4 March
0255 HOURS
As they lurched from the summit, Al Mack barely had control of his MH-47. The cyclic and collective kept going “dead” in his hands. Each time they did, the helicopter became a 40,000-pound chunk of metal plummeting out of the sky. In the rear, Dan Madden was furiously opening quarts of hydraulic fluid with a beer-can opener that hung from a string on the wall, pouring them into the manual filling station and then quickly yanking the manual pressurization pump handle up and down to introduce the precious liquid into the system. Each time he did, the controls would sputter to life in Mack’s hands. Yet as soon as Madden stopped pumping to spear another quart, the controls would seize as the helicopter bled out through the shredded lines, and the aircraft began to plummet once again. Madden only had four cans; after that, there would be no stopping the helo from falling out of the sky, killing them all. As it was, even when the hydraulics were topped off, the Chinook shuddered in flight as if the rotor heads and transmissions were going to come apart at any moment.
Leaving both a trail of fluid and a man behind on the mountain, Mack continued wrestling the controls with the help of his copilot, Chief Warrant Officer Talbot. Impact was inevitable, it was merely a question of where. If he could keep the aircraft upright on impact, they might survive the crash. If it rolled, all of them would be crushed by inertia and the weight of the aircraft. Coming off the peak at over 10,000 feet it was just possible, with their momentum and downward flight angle, to reach the valley floor nearly 2,000 feet below. In fits and starts of hydraulic relief, he spotted some reasonable terrain in front of them at the exact moment the controls seized. Madden, pouring their last can into the reserve, saved the crew a final time as Mack fought to bring them down upright.
At ten feet, Mack stated, “I could not move the cyclic stick.” The helicopter had flown seven kilometers from the lone SEAL on the mountain. It slammed into the ground on a fifteen-degree uphill slope and ten-degree cross slope but, miraculously, didn’t roll. Both pilots jettisoned their doors and, collecting their maps and sensitive packet material, dropped to the ground, joining the survivors in the back. It was a remarkable feat of teamwork and airmanship to bring the crew and operators down alive. Without both pilots and Madden working the problem till they touched down, every man would have perished.
Once on the ground, Chapman immediately set about getting them an AC-130 for cover and to fend off potential adversaries should the threat prove real. Joined by the crew, some of whom were feeling bad about the crash, Chapman responded, “Aw, don’t worry about it. I’ve felt harder PLFs [parachute landing falls].”
With his SATCOM and UHF ground-to-air radio up and running in a matter of seconds, the Controller wasted no time. “Any Grim, any Nail, this is Mako Three Zero Charlie. We’ve just had a crash landing and need some perimeter security,” he announced on UHF.
All Grim call signs reflected AC-130H aircraft, while Nail was used by the newer model AC-130Us. That night the Anaconda operation was supported by two U-boats (Nail-21 and -22). However, at the time of the crash they had already departed and had been replaced by two older, but still capable, H-models with the call signs Grim-32 and -33. The problem was, with the changeover, the two arriving gunships had no pre-brief on the Mako-30 mission and no situational awareness of the immediate events. Their first inkling they were involved in a highly dynamic and soon-to-be confusing command and control situation manifested with Chapman’s transmission. Hearing Chapman’s call, the first H-model on station responded, “This is Grim Three Two, what can we do for you?”
“It looks like we lost somebody at the LZ,” he stated and then passed Roberts’s grid coordinates, communication and identification (MBITR and IR strobe) capabilities, and a probable call sign. In practice, the SEALs did not stress communication training to the extent their Delta counterparts did, relying more heavily on their embedded Combat Controllers. Mako-30 was no exception. Chapman loaded, programmed, and checked the entire team’s radios, explaining, as he always did, how many clicks on the presets each SEAL would need to turn to reach different nets. For this reason, it was possible Roberts, known as Fifi to his teammates, might use any number of call signs or frequencies to identify himself.
Upon receiving the initial request, Grim-32, piloted by Major D. J. Turner, immediately diverted to Chapman’s location. After a cursory scan to ensure the crew and SEALs were not at risk, it departed for Takur Ghar, coordinating with the second AC-130H, Grim-33, to take up position over Razor-03.
Meanwhile, believing their mountain objective was nearby, Slab put one of the SEALs on planning a foot movement back to Takur Ghar. He thought they could hike to the lost SEAL and then coordinate a pickup with another helicopter from there, using Chapman and the gunship to keep any problems at bay. While the other SEALs worked on it, Slab had Chapman relay their intent to HQ.
Chapman called the AFO deputy commander, Delta major Jimmy Reese, at Bagram, where he functioned as the AFO’s link to the larger Army HQ that commanded Operation Anaconda. Because of the friction and disconnect between Blaber and Vic, Reese had learned of the unfortunate plan to insert directly onto Takur Ghar only moments before their tragic attempt. He acknowledged the team’s plan.
