No Easy Day: The Firsthand Account of the Mission That Killed Osama Bin Laden

by Owen, Mark

  “Good evening. Tonight, I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden, the leader of al Qaeda, and a terrorist who’s responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent men, women, and children.”

  We all listened quietly.

  Obama went on to thank the military for hunting al Qaeda and protecting American citizens.

  “We’ve disrupted terrorist attacks and strengthened our homeland defense. In Afghanistan, we removed the Taliban government, which had given Bin Laden and al Qaeda safe haven and support. And around the globe, we worked with our friends and allies to capture or kill scores of al Qaeda terrorists, including several who were a part of the 9/11 plot,” Obama said.

  The president stressed that soon after being elected, he told Leon Panetta to make killing or capturing Bin Laden a priority and outlined how we found him. That part of the speech was deftly crafted and didn’t reveal any harmful details.

  “Today, at my direction, the United States launched a targeted operation against that compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan. A small team of Americans carried out the operation with extraordinary courage and capability,” Obama said. “No Americans were harmed. They took care to avoid civilian casualties. After a firefight, they killed Osama bin Laden and took custody of his body.”

  None of us were huge fans of Obama. We respected him as the commander in chief of the military and for giving us the green light on the mission.

  “You know we just put admiral’s stars on Jay,” Walt said during the speech. “And we just got this guy reelected.”

  “Well, would you rather not have done this?” I said.

  We all knew the deal.

  We were tools in their toolbox, and when things go well they promote it. They inflate their roles. But we should have done it. It was the right call to make. Regardless of the politics that would come along with it, the end result was what we all wanted.

  “McRaven will be running SOCOM in a year and will probably be CNO someday,” I said.

  Obama called the mission the “most significant achievement to date in our nation’s effort to defeat al Qaeda” and thanked us for our sacrifice.

  “The American people do not see their work, nor know their names,” he said.

  We’d expected him to give away details. If he had, we could have talked some smack. But I didn’t think his speech was bad at all. If anything, it was kind of anticlimactic.

  “OK, enough of this,” I said to Walt. “Let’s go find some food or at least a hot shower.”

  Word went out we had a flight home in a few hours. I found my backpack with my civilian clothes and boarded a bus for the JSOC compound. The team decided to try and squeeze in showers before heading back to Virginia Beach.

  The compound had a handful of shower trailers. Standing under the scalding water, I could feel my body slowly starting to unwind.

  Plus, I was hungry.

  DEVGRU has a small section of the JSOC compound. It was our ground mobility shop. Basically, they kept all of our trucks, motorcycles, four-wheelers, and Humvees working. A SEAL headed it up and worked with a bunch of Seabees and mechanics.

  The flight home got delayed a few hours, so we made ourselves at home. Inside the work area, the garage was littered with parts, tools, and vehicles in all phases of repair. We gathered in a small office area with a sitting room and lounge. The SEAL who ran the shop welcomed us with open arms.

  “What do you need?” he said.

  Comprised of a few modular buildings and a covered motor pool, they had carved out a small patio with a brick pizza oven and a large gas grill. Walt walked around the patio passing around a box of cigars the NRA had sent him weeks before to welcome him home from deployment. They had no idea we’d smoke them to celebrate the mission that killed Bin Laden.

  Everybody was there except Jay, Mike, and Tom. The head shed were still over at the airfield briefing Admiral McRaven.

  We spent most of the time on the patio soaking up the warm spring sun. The Seabees who lived at the compound were firing up the grill to cook steaks and lobster tail they had liberated from the chow hall. I could smell popcorn in the office and pizza cooking in the brick oven.

  I was half asleep on the patio getting some sun when I heard someone yell out.

  “You guys aren’t going to believe this shit. It’s already out.”

  At one of the computer terminals, the team leader of the perimeter security team was reading the news sites. It took less than four hours before the news was reporting that it was SEALs who had carried out the mission. Then it was SEALs from DEVGRU based in Virginia Beach.

  The mission had been secret for almost a month now, and suddenly it was all over the news. We watched footage of the crowds that spontaneously gathered outside the White House, Ground Zero, and the Pentagon. At a Major League baseball game in Philadelphia, fans started to chant “U-S-A.” Everyone commented about how young they looked. Kids like that didn’t know what the United States was like before September 11, 2001.

  We watched the madness on TV, and I couldn’t help but wonder what my friends and family were thinking back at home. Nobody knew I was in Afghanistan. I told my parents I was out of town training and wouldn’t have my cell phone. I was sure everybody was calling my phone trying to see where I was.

  The sun was warm as we sat outside and ate. Now full, all I could think about was sleep. The bus came back a few hours later to take us to the plane. The adrenaline was gone as we dragged ourselves on board.

  The C-17 was empty except for the aircrew.

  Our containers boarded first and then we followed, spreading our ground pads on the deck. As we got settled, I could see the crew chiefs talking with the pilots. Air Force C-17 flights are always hit or miss. Sometimes you’ll score a cool aircrew that will let you sleep wherever you want, while others are by-the-book and keep you in your seats.

