1 March
“We will retreat to the mountains and begin a long guerrilla war to reclaim our pure land from infidels and free our country like we did against the Soviets. The Soviets were a brave enemy and their soldiers could withstand tough conditions. The Americans are creatures of comfort. They will not be able to sustain the harsh conditions that await them.” So predicted Jalaluddin Haqqani on 29 October 2001.9 Haqqani was a Taliban mujahideen commander, and his forces were already in retreat as he spoke these words from a Pakistani hideout where he would remain for over a decade. His words reflected the beliefs of most of the combatants arrayed against the pending Operation Anaconda forces. He also had the distinction of having been a commander during the Soviet campaign, and more important, its effort in the Shahi Khot Valley.
Haqqani based his opinion on broad perceptions built up over the previous decade and reinforced by events in Somalia and Haiti, where it seemed Americans could be driven from one’s lands by inflicting a few casualties. His assessment, though, was based on US foreign policy and not on the actual troops on the ground. Ironically, this “creatures of comfort” analyst was himself a creature of habit, and his forces now awaiting the Americans were repeating their tactics of more than a decade prior. Blaber’s and AFO’s study of the history and geography of their battlefield was about to determine whether “habit” or “comfort” would win the day.
Haqqani’s understanding of where and when the first major confrontation was going to take place was solidified, thanks in part to the tip-off delivered by traitors within the American-allied ATF’s ranks. But even before this confirmation of American intent, the Taliban and Al Qaeda had recognized the looming fight’s location. From the enemy:
Our early presence in it [Shahi Khot] gave us sufficient experience and much knowledge of it inside and out, its dangerous parts and the ways out of them, and allowed us to master their use—by the bounty of Allah the Most High—for our operations with the Americans when Allah caused them to encounter us in that area. Maulawi Jawad was Saif-ur-Rahman Mansoor’s military commander for the duration of the previous phase of battles. He had been involved in preparing the bases and occupied with arranging and fixing ambushes. We planted land mines accurately in the main roads, which led to the village [Serkhankhel, in the center of the Shahi Khot Valley], and we set up heavy artillery on the surrounding mountain peaks.
In the early days, we spent all our time preparing the area. Our numbers totaled 440 mujahideen in all, comprising 175 Afghan mujahideen from Saif-ur-Rahman Mansoor’s group, 190 mujahideen from the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan under the command of Qari Muhammad Tahir Jan (this was the largest group), and about 75 Arab mujahideen, the majority of whom had previous military knowledge and training.10
By 1 March, more fighters had poured into the valley and were fortifying the surrounding mountains, preparing for jihad. J Team had already survived two of Maulawi Jawad’s preparations: the forces housed and staged in Menjawar, and at least one minefield. As the men adapted to their new surroundings and improved their OP, the next threat came to them.
Satisfied the location was sound from a defensive consideration, with good lines of sight on the valley to their south and the surrounding mountains, they stashed the ATVs behind a ten-foot embankment situated below the OP in the riverbed they’d followed. According to Jay the OP itself was bifurcated: One position was the mission support site, known as an MSS, where they set up their lone tent so two men could rest or eat; and the second was the actual observation post, “a hundred meters straight up the side of a ledge,” where the three others would conduct operations. The way they’d situated it, “one guy would watch the rear and the pair [of men] on the rest plan. One guy would watch the target area, and the other would do the reporting and pull security.” The two positions maintained communications by way of MBITR.
At noon, the Taliban came, single file.
They appeared from the cave area the men had passed hours earlier, traveling down the valley J Team had left behind. They all appeared to be Afghans, not Arabs or Uzbeks, and “they all had weapons to include RPGs.” They were following the ATV tracks and “stopped right where our tracks went up from the valley to our ATVs.”
Kris and Jay, who were manning the OP, observed them intently. Were they tracking J Team? Was it merely a small patrol or the advance element of a much larger force? Kris had Bill and Dave take up positions, but neither could see the enemy, and further movement would only likely give away their position.
J Team’s tracks were “all over the place,” so following the team’s trail would prove difficult unless they happened upon the ATVs and the two Delta snipers hidden nearby. Then the Taliban sniffed out the tracks leading toward the ATVs. When they closed to two hundred meters, Kris knew they were in trouble. “Some of the thought process going on at this time was: these five personnel could be a point element for a larger force. If we shoot them, we would now be on the run by foot; if we shoot them, the mission could be compromised; if we let them go, they might bring back a larger force; and all the ATV tracks might have confused them and they had no idea what was going on. As they continued to move inch-by-inch toward the ATVs, we got ready to engage them at the last possible minute.”