The SEAL tasked with planning their foot route returned to his team leader and, regarding the mountain Slab had pointed out, announced, “That ain’t it.” He pointed to a distant peak in the dark, barely visible even with NVGs. “That’s it over there. We ain’t going to make it,” he stated flatly.
When the calls started going out on SATCOM and UHF, other elements of AFO already on the ground began picking up the situation. Ben Miller and the SEALs of Mako-21 had themselves been on the ground for only a few minutes when the Combat Controller heard Chapman on the fire support frequency, furiously working to resolve their crash-site situation. “I heard him talking to all kinds of air. I didn’t talk to him because I wanted to keep the mike fresh and net clear. But there was definitely a lot going on with their crash and rescue.”
Powerless to assist, and with their own objective still many kilometers distant, they started their movement into enemy territory.
Also listening to the crisis unfold was Jay Hill. The two friends knew each other well, and Jay “was very familiar with Chappy’s radio ‘etiquette’ and ‘phraseology’ as a Combat Controller,” as well as the Mako-30C call sign he was using. The call sign Mako-30, when used without the C suffix, indicated the man on the radio was Slab. But Hill also knew Chapman’s voice, and the two indicators told Hill exactly who was who on the AFO radio net.
At the crashed Chinook, Slab reversed his initial decision, electing to use the pickup helicopter Chapman had called in to retrieve them. Chapman immediately raised Razor-04, the sister ship of Razor-03, piloted by Jason Friel. “When you get here, what I want to do is, this crew will stay here. We’ll fly up to the mountain and get Roberts and come back and get the crew, and we’ll all get out of here.”
Mack, still surging with adrenaline and standing out in a naked darkness, no longer commanding the night from a well-armed helicopter, told Slab he was willing to remain with his crew while Mako-30 conducted its rescue—on the condition Slab leave him someone to help defend their position. Slab, desperate to get to the mountain but loath to leave any shooters behind, offered Chapman, their ablest air support and best choice for a single individual to defend a tenuous position.
Chapman had other ideas. He refused to be left behind, and he and Slab had a heated exchange over the matter, during which Chapman stated definitively, “I’m part of the team, and if you’re going, I am too.” Faced with the Controller’s intransigence, the SEAL acquiesced and elected to take everyone to the top, including the Razor-03 crew.
On the air, Friel refused, stating, “Naw, that’s not going to happen.”
Hearing the response on Chappy’s radio, Slab took the handset from the Controller. “Put me there. You can do this.”
“Not with that LZ under fire. I’m taking all of you to Gardez and we’ll sort it out there.”
When Razor-04 and Friel landed, the pilot greeted his good friend, Al Mack, happy to find him alive. Left with no alternative, a frustrated and anxious Slab and his team climbed aboard while Mack’s crew stripped and sanitized Razor-03 of weapons, ammo, and sensitive material.
Razor-04 returned to the Gardez HLZ at 0434, and the team unloaded the helicopter. While they went inside, Friel kept the engines running and blades turning. At the remote outpost, if he shut down and had a mechanical problem—always a possibility in the overtaxed 47s—he’d be stranding the team and signing Roberts’s death certificate. Yet although it increased the likelihood of the mission’s flight, it was also burning precious fuel. Checking the gauges while Chapman and the SEALs were inside, he noted the helo was already on its reserve tanks. Calculating flight times to Takur Ghar and the nearest refuel point, he realized he was left with no margin for error or contingency; more good news to pass to the team when they came out.
Inside the high-walled safe-house compound, Chapman considered what was essential to execute the rescue. He’d need to move fast, and the only thing that mattered was the ability to talk to “air.” He needed to think in three dimensions. The SEALs, like everyone else on the battlefield, thought strictly in 2-D: Point A to point B had this type of surface terrain, or a particular position afforded this or that advantage or disadvantage. But John didn’t think that way, nor could he afford the luxury of its simplicity. His world was ruled by three axes, not two.
HQ, with their constant questions about status and location, had already proved to be an obstacle, not a solution, so long-haul SATCOM wasn’t critical. He looked at his ruck and its full load for the original multiday mission. None of the food, water, spare batteries, and clothing mattered.
The only item of solid value he considered was the PRC-117 SATCOM radio. It doubled as his primary weapon for wielding airpower, with its twenty watts of power to push out transmissions, but it weighed ten pounds without batteries. As a seasoned Combat Controller, he never traveled without spare batts for every radio. It was one of the many reasons CCT had to be in better physical shape than sister-service spec ops forces they worked with; a Controller’s ruck always weighed significantly more than anyone else’s. The PRC-117 ran on two BA-5590 batteries weighing 2.25 pounds each. So taking his PRC-117, even in a pared-down ruck, would give him an additional 25 pounds to haul. On the run at 10,000 feet. In the snow. Under fire.
Chapman dispensed with the ruck entirely and opted to carry his MBITR, which would cover the frequency ranges he needed for air support but could push only five watts. In addition, he took a VS-17 signal panel and compass to back up his handheld GPS stuffed in his cargo pants. It would have to do. Besides, they were only going to be on the mountain long enough to rescue or recover “Fifi,” for what…thirty minutes? They weren’t even taking water with them. Snatch and grab, and kill everyone who got in the way, the latter being his job. He could do that.
