Yup, it’s been 26 years since we started operations to remove Manuel Noriega from Panama. Earlier this year, Noriega begged forgiveness from Panamanians for his military dictatorship. He was sentenced by an American court to 60 years in prison, a US judge allowed him to be extradited to France, who three years later turned him over to the Panamanians.
But there was a cost;
ARMY
Staff Sgt. Larry Barnard 3/75th Rangers Hallstead, Pa.
Pfc. Roy D. Brown Jr. 3/75th Rangers Buena Park, Calif.
Pvt. Vance T. Coats 82nd Airborne Division Great Falls, Mont.
Spec. Jerry S. Daves 82nd Airborne. Division Hope Mills,N.C.
Sgt. Michael A. Deblois 82nd Airborne Division Dubach, La.
Pfc. Martin D. Denson 82nd Airborne Division Abilene,Texas
Pfc. William D. Gibbs 7th Infantry Division. Marina, Calif.
Spec. Phillip S. Lear 2/75th Rangers Westminster, S.C.
Spec. Alejandro Manriquelozano* 82nd Airborne Division Lauderhill, Fla.
Pfc. James W. Markwell 1/75th Rangers Cincinnati, Ohio
Cpl. Ivan M. Perez 5th Infantry Division Pawtucket, R.I.
Pfc. John M. Price 2/75th Rangers Conover, Wis.
Pfc. Scott L. Roth 89th Military Police Brigade Killeen, Texas
Pvt. Kenneth D. Scott 5th Infantry Division Princeton, W.Va.
1st Lt. John R. Hunter 160th Aviation Victor, Montana
CWO2 Wilson B. Owens 160th Aviation Myrtle Beach,S.C.
CWO2 Andrew P. Porter 7th Infantry Division Saint Clair, Mich.
Pvt. James A. Taber Jr. 82nd Airborne Division Montrose, Colo.
NAVY
Lt. jg John Connors Special Warfare Group Arlington, Maine
BM1 Chris Tilghman Special Warfare Group Kailua, Hawaii ENC
Donald McFaul Special Warfare Group Deschutes,Ore.
TM2 Issac G. Rodriguez III Special Warfare Group Missouri City,Texas
MARINE CORPS
Cpl. Garreth C. Isaak 2nd Marine Division home town unknown.
I believe he was called Pineapple Face. He’s still ‘begging forgiveness’. Scum. Some day, he’ll die and people will go to his funeral wearing red, as an insult.
No. No forgiveness. Ever.
I met the little prick face to face only once during my tour in Republic de P. A mean looking fucker for sure with a pocketmarked face probably caused by chicken pox when he was a kid. But I did enjoy collecting his overdue officers club bill from his chief of staff when I told him Mrs. Noriega would have to pay cash for her PDF luncheon at the Fort Amador Club and I would make it a point for her to know why. A lieutenant showed up with a bag of cash a short time later begging my club manager to take it. Ahhhh, for the good old days.
Noriega can rot in hell.
As far as Noriega goes, it being Sunday and all, I think a hymn would be appropriate. “Him,Him, FUCK HIM!”
That is all.
I so dearly love the TAH Hymnal.
IT’s small, as hymnals go. Our choir only needs one hymn.
Pvt Coates and Sgt Deblois were assigned to 1/508 ABN, 193rd INF BDE not the 82d Abn.
“FURY FROM THE SKY”
True that. Panama (I forget the base) was home of the 193rd at that time as well.
Ft. Clayton. We got one of their buildings when we deployed.
What unit were you with? I was 2/9 infantry from the 7th I.D fort ord California. Yes Ft Clayton! We redeployed from there coming home. I got to see two guys I went to Benning with when we were in tent city. They had shipped to 193rd that fall in November after their airborne school while we headed to Ord.
Amazing How time Flys.. we should have shot his ugly ass right after he surrendered from the Vatican embassy…
I was in Panama in 1995 building a school with the National Guard. One of the guys that was with us had been there during the invasion and he joked about putting holes in some of the buildings. I loved Panama.
In honor of Noriega, I am wearing red underwear today. I remember reading that he thought red underwear would ward off evil spirits.
He had a thing for frogs as well. When my unit went to his hideaway at the airport, the damn things were every where. Frog statues on top of frog statues.
Right before this operation kicked off, I recall seeing on CNN a film clip of Noriega’s enforcers driving around in a black vehicle that looked like an LAV. They were spraying the crowd with tear gas. Noteworthy was that the vehicle had a big ass Smurf character painted on it.
He had the class warfare down to an art. The poor loved him and the middle class and the rich hated him. Kind of what Obama strives to do.
