The PAK AIRCRAFT DROPPED us and our gear at the end of a desolate runway bathed in the warm light of the mid-afternoon sun. Without so much as a word from the crew, the plane immediately turned around and took off, disappearing into a cloudless sky.
An arid landscape surrounded us and there were no buildings nearby, but we spotted a pickup truck parked alongside the runway several hundred meters away. Greg jogged over to it and convinced the sleeping Pakistani occupants to give us a ride to an aircraft hangar we could see in the distance. The truck took us most of the way, but the driver wisely let us off before reaching the fenced security perimeter. We walked the rest of the way, and as we neared the first band of concertina wire, I noticed two machine gun positions that were dug into the barren ground, reinforced with sandbags that formed parapets. U.S. Marines, who eyed us warily as we approached, manned the guns. We had no official identification to present, and we told them we were from Islamabad and were looking for the Air Force Special Ops Squadron. Apparently convinced we were friendlies, they pointed out the way and let us pass through the entrance gate.
We found the squadron headquarters located in the aircraft hangar which had been divided into work and sleeping areas. The Air Force personnel were working in shifts so some people were asleep, or at least trying to sleep, though it was in the middle of the afternoon and fully light inside the hangar.
In Islamabad, we had been told to ask for Colonel Steve Hadley, the air operations commander. We found him asleep on a cot, and an airman rousted him from his slumber. He looked exhausted but that didn’t stop him from immediately getting up and tending to our needs. In the coming days I would learn what an impressive guy he was. Not only was the colonel a helicopter pilot, he was also a medical doctor and, like myself, an Army Ranger School graduate. He had an eclectic range of talents, to say the least. Quick with a smile and always in an upbeat mood, he was very personable. I think all three of us liked him immediately.
Colonel Hadley was one of only a handful of Air Force personnel who were briefed on who we were and the nature of our mission. Others who were briefed included members of the intelligence staff, one of whom was a young Air Force Captain named John Smith. Because of the restricted number of briefed personnel, Colonel Hadley and Captain Smith would be our principal contacts during our time at the airbase. Over the next couple of weeks they were an incredible support to us in our preparations for infiltrating Afghanistan. Colonel Hadley’s support would prove to be even more impressive and critical in the days following Echo team’s insertion into the heart of Taliban territory.
We had only been in Jacobabad a couple of days when we received orders to pull Karzai and his tribal elders out of Afghanistan ASAP and to bring them back to Jacobabad. Karzai and his fledgling anti-Taliban insurgency’s tactical situation had deteriorated to the point where they were on the verge of being cornered and annihilated by the Taliban. Using a CIA communication link with Karzai that had previously been established, arrangements for how his rescue would be accomplished were worked out. The plan called for Greg and Jimmy along with a small SEAL team to carry out a helicopter extraction. I was disappointed that I was not going to be part of the mission, and I approached Greg about being included. But he refused my request, saying he didn’t want to risk any more people than necessary.
I couldn’t argue with his logic about risking additional lives, so I suggested that I take Jimmy’s place. Jimmy had participated in just about every U.S. military undertaking since the Vietnam War, and he had twice been in helicopter crashes, one of those during a combat mission. I felt he had done more than his fair share of risk-taking for his country, particularly when compared to the comparatively minor risks I had taken.
“This is the real deal,” Greg responded. “If something goes wrong, I have to have a clear conscience about the decisions I made for this mission, including who I picked to go. Jimmy has more extensive and more recent military experience than you do. I appreciate your willingness to go, but he is the best choice.”
He was of course right about Jimmy. There was no way I could compete with his military experience—a full Army career, most of it spent with Delta. On top of that, Greg and Jimmy were close, having known each other for many years. I knew that counted for a lot as well. I, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity in Greg’s eyes. While I was Army Ranger and Special Forces qualified, I had spent only six years in the military and had not worn the uniform in almost 18. There really was no argument to be made about which one of us made more sense to take on the mission, and I had to accept the logic of Greg’s decision. So when the team departed to extract Karzai and his tribal elders, my role was relegated to staying behind to keep the home fires burning.
While the team was away, I went over to the hangar and talked to Captain Smith about getting some folding cots for our expected guests. He and I loaded them onto a pickup truck, brought them to our building, and set them up in the largest room available. I was not even sure the Afghans would want to use the cots, but I figured it would be rude not to make them available. If they didn’t like the cots, they could always sleep on the floor.
Late that night, we got word that the extraction was successful, and the team and Afghans were returning to base. The extraction had been carried out using a helicopter, but once in Pakistani territory, all the passengers were transferred to an MC-130 fixed wing aircraft and flown to the airbase.
Captain Smith and I walked over to the motor pool and found a bus with the keys still in it that we could use to transport the passengers. It was an interesting drive over to the airfield, as neither of us had ever driven a bus, and we had to do it in the dark without headlights due to tactical restrictions. Fortunately we managed to get there without running anyone over.
The incoming aircraft was totally blacked out so in the nighttime sky we couldn’t see the plane’s approach. But we heard it land and taxi over to our location. Even when the plane was only feet away, it was almost impossible to see it without the aid of night vision goggles. Although the aircraft was now in relatively friendly territory, the SEAL team members were taking no chances. When the tail ramp came down, they were the first ones off, holding their weapons at the ready. They did not move quickly, however, and in the dim light that emanated from the interior of the plane, I could see the odd fashion in which they high-stepped down the ramp in order to minimize the chance of stumbling over the raised framework of the ramp floor. Only after they determined to their satisfaction that the area was secure did they permit the Afghans to file off the plane. The SEALS then loaded back onto the MC-130, which taxied away into the darkness.
I saw Karzai for the first time as he stepped past me to board the bus. Dressed in traditional Pashtun garb, his hands clasped and pressed against his chest, he nodded to me and in a voice not much above a whisper said, “Hello.” His image and demeanor struck me as that of a religious figure, gentle and kind, hardly someone you would expect to have just started an armed rebellion against the Taliban regime.