Kill Bin Laden: a Delta Force Commander's account of the hunt for the world's most wanted man (51 page)

The bulk of the meeting centered on convincing the warlords to forego that centuries-old custom and continue the attack in the mountains. Al Qaeda was on the ropes, and it was absolutely necessary to keep up the pressure. We were not in a forgiving mood.

Zaman, apparently having recovered from the false-surrender debacle, agreed, and bragged about getting an early start, saying he would have several hundred fighters ready to go at first light.

I laid my map before Zaman and asked him to point out the spot he planned to attack. That, of course, was an exercise in futility because Zaman’s ability to read a map was limited. In retrospect, there really were not too many good reasons why men like Ali and Zaman needed to read a map, for this was their backyard.

As soon as Zaman left, Ali began openly to question the commitment of his nemesis. Waving his hand wildly, the general said Zaman would never be able to motivate his men to attack, at least without letting them have a regular morning meal, their first breakfast after the month of fasting. Also, Zaman would not strike until he had spent some time at Press Pool Ridge, pandering sufficiently to the media and the cameras.

Ironically, it was the presence of the press that helped ensure the customs normally attached to the end of Ramadan would be ignored this year. Both warlords understood that public perception was the key to their futures.

Nestled in a rocky outcrop with not much vegetation, Kilo Team was enjoying an unmolested view of some of al Qaeda’s best positions. Not long after midnight, the crew aboard an AC-130 gunship radioed that they had spotted a dozen or so people running around on a nearby hilltop. The pilot wanted to know if these “hot spots” were friendly. Since Kilo was the forwardmost OP in the center of the battlefield, no friendlies were out there. Pope cleared the gunship “hot,” and after a few minutes of hammering, the pilot relayed to the boys on the ground: “All targets neutralized.”

As the Americans and Brits passed some quiet, congratulatory high fives around their OP, the distinct and comforting drone of the gunship could still be heard overhead. Then the silence gave way to a strange and ominous whistling sound that grew louder and louder, closer and closer until it stopped with a loud
Ding!
within their position. An expended piece of 40mm brass casing had spilled out of the gunship at 15,000 feet and landed in the middle of their tight perimeter, narrowly missing all six of them. They looked at each other in the darkness for a few moments, pondering what that big chunk of brass would have felt like if had crashed onto one of their heads.

Otherwise, Kilo spent another productive night by bombing al Qaeda. Like India Team, which had humped a SOFLAM up to OP25-A five days earlier, Kilo also had brought one up with them. It was a priceless piece of kit in this environment, and Pope and Lowblow knew it. They also knew once they departed the schoolhouse and moved into the mountains, the chances of being resupplied were slim to none. So both Delta snipers carried a PRC-117D radio just in case one radio shit the bed on them. They also packed two M-72 LAW rockets, five broken-down MRE rations, four gallons of water, fourteen BA-5590 radio batteries each, and assorted other items, and their personal rifles. The combined weight, and the high altitude, the bout with altitude sickness, the freezing temperatures, and small amount of food resulted in Pope dropping from 185 pounds to 152 pounds during the course of the battle.

Pope’s favorite tactic was one that the Admiral had taught him a few months earlier back at Bragg. He would run in a bomber to drop a large bomb on a cave entrance or bunker. If the strike was dead on, then nothing more was required. But if it was a narrow miss, it usually resulted in shell-shocked enemy fighters dashing off in all directions to find safety. When that happened, Pope would cycle away from the bomber and call in the gunships to rake over the survivors. The technique was deadly.

Late that evening, I returned to General Ali’s quarters to alert him that a resupply helicopter would be landing very soon, just outside his window.
He was already tucked beneath his brown wool blanket, but sat up when I entered. Something was bothering him, and he asked in a serious tone, “Commander Dalton, why is America in such a hurry to kill bin Laden now, after he has been your enemy for so long?”

Before Ghulbihar finished translating, the general continued: “America believes they have the might to do all things, but some things are God’s will.”

Now I thought that was a stupid question. Al Qaeda had regularly attacked American targets abroad, but on 9/11 they hit the United States itself, hard. Osama bin Laden was behind that attack. We were at war, and where, before 9/11, we had wanted him dead or alive, now we just wanted him dead.

But rather than spell it out for Ali and get into a philosophical discussion, as I heard the
thump-thump
of the approaching MH-47 Chinook, I decided to let action speak for me. The general’s room had flimsy little swing-gate windows that directly faced the helicopter landing zone, and they were open.

