We tried to radio the schoolhouse for updates on bin Laden’s grid location, but again the jagged landscape played havoc with the transmissions. We could not talk to the schoolhouse, only half a dozen miles away, but the radio frequencies somehow bounced all the way back to our task force headquarters at the ISB, clear across the Arabian Ocean.
Much closer, we were also able to talk to Jester, Dugan, and India Team up in OP25-A. They filled us in on the status of Hopper, the Admiral, and Adam Khan. Then machine-gun and small-arms fire interrupted what had been until then a confusing but peaceful night for us.
With the Admiral on the run, the bombing and air cover had come to a halt because there was no combat controller to direct the planes. OP25-A could not take control until the condition of the evading Jackal could be determined, or risk hitting them.
So al Qaeda and the muhj took advantage of the absence of airpower. They occupied the tops of the ridgelines directly to our front and rear and opened fire. Caught in the middle, we all took cover behind rocks and vehicles as bright green and red zipped through the night sky. Several rockets screamed overhead.
The only thing preventing us from being engaged in the firefight was the low elevation of the road we were on. Unless al Qaeda maneuvered forward, we were safe, and we doubted that they would leave their prepared defense positions to take their chances in the open. Our biggest concern was that the enemy mortars would attempt to engage us with indirect fire, but we believed that we were too close to the enemy’s own front line for the mortars to fire without hitting their own men.
Out of nowhere, a muhj fighter appeared from the darkness and told the guides that all of Ali’s forces had withdrawn, and then he also continued on down the road. Our guides were in a panic, for they were responsible for the vehicle in which we rode and couldn’t abandon it. But if it had not been for the string of vehicles blocking the road behind them, I’m sure they would have turned around and floored the gas pedal.
It was like a bucket of cold water over our heads to realize that there was no friendly muhj force coming forward, not General Ali, not even a lowly private. We were now the first string, and behind al Qaeda lines. Delta never minds being behind enemy lines, since we do a lot of that sort of thing, but the whole mission was unraveling.
Ironhead, Jim, Bryan, and I gathered at the fourth vehicle to sort out our next move. After the mass exodus we had seen on the road, it was pretty obvious that bin Laden was no longer surrounded, and perhaps never actually was. We had received no update on the grid position for more than an hour. Usama bin Laden, who had seemed so close, was now fading like a ghost.
Jim pulled our current location off his GPS and made a quick map check under a red-lens flashlight. We were roughly 2,500 meters in straightline distance from the last sighting spot given to us by George before we left the schoolhouse. Out here, though, it was impossible to walk anywhere in a straight line.
The friendly situation was as uncertain as the enemy situation, not an abnormal condition for anyone who has ever suited up to stand in harm’s way in the fog of war. Our guts told us that General Ali was finished for the night, but we did not want to stumble upon some muhj outpost we didn’t know about that wouldn’t be expecting us.
We still had no word from Hopper, the Admiral, and Adam Khan. Neither had the boys at OP25-A, nor those back at the schoolhouse.
We could not change any of those adverse developments, but we could certainly try to reach our missing men. They were still alive, still evading, and needed help. Finally, we managed to establish some basic radio contact with them, but the rugged country kept the transmissions spotty and intermittent.
It was time for a decision. Ironhead looked at me and said, “Your call, sir, but whatever we do, I don’t think we should leave here until we have our boys back.” Jim and Bryan withheld their comments, for this was a decision only the commander could make.
I certainly wasn’t going to leave without our guys, but I had to factor in that we still just might be within striking distance of bin Laden, the objective of our mission. The overall order had been to “kill bin Laden, and bring back proof,” and the idea of giving up this chance of taking the top terrorist off the board was abhorrent to me.
I let the whole mess churn in my brain for a few seconds. It was my call because that’s the kind of complicated decision a commander must face on a battlefield. Nobody said it was going to be easy.
I looked at all three of my veteran sergeants and said, “Okay, we’ll have another shot at bin Laden. I absolutely agree with you all. We need to concentrate on recovering our boys first. If things change between now and then, we’ll go for bin Laden, too. If not, we’ll return to the schoolhouse and prep for insertion of the teams.”
Jim and Bryan replied, “Roger that,” and went to ready the force to locate our evading teammates.
We couldn’t reach Ashley back at the schoolhouse to fill him in, but I was again able, through the bouncing radio signal, to contact the Delta deputy commander back at the ISB. After explaining the situation with as much brevity as possible, he agreed with the decision.
I was not surprised to hear no second-guessing or armchair quarterbacking from the colonel. They had been monitoring the activities of the evening and had been only cautiously optimistic about the possibility of finding bin Laden anyway. But they also believed that other opportunities would come later, because we were so sure that he was trapped in Tora Bora.
It was both the hardest call I ever had to make and the easiest.
We left the guides behind and moved forward to the last known location of our evading teammates. Al Qaeda opened up, but although the heavy firing seemed all around, it actually was going over our heads since we were in a low position.
The mortars finally debuted with their whumping launches and wild explosions. It was a totally scrambled scene, and impossible to define. Was al Qaeda at our front, back, or sides? Or were there some friendly muhj out there actually engaging al Qaeda, with us caught in the middle? Then, it also could have been al Qaeda fighters firing at each other in the confusion of darkness, or friendly muhj shooting at other friendly muhj.
The one good fact was that al Qaeda obviously didn’t know that a whole bunch of Delta boys was in their midst, which gave us the edge. But we didn’t want to get into a shooting war with al Qaeda at this point, because the last thing you need when trying to recover friendly forces is to get bogged down in a direct firefight with the same folks your boys are trying to evade.
Alpha Team, led by Crapshoot, was given the nod to take four assaulters and scout the area forward. Getting some eyes up on the high ground might let us sort out the enemy positions so we could bring the AC-130 gunship into the game if the cloud conditions were safe.
Additionally, by gaining altitude, Alpha Team hoped to get Hopper, the Admiral, and Adam Khan up on the FM radio. Crapshoot led his group into the night without hesitation, and I watched with pride through my NVGs as their dark green silhouettes moved into the unknown.
Crapshoot soon split his team and sent Juice and Brandon to the very top of the hill to settle into an overwatch position, prepare to call in close air support, and try to reach the missing guys on the radio. Meanwhile, he took Blinky and Mango, and the three of them curled beyond the hill to take a position from which they could assist the evading guys if one or more of them should be wounded and need to be carried.
From the schoolhouse, the special intelligence interceptors gave us a running commentary on al Qaeda’s shortwave radio calls that were being monitored in Arabic, Urdu, and Farsi. [15] It was clear the enemy knew that someone was still in the neighborhood and not everyone had left the field for the night. Fortunately, Skoot, the top interceptor himself, was along on our mission and listened to the various enemy groups attempting to find us. None of this was too alarming, until Skoot picked up a transmission that they were readying the RPGs.
The more likely scenario was that the nervous al Qaeda gunners were planning to waste their precious RPG rounds by firing at the relatively high-flying AC-130 gunship that was still droning above, waiting for the clouds to clear. This was something we observed on numerous occasions during daylight hours, when the enemy tried to reach a bomber at 30,000 feet with a shoulder-fired grenade with a range of only several hundred meters.
We had more to worry about than the enemy’s RPG stockpile. Like whether al Qaeda was readying to assault
