Kill Bin Laden: a Delta Force Commander's account of the hunt for the world's most wanted man (39 page)

During our morning review, or hot wash, of the previous night’s work, we all recognized the obvious: Nobody, short of al Qaeda maybe, actually knew where the front lines were. Ground that was contested during the day would serve as the front line only until nightfall, when the muhj would retreat and al Qaeda would reoccupy the ground, light their warming fires, and bed down.

Delta was not going to play by those rules.

Our original concept had been to send small teams of a few snipers and air force combat controllers out with Ali’s forces to conduct terminal guidance operations, but since the muhj did not stick around at night, that plan had to be modified. After watching the latest tedious performance of the muhj–al Qaeda minuet, reality dictated that if we wanted to rapidly respond on an ambiguous battlefield then we had better be able to commit immediately. It was as much a force protection matter as a tactical requirement.

So on the night of December 11, without asking permission, we reconfigured our mission. Instead of holding most of our assaulters back at the schoolhouse to comprise an emergency strike force, we decided that the forward observation posts and the assaulters needed to occupy roughly the
same terrain. Nobody was coming to the rescue, so we had to depend on ourselves and would later inform our bosses, “This is what we are doing.” In Delta, you are expected to make decisions when faced with something that doesn’t work.

Basically, we were creating mobile security forces that could also double as forward observers. For lack of a better term, such a unit was called a mission support site, and known by the acronym MSS. Perhaps the name was awkward, but we all knew what it meant, so what the heck. The packages would be known by the nicknames of the leaders, so one would be MSS Grinch, and the other would be MSS Monkey.

While Jester, Dugan, and the Green Berets from 5th Special Forces Group occupying OP25-A on the eastern flank stood down for a rest, the other Green Berets now occupying OP25-B, on the western flank, took over managing the bombers for the day on December 11. The original four guys who had established that outpost as Victor Bravo Zero Two went home once the Green Berets arrived, and we never saw them again. Things were starting to move fast.

Back at the schoolhouse we spent the rest of the day preparing for the afternoon infil of MSS Grinch. Troop sergeant major Jim would be in charge, and he was backed up by half of our troop headquarters—combat medic Durango, communicator Gadget, combat controller the Admiral, and an attached Arabic tactical signal intelligence collector.

Jim also would field a halfdozen snipers, with Hopper leading them, which meant his nickname of Jackal would remain in place for that unit. The other shooters were Murph, Shrek, and Scrawny. Pope and Lowblow, who had been split off of Kilo Team earlier with original assignment of going to OP25-B, would now instead go along with Grinch. The augmentation of the Green Berets at OP25-B would be tasked to others.

Two teams of assaulters rounded out the package. Crapshoot’s Alpha Team members would be Blinky, Brandon Floyd, Juice, and Mango. The Bravo Team was to be led by Stormin’, and contain Grumpy, Precious, Noodle, and The Kid.

To fatten the package even more, we attached the first four-man contingent of British SBS commandos.

This tough and deadly bunch of professionals was about to take the
fight to al Qaeda, and would not be coming back when the sun went down.

For the record, we had no choice about accepting the Brits. When Ashley asked if we wanted any additional commandos from the SBS, our response had been, “No, thank you.”

It was not because we questioned the skill of these professionals in any way, because we certainly did not. We would have felt the same about anybody. We had never worked with them before. After having acquired a good look at the battlefield, we knew that just resupplying ourselves would be a major challenge, and adding more bodies would increase the difficulty. Their presence also would exacerbate the problem of trying to hide from prying eyes.

Besides, Adam Khan reminded us of the long trail of bad blood between the British and the Afghans. At the end of the First Anglo-Afghan War in 1842, an embattled garrison of about 4,500 British troops and perhaps up to 10,000 camp followers was promised safe passage through Afghanistan’s snow-covered passes to return to India. They were repeatedly ambushed, and, according to legend, all were slain but Dr. William Brydon. The lone survivor was instructed to tell everyone he saw that the same slaughter awaited anyone else who considered occupying Afghan soil in the future.

Now the Brits were back.

Within another twenty-four hours, Ashley asked us to figure out how to use still another eight SBS commandos. Again, I responded negatively, at which time I was told in no uncertain terms that Rumsfeld had said this would be a coalition effort with our most trusted allies and friends and we would just have to figure it out.

