How to get what you want without Dirty Steve getting in the way, a lesson.

We were this close to capturing Saddam. For real.

After the occupation of Baghdad by the Coalition Forces, the hunt for Saddam and his leadership was the best thing going. I’ve written before about the High-Value Targets (HVTs) and the deck of cards with the names and faces. The Special Forces community is comprised of competitive men and women and being in combat did not temper the desire to be recognized as the first team or best team to do something. “Yeah, we captured the ace of spades” you could drop into a casual conversation about hair gel, the latest Oakley’s, or whatever.

A team in my company, ODA 572 (commanded by a good friend and an absolute world-class leader), had already captured the number 10 HVT, the Queen of Clubs, and we had promptly moved into his house to set up operations in the Al Doura neighborhood of Baghdad. Just as one example in the theater of the absurd, the captured HVT, Kamal Mustafa, was turned in by his first wife. She literally walked up to the team house on Shark Base, so named after the ODA’s call sign, in Ramadi and told the team that she would lead them to her husband. Apparently, she was pissed at Kamal. It seems that although she didn’t mind being left behind when he fled, she had assumed that he was fleeing with his second wife. She soon discovered that he had also left the second wife behind and had instead taken his girlfriend with him for his escape attempt. Well, this was a serious enough breach of etiquette that she felt compelled to aid the capture of her wayward husband. No sh*t, right? Someone should write a book.

Iraq is a country of people who love conspiracy theories and they particularly loved stories that included men dressing as women, exotically colored vehicles, tunnels to/from mosques (or under rivers), and buried treasure (inevitably in a grove of palms outside some village with more goats than people living in it). The first time we almost captured Saddam occurred shortly after we moved into Kamal’s house. We received intelligence that Saddam and a contingent of loyal bodyguards were dressing as women and moving around Baghdad in a purple taxi. So…Iraq.

We set aside our skepticism and called the operation “Chicks with dicks.” I came up with a half-assed plan and we started staking out the neighborhood that he was supposedly hiding in. After ten days or so we got bored and finally decided the information was bullshit. Ten days! Yeah, I was both stubborn and lacked judgment, always a positive mix of personality traits for a leader. The total mission failure, and lack of judgment, did nothing to quell my desire to capture this guy, or really any guy who was high up on the list. My secret goal was to capture number 9 or better so I could talk trash to my buddies on 572 and bagging Saddam would certainly allow me to do that. So the next time we almost captured Saddam I was motivated and ready to roll.

This time the information came from the SAS troop. We had a good working relationship with the team and had previously worked together on targets that were large or complex. When the SAS commander, Colin, stopped by our team house to tell me that a “used car salesman” had revealed the location of Saddam’s hideout in Baghdad, I promptly agreed to assist. Colin called all Iraqis used car salesmen if he thought the information provided was questionable, or highly unlikely, or both. All I cared about was the possibility of getting Saddam, even if I had to share the credit. I was confident that in my future (best-selling) book, I could minimize Colin’s role. I’m only partly kidding.

The information provided to the “lads” in our allied team was that Saddam and two bodyguards would be in a certain house in Baghdad that very night. All we needed was to drive over there and pick him up. We were familiar with the area and the SAS had already conducted a recce (pronounced “rekky,” or “wrecky” or however you want to spell it) of the house. We waited until 11 pm or so and went out hunting. After an uneventful assault on the house we discovered a lone caretaker, but no Saddam. There was no furniture or belongings in the house and it appeared to have been unoccupied for some time. Clearly, the used car salesmen Colin had spoken to had provided bad information. Prior to leaving the target house, Colin wanted to speak to the caretaker to see if there had been any men (Saddam) staying at the house previously. He asked one of his men, known as Dirty Steve, to bring the caretaker over so we could speak to him.

First of all, they really did call him Dirty Steve. As if his first name was Dirty and last name Steve. And secondly, Colin asked him to bring the caretaker because Dirty Steve had trained extensively in Arabic. Dirty Steve was a mountain of a man and the small caretaker was clearly intimidated by the British commando. Honestly, the sight of Dirty Steve looming in the darkness wearing his assault kit and dripping with sweat in the sweltering heat would intimidate most people. He was like a boogeyman, straight out of a nightmare. Dirty Steve grabbed the man walked him over to us. As he and the caretaker got close, Colin asked his teammate to ask the caretaker if he had any information on the location of Saddam. Dirty Steve spun the caretaker around to face him and grabbed the shirt of the smaller man. He tightened his grip and lifted the man completely off the ground. Without saying a word, he cocked back his other fist and punched the poor caretaker in the face. Dirty Steve leaned in close to the Iraqi, whose eyes were filled with pain and fear and said, in English, “Where’s Saddam, you c*nt?”

There was a stunned silence from the international team of commandos, including me and Colin. Finally, the British commander said, “Hell man, I thought you might speak to him in Arabic.” Dirty Steve seemed surprised by the request before he replied, “He f*ckin’ knows what I’m saying.” But the man did not know what he was saying because he didn’t speak English. He also didn’t know where Saddam was.

In addition to almost, but not quite, capturing Saddam a second time, I learned that there is a minimum amount of specificity required if you want your team to understand what you would like them to accomplish for you. Colin thought it was obvious that Dirty Steve should attempt to communicate with the Iraqi man in his native language. Dirty Steve thought it was obvious that he should punch the guy in the face and yell at him in English. While this may be an example of a unique situation, the universal truth for leadership is clearly on display.

Actually one truth but in two parts.

Leaders must know, or develop a vision, for what they want to accomplish, and leaders must be able to communicate that vision to their team in a way that results in actionable tasks, tracking metrics, and feedback. Put another way, if you don’t know what you want or you can't tell people what you want, then your team can’t possibly give it to you. There are a hundred different ways that leaders can get their teams off-course. Poor planning, bad analysis, incomplete data, misunderstanding of the market or business or any combination results in a team with no hope of success.

Consider this. If I were to give you a detailed and accurate map, a protractor, and a compass and I provide hours of expert instruction on how to use them, would you know how to navigate? Certainly. If I took you into the woods and told you to start moving, would your training help you? Absolutely not. Being an expert in navigation only helps you if you know a couple of things. The first is your current location, and the second is your destination.

If you don’t know where you are and where you’re going then it doesn’t really matter which direction you start walking.

By the way, my team captured the Queen of Hearts. True story.