 

coalition troops from general officers down to enlisted personnel experienced some degree of culture shock. Thus, the fifth point to be made here 

concerns the need for cultural awareness on the part of forces entering 

a foreign country. Zinni, for example, admitted that he needed to know 

more of Somalia’s culture to be effective in his talks with Aideed, Ali 

Mahdi, and other native leaders. Meanwhile, coalition troops throughout 

the southern area of operations might have benefited from just a basic cultural orientation prior to their arrival, thus enabling them at the outset to 

use their newfound knowledge to facilitate their dealings with the native 

population and, in the process, to avoid the unintended offenses that could 

alienate the very people they were there to help. The problem, as several 

participants and observers noted, was that few commanders, staff officers, 

or troops entering the country were comfortable or conversant with the 

cultural dimension of military operations. Thus, what these officers and 

enlisted personnel learned about Somali culture stemmed largely from 

their experience on the ground. Even then, many troops, acting from a 

sense of ethnocentrism, impatience, and indifference, elected to ignore 

the lessons. It was as if it were up to the Somalis to accommodate their 

beliefs and values to the foreign presence, not for the foreigners to become 

acquainted with Somali culture. In the extreme, the cultural barrier would 

be handled, not by bridging it, but by avoiding it. One of the rationales 

underpinning UNITAF’s decision to rebuild a Somali police force was to 

use it as a buffer to insulate coalition troops from the people.

A sixth and final point has to do with the derivation and application of 

military “lessons” themselves. Too often, hard and fast lessons are drawn 
210 

from an experience and then solidified as slogans, sets of criteria (as in 

the informal guidelines of the Weinberger/Powell “doctrine”), or even as 

formal military doctrine. To state categorically after the withdrawal from 

Somalia that US forces should not fight under foreign command, should 

not engage in nation building, and should avoid mission creep was to 

risk being unprepared for crises and threats that might not accommodate 

themselves to US military preferences. In a parallel example, much was 

said after the American withdrawal from Vietnam about US forces never 

again becoming embroiled in unconventional warfare. Both Afghanistan 

and Iraq have put that proscription to the test. Too often the military 

lessons that inform doctrine, officer education, training, force structure, 

and decision making are “one deep”: they stem from the most recent 

military operation of significance, not from a study of a series of cases 

from the recent and distant past. 

In this context, then, the US involvement in Somalia from 1992-1994 

should be regarded as a unique experience that, even today, contains 

valuable lessons for the military professional, but lessons that cannot and 

should not be learned in isolation from those generated by the vast array of 

other military operations that claim space in our newspapers, after-action 

reports, and historical studies. In conclusion, one should be aware of what 

happened during the US intervention in Somalia, extract and periodically 

reevaluate the relevant lessons from that experience, compare those 

lessons with others derived from the broader military experience of the 

United States and other countries, and, finally, assert great care in applying 

what was learned in Somalia to current and future operations.
211

Notes

1. 29 January 2003.

