Unbreakable: A Navy SEAL’s Way of Life (20 page)

The rhythm of walking, the heat, and the years of working together made the first part of the hike rather surreal. Everything was working perfectly; hell, even my feet and legs felt no pain. However, as all great
things don’t last longer than the time to spell it, this, too, stopped being great when I got word our C-130 was being called away to another “Troops In Contact” at some other location.

As it flew off, I walked over to Nike and asked, “Did you hear that? Someone else is in combat, and we lost our bird. We have a predator drone (a pred) watching the target. Unless something else fucked up happens, just continue with the plan.”

Nike replied, “Well, I would rather just bomb the target area and forego this whole charade.”

“And miss all this heat and dirt, and the chance to kill more enemy?” I laughed.

Nike got up and continued walking. I stopped to look back, ensuring everyone else had noticed we were up and moving again. What I saw was a shocker. We were spread out over one kilometer in two separate, long files of men. Forty SEALs, armed to the teeth, moving through the night like ghosts. Without night vision, a person would see nothing.

The village was completely dark. Nothing was reported moving in the target area. No persons of interest with guns were seen by the pred. Still, two kilometers away, we noted a vehicle with lights coming down the mountain pass to our left. Suddenly, on two of the highest peaks, two lights turned on. Well, maybe they could see us after all. Who knows? We continued on.

As my lead element pulled into the final delay point, I knew we had about thirty minutes until all the men trickled in and had time to rest and reset for the final word and eventual assault. Looking around at the place, we had decided to halt and wait, and I realized we were in a cemetery. Several graves were fresh, and after counting over ten new digs, I stopped and leaned over to the EOD, “More dead enemy, it seems.”

EOD laughed, “Less of them to shoot at us and plant IEDs.”

Again, the plan was to separate the target into left and right. My platoon would take the left buildings, and Echo platoon would take the right buildings. Echo platoon filed in and flopped down to my right. I walked over to their platoon chief, another one of the toughest men I have ever known (mean, too), and said, “Let me know when you are ready. We can move out together.”

The men moved out without any radio communications. Bravo and
Echo platoons stood up in unison. The lead element went to the walls to get eyes in the compound. The entry team took direction from Nike, without a word being said. They moved like ghosts from the graveyard.

After the first four lead assaulters entered, I poked my head in to check the progress. All the people were still sleeping, and four doors/rooms needed to be cleared. I turned and grabbed three guys, pushing them inside. I grabbed the last two and put them with a ladder to climb up and get eyes on the adjacent buildings.

After five minutes, the compound was secured, and the marshaling area was set to the first building. As the second squad moved past and began the assault on the second building, I delayed a bit to tell my marshaling leader what would happen as we brought back the numerous people we knew would be in each compound. At this point, they were all women and … no men.

I looked up at our guys on the roof and asked, “OK, brother, where is Echo?”

“They are still parallel to us. An alley is between our buildings and theirs. It looks like an easy deal,” was the reply.

I paused a minute to take a breath and get myself right. I recall sitting down and breaking out a bottle of Gatorade, already 100 degrees from the warmth of my leg and the air, changing the ice to piss water. I looked around and saw the C2 element sitting in the distance so as not to get drawn into clearance, and kept an eye on all moving parts. Seemed like a good time to call them into what was now the marshaling/main building, but I laughed to myself, “Sometimes making them stress a bit longer is just fun.”

Eventually, I stood up, turned on my infrared strobe light, and called out to them over the radio, advising that the main target building was secured and that they should collapse their position on my strobe. While I waited, I looked forward in the direction of my platoon’s clearance and saw the guys poised to make entry into the next building. Time to join them.

Passing under the security position I tripped—again—and looked up. Jake was looking down at me all akimbo on the ground. I cringed when he uttered, “Pussy.” Love comes in many forms, and this wasn’t one of them. He just has hatred for the enemy, burning as bright as ever.

The initial entry team was already in when I neared the entry point. I delayed just a second, listening for harsh language or suppressed shooting, and heard nothing. The walls were sixteen feet high and looked to be rather new—well, newer than 2,000 years old, like the last operation’s buildings. The gate was quite new—I think maybe forty years old. How nice to see an upward trend in development, finally.

