Walton had never balked at any mission.
But something didn’t feel right about this one. Sitting on the back ramp of the Chinook, he plugged his Peltor headphones into the jack and listened as the pilots went through their preflight checklist.
In his mind, the problems were clear. Rough terrain. Intel gaps. Shit, now we’re socked in by bad weather, he thought. Before heading to the helicopters, Walton had to try one more time to stop the mission.
Along with a team leader from ODA 3325, which was in charge of searching a nearby Shok Valley village code-named Panther, he went looking for Fletcher.
They found him near the helicopters.
“We’re not going to do this fucking mission,” Walton said. “Unless you order us to do it, I am not going to do this fucking mission.”
Fletcher didn’t flinch: “I order you to do it.”
Fletcher knew that only Ashley could abort the mission. He had called his boss and discussed the weather in the valley and how it was clear in nearby Nangarhar and lower Laghman provinces. They also talked about the intelligence. Their source confirmed that Ghafour was in Kendal, another Shok Valley village, and both agreed the risk was worth it. It was their one chance to get the HIG commander.
Walton snapped a salute, in more of a smart-ass than a respectful way.
“Roger,” Walton said, turning to head toward the helicopters.
Walton knew in a few hours he would be at the bottom of the valley looking up. And that wasn’t a good feeling.
Missions in Special Forces weren’t supposed to be planned like this. From the beginning, teams are drilled on planning a collective effort that includes every member of the unit. And once a plan was set, it traveled to the B team for approval, then the battalion, and a final inspection by the headquarters in Bagram. But at its core, a Special Forces mission is almost always planned by the team.
But not Commando Wrath. Almost from the start, the teams had been told how to operate. Where they would land. When they would go.
The mission had been in the works for months.
It started after a platoon of paratroopers from the 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team was ambushed in October 2007, heading back to their base camp in Afghanistan’s Korengal Valley, the site of some of the war’s most fierce fighting.
All day, there had been warnings of an attack. Stretched along a goat trail on a spur near their outpost, insurgents ambushed the paratroopers with RPGs and PKM machine guns. The ambush lasted three minutes, and when the fighters retreated, they tried to carry off Sergeant Joshua Brennan, a twenty-two-year-old fire team leader from Ontario, Oregon, who was gravely wounded.
Specialist Salvatore Giunta ran through enemy fire to push back the fighters who were close to overrunning his squad. When he saw the two insurgents carrying away Brennan, Giunta chased after them, killing one and wounding the other. They dropped Brennan, who was evacuated but died in surgery the following day.
Giunta, who left the Army in June 2011, was awarded the Medal of Honor, the U.S. military’s highest award for valor under fire.
Major General David M. Rodriguez, commanding general of Combined Joint Task Force 82, was in charge of all the forces in eastern Afghanistan. It had been his men who were ambushed in the Korengal Valley. An ambush that was well coordinated and executed almost to perfection. If not for Giunta’s actions, the fighters would have escaped with a captured American soldier.
Weeks after the ambush, Rodriguez and Brigadier General Joe Votel, the officer in charge of operations for the task force, called Colonel Christopher Haas and Ashley. Haas was in charge of all special operations forces in Afghanistan and Ashley’s battalion operated in the eastern provinces of Afghanistan.
“We’ve got good information that Haji Ghafour’s fighters were behind this ambush,” Rodriguez said. “We want you guys to target him.”
The mission fell to Ashley’s battalion. But Ashley and most of his staff had never heard of Ghafour. So they spent the next few months tracking the elusive Afghan commander. Ghafour seemed to survive by moving only on foot or donkey and did not use a cell phone. So there was no way to track him using satellite phone transmissions.
Iraq was the main effort in 2008. Afghanistan was still only a support effort. Almost all the assets commanders now enjoy, from unmanned drones to elite special operations units, were fighting in Iraq. That meant intelligence resources were sparse, too.
But Ashley’s staff slowly started to piece it together with the help from the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Central Intelligence Agency. Ghafour was the main facilitator for the HIG in Afghanistan. He had amassed a massive weapons cache of machine guns and RPGs, and he had thousands of recruits.