“General, you are about to experience American might firsthand,” I said with a bit of sarcasm.

As the helicopter thundered over the building, the powerful downdraft from the rotors struck with a vengeance. Ali threw off his blanket, jumped out of bed, and, with arms outstretched in front of him, leaned against the windows like he was about to be frisked by the law to hold them shut. The powerful rotor wash and flying sand literally threatened to push the windows open as the general struggled against them. Although it was amusing to see the warlord floundering in his pajamas, I chose to allow the general to retain his dignity and walked out the door. Point proven.

* Operation Acid Gambit was the opening mission of the invasion of Panama in 1989 by Delta to rescue American citizen Kurt Muse. Muse shares his story in his book
Six Minutes to Freedom
.

If al Qaeda was still strong, they would not have left their dead brothers behind.

   
—GEN. HAZRET ALI, DECEMBER 17, 2001

General Ali mustered roughly fifty anxious and shivering fighters at the schoolhouse early on December 16. It was the end of Ramadan, so while they waited for their general, some ate flat bread, others drank bottled water, and some just squatted down and stared into space. Two of those three simple pleasures were not allowed during the last thirty days of daylight fasting.

My attempts to pin down the general about his exact attack position or his intended march objective had been in vain, and except for the Muslims being able to eat and drink, this was shaping up to be no different than any other day.

Before George and the general walked to the lime green SUV to head to the battle lines, I promised Ali that he would have as many bombs as he needed and that we wanted to keep the pressure on. But I also warned that the battlefield was tightening, and that we didn’t want to kill any of his men by accident. “Keep my guys updated up there with your intentions,” I said.

The general shook my hand, placed his right hand over his heart,
shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Just keep bombing.” The man smelled victory.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I responded as he climbed into the passenger’s seat.

The warlord Haji Zaman, recently teamed with the third British SBS team and a recently arrived air force combat controller, was now capable of directing ordnance to support his own attack.

Adam Khan accompanied the Brits to link up with Zaman’s forward commander, and while moving into the foothills, he struck up a conversation with one of Zaman’s fighters. The man claimed that he personally saw Usama bin Laden mounted on a white horse and escorted by twenty or so black-hooded Egyptian bodyguards on foot. Rumor had it that unyielding loyalty was not enough to land a spot on bin Laden’s personal security detail. Just as important was that they had to share the same blood type as the terrorist leader.

The fighter described the atmosphere when bin Laden moved from one hiding spot to the next. A few minutes before the Sheikh’s arrival, a messenger would arrive to warn the locals, and all adults were sent to their homes and told not to come out until directed to do so. The only noise heard in the streets was the sound of little children running through the narrow alleys and back streets. Once bin Laden was safe inside his transient hideout, usually only minutes after the messenger’s arrival, the village resumed its normal life, as if nothing had ever happened.

Shortly after Adam Khan introduced the Brits to their new guide, they started to lumber up the hill and catch up with the commandos who were with General Ali’s fighters. Zaman chose a different ridgeline to move on, because following the Ali forces would have added little value. On the political scale, it would have been a major insult to Zaman.

Just above bin Laden’s destroyed home, the team of Brits, Adam Khan, and the guide encountered small-arms fire from an adjacent ridgeline occupied by some of Ali’s fighters. As tracer rounds zipped overhead,
the commandos made a mad dash uphill and dove into a huge bomb crater. Within a minute or so, they heard the distinct crash of rounds being fired from two T-55 tanks back near Press Pool Ridge and ducked as the shells passed overhead and exploded on the rocks farther up the ridgeline. They began to wonder what the worst of the two evils was: dying from AK-47 fire or being hit with one of those big shells from a friendly tank. The Brits figured neither choice was worth sticking around for, so everyone abandoned the crater and rushed forward to a more secure position.

Once in their place, they got to work and ordered up a B-52 strike on a suspected enemy position. After the big bomber had delivered its thundering payload and left the area, one of the Brits opened his pack and proudly produced a mini-kitchen, as if magically pulling a white rabbit from a top hat.

“It’s teatime!” he announced with a sigh of relief.

A few minutes before 0900 hours, with a slight cool breeze at their backs and the sun rising to their front, both Zaman and Ali attacked, just as they had promised. It was pretty clear they intended to stay for a while, for this time, besides the standard-issue AK-47 rifles, three magazines, an RPG round or two, and a pocket of nuts, dates, or rice, the muhj fighters were carrying bedrolls! Were they actually going to stay in the mountains this time?