Kill Bin Laden: a Delta Force Commander's account of the hunt for the world's most wanted man (41 page)

When George of the CIA, Adam Khan, and I went over to the general’s lackluster quarters, we found a totally exhausted Ali. Wearing a clean set of snow-white pajamas, the general this time opted not to even sit up when we entered his dark room, but instead remained on his side, with his head on his pillow and a green and brown wool blanket pulled up to his shoulders. His words were slow and labored. There was little light in the room, which had a leathery, musty smell about it. He was totally whipped and discouraged.

The general said he was concerned about his fighters’ stamina. They were tired, bloody, and cold, and he was not sure how long he could keep them motivated to fight. It was a veiled plea for help and exactly what we were looking for. We pounced on the chance.

“General Ali, now is the time,” I said, trying to encourage him. “I know you and your men are tired, but so is al Qaeda.”

The general nodded his head slowly, almost as if he was too tired to give it any more thought.

“He is right, General; bin Laden is very vulnerable right now. We can’t let this opportunity to end this thing slip away,” George added. “You need to order your men to support Dalton’s men… or I will have no other choice but to bring thousands of Americans to do the job for you.”

We made it as clear as we could. If he wanted to maintain the bombing, and the general certainly did, then he needed to get a handle on things and impress upon his subordinates the importance of getting us onto those damned mountains at night. The cover of darkness would keep the press off our rear ends, provide us unimpeded movement along
the narrow road, and get us close enough to accurately direct bombs onto al Qaeda’s positions.

We had to
be
there! It was useless providing a grid location to the muhj or pointing out where we wanted to go on a map because the muhj didn’t read maps. A better technique would have been just to stand behind the schoolhouse and point to the ridgeline where we wanted to be dropped off. Even more practical would be to drive as close as we could get, then point to the correct spot and have the guides determine the best route to walk there.

After the little pep talk, Ali realized the importance of getting on with it, and issued some short commands to several aides waiting outside the doorway. As we nodded to signal our pleasure with Ali’s ability to make tough calls, we couldn’t help but notice the aides were visibly uneasy with the orders. The general just seemed happy to get back to sleep.

With that good news, we reset MSS Grinch’s mission. They would depart at 2300 hours local, eleven o’clock, on that same night when they had already been stymied once. The convoy would now reach the drop-off point about midnight. That gave the boys a few hours to kill, so they warmed themselves with blankets and body heat, wolfed some cold MREs and powdered Gatorade, and made last-minute equipment adjustments before going out again.

All of us had arrived in Afghanistan with zero visibility as to exactly what type of fighting force the Eastern Alliance Afghan Opposition Group might be. We had assumed they possessed some fundamental sense of organization, professionalism, and skill of arms, and we expected some level of motivation to get the job done. But after encountering repeated debacles, it was clear that our new friends were anything but an organized, well-equipped, professional allied army.

It was just over two months since 9/11, and for the most important mission to date in the global war on terror, our nation was relying on a fractious bunch of AK-47-toting lawless bandits and tribal thugs who were not bound by any recognized rules of warfare or subject to any code of military justice short of random executions or firing squads. Moreover, the muhj showed little advancement from slingshot technology beyond some handheld walkie-talkies and a few aging Soviet battle tanks.

It was their turf, their fight, and for their glory, but it sure seemed that they should have been doing a lot better.

Afew minutes before MSS Grinch loaded the trucks for their second attempt at reaching the mountains, Adam Khan showed up after talking to the locals and some muhj fighters. The value of this guy’s ability to converse in fluent Pashto cannot be overstated. To me, he was an asset more valuable than a boatload of BLU-82s and an armory of AK-47s; he was the glue that was holding the entire scheme together.

Apparently, the CIA wasn’t the only player with cash to spend. Bin Laden’s minions were said to be dishing out $100 bills like candy to every local in the region. Adam Khan reported the locals said he had bought off every villager, even before we arrived, and that the recipients of his largess included some of our assumed allies.

