eastern Afghanistan. A group of VIPs, headlined by Admiral Mike Mullen, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and Admiral Eric Olson, commander of the Special Operations Command in Tampa and a former DEVGRU commander, sat in stands near the map with Vice Admiral Bill McRaven.
McRaven has commanded at every level within the special operations community, including DEVGRU. He impressed me. McRaven, the three-star admiral atop the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), was tall, lean, and clean-cut. Most admirals look old or out of shape, but McRaven looked like he could still get the job done. He knew how to work his level and had a good handle on the politics in D.C.
We were about to execute what was called a “rock drill,” and everything from helicopter flight paths to the mock-up of the compound was present on the floor. A narrator reading off a script started the hour-and-a-half-long brief on Operation Neptune Spear.
The pilots spoke first. They walked everyone through the flight path from Jalalabad to the compound in Abbottabad. They talked about the radio calls as well as any contingencies that might arise in flight.
Finally, each assault team leader got up and briefed their individual tasks.
“My team will fast-rope from Chalk One into the courtyard, we’ll clear and secure C1, then backfill the rest of the teams in A1,” I said.
Most of the questions from the VIPs focused on the perimeter team. There were a lot of concerns about how our external security would handle onlookers.
“What is your plan if you’re confronted by local police or military?” they asked the team leader.
“Sir, we will de-escalate if at all possible,” he said. “First using the interpreter, and then using the dog, and then visible lasers. As a last resort we will use force.”
Toward the end, a question was raised about whether or not this was a kill mission. A lawyer from either the Department of Defense or the White House made it clear this wasn’t an assassination.
“If he is naked with his hands up, you’re not going to engage him,” he told us. “I am not going to tell you how to do your job. What we’re saying is if he does not pose a threat, you will detain him.”
After the brief, we loaded up into the helicopters and took off for one final run-through. We were going to assault a mock compound so the VIPs could watch. It was the final hurdle. I knew we had to do it, but it felt strange to be watched like this. It felt like we were in a fish bowl. We all agreed if jumping through these hoops was going to help us get approval, the hassle was worth it.
One minute from the target, the crew chief threw open the door and I swung my legs out.
Grabbing the rope, I could see some VIPs near the target staring up at us with night vision goggles. As the helicopter started its hover over our fast-rope location, the rotors kicked up a maelstrom of rocks and dust, blasting the VIPs and forcing them to run in the opposite direction. I chuckled as I watched a few of the women stagger away on their heels.
The rehearsal went off without an issue on our end.
“So, you think we’ll get the go-ahead?” Charlie asked me after the dress rehearsal.
“Dude, I’ve got no clue,” I said. “I’m not holding my breath.”
The flight back the next day was low-key. We were ready to go. There was nothing we could do now but wait.
CHAPTER 11
Killing Time
The sun was fading as I flashed my ID card to the guard at our base in Virginia Beach. He saw my decal as I pulled closer and waved me through. I passed a long line of cars heading home for the day.
I was a few hours early for our flight, but I was tired of waiting. It had been a long week at home. When we are home too long, we get antsy. It was Easter, and I called my parents to check in. We caught up, but I couldn’t tell them what I was really doing. While the rest of America was coloring Easter eggs, we were sitting on the biggest secret of our lives.
After the dress rehearsal out west, it all came down to the politicians in Washington making a decision. We made one more trip to North Carolina to conduct a last walk-through of the compound, before returning to find out we’d finally gotten orders to move forward and stage in Jalalabad, Afghanistan.
We were all still very skeptical. Nobody was jumping up and down; everybody digested the news in their own way and went about their business. At least we were one step closer to actually roping into the compound.
I parked my truck and grabbed my backpack. I could see some of my teammates walking toward the headquarters. I’m sure we all had the same thoughts running through our minds.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe they actually approved this.”
I think most of us were convinced there was no way this was actually going to happen. In a way, it’s a defense mechanism. That way, if it got turned off at the last minute, we wouldn’t be too upset.
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll believe it when we are airborne,” Walt said, walking with me into the lobby of the building.
“This has a good chance if they are actually sending us over,” I said.
By moving us, they risked more and more leaks. The rest of our command definitely knew something was going on. Even a troop movement of this relatively small size could cause spikes when a bunch of operators came through Bagram on a non-scheduled rotation.
Inside the team room, guys were eating a last-minute snack before the long flight. Some just stood around talking. We were all dressed in jeans and button-up collared shirts, our normal travel attire. We looked like a bunch of guys going on vacation. If we’d been carrying golf clubs instead of rifles and night vision goggles, you might mistake us for a professional sports team.
Other than my equipment for the raid itself, I was traveling light, with only a few changes of clothes, my shower kit, and flip-flops. We weren’t staying long. The plan was to fly over, spend two days getting acclimated, and conduct the mission on the third night.
Buses soon took us from our base to a nearby airport. On the tarmac sat a massive gray C-17 Globemaster. Its engines idled as the Air Force crew did pre-flight checks. Already on board were the helicopter mechanics. Nearby, a group of National Security Agency and CIA analysts kept to themselves.
As we sat down, it felt comfortable, like a place we’d been many times before. This was the same way we always went on deployment. Inside the belly of the aircraft, our equipment and the helicopter crews’ tools were strapped to the deck. Seats lined the walls. I threw my backpack on the deck and fished out my nylon green jungle hammock. Looking around the cargo bay for a place to hang it, I saw my teammates crawling around the plane like ants looking for a comfortable spot to stretch out. We were experts in making the flight as comfortable as possible.
I attached my hammock between two containers holding gear. Other guys claimed spots on top of containers or in the open space between the seats and the cargo. Some of my teammates pumped up camping mattresses, but I was one of the few who used the hammock. It was issued to us for jungle missions, but I liked that it kept me off the cold floor.
We had a nine-hour flight to Germany and after a short layover another eight hours to get to Bagram. Getting as much sleep as we could on the flight was imperative.
The Air Force crew chased us back to our seats to strap in just before takeoff. The only open seat was next to Jen, a CIA analyst. Slipping the buckle of my seatbelt into the clasp, I felt the plane start to taxi to the end of the runway. Minutes later, we raced down the tarmac and quickly climbed into the sky. Once we were level, guys started to pop Ambien and settle in for the long flight.
I wasn’t tired, so I started to talk with Jen. I’d seen her around in North Carolina, but we hadn’t gotten to talk at length since we started planning the operation. I was curious to get her take on things since she was one of the leading analysts that helped in the hunt for Bin Laden.
“Honestly,” I asked Jen. “What are the odds it’s him?”
“One hundred percent,” she shot back, almost defiant.
Recruited by the agency out of college, she’d been working on the Bin Laden task force for the last five years.
