Bolduc knew that if I stayed, I’d be distracted. If I went home and took care of my family, when I returned I’d be committed, knowing that I didn’t have to worry.
First he gave me the setup. “We have this dichotomy as soldiers where we must balance between our families and our mission. Families always seem to come second,” he told me. “The team is trained well. They will do fine without you during this period.”
Then he let me off the hook.
“I will make it easy for you. You will get your big ass on that helicopter and go home and take care of your family. Right now, your priority is at home. I am not asking you,” he bluntly stated. I would have hugged him, but he would have punched me in the mouth. I knew he was right, but I didn’t feel any better because now I had to say good-bye to my men. I knew we’d get the mission to clear the objectives the Canadians couldn’t get to in their vehicles. There was a good chance I’d be shaking one or some of these men’s hands for the last time.
I found Smitty and Bill first. “Guys, I have a problem. I have to talk to you. My wife has had emergency surgery. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong,” I said. “I’ve never been there for anything. I missed the birth of my child. I’ve missed the death of relatives. My wife has carried the rucksack for our entire marriage. I have to go.”
After an awkward silence, Smitty spoke. “There will be lots of fighting here when you get back. Go take care of your family.”
That is what I needed to hear from my men. I stopped at all the trucks before going to my truck and picking up my kit. All the handshakes were strong. The smiles were big. Not a lot of words, just “I’ll see you soon.” Throwing the last of my gear into my bag, I left behind grenades, batteries, magazines of ammunition, snuff, and socks for Brian and Dave. They’d need them.
By now, I could hear the rotor blades of the Chinook echoing through the valley. An Apache circled around Sperwan as the helicopter landed. I could see the static electricity from the Chinook’s two rotors cut through the dust, creating a speckled halo over the bird as it touched down at the base of the hill. The tailgate dropped. Bill grabbed my backpack. Bolduc came over with Jared and both gave me a hug. They stayed at the truck as Bill walked out with me.
I stepped up on the ramp, grabbed my bag from Bill, and clicked my snap link into the aircraft. I felt like I was dragging myself onto the helicopter. I didn’t want to go, but I knew I had to. I knew my wife needed me. The noise from the helicopter made it hard to talk. Bill stepped up on the ramp and shook my hand.
“Remember rule number one, Ranger,” I said.
“I’ll walk my post from plank to plank and take no shit from any rank,” he said, grinning broadly.
“Watch after the boys until I get back, Bill.”
He gave me a thumbs-up and walked off the ramp.
I turned to the crew chief and gave him a thumbs-up. Bill stepped back. The engines whined as they gained power, and I watched Bill, the hill, and the ground fall away beneath me. I stood on the chilly metal ramp and looked down at the Panjwayi Valley and Sperwan Ghar. I wondered in absolute amazement how I or my men had not been killed. I tried to burn every second into my memory. We crossed the ridgeline where our blocking positions had been a week earlier. The Chinook’s nose dipped down as we turned toward Kandahar. The helicopter turned to follow Highway 1, and soon the entire city of Kandahar could be seen out the back of the helicopter’s rampway. The lights and smells of the city—burning fires, exhaust, and dust—rose to meet me. I could see a few cars and trucks moving around. The bazaar, which normally would be full of hundreds of shoppers, was lifeless. Everybody was home asleep. Safe.
Epilogue
Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle.
—PSALM 144, VERSE 1
I boarded the plane in clean clothes. I felt guilty even taking a bath because my guys were still out there. I’d sat in the TOC until it was time to board the plane. I listened as my guys got word to move north across the Arghandab River to clear the villages where the Taliban had maintained their stronghold for weeks. There was little contact, and it was mostly a clearing operation.
The plane was empty except for about ten passengers. The medics had braced my knee and given me shots in my shoulder to ease the pain for the long flight home. My thoughts drifted between my family and my men. I pulled out my notebook and began to utilize the many hours I had on the flight to try to compose statements for the valorous awards recommendations. I tried to put together everything I remembered. I stared intently at the pages I had written on the hill and tried to summarize all that had happened.