Shortly after midnight, the radio in our corner room came alive. MSS Grinch had finally infiltrated the Tora Bora Mountains, linked up with the designated group of muhj, and was moving out. Adam Khan went with them.

They soon reached the Milawa base camp, a place that was reputed to have once been the home of Usama bin Laden, and had been attacked by bomb after bomb. On the opposite side of the ridgeline stood about a hundred muhj—Zaman’s men.

* Author Derek Leebaert in his book
to Dare and to Conquer
discusses this unique characteristic of Delta’s selection process.

* The good relations between the United States and the United Kingdom developed since the turn of the twentieth century continue today. This is particularly true among military outfits and has proven a tremendous asset in the ongoing war on terror. See
http://www.strategicstudiesinstitute.army.mil/pdffiles/PUB633.pdf
.

This is the greatest day in the history of Afghanistan.

   
—AFGHAN WARLORD HAJI ZAMAN
GHAMSHAREEK, DECEMBER 12, 2001

Before the sun came up on the morning of December 12, the American and British commandos of MSS Grinch were already on the hill. They stopped momentarily in a sparsely treed area that was strewn with boulders. Just to the west and down the ridge about a hundred meters, approximately one hundred of Zaman’s fighters were spread out, and their commander was sitting on a large rock with a lit joint in one hand and a folding-stock AK-47 propped beside him. Adam Khan and Jim cautiously moved down to coordinate the next move with the man.

By the way the muhj were acting, Jim realized that something big was going on. As Adam Khan talked to the commander and pieced the story together, Jim’s curiosity changed to anger.

The commander said that al Qaeda had thrown in the towel! A full surrender of all al Qaeda forces was about to take place!

As Jim’s fury grew, the local commander raised Zaman on his radio, and the warlord himself issued an order that the foreign commandos were not to proceed any farther into the mountains.

“Whatever it takes,” Zaman said in Pashto. “Under no circumstances
are the Americans allowed to attack al Qaeda. We must see the negotiations through.”

The notorious warlord had left Hilltop 2685, but was directing the show from not too far away. His voice carried a cocky air of selfassurance.

Jim knew the surrender gambit was nonsense, and said so. He responded that he had his own orders and intended to see them through. Short of a gunfight, not much could stop the powerful Grinch force from advancing south into the mountains to kill as many al Qaeda fighters as possible. He told the boys to top off their Camelbaks and ruck up. Within twenty minutes after hearing Zaman insist that Americans would not be allowed to take another step toward the enemy, Jim and MSS Grinch began humping up the ridgeline.

They had covered only about fifty meters when Zaman’s men appeared on the high ground and leveled their weapons—eighty AK-47s—at the commandos. Some of the fighters were only innocent-looking teenage boys who seemed uncertain, but many others were hardened warriors. The local commander yelled a warning for the Americans to halt, reiterated Zaman’s orders, and vowed to follow those instructions. The commander obviously feared Zaman’s wrath more than he did the twenty-five American and British commandos that morning. Only Adam Khan’s calm presence prevented disaster.

He told Zaman’s man that the commandos had General Ali’s full support to make the attack, and scolded him: “The general will not be happy.” The commander didn’t really care about Ali’s pleasure. He worked for Zaman.

Jim bottled his anger and weighed his options. The odds in a firefight were probably about even: one highly trained commando against every four untrained Afghans, but getting into a shootout with your supposed allies was not the most diplomatic of moves. So MSS Grinch had little choice but to hold in place and let the cease-fire situation play out a little more. An hour passed uneventfully except for the commandos stewing about being held back.

A few minutes after 6:00
A.M.
, Zaman arrived with another dozen of his fighters. He was an arrogant sort who played himself up in front of the
Americans whenever he had the chance and now he took full credit for arranging the surrender. He announced that he had arranged to contact the al Qaeda forces by radio in two hours, at 0800, to close the deal and provide surrender details and terms.