2. Mark Bowden, Black Hawk Down: A Story of Modern War (New York: Atlantic 

Monthly Press, 1999). The motion picture was released in 2001.
212 
213

Index

Abdi House, 116-119, 171

Aideed, Mohamed Farah, 16-17, 37, 39-42, 46, 48, 51-52, 62-66, 68, 

71-74, 80-83, 88, 91, 103-110, 112-117, 119, 121-122, 126, 131-133, 

139-144, 149-150, 158, 165-171, 181-183, 185-187, 190-191, 193, 

196, 204-206, 208-209

Ali Mahdi Mohamed, 37, 39, 40-42, 44, 46, 48, 51, 62-65, 68, 71-74, 91, 

172, 181, 187, 203, 207, 209

Amphibious Ready Group Three, 192

Arnold, Steve (Major General), 32-33, 43, 48, 63-64, 66, 76, 80, 82

Aspen, Les (Secretary of Defense), 1, 109, 116, 139, 155, 166

Atto, Osman, 103, 141, 171

Authorized Weapons Storage Sites (AWSS), 64-67, 107-108, 170

Auxiliary Security Force (ASF), 72-75, 205-206

Barre, Siad Mohammed (Major General), 13-18, 52, 74, 80-81, 83, 104, 

191

Bedard, Buck (Colonel), 177

Bir, Cevik (Lieutenant General), 86-87, 101-103, 105, 110-111, 115-116, 

156, 165, 168-172, 182, 191-192, 207

Boutros-Ghali, Boutros (UN Secretary General), 24-25, 35, 80, 85-88, 

104, 166, 171

Buckley, John (First Sergeant), 111, 117, 125

Bush, George (President), 19, 23-25, 35-37, 46, 55, 71, 85-87, 167, 202-

205

Bush, George W. (President), 202

Byrd, Robert (Senator), 166

Casper, Lawrence (Colonel), 143, 148, 150, 173-174, 189, 193

CENTCOM (US Central Command), 25-26, 28-30, 32-36, 46, 70, 76, 

87-88, 94, 104-105, 111, 139-141, 157, 167, 174, 176-178, 181, 184-

186.189

CENTCOM Intelligence Support Element (CISE), 104, 181

Chapter VII (UN Charter), 25, 34, 100, 172

Cheney, Richard (Secretary of Defense), 24, 36

Christopher, Warren (Secretary of State), 166-167

Civil-Military Operations Center (CMOC), 53-54, 76-77, 79, 92

Clarke, Walter (U.S. Deputy Chief of Mission), 106

Claus, Mike (Staff Sergeant), 133

Clinton, Bill (President), 1-4, 9, 36, 85-87, 89, 103, 113, 165-169, 171-

172, 174, 176, 181, 191, 194, 202, 204
214 

Combined Joint Task Force (CJTF) Somalia, 38, 40

Dallas, Mike (Colonel), 129, 143

David, Bill (Lieutenant Colonel), 126, 129-130, 148, 150-152, 155, 177

Durant, Michael (Warrant Officer), 148, 150, 154, 158

Eagleburger, Lawrence (Secretary of State), 24

XVIII Airborne Corps, 33, 178

82nd Airborne Division, 174

Ellis, Larry (Lieutenant General), 178

ENDURING FREEDOM (Operation), 202

Ernst, Carl (Major General), 157, 174-193, 205, 208

Evans, John (Captain), 110

Eyes over Mogadishu (Operation), 114, 130, 143

Farah, Mohamed Hassan, 119

Farlow, David (Captain), 114, 121-122

Ferry, Chuck (Lieutenant), 152-153

15th Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU), 38, 43, 67

1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry Regiment, 112, 118, 124

1st Battalion, 87th Infantry Regiment, 117

1st Battalion, 5th Special Forces, 131

1st Marine Division, 30, 32, 93

I Marine Expeditionary Force (I MEF), 28-30, 33, 93

504th Military Police (MP) Company, 114

Force protection, 2-4, 46-48, 64, 69, 131, 174-175, 181-183, 192-194, 

202

46th Forward Support Battalion (FSB), 122, 125

43rd Combat Engineer Battalion (Heavy), 173

Galcayo Peace Conference, 107

Garrison, William (Major General), 140, 142-143, 148-150, 155-157, 165, 

180-181

Gile, Greg (Brigadier General), 148, 151

