Unbreakable: A Navy SEAL’s Way of Life (26 page)

“Jesus God, the helo drifted backward over all of us,” he yelled back.

“Damn, let’s get the guys up from the ledge and see who we lost,” I yelled again to EOD.

I got a sick feeling because I had lost my night vision somewhere. I couldn’t see any of my men due to the dust out and darkness. Doing anything other than crawling around would be incredibly stupid, because if I were to stand up, the next step would surely be a long one.

As I searched around, I immediately felt three others doing the same thing. At this point, everything was quiet again, the dust had settled, and the visibility had improved somewhat. EOD was on my right side working toward the cliff edge, when he asked, “Chief, did you lose your goggles?” He handed me the damned things, and I put them up to my eyes, truly surprised they worked. With the aid of the goggles, I immediately saw what looked like everyone on their hands and knees. Texas was being pulled up from the edge by Ground Launch, and both were laughing.

“Everyone stop,” I said into my radio. “I want a head count right now.”

“Fire Team One is up.”

“Fire Team Two, up.”

“Fire Team Three, up.”

“Fire Team Four is up, but one of us is down the ledge about fifteen feet.”

I looked over to KM, who was standing on the edge of the cliff looking down. EOD, Nike, and I walked over and looked over.

“Are you alright down there?” I yelled, trying not to laugh.

“Yes,” Salty replied. “But I seemed to have dropped my grenade and am afraid to pick it up.”

“Chief, I got this. Just get the men moving toward the sniper positions. We will catch up, or you will hear a big boom. Best if we don’t all sit here and watch,” EOD said with a laugh and a smile. “If the pin was pulled, it most likely would have gone off. I am just going to stress him out a bit longer. Salty, don’t move. I am coming down to you.”

The whole situation was morbidly funny. One part of me was still just happy I had not been crushed by the helo losing altitude and then sliding backward over my entire platoon; the other part of me was laughing at EOD wanting to play a joke on Salty, who was clearly in distress, worrying his grenade was going to blow up underneath him if he moved. With every step I anticipated an explosion, but I also felt better about getting away from the edge. Truly funny in a morbid way.

After a bit, EOD and Salty joined the movement along the ridge as we looked for the best vantage point to both see the SF Team and prevent the enemy from moving in on them and us. Damn, we were high up to be sure. No enemy would be able to easily climb the cliffs leading to our ridgeline, and no hilltops were higher than our position within two kilometers. We just had to be able to shoot accurately 700 meters to 2,000 meters. A sniper’s wet dream.

At the first point, we realized we would have to dig deep into the rocks, dirt, and gravel to provide the sniper element protection and a comfortable place to rest and hang out. Yet, as we all looked at the ground, a deep, disgusting sigh came out of everyone simultaneously.

“Jeeesssuuuss, this is truly going to suck, digging into this rock and making sandbags,” Snowman and All Around said.

“What did you think it was going to be up here on a cliff?” I asked, rather pissed off anyone would complain.

“Well, honestly, I had hoped for cool grass and a Jacuzzi,” Snowman said in a provocative tone.

“How about you dig a nice hole and we all piss on you when you get in,” Salty answered Snowman. Salty always came to work and hates hearing others complain.

“Alright,” I stepped in. “Fun is over: squad two, dig; squad one, let’s find you a spot.”

Squad one and I broke away and walked along the ridge closer to the SF Team and deeper into the all rock sections. We literally walked along a knife-edge six-foot-wide path, with 100-foot drops on both sides; safe from the enemy, but dangerous even to walk.

We had two hours of darkness remaining. Although we were at 10,000 feet altitude and the temperature was now 70 degrees, I knew the temperature would rise well above 100 degrees during the day, and we would be fighting the heat and dehydration all day long. I was really looking forward to hot Gatorade.

The various rock chimneys and depressions did, however, lend themselves well to sniper positions and shade for the men. So I left squad one with the task of keeping eyes on the SF Team and to watch for enemy men moving in on them. The walk back up the ridge toward squad two was much harder. The altitude was clearly noticeable, and I knew the men digging would be exhausted already.

Once on top of the hill, I saw LT sitting alone and took that as a sign to go over and have a chat.

“LT, I see no easy way for the enemy to approach these positions, or even reach up here with their AK-47s. Even the RPGs will have a tough time. Once Echo platoon gets into position, I will plot their grids and ensure we have 360-degree coverage, but the original plan for positions looks rather good, don’t you think?” I asked, flopping down next to him on a jagged rock that went right into my butt cheek.

“I agree. I have made radio comms with the SF Team and am waiting for an update on their status,” LT said, in his always business-like way.

I reached into my pocket and withdrew my can of Copenhagen, offering him a dip. He always refused with a disgusted look, which, of course,
made me want to offer more frequently throughout the day.

As I sat, I realized I was no longer stressed about being in hell. The pain in my feet and back had not flared at all. The stars even seemed brighter. I kicked back and listened to LT talk to the top players on the ground and back at base. Looking up at the billions of stars I could see through my night vision is always stunning. I was where I wanted to be. My family was safe from this stupid conflict between Islam and Christianity, and we were about to get busy.

Squad two was working like a chain gang, trying to dig deep and fill sandbags, so I decided to pick up one of the positions in order to allow the snipers time to set up their positions and weapons, and get into the mindset of watching and shooting versus digging and being pissed off. However, after an hour of digging, filling, and lifting sandbags, I was wet from head to toe, and tired. All the same, the Bravo welcome mat was out, and we were ready for guests.