Inside, though, processing what I was seeing took a few seconds. The inside was forty yards by forty yards. Four vehicles were neatly parked in the corner farthest from the entry point, and at least twenty people were sleeping on the ground. Two men were already moving into and clearing the first room. I moved over to better position myself between the sleeping people and the clearance team.

Suddenly, one of the women sat up fast and moved to stand. I went quickly over to her and told her, in her own language, to be quiet. She either didn’t understand my accent, or didn’t care to obey. Instead, she moved quicker toward Ground Launch, whose back was turned, so I did what any well-intentioned SEAL chief would do—I grabbed her neck from behind and kicked her knees forward. She fell backward and started screaming. I did what seemed like the thing to do at the time—I turned her over, got on her back, and put her face in the sleeping mat.

Ground Launch turned and ran at a dead sprint, hitting us both so hard I skidded on my butt for three yards. When I got to my feet, he had her in a neck hold, cuffing her hands with his other arm.

“How dare you get in the way of me and a good fight. Ah ha! What the hell were you doing on her back? We can’t have you getting involved in this sort of shit. Get up and manage this shit so we all can fight,” he stated so matter-of-factly I thought I had offended him.

I just turned and moved to get two more men to join the clearance effort. By that time, the rest of the sleepers were stirring, and additional men would come in handy. The final room was cleared rather quickly, and the rest of the clearance was just shuttling the people all back to the marshaling building. I called for my assistant officer in charge of the movement of the unknown people, then joined the search of the vehicles.

Since we didn’t have keys, I simply used the end of my rifle to open the window—very delicately. Wow, more than a handful of AK-47s and PKMs, along with enough rounds to make for a good fight, lay inside.

“LT, be advised twenty AKs and fifteen PKMs, with 700 or more rounds, found in building two. And, there are also some rugged vehicles for getting around,” I reported.

I turned to look at Ground Launch, “If I were moving old Bo around, this is what I would use.”

He stepped forward, looked in, and smiled. We looked into the other vehicles and found water, food, and bedrolls. He smiled, saying, “No, probably not. They are going on a family vacation to the mountains to sing ‘The Hills Are Alive’ to the sound of gun fire.” He actually sang the title, even carrying the tune.

However, after clearing all the buildings and joining the C2 element, we had not found Bo. In fact, we had found only one male, who had mistakenly attempted to pull the pin on a grenade while Echo platoon moved through the target. We all knew Bo wasn’t here.

We had 120 people to interrogate, and I knew none of them would tell the truth. These people only respond to violence, and we did not use enhanced techniques. We had a long day of managing people and setting up over-watch positions. The temperature was already rising, over 110, and the morning had just begun. What a shit hole.

Within an hour, everything was set up, and we began eating, drinking, and getting our rest. Pain always comes when things slow down. This pain comes in my feet, knees, and back. Maybe a sign of age?

To break up the monotony, we brewed some chai tea and toasted another successful night of clearance. The hell minions do have some great tea. I moved around among the men, reinforcing how well they did and asking if they needed anything. I truly don’t know if connecting like this made any difference to the men. For me, connection was everything. This connecting nourished me and made me proud to be their chief. I was proud to be a part of them.

At noon, I moved up to relieve one of the snipers who looked exhausted. The field of view he covered was rather enormous. Land stretched out for two miles. Only one road led from the mountains to this village, with nothing in between. As I scanned the area looking for hiding places, I smiled and thought how all those years of sniper training and hunting boiled down to this. I saw many hiding spots for a trained sniper—many ways to move in on us.

After ten minutes of scanning, I ruled out most of the threats within 500 yards. One huge hole was about ten feet wide right outside the compound, and another about 400 yards toward the mountains. I suppose they could have moved old Bo into these underground passages, but it was against the rules to blow them up.

Having settled into watching and waiting, I looked up along the road and saw a truck coming down from the mountains. Since it was still about two kilometers away, I had time to look at it through my scope and see if they had anything resembling a mounted weapon. Tracking a moving vehicle continually disappearing behind hills or dipping down into gulleys is a bitch. The car kept coming.

I yelled down to Lawyer, “Hey, do we have any air on station to look at this approaching vehicle?”

