Kill Bin Laden: a Delta Force Commander's account of the hunt for the world's most wanted man (38 page)

“Just another day at the office, Al. It’s what we are here for,” I offered.

“Yeah, I know all that shit. But your guys just got here, someone yells ‘bin Laden,’ and y’all haul ass into the fire. Any other unit would have thought about it for a day or two, developed a risk assessment, called for permission, or figured out a way not to go.”

“Well, Al, that was the pre-nine-eleven military. I’d like to think all that conventional bureaucracy crap and risk aversion went out the window when the Towers fell.” I dug into my pouch of Redman tobacco. “Want some?” I mumbled with my mouth full.

I slept the sleep of the righteous that night, curled up next to Adam Khan.

While we were dead to the world, one of the CIA ’terps reported that the journalists over on Press Pool Ridge had heard the helicopters’ arrival at the schoolhouse and were stirring for a story.

Ali’s subordinates reasoned it would be bad publicity for the general if the QRF was still around when the sun came up and the reporters and photographers spotted American and British faces. That just would not do!

So the MH-47 Dark Horses, pride of the 160th SOAR, returned, landed only meters from the schoolhouse and took away all of the new arrivals, including Ashley, to resolve the delicate situation.

I slept through it all.

The boys in OP25-A were magnificent that night. While we rested, they didn’t sleep a wink, and that yielded the payoff moment for Ski’s decision to have his India Team spend the night at the observation post. One of his boys was Dallas, who was using a MilCAM Recon thermal sight that we affectionately called the Darth Vader, and Dallas finally saw what everyone had been hoping for—the signature flash of an outgoing mortar round as it left the tube.

Fellow sniper Dugan slipped his wool hat back and grabbed his Izlid infrared marking laser. Dallas talked Dugan onto the mortar location by using the horizon lines of Larry, Curly, and Moe, and the OP25-B opposing ridgeline as reference points.

That may sound simple, but writing about it and executing it are two entirely different things. Words can’t do justice to how difficult this was because the difference between the view through a hot thermal system and a set of night vision goggles is literally night and day. As Dugan and Dallas
worked their side of the magic, Ski and Jester came up with a target grid, which they handed to Spike, the team’s air force combat controller. Spike rang up the gunship. The clouds that had shielded the enemy had moved away, and the Spectre was eager to pounce.

As the AC-130 bored circular counterclockwise holes in the sky, the boys labored to tag the mortar tube for the gunship, and Dugan managed to get the Izlid’s infrared laser exactly on the spot that Dallas had found, although they were working with entirely different tools. Dallas’s thermal imager picked up heat sources, not infrared sources—so he couldn’t actually
see
the laser that Dugan was using to sparkle the mortar.

The gunship aimed at the tip of the laser and fired a single round from its 105mm howitzer and scored a first-round direct hit. Spike followed up with the order to fire for effect and the gunship lit up the target area with more 105mm rounds and a great many pickle-size bullets from the ripping 25mm Vulcan cannon.

The boys didn’t need to see warm bodies flying through the air to know they’d hit the mark. After taking a moment to pass high fives around the OP and to slap Dugan and Dallas hard on their backs, they all got back to work. Knocking out that pesky mortar was just another piece of business.

Signals intelligence would confirm there were no further enemy transmissions from that location. The elusive and persistent enemy mortars that had nagged us for several days were finally out of the game. It had taken less than ten minutes from the moment they were spotted.

Spike continued to control close air support missions throughout the night while India Team worked the thermals and Kilo Team worked the NVGs and radios. Spike orchestrated the dropping of payload after payload on known and suspected enemy locations, sending the clear message that darkness no longer would protect the al Qaeda mountainous sanctuary.

* Michael Smith, in his book
Killer Elite
, discusses in detail the history of these special signal collectors.

So let me be a martyr, dwelling high in a mountain pass among a band of knights who, united in devotion to God, descend to face armies.

   
—USAMA BIN LADEN

After only a few hours of rack, we awoke to a gorgeous and peaceful view of the majestic mountains on December 11. We sipped freshly brewed green tea or coffee to cut the morning chill, picked through a cold MRE, and hoped that bin Laden was still around up there, that he had stuck around for another day’s fight.

During the night, our signal interceptors monitored numerous radio calls between al Qaeda fighters, many of which went unanswered. The descriptive but choppy intercepts indicated that mass confusion, uncertainty, and a sense of vulnerability pervaded their camps.

