No Easy Day: The Firsthand Account of the Mission That Killed Osama Bin Laden (17 page)

This
trip to Mississippi wasn’t like the time I spent down there in Green Team. I didn’t have to worry about picking a bottom five or possibly being sent home for improper CQB. We’d spend half the day at the range and the other half running through the kill house working on our skills and making sure everybody was in sync. We had several new guys in our troop, and we had to make sure they were up to speed.

No one really noticed that Jay and Mike, the squadron’s master chief, who is the most senior enlisted SEAL in the unit, weren’t there. But the mulch guy’s words were stuck in my head. I wondered what was so special in D.C.

We came home on a Thursday. On the way to the airport, I got a text message from Mike.

“Meeting 0800.”

Mike was massive like Charlie, with thick arms and a broad chest. He had been stationed at DEVGRU for as long as I was in the Navy. Like Jay, he didn’t go out on many missions.

On the way back, I found out some of the other guys in the squadron received the same message. Charlie called me the night I got back into town.

“You get that text?” he said.

“Yeah. You got any scoop? Heard anything?” I said.

“Nope. I know Walt got it too,” Charlie said. “I guess there is some list.”

Charlie rattled off a few other names from the list. It wasn’t whole teams, but senior guys.

“I can’t wait to find out what this is all about,” I said. “Sounds suspect.”

I got to the command early the next day and changed into my “working” uniform—a Crye Precision tan desert pattern and Salomon low-top running shoes—and dropped my cell phone in my cage.

The meeting was in our secure conference room, which meant no phones. The conference room was on a floor designated as a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility, or SCIF. Pronounced “skiff,” it’s an area used to process classified or top secret information. We had special badges that got us through the security doors. The lead-lined walls kept out electronic listening devices.

Inside the conference room, the four flat-screen TVs were dark. There were no pictures or maps on the wall. No one had any idea what to expect. I grabbed a chair at the circular table in the middle of the room. I saw Walt, Charlie, and Tom, my old instructor from Green Team. He nodded when he saw me.

Tom was Steve’s old boss. It was odd not seeing Steve. I had deployed with him for the past eight years. Even if this was a wild-goose chase and we got jerked around, it was still strange to spin up on something and not have Steve around. I had a feeling when this turned out to be nothing, he would have the last laugh.

There were almost thirty people in the room, including SEALs, an EOD tech, plus two support guys. With us all crowded inside the room, Mike sat down at the table and started the briefing. Jay, the squadron commander, was absent. Mike seemed a little uncomfortable and didn’t provide a lot of detail.

“We are going to do a joint readiness exercise, and we’re going down to North Carolina to train,” Mike said, passing out a list of gear to pack. “I don’t have a lot of information. Just load out your standard assault stuff, and we’ll tell you more Monday.”

I scanned the list. Nothing on the page—guns, tools, and explosives—was unique or gave away what we’d be doing.

“How long are we going to be gone?” one of my teammates asked.

“Unclear,” Mike said. “We leave Monday.”

“Do we have berthing or do we need tents?” Charlie asked.

“Berthing and chow will be provided,” Mike said.

A couple of other guys asked similar questions, but Mike shut it all down. I started to raise my hand to ask a question. I was curious how we were going to be organized. Overall there was a lot of experience in the room. They’d drawn us from different teams. On most teams, the new guy usually carries the ladder and the sledgehammer. But looking around the room, we had all senior guys. It looked like some kind of dream team they were putting together.

Before I got my hand up, Tom just looked at me and shook his head. I put my hand down. Tom typically never got too spun up. I was usually a little more vocal. My mind was spinning with questions I wanted answered. Not knowing what we were going to do grated on me, especially with the feeling we were just getting jerked around.

“Let’s worry about the load-out,” Tom said as we left. “And we’ll know more Monday.”

We all knew what to do and the gear to pack. I went down to the cages and found one of my guys.

“Hey, brother,” I said. “I need to borrow your sledge.”

Senior guys grabbing gear like a sledgehammer was rare, which brought even more questions from our teammates.

“You got it,” he said. “But why again am I giving up my sledge?”

I didn’t have a good answer.

“We’re going on an exercise,” I said. “They called a bunch of us into a meeting today and we’re going down to North Carolina. They’re calling it a joint readiness exercise.”

I wasn’t any more convincing than Mike. My teammate just looked at me with a “what the fuck?” expression on his face.

Back in our squadron’s storage area, we started loading two ISUs—small, square shipping containers—with our gear. It took most of the day, and by quitting time the containers were filled with tools, guns, and explosives.

While we packed, speculation was rampant. Some guys figured we’d be in Libya in a few weeks. Others bet on Syria or even Iran. Charlie, who seemed to be mulling over all of the questions and non-answers, came out with the boldest prediction.

“We’re going to get UBL,” he said.

Since there is no universal standard for translating Arabic to English, we used the FBI and CIA’s spelling of his name, Usama bin Laden, shortening it to UBL.

“How do you figure?” I said.

“Look, when we were asking them about the plan, they said we were going to a place where there is a base with infrastructure,” Charlie said. “If we don’t need any of these things, we’re going back to Iraq or Afghanistan. Somewhere there is an American base. I’d say we’re going into Pakistan and we’re basing out of Afghanistan.”