  As the plane’s engines warmed up, the crew chief got on the intercom.

  “Hey, guys, we’re not stopping in Germany so we’ll be getting gas from an airborne tanker in route back to the United States,” he said. “You guys get some sleep.”

  They obviously figured out who their passengers were, and the crew was cool enough to let us get some much-needed sleep. Typically, we stop in Germany for gas. Everybody was stoked the aircrew was going to be cool and that we were going to fly straight through. At this point we’d been up for almost twenty-four hours. Takeoff was quiet and then the plane headed west.

  We were spent.

  The media blitz we had just seen on TV and online was jarring. I don’t think anybody was prepared for it. But stretching out on the deck of the C-17, I didn’t have the energy to give a shit. My mind needed to turn off.

  I took two Ambien and was fast asleep before we got out of Afghan airspace.

  CHAPTER 19

  Touch the Magic

  My phone vibrated, pinged, buzzed, and beeped as it started to receive a day’s worth of messages.

  Seconds after our C-17 landed in Virginia Beach, every one of us turned on a phone to a cacophony of ring tones. I placed my phone next to me while it practically popped like corn in a kettle.

  While we cruised over the Atlantic, news of the raid dominated TV and the Web. Reporters flooded Virginia Beach searching for real live Navy SEALs to interview. In Washington, anyone on Capitol Hill or in the Pentagon who had even a shred of information was leaking it.

  When my phone finally stopped, I started to scroll through the messages. People had no idea I’d been on the raid. But anybody and everybody that knew I was a SEAL contacted me to talk about it. I had messages from my family and even friends from college who I hadn’t talked to in years. All the messages were the same:

  “Hey, buddy, what’s going on? I’m watching the news. Just wondering if you’re in town.”

  It was so top secret when we left that we weren’t even telling people in our own unit where we were going. But now
, I had close to one hundred e-mails, fifty voice mails, and three dozen text messages asking me if I happened to be in Pakistan or if I knew what was going on. My family just wanted to know if I was in town and safe.

  The plane barely came to a stop when the crew door popped open and the old commander of our squadron sprinted aboard. He was waiting to take command of DEVGRU. They had delayed the change of command until after this mission, so he was not with us in Afghanistan. He was one of the best leaders I’ve ever worked for. All of the guys loved him because he always had our back.

  As we gathered up our backpacks, he walked down the line giving everyone a handshake and hug. He wanted to be the first to welcome us back. We were still shaking off the haze of the Ambien, so it was kind of surreal to see his lanky frame and bald head move down the line. This was the first sign that our welcome home would be bigger than we anticipated.

  The whine of the engines made it hard to hear as we got off the plane. It was pitch-black outside. Moving from the bright cabin into the night made it worse. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but when they did I saw about two hundred of my teammates lined up to greet us. I could make out their silhouettes as I walked toward the white buses that would take us to our base. It was about a fifty-yard walk to the bus and I shook at least a hundred hands.

  We always tried to meet the plane when squadrons returned home. It struck me that anybody standing in that line shaking our hands could have been in our shoes. We just happened to be at the right place at the right time. I felt really lucky.

  I didn’t have but a few seconds to yell out a hello or mumble a thank-you as I passed. We were exhausted and a little overwhelmed when we got to the bus.

  Thankfully, there was a cooler full of beer and some hot pizza waiting for us. I settled silently into my seat. Holding my backpack between my legs, I balanced my phone on my thigh as I ate and sipped a beer. I looked around the bus. Everybody had their noses stuck in their phones trying to sift through the glut of messages. Roughly twenty-four hours ago, President Obama had addressed the nation about the raid.

  For the first time, it started to sink in. This was pretty cool. It was the kind of mission I’d read about in Alaska as a kid. It was history. But just as quickly as those thoughts crossed my mind, I forced them out. The second you stop and believe your own hype, you’ve lost.

  Back at the command, I didn’t even go inside. Our gear and weapons were placed in our storage bay and locked. There was no need to unload everything, and we were lucky enough to have the next few days off work. I threw my civilian backpack into my truck and headed home. I didn’t want to go out and hit the bars and celebrate. I just wanted some quiet. The welcome was overwhelming enough.

  On the way home, I spotted the neon drive-through sign at the Taco Bell. I always stopped for a south of the border fix on my way home from a deployment, usually in Germany. I had made this stop several times over the years. Pulling into the line, I ordered two crispy tacos, a bean burrito, and a medium Pepsi.

  At the window, a high school kid handed me my food and drink. I pulled forward into the parking lot and took out a taco. I spread the paper in my lap and drizzled some fire sauce over the cold, crisp lettuce and ate.

  On the radio, I had the country music station playing. Between bites, I tried to make sense of everything. Days before, I’d been choking down chow hall food and trying to keep the mission out of my head. Now, I was eating Taco Bell in a parking lot on my way home and still trying to keep it out of my head.

  I needed a few days off.

  We joked before we left Bagram about getting some time off. I knew the rest of my squadron was off the coast of Virginia practicing underways. The command had rented a cruise ship and filled it with role players. It was a massive and expensive training event. It always sounded more fun than it really was. Inevitably, it turned into hours in the cold water being pounded by waves as you climb up the side of a ship.