For such a strategic and significant battle, only a few valorous medals were awarded. The most important of these, to the men who fought there, was to Jude. His willingness to selflessly charge into what should have been certain death will forever be burned into the memories and lives of those who witnessed his actions. In reference to Staff Sergeant Jude Voss, I’d scribbled a page for an award recommendation that night on Sperwan Ghar:
This single HEROIC act, by my account, as a witness and as the Ground Assault Commander for the operation to seize Sperwan Ghar, was the BRAVEST and most VALOROUS thing I have ever witnessed in 3 combat rotations in Afghanistan, 14 years in the Army and my 36 years of life. SSG Jude Voss’s quick, decisive and selfless actions that day directly saved two soldiers lives’ and carried the initiative of battle. If SSG Voss had not been there doing what he was doing, it is an absolute certainty that SFC Greg Stube and SFC Sean Mishura would have been burned to death, killed by enemy actions or secondary explosions. SSG Voss went to the rescue of endangered American soldiers, not knowing the disposition of their lives, while showing a complete disregard for his own safety and under intense enemy fire. He then remained in a place of utmost danger and in extreme close proximity to a vehicle (about five to eight meters) while remaining under enemy fire, a vehicle fully engulfed in flames under continuous explosions from a triple load of ordnance and explosives now burning on the vehicle. He not only moved Greg from the vehicle to a ditch under enemy fire, leaving only himself exposed, but applied absolutely critical life-saving first aid to Greg until Riley, my senior medic, arrived and provided advanced trauma management. Upon my arrival, had I not seen SSG Voss there, doing what he was doing, I would never have known that Sean was unaccounted for and gone looking for him. Without Jude, Greg would have burned to death and Sean would have succumbed to inhalation and burns … There is no higher honor in the place of time and military history than the way Jude conducted himself that day as an American soldier. It was a day I shall never forget. I have walked with heroes. I hope someone finds this note.
“You’re just doing your job when you’re out there,” Jared had said. “Any one of the other guys would have done it, but Jude did it.”
The entire Desert Eagle chain of command recommended Jude for the Medal of Honor, our nation’s highest valor award. The recommendation was downgraded in Afghanistan. Whatever politics came into play, Jude’s actions will never be downgraded in the eyes of those who knew what he had done.
Ultimately, our struggle for Panjwayi would continue. Coalition and NATO units taking over after our rotation could not reinforce our successes. Failing to control the valley by establishing a permanent security presence created an environment that allowed the Taliban to easily repopulate Panjwayi in late fall 2006. Our forces followed Operation Medusa with an even larger operation, called Operation Baaz Tsuka, or “Falcon Summit.” Operation Baaz Tsuka focused on removing the newly returned Taliban influence and reestablishing security. In a familiar story line, the ISAF forces could not maintain the initiative due to operational, strategic, and political issues. The Desert Eagles of Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 3rd Special Forces Group again stepped in to clean out the enemy and secure objectives deemed “too dangerous,” then stayed to do damage control.
Two months after we took Sperwan Ghar, tragedy struck. Bill, my friend and the best
soldier I ever knew, died three hundred meters from the hill when an IED exploded under his truck. Bill did not die the way he wanted, but he died the way God intended. That is the only way I can understand it. I know all soldiers want to live long and full lives, but we have our purpose as warriors. When that purpose is fulfilled, we are called home to our creator. I know that those who have seen battle understand this without question.
