Heading toward C1, Will was next to me as we approached the front door of the guesthouse. The only sound that gave us away was the scuff of our boots on the gravel.
We knew that as one of Bin Laden’s most trusted couriers, Ahmed al-Kuwaiti lived in the guesthouse with his family. We expected at least one wife and several children. Since the kids lived there, I didn’t expect any booby traps.
Just like on the mock-up and pictures, there was a set of metal double doors with windows at the top. A window on the right side of the door had bars covering the glass. I didn’t see any lights on in the house. Sheets covered all of the windows, making it impossible to see inside.
Will took up a position to the left of the door while I tried the knob. I pulled down the L-shaped handle twice, but it was locked.
Stepping back, Will popped his sledgehammer off the back of his kit and pulled out the extendable handle. I covered him from the right.
Will reared back and hit the lock with a sharp whack. The hammer slammed into the knob, but only left a battered handle and a deep gash. Will gave it two more whacks, but nothing budged. The doors were solid metal and we knew the sledgehammer wasn’t going to work.
Turning to the windows, Will tried to smash out the glass so we could pull the sheet down and look inside. Wedging the head of the hammer through the bars, he tried to break the panes of glass but each time he pulled back, the head of the hammer got jammed. The bars were just too narrow.
“I am going explosive,” I whispered to Will, and grabbed the breaching charge off the back of my kit.
We both knew that time was of the essence and the element of surprise was gone the minute our helicopter crashed. Will set the sledgehammer aside and covered the door with his rifle.
From across the compound, there was an explosion as the team from Chalk Two blew the north gate open. “Failed breach” came over the radio. “We’re moving to the Delta Compound gate at this time.” After blowing the gate open, they had discovered a brick wall sealing it. The team was supposed to be assaulting the third floor by now, but they were still trying to gain entry.
“Roger, I will meet you there and unlock it from the inside,” Mike replied.
Delta gate was at the north end of the driveway that separated the helicopter crash with the rest of the compound. Mike was on the south end of the driveway, close to the guesthouse.
The mission was moving quickly now. It had probably been about five minutes since we hit the ground, and now twenty-four guys were swarming the compound. At least two charges had blown and, coupled with the helicopters, we knew they had heard us coming. Without a doubt, we figured the occupants of the compound would now be prepared to defend themselves.
Taking a knee to the right of the door, I peeled the backing off the adhesive strip on the breaching charge and set it across the mangled knob and lock. I always knelt while I placed breaching charges because I had been shot at through the door in Iraq many times. Fighters liked to spray the middle of the door, blindly firing where they thought a man would be standing.
The third member of my team entered the compound. He was one of the last guys out of the helicopter and had just gotten to us. His job was to clear a staircase that led to the roof of the guesthouse. As he started toward the stairs, which were directly in line with the door, AK-47 rounds tore through the glass above the door, narrowly missing him.
I rolled away as the bullets cracked just inches over my head. The first rounds always surprise the shit out of you. I could feel pieces of glass hit my shoulder.
“That is not a suppressed weapon,” I thought.
It was easy to tell who was firing, since we had suppressors on our weapons. Unsuppressed rounds meant enemy fire. Someone inside had an assault rifle. Aiming chest high, he fired a blind barrage. He was a caged animal. There was nowhere he could go and he knew we were coming.
Will, covering the door from the left side, started to fire back instantly. As I turned back and opened fire, I felt a searing burn in my left shoulder, probably glass or shrapnel. Our return fire cut through the metal door.
Rolling out of the “fatal funnel” of the doorway, I made it to my feet and moved to the window a few feet down the wall from the door.
“Ahmed al-Kuwaiti,” Will said. “Ahmed al-Kuwaiti, come out!”
Smashing the window with my barrel, I fired back toward his likely position.
Will was still yelling, and with no response. With no time to spare, I made my way back to the explosive charge, which was still hanging from the door. The only way to get inside was to blow the door. As I got close, I made sure to stay extra low.
Once we blew the door, I planned to throw a grenade inside before we went in to clear it. Ahmed al-Kuwaiti had proven he wasn’t going down without a fight, and I was not going to risk anything.
I was about to attach the detonator to the charge when we heard someone throwing the latch to the lock. Will heard it too, and we both immediately started to back away from the door. We had no idea who was coming out or what to expect. Was he going to just crack the door and throw a grenade, or hang his AK-47 out and spray?
I took a quick look around. There was no cover. The courtyard was crowded with trash and tools used to garden. Our only option was to continue moving back, trying to stay away from the window and door.
The door cracked open slowly, and I could hear a woman’s voice calling out. That didn’t mean we were safe. If she was coming out with a suicide vest on, we were dead. This was Bin Laden’s compound. These were his facilitators. Shots were fired, so we knew they were willing to die to protect him.
Through the sweat running down my face and the grit in my eyes from the rotor wash, I could just make out the figure of a woman in the green glow of my night vision goggles. She had something in her arms and my finger slowly started applying pressure to my trigger. I could see our lasers dancing around her head. It would only take a split second to end her life if she was holding a bomb.
As the door continued to open, I saw that the bundle was a baby. Al-Kuwaiti’s wife, Mariam, came out with the child pressed against her chest. Behind her, three more kids shuffled out of the house.
“Come here,” Will called out to her in Arabic.
I kept my rifle trained on them as they moved forward.
“He is dead,” Mariam said to Will in Arabic. “You shot him. He is dead. You killed him.”
Will did a quick pat down of the woman.
“Hey, she is saying he is dead,” Will said to me, translating her Arabic.
I was crouched at the right side of the door and pushed it open.
I spotted a pair of feet lying in the doorway of the bedroom. There was no way of knowing if he was still alive, and I wasn’t taking any chances. Will gave me a squeeze on the shoulder so I knew he was ready, and we entered the hallway. I shouldered my rifle and squeezed off several rounds to make sure he was down.
The house smelled of heating oil. Stepping over al-Kuwaiti’s body, I saw a pistol and an AK-47 on the ground just inside the bedroom door. I kicked them away and continued to clear the room, which had a bed in the center and then smaller beds along the walls for the children. The whole family slept in the same room.
On the other side of the hall was a kitchen area. Our return fire had destroyed the room, shredding the pantry and exploding dry goods all over. Water trickled off the counter. The stove had several holes in it and the cheap tile was smashed, with chunks strewn across the counter and floor.
The floor was slippery from the water and al-Kuwaiti’s blood, which had pooled in the hall and gotten on our boots. We hastily cleared both rooms and headed outside.
“Shots fired C1, building is secure at this time,” I said over troop net, and tossed an IR chemlight at the guesthouse’s front door. We moved toward the main building to backfill the other teams.
CHAPTER 14
Khalid
Not even ten minutes had passed since we crashed. Will and I sprinted through the open gate between the