Jay sighted through the ACOG (Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight) scope of his suppressed M4 as the men approached. The Taliban below had no idea they were in the crosshairs of some of the deadliest shots in the world. The Delta snipers and Jay held the shot. Triggers brushed with the contact of each shooter’s finger, poised to squeeze. At less than two hundred meters, kills were foregone conclusions for the Americans. “You’re watching this guy in your scope, thinking, ‘I’m going to have to shoot this guy,’ and if you do it’s going to echo across the entire valley and then you’re done.” With Jay and Kris above and the other two below, Kris kept the team in check even as the enemy closed to within 150 feet of the ATVs. The prospects weighed heavily on Jay’s mind. “With your scope you could see they were talking about it, ‘Hey, what is this?’ and pointing at [the tracks]. They’d walked away and then came back.”
Kris, Jay, and the snipers below weren’t sure if they were compromised or not, but it seemed likely. Jay got on the net and brought in ISR to scan the surrounding terrain and cover likely avenues of approach. For good measure, he coordinated for close air to be on standby in case the men were attacked. While Jay was working the airwaves, Kris called Blaber on the radio, using the whisper mode (which amplified the transmitter’s voice so the receiver heard it clearly), and relayed the situation.
Blaber responded, “What’s your recommendation?”
“Well, if we kill ’em now, the whole valley will know we’re up here, and we’ll lose the element of surprise. Let me see what they do next. I’ll call you back.”
Kris describes what happened next: “Just as we got ready to fire, they stopped and paused for a few seconds, then talked to one another and then just turned around and continued to walk out into the Sahi Kot [sic] valley. One of them stayed back and went out of site [sic] for about 5 minutes. We believe he walked back up toward the area from behind a rock that was in front of us but, because of the 10 ft embankment could not see anything. Finally we saw him walk back out and link up with the other 4 personnel.”
Kris called Blaber back after the enemy departed, explaining, “We’ve plotted the grid for the cave entrance they walked out of and [Jay] will coordinate a bombing mission on it at H-hour.”
The others broke down the tent and began hauling the remainder of the gear up to the OP. There would no longer be a lower position; all the men would remain on the higher ground. The sun rose but the weather closed as a gale-force snowstorm blew in. Nearly two feet of snow fell, allowing them to work their relocation (something they’d normally only accomplish in the dark) throughout a tense day.
By nightfall, fresh snow had covered all the ATV and Taliban tracks, providing additional anonymity and security for the team. Anyone moving about now would be exposed by fresh tracks in the snow. The team felt safe and, with the immediate threat diminished, continued to consider their location. Further scouting revealed a small draw farther upslope with superior views of Tergul Ghar, the Whale. So they repeated the process of relocation throughout the night of 1 March, electing to leave the extra gear from the ATVs at the temporary OP and putting more distance between them and the ATVs. As a security measure, Dave and Bill set a claymore mine booby trap with a trip wire to guard the downstream approach to the ATVs and to serve as an early warning from their rear, before leaving them behind for the duration of the mission.
The new site provided another advantage in terrain dominance and masking should a larger force return. J Team would be able to effectively attack with plunging fire. It also closed the distance between the MSS and OP to fifty feet, strengthening their mutual support. The site itself, though, was more exposed. All rock face with six-to-ten-foot ledges across the face and backside, there was sparse foliage, only scattered ankle-high brush. Jay recalls, “How we were positioned, we were not as concealed as you’d think you would be in the mountains of Afghanistan. I had a leaf suit on, but underneath a blue North Face coat. [And] it was not just that, I had a VS-17 panel out for IFF [Identification, Friend or Foe]. So if somebody flew over and saw us, an Apache or something like that, it wouldn’t shoot at us.” Theoretically. This was a real concern among the team. The unknown was how well the pilots flying across hundreds of miles and dozens of mountains and valleys were briefed on three small and autonomous groups of Americans deep in enemy territory.
Considering the close call with the Taliban, the men decided it was not all negative. It had unearthed their point of origin, the cave. Without realizing it during their wanderings through the terrain on infil, the team ended up no more than seven hundred meters from what was clearly a significant enemy position, much closer than they cared to be for an operation spanning more than a week. Looking through their sniper scopes, buildings could be seen as well.11
With his first target identified, Jay got to work planning a pre-H-hour strike on the cave complex. For his first strike, he wasted no time on subtleties. He was going to announce the American campaign to Al Qaeda with an earth-shattering bang. The cave complex was to be the recipient of a Blu-118/B 2,000-pound thermobaric laser-guided bomb, courtesy of a B-1 bomber crew. It would be the inaugural use of the newly redesigned and improved ordnance.