  After the final bite of the bean burrito, I rolled up the paper and threw it back in the bag. Taking a big sip of my drink, I put my truck in gear and headed home. Before I could relax, I unpacked and took a long shower.

  But I was still pretty wired. I had just slept for nineteen hours. The TV was on, and I started to surf the cable news channels. Every show was airing something related to the mission. Most of it was speculation.

  They reported that we were in a forty-minute firefight.

  Then I saw that we’d taken fire while we were outside the gate.

  Then, Bin Laden had a weapon and attempted to defend himself before we shot him.

  And of course it was reported, in Bin Laden’s last seconds, he had enough time to look into our eyes and see that it was Americans coming to get him.

  The raid was being reported like a bad action movie. At first, it was funny because it was so wrong.

  But then photos of the compound flashed across the screen. For weeks it had been top secret and now here it was all over the news. I saw wreckage of the helicopter. The charges destroyed the fuselage but there was still a section of the tail rotor that survived. When the explosives detonated, the tail section broke off and fell onto the ground on the outside of the wall.

  The Reuters wire service even had pictures of the bodies we left behind. On the screen, shots of the al-Kuwaiti brothers—including Abrar, who Will and I shot through the door of the guesthouse—flashed on the screen. A picture of where Bin Laden’s body had been came on next. I could see the dried blood on the rug.

  I struggled to wrap my mind around it.

  To see these images on prime-time television was hard for me to deal with. The images broke through the tiny compartment in my brain that I’d placed this whole experience in. I had no barrier between home and work now. I’ve always been good at mentally blocking out the “work” I’d done overseas. When I was home, I was home. Seeing these images was like crossing the two streams and it made my head hurt.

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I’d squirreled away a couple of Ambien. There was no way I was going to sleep without them.

  For the next two days, I dodged calls from friends and family. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. My family was asking me if I was involved. My parents knew I’d been gone, but they didn’t know where.

  Before I left, I had called them and said I was going to train and wouldn’t have phone service. I always tried to keep things vague with them. I had sent my sisters a random text message before we left simply telling them that I loved them both. It wasn’t a red flag at the time, but after the news broke, my sisters knew I must be up to something.

  The day after we got home, I was taking my trash can to the curb when my neighbor from across the street walked over and gave me a huge hug. She knew I was a SEAL and noticed I had been gone for a few days.

  “You never really know what your neighbors do for a living, do you?” she said as she smiled and walked back to her house.

  It was the same for my teammates. One buddy barely got in the door before he was back changing diapers.

  “So I get home and she hands me my kid right away,” my buddy said when we got back to work. “We just shot UBL. Think I can sit down and drink a beer?”

  Another spent the morning after he got home mowing his overgrown lawn. We might have been getting the celebrity treatment in the media, but at home we were just absent husbands.

  When we finally came back to work officially two days later, Jay called us into a meeting in the same conference room where we first heard about the mission. There was concern at the command level about all the leaks revolving around the raid.

  “It is imperative that we stay out of the media,” Jay said. “Let’s all make sure we’re keeping a low profile.”

  I was astonished. We’d kept this whole thing under wraps for weeks. Now, Washington was leaking everything, and we were going to get the lecture for it. It felt like it was only a matter of time before some of our names appeared on the news. We just killed the number one terrorist in
the world. The last thing we needed was our names attached to it. We simply wanted to fade back into the shadows and go back to work.

  “With that out of the way,” Jay said, “here is your schedule. Take a week off.”

  “But not a real week off, right,” Walt said.

  I heard a chuckle from some of the others.

  “When does the dog and pony show start?” I said.

  “The agency will be down in a few days,” Jay said. “SecDef is also planning a visit soon. We will pass the word on the schedule once we have it. Enjoy the break.”

  This time I laughed.

  “Come on, everybody wants to touch the magic,” Tom said as we walked out of the conference room.

  The mission hadn’t been that complicated or difficult.

  Weeks and months after the mission, details about the raid were appearing with a renewed focus on the unit. It raised a lot of concerns for our personal safety. Most of us had already invested in home security systems.

  Some of us voiced concerns to Jay and Mike at what seemed like a weekly meeting.

  “What if our names are leaked to the media?” I said.

  ABC News had come out with a ridiculous story about how to spot a SEAL. Reporter Chris Cuomo reported that the SEAL who shot Bin Laden was probably a physically fit white man in his thirties with a beard and longer hair. Then Cuomo did what the other reporters did. They found any SEAL who would talk about us, in this case DEVGRU founder Richard Marcinko.

  “They have gazelle legs, no waist, and a huge upper body configuration, and almost a mental block that says, ‘I will not fail,’” Marcinko told Cuomo.

  Other telltale traits: calloused hands from firing a weapon, shrapnel wounds from previous missions, and big egos.

  “They are basically individual egomaniacs that make music together. They learn to depend on each other. When they are bored they play with each other to keep pushing. Otherwise, they get in trouble,” Marcinko told ABC News.