In this episode of the Jocko Podcast, Jocko Willink and Miguel "Pitbull" Santana discuss the Battle of Ramadi and the establishment of combat outposts in hostile territory during 2006. Santana shares his experiences as an Army soldier fighting alongside Navy SEALs and Iraqi forces, detailing the combat operations, engineering challenges, and gradual shift in civilian relations as coalition forces maintained a permanent presence in the city.
The conversation explores the bonds forged between soldiers through shared combat, the leadership principles demonstrated by officers who led from the front, and the severe human costs of war—including casualties from IEDs and snipers, traumatic brain injuries, and lasting psychological trauma. Santana also discusses his twenty-year effort to document and preserve the stories of soldiers who fought in Ramadi through his book and his continued service to veterans after transitioning to civilian life.

Sign up for Shortform to access the whole episode summary along with additional materials like counterarguments and context.
The Battle of Ramadi marked a pivotal shift in coalition strategy through the implementation of permanent combat outposts inside hostile urban centers. Drawing on lessons from Tal Afar, where McMaster pioneered the embedded outpost doctrine, General McFarland applied these tactics in Ramadi to deny insurgents the ability to operate unchallenged.
COP Iron was established in south Ramadi in June 2006 under constant sniper fire. As Jocko Willink recounts, forces entered devastated neighborhoods and secured buildings while the 40th Engineer Battalion built HESCO barriers and earthen berms for protection. COP Falcon followed, positioned deep in insurgent territory as a statement of coalition intent to remain indefinitely. The establishment required coordination between Army Bradleys, Marine support, Navy SEALs, and Iraqi forces, creating a unified response capability.
Construction involved bringing over 300 concrete barriers under direct fire, creating layered defenses with overlapping fields of fire using .50-caliber machine guns and M249 SAWs. The omnipresent IED threat required careful route clearing for every convoy, often taking hours as engineers worked to detect hidden explosives.
Life at the outposts revolved around constant patrols—two to three daily—alongside Iraqi forces to build relationships and gather intelligence. Sensing patrols collected biometrics and photos of military-aged males, gradually building a database to identify high-value targets. Joint raids involving SEALs, Army infantry, and Iraqi forces enabled rapid, intelligence-driven operations that overwhelmed the enemy.
Initially, civilians feared insurgent retribution and offered only passive support. However, as outposts remained and patrols became routine, locals realized the coalition was permanent. By July 2006, shop owners kept shutters open longer, children waved at patrols, and civilians began providing actionable intelligence. This marked a profound psychological shift—the strategy of holding ground ensured insurgents could no longer return after coalition forces withdrew, breaking the cycle that previously allowed enemy control.
The experiences in Ramadi reveal how leadership, sacrifice, and shared trauma forge unbreakable bonds in war.
Lieutenant Colonel Tedesco built trust through personal presence, greeting soldiers like Miguel Santana with memorable gestures that created lasting bonds. Santana testifies that "twenty years later, I will follow Colonel Tedesco to the end." Sean McFarland and Tedesco distinguished themselves by visiting front lines and speaking directly with platoon leaders, refusing to let vital information filter through layers of staff.
Captain Mike McCusker earned respect by personally entering dangerous positions armed only with a pistol and flashlight to confirm kills, rather than ordering subordinates into harm's way. His soldiers sometimes had to plead with him not to be the first through the door. Captain Mike Baima brought expert technical proficiency with his tanks and Bradleys, repeatedly supporting SEALs and infantry under fire with precision and aggression.
Task Unit Bruiser's SEAL teams integrated completely with Army soldiers at COP Falcon, living, eating, patrolling, and planning together alongside Iraqi forces. This partnership was most visible under fire. When SEAL Ryan Jobe was gravely wounded, Santana's Bradley performed his evacuation, violating protocol to send a lone vehicle due to urgency. Intelligence and operational information flowed constantly between teams, with soldiers routinely risking everything for each other.
Specialist Jeremy Ili shielded his wounded platoon leader with his own body while maintaining suppressive fire. Staff Sergeant Carlos Guzman returned to his unit in Iraq while still bearing shrapnel, demonstrating unwavering dedication. Soldiers repeatedly braved high IED threats to aid and evacuate wounded comrades, ensuring no one was left behind.
