Sometime in 1965, I landed in the Congo with cash stuffed in my socks, morphine in my bag, and a basic understanding of my mission: recruit a mercenary navy and suppress the Soviet- and Chinese-backed rebels engaged in guerrilla movements against a pro-Western government.

In the firsthand account that follows, I offer unprecedented insight into a clandestine chapter of U.S. history through my own experiences as a distinguished Navy frogman and later a CIA contractor. My journey began as an officer in the newly-formed SEAL Team 2, which then led me to Vietnam in 1964 to train hit-and-run boat teams who ran clandestine raids into North Vietnam. Those raids directly instigated the Gulf of Tonkin Incident. According to the U.S. government, I did not, and could not, exist.

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Huddled on their knees on the floor of a dilapidated warehouse, a group of killers-for-hire glared up at me with that universal challenge: “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?”

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was about to help them break into their safe.

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A banging sound had brought me in here, blasting from behind the ware­house doors. It was a 1930s vintage structure perched across the midsection of a quay above the swampy overflow from Lake Tanganyika.

The clanging continued relentlessly even as I slid open the doors and stepped inside, coming face to face with this bunch of khaki-clad misfits. Weapons were either lying haphazardly on the floor or slung casually over their backs. Nearly every one of them had a sidearm strapped on. They were sullen and dirty, and a heavy cloud of black tobacco smoke soiled the air.

A dozen heads turned in my direction. They were pulled into a tight circle around a four-by-four metal safe, and one of them was beating the hell out of it with a crowbar. It was their spoils of war, the loot they’d “liberated” while on a recent assault. I had just crashed their party.

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I knew these guys were 5 Commando mercenaries, Col. “Mad” Mike Hoare’s troops. Probably the most famous mercenary in modern history, the colorful “Mad” Mike collected a hodgepodge of experienced soldiers, pre­tenders, and combat castoffs the way others collected stamps. He had ability and charisma, and never shied away from an opportunity to inflate his reputa­tion. His exploits in Africa are said to be the inspiration for Daniel Carney’s novel and film "The Wild Geese," which starred Richard Burton and Roger Moore.

Over the next few months I would learn firsthand of the vicious nature of this 5 Commando band of cutthroats, the way they almost revered a code of duplicity instead of loyalty, and how their ruthless tactics adhered only to a pale version of military standard. These all-white paramilitaries from former British Colonies in Africa, Europe, and the UK were definitely not your well-disciplined combat troops. They had little respect for treatment of civilians and property, particularly safes, and they would demonstrate their shady conduct many times while I worked with them. But right now, I was having my maiden encounter, and it wasn’t going that well.

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My entrance was only a momentary distraction, however, and they quickly got back to work. The hellish banging started up again as one of them slammed the crowbar repeatedly across the safe. A tall, lanky guy in a dirty uniform walked up carrying a burlap sack. He fished a sizeable quantity of C3 plastic explosive out of the bag and began to pack it onto the safe. It was a pitiful sight.

I was a Navy SEAL, and the “D” in my UDT training stood for demoli­tion, so I caught myself about to laugh at their amateurish blundering. This was my first indicator that professionalism was not the hallmark of a 5 Commando Congo mercenary. I was fresh from covert activities in Vietnam, well trained to improvise and survive, so I moved to a tactic that I hoped would give me the upper hand.

I knew that first impressions could make or break an officer and that this initial confrontation would be pivotal if I were going to succeed in the Congo. If the 5 Commando thought I had rank and knowledge on them, I would command their grudging respect. My mission was to build a mercenary navy and defeat the Communist-backed rebels, and 5 Commando would be the source from which I would recruit the naval personnel. Which meant I needed them to believe I had the U.S. government behind me. Luckily for me none of them knew just how far behind. And if they made that assumption that I was a Commander, I wasn’t going to discourage it. It was a good thing they didn’t know I was just twenty-six years old, and only a Lieutenant JG. I stepped forward.

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“What are you trying to accomplish?” I asked.

“We’re getting into this safe,” one of them responded with a decidedly irritated tone.

“Well, you’re about to blow up the entire warehouse,” I said. “And espe­cially whatever’s inside that safe.”

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They initially stared back at me with blank faces. These were twitchy guys, heavily armed, and the last thing I needed was to piss them off. Then I noticed that a few heads had begun to turn, and they were exchanging glances, looking around for reassurance whether they should believe me or not.

This was my opportunity. That edge of doubt was creeping in. I had knowl­edge they obviously didn’t. I wasn’t going to show them up, but I was going to show them the difference between real military training and make-believe.

“You want me to show you how to do that?” I asked.

There was no reply, just the physical gesture of them backing away from the safe, sullen and distrustful.

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I was pretty sure that the mercenaries had heard that I had been sent there to remake everything. To build a navy, bring in personnel and boats, and run the operation. And I was aware that they were watching me closely. I knew that what I was doing at that moment would forge their impressions of me, and they would spread that word, for better or worse.

I leaned in and made an assessment of the safe, then picked up an empty tin can lying on the floor and formed a simple “shaped charge,” an explosive technique used to focus the energy and the effect of the blast. I knelt over the safe and examined the mechanism, then I sectioned off just a small piece of C-3 and packed it firmly into the tin can. I positioned the can perfectly at the combination lock, properly inserted the blasting cap, and lit it up. There was a sharp blast and an intake of air from the anxious onlookers as a neat hole appeared where the lock had just been. I stood back and watched the door to the safe swing wide open.

The mercenaries mumbled their approval almost simultaneously as they dug for the contents. It was a paltry haul. An atmosphere of disappointment pervaded the warehouse as I turned to walk away and finish reconning the place for my new base of operations. There was a lot of work to be done to secure the old warehouse if I was going to run the mercenary navy out of there.

“Hey,” one of the guys called after me. “Don’t you want your cut?”

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“No,” I said. “It’s yours.”

I learned later that from this incident the word spread that the American should be well received.

But the American wasn’t supposed to be there.

The Congo’s recent independence from Belgium had triggered a secession crisis by one of the country’s most mineral-rich and wealthy provinces. It led to an opening for the Soviet bloc to exploit rebellions among local tribal factions. The US saw the country as a strategic geopolitical necessity against commu­nism, which meant the Congo was turning into a superpower battleground. The US feared that losing influence in the Congo was the next step to losing Africa.

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The CIA had sent me to the Congo to conduct a clandestine operation, under as deep a cover as possible while still enabling and sustaining the con­duct for a successful mission. The suits in Washington recognized that the communist rebels needed to be contained. The strategy was to cut off their supply lines and strangle their resource base, which would require battle-tested and seaworthy hands. And the world could not know we were responsible.

We were holding back the line on insurgent, violent communism. It was the boiling years of the Cold War and Africa was becoming a hotbed of poten­tial dominoes that might fall the wrong way if we didn’t pay attention. And as all eyes were focused on that other communist battleground in Southeast Asia, the US government wanted to keep Africa involvement as quiet as possible and ensure that no one could find our fingerprints on this op. Consequently, one of the most important elements in my Congo mission was to cover the ass of the US government. They needed a guy who had the knowledge and covert experience to make this a successfully play.

The CIA had determined that I was that guy.

Excerpted with permission from Cold War Navy SEAL: My Story of Che Guevara, War in the Congo, and the Communist Threat in Africa by James M. Hawes & Mary Ann Koenig. Copyright 2018 by Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.

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