If in fact it is your time to be called before God, you typically won’t know it. Sometimes you will, and these are the hardest of times: When the blood pours from your nose and down your throat, clogging it, causing you to spit and gag. You heave for breath in the smoke and dust. Your equipment seems to suffocate you. You wipe the salty sweat and grime from your eyes, only to realize it is blood, either yours or that of the enemy. You would stand but you can’t move your legs. You grasp the open, gaping wounds in your body, trying not to pass out from the pain. You feel the anger thinking of the loved ones you will never see again, and losing your life infuriates your soul. You rage to get to your feet and grab for a weapon, any weapon. Regardless of your race, culture, or religion, you want to die standing, fighting like a warrior, an American, so others won’t have to. For those looking for a definition, this is the price of freedom.
Our objectives on Sperwan Ghar and in Afghanistan were clear. We knew and understood that as an army and as a nation, we cannot and will not accept failure. Ours was not a mission that ended in near escape, but in victory and defiance on a small hill in the heart of the enemy’s birthplace. The battle made few headlines. The fact remains that the actions of the 3rd Special Forces Group soldiers, the ISAF, and their Afghan Army allies disrupted the largest-ever Taliban offensive aimed at taking over Kandahar city. History cannot change the fact that five years to the date after our nation was attacked, a small group of men stood in the midst of the enemy’s birthplace and swore, “We shall never forget.”
Acknowledgments
I would be remiss if I did not give credit to all those who were involved in this endeavor. Whether you were the boots on the ground, family, or a supporter of this project, I humbly say, “Thank you.”
To my family: the mere thought of you, in one way or another, kept me alive more times than you will ever know.
To the men of Detachment 331: Because of you, I now know what the word “honor” really means. You are all ordinary men who have proven yourself extraordinary. This project is for you. There never seemed to be an end to the ridiculously dangerous tasks force-fed to us, and with little or no help, through professionalism and tenacity, you refused to accept failure. You pursued with the cunning of an obsessed hunter every target, every objective, every bad guy. Your eyes have beheld the savagery of our nation’s enemies, and you never faltered, never. Voluntarily you stepped between them and the citizens of our great country. My proudest days as a man, as a soldier, and as an American were spent walking that ground with you, and I will spend the rest of my life wishing I was still fighting by your side. March or Die.
To my commanders, who stood their ground, gave sound advice under the worst of conditions when it was most needed, and kept their word in the face of insurmountable odds: Never did I feel that whatever I asked for, whatever I needed, you would not break your back or sacrifice your career to provide. You gave top cover for those doing what was needed to get the job done and did not bow to political pressure or let us get railroaded when things went bad. Hopefully our organization will recognize your true value on the battlefield and in the future of Special Forces.
To the other detachments who fought by our side: God willing, may we never face such a thing again. All who were there and participated know the magnitude of this event. We also know that within us, this will never be forgotten. We have written a chapter into the history of United States Army Special Forces and Afghanistan that can never be removed, ever. Even today the enemy, those who managed to escape, remembers the “long beards” of Sperwan Ghar.
To Willie, Paul, Wayne, Pat, Red, and all the support soldiers who endured day upon day of sleepless, back-breaking work, in 120-degree temperatures, building pallets and pushing supplies: I knew you would get us everything we needed. You made something out of nothing. When we or our equipment were broken, burned, bleeding, damaged, or destroyed you fixed, repaired, patched, and replaced what was needed so we could keep fighting. This was the first time in fifteen years as a professional soldier that I was properly supported. You have set a standard few if any can achieve again.
For men like Bill, Zack, Smitty, Jude, Dave, Greg, and Sean, you sacrificed your bodies, health, and lives so that others may live and continue to protect the greatest country on earth. You all, either in memory or in example, set the standard by which we all should live. Your honor, integrity, and selfless service shall never go unrecognized as long as we still have breath in our lungs.
I would like to extend my thanks to Kevin Maurer, who was instrumental in capturing this monumental event, putting it on paper, and producing something of value to future generations of warriors. Kevin, you are a deceptively keen man who has earned the respect of a community that distrusts the media, and for good reason. Your guidance, hard work, and dedication to this project will not be forgotten. You are a credit to your profession.