Trying not to underestimate the man’s physical courage, we all assumed bin Laden would be true to his word and would fight to the death—to martyr himself in those mountains if necessary, and not duck out that open back door into Pakistan. He could probably travel overland and crest the 14,000-foot peaks within a few days, or he could descend to the major north-south valley and cross into Pakistan at only a 9,000-foot elevation.

He had definitely been on the run that night, but all indications were that bin Laden would man up and stay put. I liked that choice.

His personal magnetism remained strong among Muslims and would be a factor in his decision on whether to stay, for he had a lot of local support. Our signals intelligence interceptors regularly picked up radio calls when bin Laden attempted to motivate and recruit fighters. He played on the Muslim faith of General Ali’s men by offering them an opportunity to live and redeem their Muslim honor. All they had to do was drop their weapons, stop supporting the infidels, and return to their homes. Let the Americans, the “Far Enemy,” enter the field and fight us, he said. He reminded them that Muslims fighting Muslims at the urging of Americans was clearly counter to Allah’s will.

His words always found an audience. Numerous times throughout the battle, whenever a muhj subordinate commander believed he was listening to bin Laden himself, we would hear that officer call out excitedly to his men. They would gather around, and the commander would hold the radio high overhead so all could hear the words of the man they considered to be larger than life. As they listened, the mesmerized muhj would turn to the south and stare off into the forbidden mountains, as if they knew exactly which group of fir trees bin Laden was behind, or which cave he might be using, and that he was speaking personally to them.

But after the aerial beating that had been laid on his nest the evening before, first at the hands of the Admiral and then through the long night from the boys perched up in OP25-A, it wouldn’t have surprised any of us to find out that the Lion of Islam had been killed.

Alive or dead, the most obvious thing to do today was deliver an encore presentation—press the attack!

Another six hours passed before we learned the details about General Ali’s sudden disappearance from the battlefield. After leaving us along the side of the road, the general had continued north for another two hours to his comfortable home in Jalalabad. When he finally showed the next morning, he explained that had rushed away in order to mass two hundred more fighters and had planned to return.
Oh, well, in that case, we forgive you
. We didn’t buy it for a second.

The general’s trusty sidekick, Ghulbihar, later unwittingly revealed that his general was tired this morning because he had been up most of the night entertaining selected journalists and providing colorful commentary about bin Laden’s fate.

Jim and I caught up with Hopper and the Admiral to hear details of their drama, and when they were finished, I asked them to put their experiences in writing. We used those personal accounts, and Adam Khan’s description of events over the next few days, to write Silver Star recommendations for both of them. A few years later, Hopper earned a second Silver Star during the first days of Operation Iraqi Freedom. As of this writing, Hopper and the Admiral are both still in the SOF community.

Adam Khan later told me that Hopper and the Admiral were the “two bravest sons of bitches” he had ever seen, and had he known that we were sending him out with two guys who had no fear of dying, he wouldn’t have gone along. Right. His humility was evident. We couldn’t pin a medal on Adam Khan’s chest, but the Delta commander signed a personal letter for his boss back in Washington, D.C., commending the man’s extraordinary bravery and other qualities.

The majority of Delta operators are products of the Ranger or Special Forces community. The solid foundation of skills necessary for success in those elite organizations—shooting, moving, and communicating—provide a base mold that, with some advanced tooling, can be forged into an idiomatic counterterrorist icon. But every now and then a candidate with less of a warriorlike background defies the odds and surfaces during the Delta tryouts. By design, the
right guy
for the unit might have been the barracks computer whiz kid, the barracks lawyer, or even the barracks rat in some other unit.

Hopper was one such person, coming to Delta without Ranger or Green Beret experience. His previous military specialty had been as a Russian linguist, and he had been standing near the Berlin Wall when the East and West Germans started knocking it down! The unexpected selection of such noncombat types speaks volumes about Delta’s secret recruitment and
assessment process, which is as well guarded as the Coca-Cola recipe.
*
They can teach the new selectees how to fight our way, but the new ones also have to bring intellect and individuality to the table.

One day, teammate Shrek described Hopper by saying, “Whatever he touches, he can do it better than a pro.” When not on the rifle range working the bugs out of custom-made assault rifle concealment holsters or removing the ten-ring of paper targets at twenty-five meters with his MP5K submachine gun, he was probably out on his hog or jammin’ with his hot guitar. A talented musician with a liking for electric guitars and loud drums, Hopper rocked alone in his private band room at home.