All of his operations were financed by his massive gem-smuggling enterprise. It alone had been bringing in millions of dollars for the insurgents—money his network used to kill U.S. troops. Some of the gems—emeralds and rubies—were even found in a shop in Arizona.
Soldiers on Ashley’s staff watched a documentary, The Gem Hunter in Afghanistan, to learn more about the routes used to move the gems, and even interviewed the filmmaker, Gary Bowersox, in hopes of gleaning enough information to track down Ghafour.
By March 2008, they had a good idea of how the gem-smuggling operation worked. They also had a source where Ghafour was operating. That was all they needed to start writing up an operation they would call Commando Wrath.
But they didn’t have enough information on the exact location of Ghafour. They only knew he could be in two villages: Kendal (code-named Patriot 1 and 2) or Shok (Panther).
So, they called the mission a “cordon and search,” not a raid. With these missions, teams surround a village and then search each building, talking to villagers and building rapport in hopes of rooting out the insurgents. The idea is that villagers will lead the soldiers to enemy fighters and weapons caches and provide information about operations in the area.
Captain John Bishop, who was a team leader in the previous rotation, was the point man on the staff, and shuttled between Bagram and Jalalabad, to make sure everything was in place.
The plan was fairly straightforward. Three ODAs with Afghan commandos would swoop into the valley. ODA 3336, led by Walton, would hit Kendal, called objective Patriot 1, and ODA 3312, led by Master Sergeant Jim Lodyga, would hit objective Patriot 2, a row of buildings that ran parallel to Kendal village on the other side of the wadi. ODA 3325 would hit Shok village, called objective Panther. Shok village was smaller than Kendal and at a significantly lower elevation. An air reaction force made up of Special Forces soldiers on Fletcher’s B team would act as reinforcements.
The operation called for helicopters to fly to a spot above the villages and hover while the Green Berets and commandos fast-roped in. There, they would set up and sweep into the villages, fighting from the high ground down into the village.
The intelligence picture was unclear at best. Ghafour and his fighters hadn’t been challenged, creating a safe haven for his men and his gem operation.
While planners believed there would be some resistance, they thought most of the men in the valley were workers in the gem mines. While they expected them to fight, they discounted the danger. The commanders believed they wouldn’t be any match for well-trained soldiers like the Special Forces and commandos. Plus, two sets of Apaches were going in with the assault force and a pair of A-10 and F-15 fighters were positioned nearby, ready to attack if there was trouble.
The operation was approved by Ashley and he took it to Haas in late March. Because of weather and illumination, the first window to do the operation opened April 1. Haas approved the operation, but only after making a critical adjustment. He nixed the fast roping and instead ordered the helicopters to land in the wadi, out of range of machine guns in the village.
When Ashley pressed Haas for a reason, the colonel said he didn’t feel the pilots from the 101st Airborne Division, who had just arrived in Afghanistan, were ready to fly such a difficult mission high in the mountains. It also would have been too difficult at those altitudes to have the commandos fast-rope onto rough terrain.
Once approved by Haas, the operation went to Votel for coordination and was sent back to the teams.
No one liked the changes, most of all Walton and Ford, since their team was the main effort. They wanted to fight from high to low, basic tactics, instead of landing in the valley and climbing up the mountain. If they had to land, they wanted to do the mission in the dark.
“We have to hit this at night,” Walton said.
“Well, the pilots can’t fly in this level of illumination at this time,” Fletcher said.
“Then let’s wait until they can,” Walton said.
“The target will be out of there by that time,” Fletcher said.
Back in the helicopter, Walton could see the commander of the commando company, Captain Mateen. Walton remembered how the Afghan commander hadn’t liked the plan either.
Walton had brought him into the operations center a few days before. A series of unclassified images of the villages and the wadi were on the table. Nearby was a map. They had learned that the more the commando leadership knew about the mission, the easier it would be for them to do it because they had a stake in it. As Walton outlined the plan, Mateen, a skinny Afghan with a thick black beard, picked up the images and the map. He examined them closely. When Walton was done, Mateen looked at him.