“Um, no. Do you want me to get one?” he replied

I made my decision: “No, that will take too long. I am just going to turn him around before he gets to us. They all know we are here now.”

I knew my 7.62 round would not reach 1,500 meters, so I waited. The damned laser range finder I was using could not get a reading on anything due to the flat, sandy terrain. I dialed 1,000 meters into my scope and shot one round at the vehicle to see where it dropped. Dirt kicked up far in front of the vehicle, so I held the impact point in my reticle, adjusted, and shot another one.

I saw the round impact in the dirt 100 meters in front, and I waited until the vehicle was about to pass through that impact point. When I fired again, I saw the round impact near the right quarter panel of the truck. The truck stopped. Two “gentlemen” got out with AK-47s and walked around the truck to see what had hit them. I shot again, dropping the guy who had his hand on the hole. The other ran back to the open door, and I shot the windshield. Then the funniest thing happened: watch the movie
Austin Powers
to see the scene where he was trying to turn the golf cart around inside a tunnel, and you’ll know then what I was watching. I stopped shooting and laughed, as eight small turns were required to get the truck turned around.

All Around climbed up asking, “Chief, what you doing up here all by yourself?”

“Oh nothing. Just watching a movie,” I replied.

PENNY TWEEDY, owner of Secretariat,

from the 2010 movie,
Secretariat

“He laughs at fear afraid of nothing

He doesn’t shy away from the sword

He cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds.”

F
inally, I had some time to call home and talk with the kids. Until then, I had not taken any time to call just to talk with Autumn or Garrett. I suppose this is a weak point of mine. They affect me so much because I know I truly have not been around for them physically in any meaningful way during their young lives.

During my deployment to Iraq in 2007, simply seeing them on the webcam eating breakfast or saying goodnight would depress me for days. The thought of not being a good dad would literally make me sick to my stomach. Especially when they would say, “Daddy, when are you coming home? We miss you.” The worst was the simple statement, “Daddy, why don’t you come home? Don’t you love me?” I know they said it because they didn’t understand what I do and why I do this type of work. I actually avoid talking to either of them while on deployments.

Yet, when Stacy commented in an email that they were having trouble with my absence, I realized I had to man up and be the dad I so wanted to be. As I sat down to dial the number that would connect us, a sense of doom again overwhelmed me, particularly when Stacy answered the phone:

During the long pause that followed, I felt like I was going into battle. Time was slowing down, and I had an ever-present buzz. I looked around the room and saw other men, like me, talking uncomfortably to someone on the other end of the line. My someone desperately wanted her daddy home, and I couldn’t give my daughter what she needed.

“Daddy, Mom says you don’t love her anymore,” Autumn said.

Damn, I never saw that one coming. I had been divorced from her mother for five years, and we had never talked about the divorce in any direct conversation.

As I pondered what to say and what not to say, I could hear Autumn crying. I heard her call for Stacy, and without saying bye, she was gone.

When I hung up the telephone, the time warp stopped, and I noticed my shirt had sweat on it. Calling home and talking to your kids is like a work out! Some day, I am guessing when the kids are adults, they will reread this, and get it. I don’t get it now, but with time, maybe we can both
work through the emotions.

Lunch was truly tasteless after the phone call. Even the Dr. Pepper tasted flat. Walking from the air-conditioned space into the oppressive heat seemed the most normal sensation of the day thus far. Maybe going to the range to shoot my rifles would ease the weirdness.

I grabbed a couple of my men, and we loaded our weapons and headed to the range. I think maybe everyone was feeling the tension of the mid-deployment mark or the fact that every single time we headed out, we were in serious gun battles fighting for our lives. Maybe we just liked doing this more than dealing with family. In the end, I think it is a measure of both, mixed with a desire to fight.

“Stacy, I am sorry for the crap the other day with Autumn. All is back to normal now. We are planning another mission into an area with some angry men who need some love from us.” I am laughing as I write this. We just watched a predator feed, and saw fifty enemy fighters doing military training and such. They are deep in the mountains, so they surely feel safe.

We are getting our tactics on and waiting for helos to be retasked to support our mission, which could take a week because of some previously planned stuff not involving us. I felt bad because last night, we had another funeral for three marines who died. I wish we had been there to help. We all regret not even being asked to support this Marine mission.