Right at dawn we heard enemy AK-47 firing going on down in the valley near the SF Team and, within minutes, I heard the distinct sounds of Nike and Jake shooting multiple .300 Winchester Magnum rounds. Then silence. I turned to watch All Around scanning the target area for the enemy. After a bit he relaxed, his head came off the gun, and he returned to writing something in his notepad. How funny watching these men at this stage in their combat maturity—relaxed, yet very keen about what was going on.

Then the big waiting game and oppressive sun and heat happened. Two hours went by with nothing but locals moving around the target area, doing farming work or carrying water, seemingly oblivious anything was going on. Truly amazing, these men.

At noon, I decided to relieve the snipers and let them get some rest from working and watching. I felt good getting behind the .300 Winchester Magnum again. I could see the entire valley floor, and the scene reminded me of hunting elk in Aspen, Colorado. I began to methodically check all the people moving around. I spent a lot of time watching their movements and seeing if they were hiding stuff or possibly using radios to talk to the real enemy who was clearly in the area. After an hour of scanning, I noticed a window with a barrel sticking out of it. At 1,200 yards determining if the thing was a barrel or the handle of a rack was extremely
difficult. I was not sure, so I watched and watched and watched. Every so often it would withdraw into the window, then poke back out.

I played this watching game for an entire hour. My right eye felt like it was being pulled through the other side of the scope by a vacuum. Then, finally, the enemy guy in the building must have completed his prayers and decided to shoot at the SF Team. Either he was retarded, or didn’t think we could shoot that far. I checked the wind and the down angle several times, then dialed in my firing solution one last time. I waited for the right presentation to shoot.

The poor enemy soldier didn’t get the return fire from the SF Team he had prayed for, so he decided to move into the middle of the next doorframe. As he lifted the AK-47 once again, I fired. The recoil of the rifle knocked the gun somewhat out of position. After sliding the bolt back and forth to load a new round, I took another minute to pick up the exact doorframe among all the other doors down in the valley. Finally, I found the man again, who was now lying on the ground with a big pool of blood seeping through his man-dress. The gun lay alongside his body, and he was trying to crawl backward while pulling the weapon along with him. So I fired again. Once I reloaded and found the correct door, all I could see were his feet on the threshold of the door; his body was back in the shadows of the room.

I watched for a bit, then All Around said to me, “Chief, where are you looking? Let me see if I can help.”

“No need. He is done. You can have the position back; my work is done here,” I said as I watched two unarmed women pull the enemy’s body back into the room.

“You suck, you know that, Chief?” All Around said as I stood up and looked at him.

“Oh, you been talking to my wife, haven’t you?” I smiled.

I crawled out of position to allow All Around to fill it. Everyone had been watching with either binos or their own gun-mounted scopes. We heard responses from the other homes, and I use the term homes very loosely, because the buildings looked like mud huts from up where we were. Four men with AK-47s and PKMs had run away, and were moving in and out of alleyways and darting into huts. We were tracking their movement the best we could with hand-held scopes, when without being
asked, Snowman called up an Apache wing to look at our target area. Hell, I didn’t even know they were close enough to see.

Yet, as he worked his magic, they had eyes on, and although, the enemy was now 2,000 meters away, I said, “Don’t engage …

The temperature now was 120 degrees, and we were feeling the effects. The wait would completely suck. I did what any good leader would do. I laid down under the small bit of shade we had and closed my eyes. Normally, I only dreamed of Stacy and the kids while I was in the middle of combat, but now no dreams came—just sleep. I was thankful.

After an hour, the birds called in they were going to return to base and refuel. We were alone, yet the heat of the day may have served us, because no enemy returned. So we waited and waited. Periodically, from Echo platoon’s direction, we heard firing, and the occasional update across the radio told the story of random enemy with AKs trying to get close to the SF bubbas. And we waited.

An hour before twilight, the family of enemy, with much better firepower, crossed a stream in a nice, pretty, single file line about 3,000 meters away. Well out of our range to engage with our weapons. But, the poor bastards were immediately spotted by the two Apaches we now had back on station. Snowman worked his magic like a snake slowly coiling around his prey. He talked the helos on, seductively allowing the enemy to feel secure. Yet, the enemy had decided to take a position in a hut with women. So we waited. I suggested we hit the ground in front of the hut
with rockets, well out of any collateral damage range, and make the enemy run out to a place where there were no women and children. LT agreed, and we flushed them out.

The next thirty minutes were like a wild-goose chase. The eight new enemy guys ran out and split up. We decided to follow the ones carrying the PKMs and RPGs. They were fast, but ultimately, made a mistake. The four of them went into an underground hole, or cave of some kind. Once they were locked down in one spot, Snowman and the Apache pilots worked out a surprise for them. Right at last light one of them stepped out of the opening holding his RPG and a set of binos, and for a minute, we were looking at him and he was looking at us. Then, a big, bright light and massive explosion engulfed the cave entrance and the poor guy. Since there was no wind, the cloud lasted fifteen minutes. Finally, the Apache pilot confirmed a positive hit and no collateral damage, well, at least not to anything other than the front and back of the cave.

The rest of the night was spent on the methodical extraction of the SF Team. We waited our turn for pickup and joked and chatted about what had happened and what we were going to do the next few days. The strain of combat had either made us all completely crazy, or the men had literally decided if it was time to die, so be it. In the meantime, we all took advantage of each opportunity to enjoy what we had.

As I was waiting for the helo that night, I wondered if I would be able to keep the ease and zest for life once I was back home. Part of me wished I could continue to be and feel this way forever, yet another part wanted to simply leave it and get back to a life where I could raise my children. As the helo landed, and dust and rocks flew in my face, I wanted to never leave, because I felt life with family and a boring job would be a more ruthless hell.