To Colonel Nye, Ms. Carol Darby, and Clearwater from the United States Army Special Operations Command (USASOC) and the United States Special Operations Command (USSOCOM), I thank you for your encouragement, guidance, and support. Through you and your persistent mentorship, we were able to stay on track with re-creating a small piece of history and telling a story that needed to be told. Without you and your confidence in this project, it would never have flown.
Finally, to the families of the fallen, you are as important as the soldiers themselves. Please never forget that. You give us the strength to continue fighting, even when our grief calls us to pause. Without hesitation, military families allow soldiers to go forth into battle with the understanding that they have your full support, and this allows them to act as the warriors they are. You guard our freedom with the most valuable assets you have, your loved ones, husbands, and fathers of your children. This freedom is paid for by the blood of citizen soldiers, volunteers, those who have proven themselves better than we. You above all know that freedom is not free.
Kevin would like to thank our agent, Scott Miller, and his staff for seeing this book in a series of newspaper articles. Your faith in us made this project possible. Thanks to John Flicker and Tracy Devine at Random House for their patience and insight in helping us capture this important battle in these pages. Thank you to the U.S. Army Special Operations Command for all their help running down my many requests. Thanks to folks who were there, and you know who you are, for talking to me and answering my questions, even when I know sometimes you didn’t want to. Thanks to Lieutenant Colonel Don Bolduc not only for making sure I didn’t make mistakes, but for teaching me the art of counterinsurgency. It is because of officers like you that we can win this war. Thank you also to the crew of C-17 00184 who flew me from Pope Air Force Base to Bagram, Afghanistan. We couldn’t have finished this book without the ride. Thanks to Andrew Craft for taking time to spend his vacation in Afghanistan and Kristen Henderson and Kelly Kennedy for reading chapters and helping me make each one better, one word at a time. Thanks to Bill at AWS for providing me with tactical gear for my embed. And finally, thank you to my family, especially my wife, Jess, for supporting me during the long nights in the office and weeks in Afghanistan.
About the Authors
MAJOR RUSTY BRADLEY was wounded during the Battle of Sperwan Ghar in command of a Special Forces A-team, on his third combat tour as a Special Forces team leader. A native of North Carolina, he graduated from Mars Hill College and enlisted in the Army in 1993, serving as an infantryman for six years before earning his commission from Officer Candidate School in 1999.
KEVIN MAURER has been embedded as a reporter with the U.S. Special Forces and 82nd Ai
rborne Division in Afghanistan and Iraq more than a dozen times in the last five years.
This is the Taliban prize: Kandahar City. It is the crossroads to the five most important areas in Afghanistan and has been since Alexander the Great. (© Andrew Craft)
Beginning a patrol. (U.S. Army)
Crossing the Red Desert. (Photograph by Team 26)
The Afghans enjoyed watching us dig out one of our vehicles for a change. (Photograph by Task Force 31)
Dinner is almost ready: ANA soldiers preparing a sheep purchased from a local farmer. (Rusty Bradley)
Up early, Jared identified the target compound where we found the communication site. (Rusty Bradley)
The target compound Jared identified after exiting the Red Desert. The large makeshift antenna was for a satellite phone. (Rusty Bradley)
The objective: Sperwan Ghar. (Rusty Bradley)
Interior of a grape-drying hut; the Taliban used these huts for bunkers. The buildings, some centuries old, had mud walls up to three feet thick. (Rusty Bradley)
The black-walled room where the Taliban left their terrifying message for the local villagers. Note the names on the wall and sandal marks on the ceiling. (Rusty Bradley)
Sperwan Ghar as we defended it during a counterattack. Note the vehicles lined along the southern wall. The Taliban had converted the V-shaped school and hill into a training camp. (U.S. Army)
Close fighting. The enemy got within half a football field of Smitty and Bill’s truck. Note the smoking building from which they were engaged. (Rusty Bradley)
Jerry Bradley & Kevin Maurer Page 27