* * *
As J Team settled in and began reporting enemy positions and movements, Andy Martin and Mako-31 were waiting for daylight to wane in order to continue their infiltration. The waypoint afforded them a direct view of Shahi Khot’s center and the village there. Before the morning’s storm moved in and eliminated all visibility, the team “observed some Afghans fleeing the area with two camels in tow, overloaded with their possessions.” If there were lingering doubts about knowledge of the pending operation, the hasty departure of locals removed them. Not taking any chances, Goody held his team in place till sunset, when they hefted their gear once again and moved out under cover of thick fog, hoping to make it to their OP. The night’s “hump” proved more difficult than the first. The terrain was extreme, and sheer drop-offs and crevasses created obstacles along their mountain trail. In six hours of movement, they managed barely three kilometers.
* * *
As Mako-31 were beginning their second day, CCT Jim Hotaling, along with six Australian SAS troopers, sat freezing and huddled with his gear in the rear of another CIA-operated Mi-17. He watched the valleys and peaks pass underneath in the Afghan twilight, thinking about the mission he’d received in Kandahar three days prior, with no notice or fanfare, from Major Terry Maki, the commander of the 22nd STS. He’d had only twenty minutes to prepare before relocating to Bagram and meeting up with his team and their leader, Matt B.
Hotaling was a thirty-three-year-old reservist CCT. He’d been on active duty for several years before transferring into the Individual Mobilization Augmentee (IMA) program, which afforded former CCT who didn’t wish to be under the formal obligations of the Air National Guard the opportunity to remain in the community. IMA allowed him to train with the 22nd STS at McChord AFB in Washington State, where he worked full-time as a state highway patrolman. At five eleven, he had a round, stocky build with tightly cropped coarse brown hair and jovial facial features, earning him the nickname “Fozzie Bear.” When the war kicked off, he’d been mobilized and then deployed to Afghanistan in October.
Upon arrival, he and another Controller by the name of John Wylie were immediately assigned to the SAS. For the next three months he “mission whored,” a term that described jumping from unit to unit and mission to mission. It was the best opportunity to get in on action and airstrikes, and he bounced among the Aussie SAS’s 1 Squadron, the Norwegian Marinejegerkommandoen (MJK) special forces, German Kommando Spezialkräfte (KSK), and both B and C troops of SEAL Team Three. This ability to move freely among units, services, and allies, sometimes from week to week or even on a daily turn, is unique to CCT, again demonstrating the need to be competent and proficient across the spectrum of skills required in special operations tactics on a wholly global scale. Hotaling had done eight previous missions with the Aussies, including one other high-altitude patrol.
The SAS had endeavored to find a role in Anaconda and successfully lobbied for the opportunity to uphold a portion of the mission. For their efforts, they were rewarded with two patrols assigned to cover the south end of the Shahi Khot to prevent escape. The Aussies, recognizing their inexperience with US air and airstrikes in general, immediately requested the two Controllers they were familiar with.
Pre-mission planning had been a whirlwind of coordination and packing for both Controllers, neither of whom had worked with their assigned US or SAS teams before. Short-notice assignments to unfamiliar units were nothing new, but both men knew the stakes in this particular situation were elevated. Not only did the SAS highly value their participation, but each Controller carried the weight not just of the Air Force but of the entire nation.12
The Aussies tended to pack more heavily than their US counterparts so, as a result, Hotaling’s ruck weighed 110 pounds. Unlike Jay Hill with Delta (who was reluctant to push weight onto his team), the Aussies ensured that the ruck of each man on the mission was within two pounds of his teammates’. Still, to this, Hotaling added thirty pounds of “combat load,” including a vest with ammo, first aid, water, signaling devices, an M4 with suppressor and ACOG scope, and NVGs.
The hour-long flight from Bagram was uneventful, but the men in back were keyed up—like the SEALs, they’d had no recce experience in the mountains east of Gardez. The helo set down in the dark five kilometers south of the Shahi Khot Valley, and the men struggled off the ramp under the weight of their packs. They trudged into the night and directly onto their intended OP, which had a commanding view of the approach and departure routes. Unlike Blaber’s AFO teams, the Aussies, like the rest of the US and allied military, had no reservations about using rotary lift to insert, in this case right on top of the OP. It was also the reason the team was inclined to pack heavy; they did not intend to move or be resupplied, a decision they would soon regret.