Gordon, Gary (Master Sergeant), 154

Gorski, Frank (Major), 104

Habr Gidr, 17, 37, 75, 117, 141, 145, 154, 169

Hirsch, John (UNITAF political adviser), 54, 83, 85, 90, 205

Hoar, Joseph (General), 26, 28, 34-36, 103, 105, 139, 167, 174, 176, 183-

185, 190-191
215

Holbrooke, Richard, 2, 202

Horan, Mike (Staff Sergeant), 133, 144

Howe, Jonathan T. (Admiral), 4, 86-88, 99, 103-106, 122, 131, 139, 165, 

168-170, 172, 174, 204

Humanitarian Operations Center (HOC), 54, 76-77, 92

HUMINT (Human Intelligence), 34, 49, 66, 181, 183

International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), 114, 119

Jess, Omar (Colonel), 16, 52, 81-82, 107

Joint Task Force (JTF) Somalia, 28-30, 32-34, 36, 38, 40, 159, 174-178, 

181-194, 203, 208

Johnston, Robert B. (Lieutenant General), 29-30, 33-44, 46-54, 62-66, 70-

71,73-74, 78-79, 81-91, 93, 103-104, 170, 181, 204-205, 207

Kelly, David (Captain), 114

Kissinger, Henry (Secretary of State), 168

Klimp, Jack (Colonel), 67

Klingaman, James (Captain), 144

Lesnowicz, Jr., Ed (Lieutenant Colonel), 67-68

Magruder, Lawson (Brigadier General), 44, 52

Manifesto Group, 16

McCree, Chad (Captain), 121

McKnight, Danny (Lieutenant Colonel), 150

Mass distribution Site (MDS), 75

Meade, David (Major General), 177-178

Meriam, Mengistu Haile (Lieutenant Colonel), 14-15

Meyerowich, Drew (Captain), 150-155

Mission creep, 70, 77, 91-92, 201, 203, 205-206, 210

Montgomery, Thomas (Major General), 86-88, 102-107, 111, 116-117, 

119, 122, 129, 140-144, 148, 150, 155-157, 166, 169-172, 179, 182-

187, 189-194, 205, 207-208

MORE CARE (Operation), 191

Morgan, Said Hersi, 52, 81-82

National Reconciliation Conference, 84

National Security Council Deputies Committee, 23

National Security Service (NSS), 13-14

Nelson, Shawn (Specialist), 147

NATO, 4, 107
216 

Newbold, Gregory (Colonel), 38, 43, 64, 75-76

96th Civil Affairs Brigade, 76

977th Military Police (MP) Company, 121-122

Oakley, Robert (special representative), 36, 40-42, 48-49, 54, 62-65, 69-

73, 79-80, 82-83, 85, 87, 89-91, 103-104, 107, 167-171, 181, 183, 

187-188, 190-191, 204-205

Pace, Peter (Brigadier General), 174, 177

Pakistani peacekeepers, 18, 23, 100, 104-105, 107-114, 116, 120, 123, 

132, 150-154, 170

Peace enforcement, 25, 30, 172

Perino, Larry (Lieutenant), 145, 147, 149, 153-154

Powell, Colin (General), 3, 24, 26, 139, 202, 210

Project Hand Clasp, 75

PROVIDE COMFORT (Operation), 29

PROVIDE RELIEF (Operation), 19, 23, 25-26, 34, 88, 203

Psychological Operations (PSYOP), 47, 49, 52, 64-65, 94, 110, 119, 126, 

131, 185

Quick Reaction Force (QRF), 105-106, 109, 115, 118-119, 123-124, 126, 

129-132, 140, 143-145, 147-148, 150, 152-153, 155-157, 173-174, 

176, 179, 181, 185-188, 192, 203-204

Radio Mogadishu, 107, 110

RENAISSANCE (Operation), 76

RESTORE HOPE (Operation), 9, 23, 25, 28, 30, 32-38, 40, 43, 45-47, 50-

55, 61-62, 66-67, 70, 73, 76-77, 79, 81, 85-94, 201-205, 208

Reynolds, John (Lieutenant), 127-128

Rules of Engagement (ROE), 34-35, 45, 47, 118, 123, 125, 130-131, 133, 

175

School of Advanced Military Studies (SAMS), Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, 

178

Scowcroft, Brent (National Security Adviser), 24

2d Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment, 123-124, 131, 152, 154