My P-3 crew was participating in UNITAS a couple months after the conclusion of Just Cause. Flew into Howard AFB, and billeted at Rodman Naval Station.
We were highly discouraged from letting the sun set on us in Panama City, or really go at all. Nothing there I needed anyway.
One of the things that stick out in my memory of that time is his paramilitary goon units were called “Dignity Battalions” by him.
The US military reffered to them as “Ding-Bats”.
Never forget!!
That was a bit before my time. I had a sergeant who talked about all the stuff that came in a conex that hadn’t left in a conex.
I treasure this old thread where Jonn told us Noriega’s school nickname was “Little Boots”
This is the account of events, offered by a Warrior friend that I have the utmost respect for:
“26 years ago today at approximately 4 minutes after midnight, I jumped into Panama with B Co., 3rd Ranger Battalion. Here’s how I remember that going down: Three weeks earlier, on 1 DEC 89, I had just completed the Ranger Indoctrination Program and signed into battalion. I had just over 2 years in the Army and had reenlisted for Airborne School and subsequent assignment to the 75th Ranger Regiment. I was a Specialist (in rank) and had 7 jumps logged (5 from Airborne School and 2 from RIP). My integration into the 2nd Platoon consisted of a lot of pushups, flutter kicks, standing at attention while endlessly reciting the Ranger Creed, and other great “team-building” events at 0300 on weekend nights like “scuzrags” and “inchworm” led by angry and liquered-up junior “leaders” returning from the Chickasaw having failed to get laid. I was a tabless (not yet Ranger qualified) Specialist, and the Ranger qualified Specialists in the platoon hated me for it. To them, the two years I spent between Korea and Fort Carson were meaningless wastes of time – I had no “Time in Battalion” (TIB), so there was nothing I had to offer they cared to know. So I spent the 3 weeks prior to 20 DEC 89 avoiding the attention of my contemptuous peers… and then the battalion was alerted for Operation Just Cause – a forcible entry operation into which we would conduct a night combat parachute assault. The climate changed dramatically in the platoon. The condescending sneers of my peers suddenly changed to nods of “acknowledgement” (“respect” would be too strong of a word) because after all, shit was about to get real and they might actually need me on the drop zone. (Imagine that.) None of us had seen combat before. I could see the uncertainty in their eyes… the fear (which I shared) that they actually might not come back. Suddenly, the thought of scuffing up all the new guys in the hallway seemed like an exercise in absurdity when there were so many more important things on which we could be training with that time. The reality of combat became a great equalizer and the possibility of death made the coveted Ranger Tab not quite as important as it once was. So there we were, marshaling for the jump down at Lawson Army Airfield. It was about 32 degrees and sleeting. The battalion was in the rigging facility when forklifts showed up carrying pallets of ammunition. They issued us 2 extra ammo pouches and we began loading magazines. I’m not sure if the two Grenada Raiders in the battalion spoke up about the pitfalls of an excessive load, or if their advice went unheard, but for the second time in a decade, we would repeat the same mistake. It was a free-for-all at the ammo pallets. By the time we were done, I was wearing the following: Flak vest (the old school kevlar variety) (9#), 12 x magazines of 5.56 (12#), 8 x Frags (8#), 2 x quarts of water (4#), M203 vest with 36 x rounds (16#), an M7 bayonet, and handfuls of loose 5.56 in my pockets… “because I might need it later.” My squad leader issued me a new Vector Ruck prototype which was a civilian type rucksack with internal frame and had additional storage capacity than the issued ALICE pack. Why? Because I was to jump in a quickie-saw to cut down the fence across the airstrip to facilitate the air-land of follow-on forces (which by the way, never existed). So I began re-packing my ruck starting with the RRF-1 packing list, which weighed about 35 pounds by itself and contained a lot of useful items needed in a airfield seizure like an extra set of BDUs and extra set of jungle boots. Why bring that stuff? You bring it because it’s on the RRF-1 packing list. This is the 75th Ranger Regiment and that’s the SOP. Duh! After the RRF-1 packing list (35#), complete, add the quickie-saw (20#), a quart of fuel (2#), 12 x additional loaded magazines (12#), 8 x additional frag grenades (8#), 4 x additional quarts of water (8#), additional M203 Vest with 36 x rounds of HE (16#), 2 x M72A2 LAWs (10#), 2 x M18A1 Claymore Mines (primed, because I might need to use them really fast, LOL) (7#), and finally, an M21 Anti-Tank Mine (17#), with booster inserted, because I might have to use that really fast too. All that equipment (approximately 135# worth) barely fit inside my new Vector Ruck and the single point release system awkwardly contained the lopsided conglomerate. With all my worn gear (approximately 60# worth), I attempted to get the ruck on my back by laying on top of it while it was on the ground, rolling over, and attempting to stand up. I collapsed before I could stand erect. A Lieutenant on my stick from 2/75 observed my failed attempt and opined, “Your ruck is entirely too heavy,” he paused and contemplated a solution, “dump your water!” Sounds legit. After all, he’s a second-time platoon leader in the 75th Ranger Regiment who must know what he’s talking about. (I wish I knew who he was because I would hunt him down and “have a word.”)