* * *
Half a dozen kilometers to the north, Andy and the SEALs were anxious to arrive at their targeted location and acutely aware of their promise to Blaber. They moved out at 1430, still almost two kilometers from their OP, and the terrain between them and their objective was more challenging than the night before. This night completely drained the team, and they managed only 1,100 meters up the mountainous slope, finishing at nearly 11,000 feet above sea level and 600 meters short of their OP. As they moved, sweat poured from their bodies, soaking their shirts under their crushing loads. Pausing in the frigid mountain air, even for a few moments, caused them to freeze. It was something almost impossible to avoid, so although thighs burned with each heavy footfall and lungs ached with each gasp, it was better to keep moving than to stop.
They occupied a hide site and established security, catching their breath and stretching their aching shoulders and backs. There was precious little time to take personal stock; it was close to midnight. H-hour, the time at which 10th Mountain and the 101st Airborne were scheduled to land on the valley floor, was set for 0630 the following day. If they were to get eyes on the valley before sunrise, they’d never get there as a team burdened with their packs and equipment. With little choice, Goody sent two SEAL snipers, Chris and Eric, forward to scout their final OP while Andy established comms with AFO HQ.
The two SEALs, free of their rucks, crept stealthily forward through a snow squall, scanning their surroundings for Al Qaeda as they went. Two hundred meters forward of Mako-31’s position, they were confronted by a gray-green five-man tent wedged beneath a rock outcropping a few feet from a cliff’s edge. Complete with a tin chimney protruding from one corner, it was exactly where the team planned to place their own OP. Al Qaeda had arrived at the same conclusion, beating them to it by days.
Chris, who’d been a SEAL for over a decade and was the twin brother of a Combat Controller named Preston, pulled a Nikon Coolpix camera with an 8X lens from his mini pack to capture some shots for Andy to pass back, when Eric motioned for his attention. On the ridgeline fifteen meters above the tent was the unmistakable silhouette of a tripod-mounted Russian DShK-38 12.7mm antiaircraft machine gun, protected from the elements by a blue plastic tarp wrapped tightly around the barrel and receiver. Chris snapped some shots and then confirmed the weapon’s location using his laser rangefinder and GPS.
The discovery was fortuitous. The position dominated the entire 700-meter-wide approach corridor the TF-Rakkasan helicopters were to use for insertion in little more than twenty-four hours. The DShK’s 3,000-meter range placed the entire assault force in “duck shoot” range. The two men watched the position for signs of fighters, but nobody showed themselves in the cold, so they silently withdrew back across the snow-covered ridgeline to report their findings, careful not to dislodge any rocks as the squall covered their withdrawal.
Andy relayed a short message outlining what they’d discovered. At the AFO safe house Blaber read the message, absorbing the new information, the first concrete evidence of enemy preparation for the assault.
The SEALs went back for a second look in the light of day to determine whether the site was occupied and to get better photos, this time with Goody accompanying them. What they saw gave them pause. Two men were in the open. The first was a short, dark-haired, and bearded Mongol wearing typical Afghan tan “man jammies” and a sleeveless jacket of gray, red, and blue, topped by a brown wool hat. But it was the other man that caught the SEALs’ attention. A tall, clean-shaven Caucasian with a full head of reddish collar-length hair, he was dressed for the elements in a heavy red Gore-Tex jacket, Polartec fleece liner, and Russian pattern camo pants. This man was clearly in charge of their fighting position. He’d carefully arranged ammunition in an arc around the DShK’s pit for rapid reloading when the time came. Both men seemed fit and healthy, the Caucasian occasionally shadowboxing with himself and strolling between the DShK and the tent.
At first, they assumed he was Uzbek, but the longer they watched, the less sure they were that they had his ethnicity pegged. At the hide site, Andy downloaded the photos onto his Toughbook.
Andy was the team’s communications expert, but it was Goody’s mission to lead. He quickly typed a message for Blaber and the SEAL Team Six HQ, attached the photos, and hit send. Although Blaber was their immediate commander, the SEALs of Mako-31 were also reporting their actions directly to their chain of command in Bagram and excluding Blaber from these back-channel messages. This would have far-reaching and tragic consequences in the coming hours and days.
Because of this, John Chapman in Bagram and Jay Hill across the valley were oblivious to the message traffic, which would also have consequences when Mako-31 began reporting more enemy locations in the coming hours, including on Takur Ghar.