Daily combat forged instinctive understanding—soldiers could read subtle behavioral cues to recognize when someone was tired, scared, or angry. As Santana notes, "Brotherhood was the armor we wore beneath the Kevlar... That's why we survived Ramadi." Proximity to death and collective sacrifice created bonds deeper than family. Twenty years later, these ties endure through reunions, calls, and emails, with veterans supporting each other through lingering physical and emotional wounds.
The brutal environment of Ramadi shattered the belief that experience could shield anyone from harm. Navy SEAL Ryan Jobe was struck by a sniper's round that shattered his face and destroyed his right eye. SEAL Mark Lee was killed by machine gun fire, becoming the first Navy SEAL killed in Iraq. His death, alongside Marine Corporal Joe Thompson on the same day, profoundly impacted their teams and demonstrated that even the most elite were vulnerable.
IEDs killed and wounded with terrifying frequency. On December 6th, 2006, an IED killed Major Megan McClung—the first female Marine officer lost in Iraq and first female Naval Academy graduate to die in combat—alongside Captain Travis Patrick Quinn and Specialist Vincent Pamante. Miguel Santana describes his platoon's devastating Humvee explosion in December that left five soldiers severely wounded, with photos showing the vehicle torn in half.
Violence did not discriminate by rank. Captain Michael P. McCusker survived massive IED strikes twice. Santana himself survived a sniper attack because his M4's optic absorbed the round, with only ballistic glasses preventing the loss of his right eye.
Michael Otten describes Ramadi as "literally hell on earth," where constant threat created unimaginable stress and forced unbreakable bonds. He confides that trauma and survivor's guilt almost led him to suicide, but the memory and loyalty to his brothers kept him alive. Otten believes living on despite the pain is a victory and a duty to those who endured it together.
Santana continues to suffer lasting effects—a brain injury leaves him with tremors requiring his wife's help for daily activities. He supports his former team, listening to those struggling with survivor guilt, reinforcing that leadership does not end on the battlefield. Many soldiers sought second deployments hoping for closure, while those sent home struggled with unanswered questions and unresolved trauma.
Miguel Santana dedicates twenty years to preserving the stories of soldiers who fought in Ramadi, believing it a leader's duty to give voice to their experiences and sacrifices.
Initially suppressing memories for nearly two decades, Santana realized that documenting these stories was essential. "What type of leader would I be if I didn't write this book?" he asks. His book, Unheard Voices, aims to help families understand the reality of Ramadi and fill historical gaps. The book acts as a time capsule with photos and journal entries preserving combat operations, ensuring memories don't fade with time.
Santana's approach was meticulous, taking thousands of timestamped photographs and videos throughout deployments. Each story in the book is accompanied by a corresponding photo, date, and time, providing precise frames of reference. The website extends the historical record with folders for deployment photos, reunions, and videos, ensuring the full experience of Ramadi remains accessible.
Santana devotes a chapter to remembering the fallen, providing tributes and biographies for Mark Lee, Michael Monsour, Megan McClung, and others. He believes it essential to acknowledge those lost so their sacrifices remain meaningful. A quote from Colonel Sean McFarland—"We must make their deaths matter; peace and prosperity in Ramadi, that is the mission"—serves as a guiding principle. The book's red stripe represents blood shed in combat, and the flag honors all fallen soldiers.
Santana also recognizes the leaders who shaped experiences in Ramadi, paying tribute to Lieutenant Colonel Tedesco, General McFarland, Captain McCusker, and Captain Baima, detailing their commitment to troop safety and mission success. By highlighting these individuals, Santana ensures future military professionals can learn from examples of exceptional leadership.
Miguel Santana's story exemplifies resilience in the face of combat injury, guided by family, responsibility, and the enduring ethos of soldier leadership.
After Ramadi, Santana noticed uncontrollable shaking in his right hand, particularly under stress. For years, he struggled to understand these symptoms, relying on painkillers and antihistamines. Prompted by his wife's insistence, Santana sought medical clarity. An MRI confirmed a traumatic brain injury and diagnosed him with essential tremor, a progressive neurological disorder. His doctor warned that repeated concussions could hasten deeper neurological decline, potentially leading to Parkinson's disease.