“No way,” Walt said. “But if we are, I’ve been to Islamabad. It’s a shit hole.”

Walt and I had already been on one wild-goose chase looking for Bin Laden and his flowing white robes.

It
was 2007 and I was on my sixth deployment. This time, I was working with the CIA at Forward Operating Base Chapman in Khost Province.

Khost Province was one of the places where the hijackers who crashed into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon trained. Al Qaeda and Taliban fighters were constantly in the province, slipping easily in and out of neighboring Pakistan.

About midway through the deployment, the whole squadron was called back to Jalalabad from multiple bases throughout the country. One of the CIA’s leading sources on Osama bin Laden reported he saw the al Qaeda leader near Tora Bora. It was the same place U.S. forces almost captured him from in 2001.

The Battle of Tora Bora started on December 12, 2001, and lasted five days. It was believed Bin Laden was hiding in a cave complex in the White Mountains, near the Khyber Pass. The cave complex was a historical safe haven for Afghan fighters, and the CIA funded many of the improvements during the 1980s to assist the mujahedeen during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.

U.S. and Afghan forces overran the Taliban and al Qaeda positions during the battle but failed to kill or capture Bin Laden. Now the CIA source said he was in Tora Bora.

“They saw a tall man in flowing white robes in Tora Bora,” the commander said. “He is back to possibly make his final stand.” This was 2007, and 9/11 was six years behind us. Until this point, there was no credible intelligence to his whereabouts. We all wanted to believe it, but the details weren’t adding up.

We were going to fly into Tora Bora—which sat on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border, between Khost and Jalalabad—and raid his suspected location. It sounded great in theory, but the operation was based on a single human source. Single-source intelligence rarely added up. No one could confirm the report, despite dozens of drones flying day and night over Tora Bora. The mission was set to launch a few days after we arrived, but it kept getting delayed.

Every day it was a new excuse.

“We’re waiting on B-1 bombers.”

“The Rangers aren’t in place yet.”

“We’ve got Special Forces heading to the area with their Afghan partner units.”

It seemed to all of us that every general in Afghanistan wanted a piece of the mission. Units from every service were involved. The night before the operation was going to launch, they called Walt and me to the operations center.

“Something came up, and you two are going to work with the PakMil,” the commander said. “If we get squirters toward the border, we need you guys on the PakMil side to coordinate blocking positions.”

“Are we bringing our kit?” I asked.

“Yeah. Bring all your op gear. You may be operating with the Pakis.”

Once on the ground, we got word Walt had to stay in Islamabad because the Pakistanis only allowed one of us to move forward. Since I was senior, the mission fell to me. An intelligence officer and a communications tech joined me.

I spent the better part of a week in a small command center in a U-shaped building made of concrete. I watched feeds from drones doing laps over Tora Bora and monitored the radio.

The night I got into Pakistan, the Air Force started their bombing campaign leading up to the team’s air assault into the area. My teammates landed in the mountains high above Tora Bora and started to search the area for Bin Laden and his fighters.

I frequently called the PakMil into the command center to look at the drone feed. Once, the drones spotted what looked like a camp near the border. I could make out tents and several men with guns walking around the area. The men didn’t appear to be in uniform, but the PakMil officers said it was a border checkpoint.

It was awkward because I didn’t know if I could trust the PakMil officers. Everyone had a different story, and I was stuck in the middle trying to keep it all together. The intelligence officer didn’t help, and I felt like a politician trying to keep my hosts and my bosses across the border happy.

After a few days of this balancing act, PakMil shut down my portion after the operation turned out to be a dry hole. There were no squirters, and the next day we headed home. Back in Islamabad, I met up with Walt. He was ready to go back to Afghanistan.

For all the time and effort, we essentially bombed some empty mountains and my teammates went on a weeklong camping trip. There was no sign of any man in flowing white robes. When we finally got back to Afghanistan a week later, “flowing white robes” became an inside joke for a bad mission.

This
training exercise down in North Carolina sounded like another bad mission.

But I wouldn’t know until Monday. Unfortunately, I needed an extra day in Virginia Beach, which meant the whole team was heading down without me. I hoped my delay wouldn’t cost me my slot on the team, just in case it was something big. I stressed to Mike that I could cancel my plans and come down with the team.

“Don’t sweat it,” Mike said. “Just come down Tuesday morning.”

On Monday afternoon, I started texting Walt and Charlie, trying to get some scoop. Both wrote back basically the same message:

“Just hurry up and get down here.”

They would have said something if it was lame. The lack of response meant it was legit. I didn’t sleep Monday night.

I was up before dawn Tuesday morning. Speeding through a pouring rain, I had to force myself to slow down on the rural roads. I knew something good was on tap, but I also didn’t want to slide off the road and wrap my truck around a tree.

The two-hour drive on Tuesday morning felt like eight hours.

Finally rolling up to the gate of the training base around seven
A.M.,
I met the guard. From the outside, it looked innocent except for the screens hung along the fence to block anyone from looking inside.

Giving him my name, which was on the list, I got my laminated security badges and headed to a building where the team was based. I kept my window down after speaking with the guards. The base was tucked into a pine forest. The morning rain brought out the scent of the trees.