2d Battalion, 22nd Infantry Regiment, 173

2d Battalion, 87th Infantry Regiment, 43, 117

Security Council Resolution 767, 19

Security Council Resolution 814, 99

Security Council Resolution 837, 109
217

Security Council Resolution 885, 171

Selassie, Haile (Emperor of Ethiopia), 14

7th Transportation Group, 45

Shinn, David (State Department), 116, 131

SHOW CARE (Operation), 185-186

Shughart, Randy (Sergeant First Class), 154

Somali National Alliance (SNA), 107-109, 112-119, 121-123, 125-127, 

133, 139-140, 142, 144-145, 148, 165, 167, 169, 171-173, 176, 179, 

181, 185, 190

Somali National Front (SNF), 17

Somali National Islamic Front (NIF), 42

Somali National Movement (SNM), 15, 17

Somali Patriotic Movement (SPM), 16-17

Somali police, 69-70, 73, 75, 83, 91-92, 100, 120, 141, 204, 209

Somali Revolutionary Socialist Party (SRSP), 13

Somali Salvation Democratic Front (SSDF), 15-16

Soviet military aid, 12

Spataro, Stephen (Lieutenant Colonel), 71-73

Special Operations Command and Control Element (SOCCE), 111

Steele, Mike (Captain), 146, 153

Struecker, Jeff (Sergeant), 145-146

Suich, Mark (Captain), 124, 126-127, 129

Sullivan, Gordon (Chief of Staff, US Army), 176

Supreme Revolutionary Council (SRC), 13

Task Force (TF) Falcon, 123

Task Force (TF) Hope, 51, 64

Task Force (TF) Kismayo, 51-52

Task Force (TF) Mogadishu, 67-68

Task Force (TF) Mountain Warrior, 143

Task Force (TF) Ranger, 110, 131, 139-146, 148-149, 153, 155-157, 167, 

180, 194, 204

Task force (TF) Raven, 123, 131, 152, 156

Task Force (TF) Safari, 118, 121, 156

10th Aviation Brigade, 129, 173

10th Mountain Division, 3, 5, 30, 32-33, 43, 45, 63, 82, 87, 93, 102, 105, 

109, 111, 124, 133, 144-145, 148, 151, 155, 173, 177, 179, 194

Third Army (US), 172 

3rd Battalion, 9th Marines, 67

3rd Battalion, 11th Marines, 66-67

3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, 141, 143
218 

13th Corps Support Command, 46

300th Military Police (MP) Company, 114, 121-122

362d Engineer Company, 123

24th Infantry Division, 172

22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU), 190

United Nations, 3-6, 9, 17-19, 23-28, 30, 34-37, 40-42, 54, 61-62, 70, 72, 

80-81, 83, 85-89, 99-107, 109-111, 113-122, 124, 131-133, 139-141, 

148, 155, 157-158, 165-172-174, 176, 179-184, 187, 190, 201, 203-

205, 207-208

United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations, 132

United Nations Logistics Support Command, 178, 182-183

United Somali Congress (USC), 16-17, 107, 109, 113-119, 121, 123, 142, 

148, 165, 169, 173

UNITAF (United Task Force), 6, 30-31, 36, 38-42, 44-48, 50-55, 61-94, 

99-100, 103-107, 109, 114, 167-171, 176-177, 179, 181, 193, 203-

205, 208-209

UNOSOM I (UN Operation in Somalia), 6, 18-20, 54, 74, 81, 107, 113, 

115-117, 120, 122-123, 128, 130

UNOSOM II, 61, 70, 72, 74, 85-88, 94, 99-117, 119-124, 130-133, 140-

141, 145, 150, 155-159, 165-173, 175, 179, 182-185, 190-191, 203-

205

United States Information Service (USIS), 74

USS Abraham Lincoln, 173

Victory Pioneers, 14

Vlasak, Marian (Captain), 125

Walls, Chuck (Captain), 110

Western Somali Liberation Front (WSLF), 14

Whetstone, Mike (Captain), 148, 154-155

Wilhelm, Charles (Major General), 32, 42, 45, 50, 65, 67-68, 76, 83

World Food Program, 72

Zinni, Anthony (Brigadier General), 5, 29, 48-50, 61-63, 66, 69, 71-72, 

79-81, 83, 88, 90-91, 160, 168-170, 181, 183, 207, 209 
219

About the Authors

Robert F. Bauman has taught at CGSC since 1984. He received a B.A. in 

Russian from Dartmouth College (1974) and a Ph.D. from Yale University 

(1982). From 1979-1980 he was a graduate exchange student at Moscow 

University with grant support from the Fulbright-Hayes Program and the 

International Research and Exchanges Board. Dr. Baumann is the author 

of Russian-Soviet Unconventional War in the Caucasus, Central Asia, 

and Afghanistan (Combat Studies Institute [CSI], 1993) and coauthor 

of Invasion, Intervention, Intervasion: A Concise History of the U.S. 

Army in Operation Uphold Democracy (CSI, 1998). A recent recipient 

of a grant from the U.S. Institute of Peace, Dr. Baumann is coauthor 

of a forthcoming book and writer-producer of a documentary film on 

the US and multinational peackeeping mission in Bosnia. He has also 

written extensively on the history of the Bashkirs and served as a visiting 

professor of history briefly at the Bashkir State University in Ufa in fall 

1992. Dr. Baumann is the acting director, Directorate of Graduate Degree 

Programs, US Army Command and General Staff College (CGSC).

Lawrence A. Yates is a teacher and researcher on the Research and 

Publication Team, CSI. He received a B.A. and an M.A. in history from 

the University of Missouri, Kansas City, and a Ph.D. in history from 

the University of Kansas. He is the author of several articles on US 

contingency operations since World War II, has written a monograph on 

the US intervention in the Dominican Republic in 1965, is coeditor and a 

contibutor to Block by Block: The Challenges of Urban Operations, and is 

completing a book-length study of US military operations in the Panama 

crisis, 1987-1990. He also teaches courses on unconventional warfare, 

interventions, and stability operations.

Lieutenant Colonel Versalle F. Washington taught at CGSC from 2001-

2003 and was the 2003 CGSC Military Instructor of the Year. He received 

a B.S. from the United States Military Academy (1985) and an M.A. 

(1994) and Ph.D. (1995) from Ohio State University. He is an engineer and 

has served with engineer units in Germany and commanded an engineer 

company in the Persian Gulf War. LTC Washington is the author of Eagles 

on Their Buttons: A Black Infantry Regiment in the Civil War (University 

of Missouri Press, 1999). He is the Professor of Military Science at the 

University of Dayton.