The diagnosis catalyzed a pivotal family discussion. Santana's wife emphasized the need for health and stability, and he recognized that his foremost duty was now to his wife and sons. Despite an opportunity to command the 75th Ranger Regiment's comptroller, Santana declined, prioritizing family over career advancement. He transitioned to civilian life as a federal comptroller at Southern Command, allowing him to maintain service while focusing on health and recovery.
Retirement did not end Santana's commitment to military service. He continues to support former platoon soldiers through regular reunions, phone calls, and personal visits. Reconnecting with Sergeant Travis King—who suffered a severe IED injury and couldn't return from deployment—Santana brought much-needed closure, filling gaps that had lingered for twenty years.
Santana's dedication endures through his writing, aimed at helping soldiers navigate challenges of multiple deployments, brain injury management, and family reintegration. He openly describes his journey of relearning basic tasks like shaving and tying shoes, crediting his wife's support and medications for his recovery. As Santana asserts, "a soldier remains a soldier" and "a leader remains a leader." He maintains a strong digital presence through his website, social media, and YouTube channel, making combat lessons and leadership guidance accessible to younger veterans and families, reinforcing that leadership and service transcend retirement.
1-Page Summary
The Battle of Ramadi marked a pivotal shift in coalition strategy and operations, implementing a doctrine of permanent combat outposts inside hostile urban centers. Drawing on lessons from Tal Afar, leaders applied innovative tactics, engineering solutions, and relentless operational tempo to restrict insurgent movement, protect civilians, and foster collaboration with Iraqi forces. The following outlines the evolution, implementation, and impacts of these practices in Ramadi.
Coalition forces in Ramadi adopted a strategy pioneered by McMaster in Tal Afar, where outposts were embedded throughout the city to maintain a permanent, visible presence. Jocko Willink notes that the Tal Afar experience was a “brutal baptism by fire,” essential for learning the discipline and tactics required for Iraq’s urban battlefields. In Ramadi, General McFarland leveraged this doctrine, aiming to deny insurgents the ability to operate unchallenged by ensuring coalition forces were actively stationed within the city's most dangerous sectors.
COP Iron was established in south Ramadi in June 2006. As Willink recounts, the forces entered a devastated, abandoned neighborhood—already scarred by years of fighting—and began securing and clearing buildings under threat of sniper fire. Once secured, the 40th Engineer Battalion and logistics teams began assembling the outpost. Operators and engineers built HESCO barriers and earthen berms for protection, often under sporadic sniper fire. The establishment required urgency and resilience, as enemy fire was a constant threat.
After Iron, attention shifted north to COP Falcon, which was seen as a significant gamble due to its location deep in insurgent territory. Falcon’s establishment was an overt statement of coalition intent to remain indefinitely. Charlie and Lace platoons conducted detailed reconnaissance to identify sniper positions and potential vulnerabilities. Marines, Army units, and SEALs coordinated to clear the area, seize buildings, and fortify defenses—transforming Falcon into a formidable hub. The location offered immediate access to hostile neighborhoods, enabling forces to launch rapid operations and maintain pressure on insurgent networks.
Operations at Iron and Falcon underscored a high degree of integration: Army units with Bradley IFVs, supporting Marines, Navy SEALs for overwatch and snipers, and Iraqi forces embedded for joint patrols, intelligence gathering, and trust-building. COPs also facilitated close interaction with local Iraqi police, who, as Willink observes, were vital for community intelligence and shifting the civilian attitude away from insurgent influence.
Combat outpost construction involved significant engineering: over 300 concrete barriers were brought in under direct fire. Forklifts moved them while snipers targeted engineers and soldiers. Following the barriers, HESCOs were deployed and filled with rubble, creating layered defenses. The three-tiered perimeter used concrete to stop vehicle-borne IEDs, HESCOs for blast protection, and sandbagged rooftop positions for overwatch.
Outpost defenses were meticulously planned with overlapping fields of fire established by .50-caliber machine guns, M249 SAWs, and grenade launchers. Armored Bradleys covered major routes, and entry points were carefully reinforced, sometimes with creative modifications—such as steel plates welded onto commander hatches to prevent shrapnel injuries, protecting exposed crew members during IED attacks.