“This is not a good plan,” the Afghan said.
Walton, of course, tried to tow the party line.
“Hey, listen. We’ll be okay. We just have to do what we have to do,” Walton said. “It will be over quick.”
But the Afghan didn’t respond to the pep talk.
“This is not a good plan, my friend,” Mateen said. “We are fighting from low to high. And they have the high ground around us.”
The Afghan captain was right. Walton figured there was no reason to lie. No more bullshit.
“Listen, we don’t have a choice. We have to go,” Walton said.
Finally, he reverted to what he had been told.
“The aircraft can only land here,” Walton said, pointing to the landing zones in the wadi.
He couldn’t have the commandos refuse to go, or worse, turn on his team. Mateen just stared at Walton and shrugged his shoulders.
“Okay. If you want to do it that way,” the Afghan said.
Walton didn’t want to do it that way. But sitting in the Chinook, he knew he had no choice. He was going over the mission in his head when a message in his earphones caught his attention. The pilots in the medevac Black Hawks lifted off and turned north toward the valley. Walton could hear the pilots talking. Everyone was worried about the weather, so the commanders sent a recon bird up to see if they could find a path through the clouds.
Ford broke in.
“Hey, Kyle, what if those clouds move and we take casualties, we can’t get the aircraft in to get our casualties out?” he asked over the radio.
Walton agreed.
Walton also knew that if the helicopters flew into the valley, the mission could be compromised. Ghafour had asked the locals in a village at the mouth of the Shok Valley to provide early warning to him if they heard or saw Coalition forces. They were also instructed to fight any Coalition attempt to enter the valley. Walton didn’t want to be compromised when the team landed in broad daylight. He was still hoping that they could catch Ghafour off guard and go fast up the hill. But they couldn’t count on luck if bad guys knew they were going to show up.
Climbing off the back ramp of the Chinook, he pulled out his Roshan cell phone and called Fletcher. The blades of the helicopter were turning, and he could feel the hot exhaust on his face. Walking to the edge of the concrete pad, he pushed his headphones up on his head and pressed the phone hard into his ear to mute some of the noise.
“We cannot fucking send those helicopters in there. If you send those helicopters and if they make that turn, we have to launch no matter what because we’re blown,” said Walton, practically screaming into the phone over the rotor wash.
“If they find a path, you’re going,” Fletcher said.
Discouraged, Walton walked back into the helicopter and plugged his headphones back into the radio feed. He had never been one to question orders.
When Walton was in the fourth grade, he told his teacher that he was going to West Point. He had wanted to be a soldier like his father for as long as he could remember.
The Indianapolis-born Walton’s father was a sergeant in the 82nd Airborne and his mother was a nurse. When he was an infant, the family moved to Howe, Indiana, a small town on the border between Indiana and Michigan.
Walton’s father enlisted as the Vietnam War was winding down. After leaving the service, he worked as a manager, more than two hours away, in Kalamazoo, Michigan. His mother continued working as a nurse at Sturgis Hospital in Michigan.
Walton had two brothers—Cory and Cole. Cory was three years younger and Cole was two years younger. His extended family lived within an hour of his home, and after his mother’s sister died of breast cancer, his two cousins, Eric and Layne, moved in. They were older and became like brothers to Walton.
As a kid, Walton was obsessed with being in the Army or being a doctor. He and his brothers used to play hospital. His mother would bring them medical supplies and bandages. If they weren’t saving lives, they were taking them as soldiers.
Walton’s family moved across the state to Carmel, Indiana, when he was in fifth grade. For Walton and his brothers, it was big change. They were now going to large public schools.
Walton started playing football in the eighth grade. He was fast. Real fast. He was always a guy who never half-assed things. Even in practice, during conditioning sprints, he tried to outrun everybody.
Sports made him popular and soon he was getting the attention not only of his fellow classmates, but of colleges looking for a speedy wide receiver. Every day, he looked forward to opening his locker to see if he’d gotten any letters from interested programs.