So, another eight British commandos and an intelligence operative from the United Kingdom would be added to our party at various intervals throughout the coming fight.

Now, this is as good a time as any for me to eat crow. I was wrong.
Our British friends fit in smoothly as soon as they arrived and could not possibly have performed better. They were brave, talented, professional, and passionate, and all of us in Delta were extremely impressed with their skill and courage, and proud to call them teammates during that cold December. The relationships established on this battlefield would serve both nations well as Operation Enduring Freedom progressed, and carry over into the next war in Southwest Asia, in Iraq.
*

In the early afternoon of December 11, some of Ali’s fighters were trapped in a valley, and a large group of al Qaeda fighters was looking down on them from the ridgeline. The muhj liaison stationed at OP25-A listened carefully to the radio transmissions and described the dire situation to Jester and Dugan. He pointed over to Hilltop Moe, where some other muhj fighters were trying to relieve the trapped men. The rescue force ran up Hilltop Moe, raised their AK-47s over their heads, and sprayed a few bursts of automatic fire across the valley, toward the dug-in al Qaeda fighters. That tactic didn’t work very well.

The liaison man in OP25-A then asked the Americans to put some bombs on adjoining Hilltop Larry, which would spring the muhj fighters to take Hilltop 2685. Jester had word relayed to the commander to back his men a safe distance from the anticipated impact area, and the Delta boys went to work with a couple of the Green Berets and the Afghans to match the spotted location to the map.

Not surprisingly, whenever Americans and muhj tried to interpret the same map, there was significant disagreement over the correct grid. Jester took out his compass and shot an azimuth to the center of the ridgeline in question, then using the polar plot method—distance and direction—he determined a usable set of grid coordinates, and a confirmation round marked
the target. The combat controller gave his solution to a B-52 bomber which dumped twenty-five bombs on the spot. Airburst fuses exploded the weapons before they hit the ground in order to kill not only the al Qaeda fighters caught in the open but also those tucked into holes.

The muhj cheering that was overheard on the OP25-A radio couldn’t be mistaken. The strike opened the way for the muhj to break the stalemate, and they charged up Hilltop 2685 in a surprising display of aggressiveness. They did not stop until they had killed every al Qaeda brother with a heartbeat on the ridgeline and had captured the last of the Three Knuckles.

Then they ruined the moment by spending the next hour looting the dead al Qaeda fighters of equipment, weapons, and ammo. With the pillaging done, the victorious and joyful muhj headed back home for the night. What a waste.

Although the muhj had once again failed to hold the captured terrain, they had by clearing the field opened another opportunity for us to inflict still more damage on the bin Laden forces. Before the al Qaeda fighters could put their heads down for some much needed sleep with the retreat of the muhj, the boys in OP25-A took control of the airspace again.

Most of the Green Berets bedded down for most of the coming night, while Jester, Dugan, and the air force controller began another twelve straight hours of guiding bombs and providing targets to the stalking warplanes. At one point, OP25-A simultaneously controlled nine aircraft, which were stacked like blocks, and called them in one at a time to attack the enemy positions, cave entrances, foot trails, and fighters still in the open.

Several times, the special intelligence interceptors at the schoolhouse heard the agonizing cries of pain and despair coming over the al Qaeda radios. The pitiful pleas were just the kind of feedback we needed, and as the bombers gave way to the AC-130 gunships and night fighters, “multiple hot spots and personnel” were reported and engaged.

After destroying three enemy vehicles, the boys saw enemy foot soldiers fleeing down a ridgeline and immediately cleared the Spectres and
F-14s to engage. It was the end of the jihad, and everything else, for those guys.

Success did not come without some hiccups.

A CIA owned-and-operated unmanned aerial vehicle known as the Predator entered the Tora Bora airspace and started unleashing rockets on al Qaeda targets. Without any heads-up from our friends next door, the unknown bird caught our boys as a complete surprise. They had no idea about the identity of the aircraft, which had the call sign “Wildfire” and was being driven by a computer joystick in the hands of an operator far removed from the battlefield. It was certainly welcome, but it took a while to figure out what the hell it was.