The IED threat was omnipresent. Every convoy and patrol required careful route clearing, often using specialized vehicles with rollers and robotic arms. Command-detonated IEDs could devastate vehicles and formations, leading to immediate casualties and secondary ambushes. Speed bump IEDs and large, sophisticated devices were commonly encountered. Patrols often took hours rather than minutes as engineers and soldiers worked to detect and defeat hidden explosives.
Life at the outposts revolved around constant operational activity. Coalition forces—now living and operating alongside Iraqi Army and police—conducted two to three patrols daily, regardless of heat or risk. These regular missions built familiarity with the terrain and faces of the neighborhood, nurturing local relationships and gathering vital intelligence.
On sensing patrols, soldiers used biometric equipment to photograph and collect retina scans of military-aged males in their sectors, gradually building a database to identify and track high-value targets. Such intelligence meant t ...
Battle of Ramadi: Strategy, Operations, Combat Outposts
The experiences of Army and Navy leaders, soldiers, and SEALs in Ramadi illuminate how leadership, mutual dependence, sacrifice, and shared trauma forge unbreakable bonds in war.
Lieutenant Colonel Tedesco is remembered for his battlefield presence and the trust he inspired. When Miguel Santana first met Tedesco during a vehicle assembly, Tedesco greeted Santana personally, joking about their similar height: "Eye to eye, you're gonna do great things in my task force." This gesture created an immediate and lasting bond; Santana testifies, "Twenty years later, I will follow Colonel Tedesco to the end." Tedesco was known for epic motivational speeches and, most importantly, for being present and engaged with his soldiers, fostering deep admiration and loyalty.
Sean McFarland, alongside Tedesco, was distinguished by his willingness to visit the front lines and speak directly with platoon leaders like Santana. He refused to let vital information filter through layers of staff, instead opting for thorough, honest debriefs. McFarland and Tedesco never stayed behind the safety of the main base; their constant presence on the front shaped their soldiers' respect and confidence, demonstrating commitment and demanding nothing of their subordinates they wouldn’t do themselves.
Captain Mike McCusker, whose reputation for courage spread across brigades, led by example. In a fierce engagement where the enemy refused to withdraw, McCusker personally entered a dangerous position armed only with a pistol and flashlight to confirm a kill, rather than ordering someone else in. This act and similar previous actions—like crawling toward a fortified machine gun bunker while wounded—cemented his position as a leader who shared every risk with his men. His soldiers sometimes had to plead with him not to be the first through the door, underscoring his relentless commitment to lead from the front.
Captain Mike Baima, commander of Bravo Company’s Bulldogs, brought expert technical and tactical proficiency to his role. In urban combat, Baima’s tanks and Bradley fighting vehicles repeatedly supported SEALs and infantry under fire, engaging enemy positions and thwarting counterattacks with precision and aggression. His leadership style balanced discipline, decisiveness, and the confidence to remain at the forefront of battle. Soldiers trusted his ability to maneuver, coordinate combined arms, and make rapid decisions under pressure that often made the difference in life-or-death moments.
The integration of Task Unit Bruiser’s SEAL teams with Army soldiers at Combat Outpost (COP) Falcon was total: they lived, ate, patrolled, and planned together, also alongside Iraqi Army and police units. This constant interaction fostered a unified force, with shared operational burdens and victories.
The partnership was most visible under fire. When SEAL Ryan Jobe was gravely wounded, it was Santana’s Bradley fighting vehicle that performed his casualty evacuation, violating standard protocol to send a lone vehicle without escort due to urgency. The Army risked itself to save SEALs, and such acts were routine during desperate situations, reflecting the depth of trust and mutual reliance.
Intelligence and operational information was constantly shared and acted upon between Army and SEAL teams. Missions were conducted in close cooperation, building up reputations on both sides for reliability and tenacity. These tightly knit operations underpinned every successful engagement and evacuation.
Specialist Jeremy Ili exemplified immediate self-sacrifice. When his platoon leader was shot, Ili shielded him with his own body, maintaining suppressive fire so the captain and lieutenant could escape the kill zone. Such acts of bravery were common, underlining soldiers’ willingness to risk everything for their comrades.
Staff Sergeant Carlos Guzman, after being wounded and evacuated for treatment, returned to his unit in Iraq—still bearing shrapnel—demonstrating steadfast dedication and loyalty to his team. Guzman's determination to return was both a personal decision and a reflection of the powerful pact binding the men together.