He pared down every ounce he could, except his gaiters. No sense in getting snow in your boots running through a mountaintop gunfight. None of the SEALs or Chapman took body armor or ballistic helmets to the top. They’d left that gear in Bagram, preparing, as they had, for a long-range recce patrol.
Chapman didn’t even add ammo to his Rhodesian vest. The uglier it got, the less likely he was to be shooting. It was the Controller way. When everyone else fired, he’d be on the radio that much more—turning back tides of rushing Al Qaeda, taking pressure off their own lines, or removing threats before they could inflict casualties. He and his radio were their last line of defense. Five watts would get him to Grim-32, already waiting for him at Takur Ghar. If they lost that, even twenty watts of transmission power wouldn’t save them. As insurance, he did pack several Russian mini hand grenades. These were lighter (though less effective) than the M67 grenades carried by conventional US forces. He joined the others and Slab, who was busy fighting to convince HQ of their situation and intentions.
“I had this many when I left,” Slab explained, and gave the names of the seven men on Mako-30 to the leaders at the Navy’s TF-Blue TOC in Bagram. “Now I have this many,” and he listed all but Roberts. But the questions and requests for numbers and confirmations kept coming while the clock ticked. In exasperation he concluded, “Look, we lost a guy. I have everybody except for Fifi. You have to believe me on this.” He hung up and the men returned to the helicopter, where Friel told Slab, “I don’t have too much gas.” The closest FARP (forward area refueling point) was a site called Texaco, twenty miles away; Bagram was even farther. There were no options for the team leader. He asked the pilot to fly the mission anyway, and Friel agreed. It meant they’d be flying directly to the top, with no opportunity to scan the site to determine enemy numbers or even whether Roberts had managed to get to a defendable location.
Under the red lights of the MH-47 cargo space, Slab outlined what they knew and were going to do. With the turning blades and turbines making it difficult to hear, the team closed in around him to catch every word. The smell of fuel and hydraulics permeated the craft, mixed with the smell of men who’d been sweating and were infused with adrenaline.
“Okay, here’s what I know. Reports have come across that the gunship saw a strobe up there. Four or six dudes are around Fifi. That was the last report I heard. The strobe is on. He is alive. Four to six dudes are with him. We can deal with that. We’ll set up a strobe when we get there, identify ourselves, and anybody that is outside our circle, the gunship will light ’em up.”
To a man, they realized that Fifi being surrounded did not bode well for their teammate. Slab continued, “We’ll get a foothold up there. We’ll find a place, clear it, and move onto it. We’re going up there and the bird’s going to land. We are getting off fast in pairs. Don’t wait for the ramp to get all the way down. Get the hell off.” The team nodded somberly as he spoke. At the end, Slab announced, “Hey, we’re going back up there and killing every last one of those motherfuckers.” It was something all agreed on.
Slab then pulled Chapman aside, explaining the two of them were a pair and would be the first off the helo. “Your sole job is to get to cover and get guns on. Do nothing else but get to cover and get on the radio. We’ll take care of everything else. We need you on that radio,” he said as the helo’s engines spooled up for takeoff. There was no turning back for any of them.
The seventeen-mile flight from Gardez was short and intense. The SEALs stared out the Plexiglas windows, each anticipating the mission. Toward the rear, Chapman waited too, his mind a kaleidoscope of frequencies, procedures, and call signs. He would need to draw from them all if he was to keep the team alive and rescue his friend.
Slab was working to get pre-assault fires onto the mountain before they landed to give them a chance of getting established before being outgunned. The AFO commander, Pete Blaber, was also working the issue. Interestingly, Slab had chosen to call Blaber rather than Vic and his own Navy chain of command. The Delta AFO leader and SEAL each outlined scenarios for Grim-32, the AC-130 gunship now orbiting Takur Ghar, to fire on the mountain in support of the lost SEAL. The gunship, however, rightfully refused to entertain any of them, arguing that there was no way to determine which heat signature was Roberts and therefore any strikes targeted against individuals could inadvertently kill the very object of the mission. This meant no pre-assault.
* * *
On Takur Ghar, the Chechen who executed Roberts (and attempted, unsuccessfully, to decapitate him) moved within a bunker on the summit. Other Chechens and Al Qaeda had finished rooting through the SEAL’s possessions and passing them around, including the IR strobe, and had dispersed. The leader, with years of separatist fighting against the Russians under his belt, knew the Americans would be back. They had a weakness for their own. He didn’t know why the American they’d killed ended up alone on their mountain, but he was certain more would come back for him. And they would return in helicopters, probably many. He and his men were ready. Killing one lone American was not the satisfaction or glory he sought; he desired to kill many and meet Allah as a martyr to receive the blessings and rewards that were his due.