Henceforth, that marked one of the top 3 stupidest things I’ve ever done in my life and poured 4 x quarts of diluted gatorade down the drain right there in the hanger. I inquired with my squad leader how I was going to get my ruck to the assembly area. “Just link up with one of us on the ground, and we’ll help you,” he said. Sounds legit. He’s a Staff Sergeant and a squad leader in the 75th Ranger Regiment. He must know what he’s talking about. We rigged up and rode a trolly to the aircraft, loaded, and began the 7-hour flight to Panama. The flight was miserable to say the least. Rigged-up Rangers were climbing over each other to piss into 5-gallon water cans. About half way through the flight, Jumpmasters began hanging rucks. The Jumpmaster didn’t even know what to do with my Vector. It must have looked like a ball of yarn. I don’t know if this is true or not but it seemed like they stood us up about 30 minutes early. They went through the jump commands and the doors opened and the hot humid air filled the aircraft. I could see city lights outside from time to time as the aircraft banked along its course towards the drop zone. Overloaded Rangers stooped over waiting painfully for the command to Stand By – all of them trying to remain upright by hanging on their static lines. The anchor line cable sagged deeply. The Jumping Safeties cared less – they were in equal misery. I hold these last few minutes on the aircraft as among the most miserable in my life – all I wanted to do was to get off the aircraft. At that point, I had no fear of what was facing us on the drop zone. Whatever was out there could not have been more miserable than standing there in the aircraft. Finally, the command to Stand By and Go. Rangers lumbered toward the door. I was 6th from the last to exit. The Jumpmaster had gone first. Only the jumping Safety remained to take static lines. I handed him my static line and conducted the most pathetic attempt at a good exit ever. (There is no “up 6 and out 36” while wearing that much crap.) I remember stumbling out the door and barely falling from the plane. I actually felt the skin of the aircraft slide along my left arm as I exited. The pilots would later tell us that the first jumpers got out at 450′ AGL and the last at about 480′. My parachute opened with an uncountable number of twists. I began bicycling frantically while trying to orient myself to the drop zone. I saw NOTHING that I recognized. No airstrip, no Pan-American Highway, nothing. Just jungle. Given how slowly Rangers were exiting the aircraft and increased drop speed, it turned out that I was several KMs beyond the drop zone. No Red Light on a combat drop. By the time I had resolved my twists, I reached down in an attempt to lower my ruck and I hit the ground. Thankfully, I landed softly in elephant grass, pulled my rifle from my M1950 and put it into operation. As I was doing that, I recalled conversations my platoon-mates had prior to moving down to the airfield. One of the tabbed Specialists said, “This is combat, man. When I get on the ground, I’m pulling my bayonet and *cutting* myself out of the harness. F*ck those quick ejector snaps!” Sounds legit. After all, he was Ranger School graduate and had been in battalion for a couple years now. Clearly he knows what he’s talking about. So there I was, laying only back in elephant grass with my bayonet in hand (and we all know how sharp they are) attempting to saw my way through the main lift web of my parachute harness. After 30 seconds of sawing, I was already breaking a sweat in the 90+ degree heat index and hadn’t even made a dent in the 6 layers of stitched nylon webbing that make up the main lift web. With that, I pulled my waist band, pushed my reserve aside and popped the two quick ejector snaps on my leg straps and swam out of my parachute harness. Guess that doesn’t take much time after all. And that’s how Operation Just Cause started for me. Today I’m remembering those wounded and killed to free a country from a dictator 26 years ago today. God bless them and their families.”
RLTW!!!
All 4 Sailors KIA were ST-4.
Ike Rodriguez had just been pinned with his Budweiser.
LtJG Connors snuck/checked himself out of the hospital at the tail end of a nasty parasitic infection to make the op.
Don McFaul ran into AW fire on a tarmac to grab a wounded Brother and start dragging him out of the kill zone. He was mortally struck by AW fire while doing so, but before he died he laid himself over his Brother to provide him with some protection with his soon to be lifeless body.
‘Mal ad Osteo’