Leadership, Brotherhood, and the Bond Forged In Combat
The accounts from Iraq reveal the profound and lasting toll of combat, where the dangers extend far beyond the frontlines and leave an indelible mark on everyone from the most skilled warriors to the leaders tasked with their safety.
The myth that experience or expertise could shield anyone from harm shattered in the brutal environment of Ramadi. Navy SEAL Ryan Jobe, stationed atop building 125 sector j10, played a crucial role as a machine gunner supporting street-level operations. Suddenly, a sniper’s round struck with devastating effect, shattering his face, destroying his right eye, and causing life-threatening trauma. Despite the agony, Jobe stayed conscious, his composure motivating his team as they quickly fought to save his life.
During an intense firefight at Building 65, SEAL Mark Lee provided covering fire for his teammates. A burst of machine gun fire struck down Lee, making him the first Navy SEAL killed in Iraq. His death profoundly impacted his team, as described by Jocko Willink, highlighting how even the most elite were not immune to the violence.
The cost was equally shocking across other units. Marine Corporal Joe Thompson, a familiar collaborator with Willink’s SEALs from the 3rd Marines, was killed on the same day as Lee. These losses reverberated throughout the brigade, casting a pall as soldiers gathered for the sacred angel flight, bearing their fallen comrades home.
Insurgents’ favored weapon, the improvised explosive device (IED), killed and wounded with terrifying frequency and destroyed even the most robust vehicles. On December 6th, 2006, an IED strike killed Maj. Megan McClung—brigade public affairs officer, first female Marine officer lost in Iraq, and first female Naval Academy graduate to die in combat—alongside Capt. Travis Patrick Quinn and Spc. Vincent Pamante. The attack ripped their vehicle apart, a grim testament to the lethality of IEDs.
Miguel Santana describes his platoon enduring a devastating Humvee explosion in December, which left five soldiers severely wounded. Photos captured afterward displayed the vehicle torn in half, underscoring the ferocity of these strikes. Specialist Hopkins suffered both eardrums blown out, and Sergeant Travis King took the brunt of another IED blast.
Catastrophic injuries were often the result, with gruesome wounds altering the course of survivors’ lives—shrapnel caused vision loss, and many needed long and painful recoveries. Despite heavy armor and advances in vehicle technology, the threat from IEDs remained relentless and deadly.
The violence did not discriminate by rank. Captain Michael P. McCusker was twice struck by massive IEDs, once in Tal Afar and again in Ramadi. Major attacks left him and others—like Staff Sergeant Nicholas Kurt Cruthoff, Staff Sergeant Carlos Guzman, and Specialist Ryan Major—with life-altering injuries. Guzman returned to his unit still carrying shrapnel in his body. Santana notes that Specialist Ryan Major survived catastrophic injuries and went on to achieve remarkable things despite his wounds.
Leaders often experienced the same immediate dangers as their troops. Miguel Santana, for instance, survived a sniper attack because his M4's optic absorbed the round, with only his ballistic glasses preventing the loss of his right eye. Santana still keeps the bullet-riddled optic as a reminder and credits both equipment and trust in his fellow soldiers for his survival.
Officers also played a critical role in crisis response. First Sergeant Louie Duran and Staff Sergeant James K. Wilson coordinated the medevac for Ryan Jobe while repositioning assets under fir ...
The Human Cost of War
Miguel Santana dedicates twenty years to preserving the stories of the soldiers who fought in Ramadi, believing it a leader’s duty to give voice to the experiences, sacrifices, and leadership that defined their battles. His book, Unheard Voices, serves as both a historical chronicle and a memorial for future generations.
Initially, Santana sought to bury his experiences, suppressing memories of combat for nearly two decades. The death of his brother and the persistent reminders from his wife made him reflect on his responsibility as a leader. He realized that documenting these stories was essential—not only to honor his soldiers but also to satisfy what he saw as a leader’s obligation: “What type of leader would I be if I didn’t write this book?” Santana states that Unheard Voices is about his soldiers, not himself, and aims to help families—moms, dads, brothers, sisters—understand the reality of Ramadi and fill in historical gaps, including those important for the SEALs team. The book acts as a time capsule with photos and journal entries preserving the details of combat operations, ensuring that memories do not fade with time. Santana emphasizes the importance of ensuring the stories and legacies of the fallen are carried forward, becoming part of history so that future generations always remember what was fought for in Ramadi.