Goody designated his message “eyes only” for Blaber and included the assessment that there may be as many as five fighters. The daytime photos clearly showed the Caucasian in his mountain redoubt with the TF-Rakkasan insertion corridor stretching panoramically into the distance behind him. Mako-31’s other concern was the possible presence of other allied forces. The Aussies were already in the south, so Goody asked Blaber, “Are the Brits up here?” It was possible. The Mako-31 team looked nothing like an American force, and who knew if the Brits were similarly outfitted and using locals as part of some uncoordinated operation?
The photos conveyed more detail and impact than any written report could. It was clear to Blaber that the Uzbeks and other foreign fighters were ready for a fight. Blaber assured Goody there were no Brits or other forces in their vicinity and immediately passed the message to Bagram. It caused concern among the planners, who had been assured by the broader Army and intelligence organizations, supported by dedicated satellites, surveillance aircraft, and even a CIA Mi-17 video flyover just the previous day, that threats to the insertion force simply didn’t exist. Before they’d even reached their OP, Mako-31, and by extension Blaber’s entire AFO force and concept, were changing the looming battle.
Goody, Andy, and the others needed to outline a plan. The DShK would need to be eliminated before TF-Rakkasan entered the valley, and it was impossible to say whether the weapon and fighters, now only six hundred feet from their position, were reinforced by a larger contingent tucked into the mountains nearby. But their mission was not to directly engage the enemy; they simply weren’t equipped for any type of direct assault or sustained firefight. And there was the question of what Blaber might say. But some action had to happen; they simply couldn’t allow the DShK to stand. Even if TF-Rakkasan did modify their plan, Andy couldn’t call in airstrikes from the current OP with an enemy force a stone’s throw away. Eventually they’d be discovered. The SEALs and Andy, all of them trained snipers, were not inclined to leave an enemy force standing, and they believed they could take them, but would Blaber agree?
After further discussion, Goody got on his laptop and asked Blaber for guidance. Instead of providing direction, he asked the SEAL, “What’s your recommendation?” To the SEALs and Andy, who were beginning to appreciate the Delta officer’s leadership style, it was manna from heaven.
Blaber, who was acutely aware of the precarious position of his teams, waited while his team leader absorbed the question.
“I want to make sure we maintain the element of surprise as close to H-hour as possible. I will wait until H minus two [hours]. At H minus two I will start moving; that will allow me to take my time getting into position. I’ll engage at H minus one, and then [have Andy] follow up with AC-130.”
For good measure, Goody followed that immediately with, “I understand that you have to make the decision on this and I’ll support any decision you make.”
Blaber, always one with a flair for the dramatic and not wishing to miss an opportunity, sent back, “Good hunting,” smiling at the exchange.
On a mountain deep in enemy territory, five men, seriously outnumbered and unsupported, smiled too. For the men of Mako-31, an opportunity such as this is why each became a Combat Controller or a SEAL.
* * *
At TF-11, everything was not smiles as Blaber’s early reports and photos circulated. Some of the staff believed Blaber was exceeding his mission. Mako-31 “did not have sufficient men to attack the position, nor even ‘doctrinal authority’ to conduct a direct action,” according to one TF-11 staffer. “Peter the Great” was at it again, scoffed another. Also taking note of the increased message traffic, and the impact of AFO, was the commander of SEAL Team Six, Captain Joe Kernan, and his ops officer, a SEAL named Tim Szymanski. Two of their men may have excluded themselves from AFO, but half of Slab’s Red Team sniper element was now decisively engaged in a big opportunity. For Slab and the rest of the SEALs in Bagram, nothing was happening, and everyone in TF-11 was now fixating on Blaber’s three teams in the field as Operation Anaconda began to spin up in preparation for combat operations. Wheels began to spin in the minds of the SEAL leaders.
Back in Gardez, Blaber sent a final message to Goody, a four-word mission statement: “Terminate with extreme prejudice.”
Falling back on his Navy vernacular, the SEAL acknowledged with a simple “Aye, aye,” before signing off.
Blaber looked at a map on the wall of the safe house. All three of his teams were in and “open for business,” ready for H-hour. He was extremely proud of what the small, elite joint force was doing in the field and confident in their abilities. The enemy had a vote in what happened next, of course, and conditions remained perilous for the Delta, SEAL, and Combat Control operators, but he knew there was no one else in the world who could perform better in the days to come.
At TF-11’s JOC (Joint Operations Center) in Bagram, Brigadier General Trebon, the deputy TF-11 commander, was just finishing a conversation with Six’s Captain Kernan. He picked up the phone to dial the AFO commander with some news.