When he received a letter from West Point, everything came into perspective. Up until his junior year, he figured he would be a criminal justice or psychology major or a professional photographer. But the letter from the military academy brought him back to his childhood goal. He was going to be a soldier. His goal was to follow his father into the 82nd Airborne, and ultimately the Special Forces.
For the rest of his junior and senior years, he focused on the goal. While his grade-point average was decent, he took the SATs five times in order to get the best score he could and signed up for every extracurricular activity he could find. After months of cajoling the staff of Congressman Dan Burton, a Republican, he earned a nomination to West Point and was accepted in 1997.
Walton went to West Point to play football, too. It helped him get in. In high school, he could run past defenders, but when he got to Highland Falls, New York, he couldn’t. In college, everybody was fast. Before he arrived, he sat outside of his house in Indiana and read about West Point’s football program. He expected not only to make the team, but to be one of its stars. He had more yards in two games in high school than any of West Point’s receivers.
He soon learned that college football was about the X’s and O’s. It was about execution.
On the first day of practice, the coaches handed Walton a thick playbook. As he studied it, he tried to pick up the idiosyncrasies, like where to line up if the defense is in “Cover 2.”
But looking at the playbook, Walton knew he was over his head. He didn’t know how to read defenses.
At West Point, there were a bunch of other receivers. Usually, freshmen are red-shirted and get a chance to learn. Not at West Point.. During one of the scrimmages, Walton ran the wrong route. It was one of many mistakes he committed. He just wasn’t getting it and the coaches knew it. They pulled him aside after practice and told him he wasn’t at the level he needed to be at. His football career was over. As he left the practice facility, the sense of failure stung him. It was the first time he had failed.
But soon he had other worries, like academics.
The science- and math-heavy curriculum gave him fits. He was always in danger of getting thrown out. The constant pressure helped him learn to operate under the gun. He learned how to speed-read. He learned how to push through pain—physical and mental.
During his first year, he found the Special Forces branch representative right away.
“What’s the quickest and best way to become a Green Beret?” he asked.
“There is no abbreviated path to the top. Start by learning a language,” the Special Forces officer told him.
He figured the Middle East was where he would likely find himself and so he settled on Arabic. By his second year, he figured out that he had a knack for it. He joined the Foreign Academy Exchange Program and went to Egypt, traveling to Cairo in the spring of 1999. Before his senior year, he went to Tunisia.
Walton graduated the United States Military Academy in June of 2001 and selected the infantry branch. Fort Bragg was his first duty station. During the infantry officer’s basic course and Ranger school at Fort Benning, he heard that the twin towers had been hit. He was about to start a live fire exercise when his instructors came out and told them they were at war.
“If anybody has any family in New York—at the Trade Center—get on this truck. The rest, keep training.”
They kept training for the next five days. Walton could feel the increased intensity.
At West Point, he fully expected he was going to war. He remembered Somalia and Desert Storm. Now he was going. At Fort Bragg, he was assigned to Bravo Company, First Battalion, 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment. It was the exact unit that his father had served in twenty years earlier. Shortly after he arrived, his unit deployed to Afghanistan. Soon after returning from eight months of missions near the Pakistan border, Walton was in Fallujah, Iraq. After returning from his second combat deployment, he got selected for the Special Forces. He served briefly at the Army’s Special Operations Command before completing the qualification course in 2007. His life had been a list of goals to be checked off.
Football.
Check.
West Point.
Check.
Special Forces.
Check.
On and on and on, he met every one. And the mission in the Shok Valley was no different. He still wanted to accomplish it, but not like this. He wanted a better plan.
The recon bird’s flight seemed to take a lifetime. Sitting on the back of the Chinook, Walton could hear the pilots reporting back after they had reached certain checkpoints on the map. Most of the transmissions were pilot talk, but he could tell from their tone that they were anxious. Flying by instruments with almost no visibility, they were uncomfortable. Just listening to them made him more anxious. Then one of the pilots made the hairs on his neck perk up again.
“I’ve found a way through the clouds.”