Santana’s approach to documentation was meticulous. As a leader, he took thousands of timestamped photographs and videos throughout deployments, creating a comprehensive visual record of missions, preparations, operations, and reunions. Each story in the book is accompanied by a corresponding photo, date, and time, providing a precise frame of reference for every event. Santana describes this visual archive as a time capsule that made it possible to accurately reconstruct and recount the events years later.
Some images, black-and-white in the book, reveal further detail in their color versions on Santana’s website, including aspects like blood and weapon details that are not as visible in print. The website extends the historical record with folders for deployment photos, reunions, and videos—ensuring the full experience of Ramadi is accessible. Santana also recounts a significant historical moment: on August 2, 2006, a reporter was embedded with his unit, documenting their experience. Santana saved the August 3rd, 2006 issue of Stars and Stripes and later thanked the journalist, Monte Marino, for capturing and preserving that history, underscoring the collaborative importance of all who document these stories.
Santana devotes a chapter before the book’s end to remembering the fallen, providing tributes and brief biographies for Mark Lee, Michael Monsour, Megan Mcclung, Travis Patrick, and others. He believes it is essential to acknowledge those lost so that their sacrifices are meaningful, striving to ensure their legacy endures through the success of the mission. The acknowledgement is not just for the soldiers but also for their families, who seek understanding and closure through these stories.
Santana and Jocko Willink reflect on the responsibility to make the deaths of fallen comrades matter. A quote from Colonel Sean McFarland—“We must make their deaths matter; peace and prosperity in Ramadi, that is the mission”—serves as a guiding principle throughout the work. The book’s symbolism reinforces this duty: a red stripe on the cover represents the blood sh ...
Documenting History and Honoring the Fallen
Miguel Santana’s story exemplifies resilience in the face of combat injury, guided by family, responsibility, and the enduring ethos of soldier leadership, both in and out of uniform.
After his deployment to Ramadi, Santana noticed uncontrollable shaking in his right hand, particularly under stress. For years, he struggled to understand these symptoms, relying heavily on painkillers and antihistamines in an attempt to manage his condition. Santana was uncertain whether his pain stemmed from mere headaches or something more severe. The challenge of caring for his newborn son intensified these concerns, as the tremor hampered daily tasks and signaled something fundamentally wrong.
Prompted by his wife's insistence and love, Santana sought medical clarity. After extensive testing at L'Anch d'Or, an MRI confirmed the presence of a traumatic brain injury. Doctors diagnosed him with essential tremor, a progressive neurological disorder that explained not only the hand tremors but also intermittent changes in his voice. The diagnosis led to a sobering conversation: his doctor warned that, like Muhammad Ali, repeated concussions could hasten deeper neurological decline, potentially leading to Parkinson’s disease. This forced Santana to consider whether continuing military service was worth risking further deterioration.
The gravity of Santana's condition catalyzed a pivotal family discussion. Motivated by love, his wife emphasized the need for health and stability. Santana recognized that, although he had led soldiers in combat, his foremost duty was now to his wife and sons. Family support became essential to his recovery, and together they prayed before deciding it was time for him to retire for the sake of their collective well-being.
Santana’s leadership potential had opened an opportunity to command the 75th Ranger Regiment’s comptroller in about a year, endorsed by a close mentor. Despite the career prestige, Santana declined, prioritizing his family’s health over continued advancement. He shifted to civilian life, taking a role as a federal comptroller at Southern Command, which allowed him to maintain a sense of service and provide for his family, while also giving attention to his health and personal recovery.
Retirement did not end Santana’s commitment to military service. He continued to support former platoon soldiers through regular reunions, phone calls, and personal visits. These relationships provided mutual accountability and healing. Reconnecting with Sgt. Travis King—who had suffered a severe IED injury in December and could not return from deployment—Santana brought much-needed closure, filling gaps in King's understanding of the campaign’s final months and helping resolve questions that had lingered for twenty years.
Santana’s dedication endures through his writing, aiming to help soldiers navigate the challenges of multiple deployments, brain injury management, and family reintegration. His current and fo ...
Personal Recovery, Resilience, and Continued Service
Download the Shortform Chrome extension for your browser
