In his team room, Chris learned his fate. The terrorist attacks called for swift retaliation, and there would be blood. His unit, SEAL Team Three, Echo Platoon, was a desert warfare team with an area of responsibility of Southwest Asia, and they were chosen to deploy immediately. His platoon began packing and when Chris was finished with the meeting, he packed as well. Each of them had a locker the size of a small room, full of gear and equipment. Chris pulled everything from flashlights to his ghillie suit and stuffed it into his bags.
As the platoon ordnance rep, Chris accounted for all of the platoon’s weapons. The armory held their MK-23 and P226 Sig Sauer pistols, M4s with accessory kits, M60s, and M203 machine guns. These, along with M14 and MK-11 sniper rifles, were a few of their weapons. Altogether, it was a mini-arsenal but standard for a sixteen-man SEAL team. It took two days to pack everything, and when they were done the team had seven pallets of gear, all vital equipment necessary for a SEAL platoon deployment.
During that time, the team also underwent isolation. No phone calls, no leaving base. They could not even go to chow without being escorted. They also began paperwork and were ordered to fill out their last will and testament. Chris left everything to his wife and daughter.
By week’s end, Chris was allowed home. He kissed his wife and daughter good-bye but could not tell them where he was going because he did not even know. Though it was a painful moment, the possibility of having to do it had always been in the back of his mind. The only difference was that now it was all real.
When they returned to base, the SEALs loaded up. A massive C5 cargo plane awaited them at North Island Naval Air Station in Coronado. The small group of warriors boarded the plane, and though Chris still had no clue as to where they were headed, he knew that they were going to fight terrorists, and that was all that mattered.
A Long Road
On September 11, 2001, a few thousand miles from Camp Pendleton, California, Bobby, an Army Special Forces (SF) soldier, prepared for combat divers course. At Fort Bragg, North Carolina, he arrived at the pool early to practice Navy drown-proofing.
At the deep end of the pool, straps were bound to his wrists and ankles. The idea was to push off the bottom and get a breath at the top without using his hands or feet for propulsion. Halfway through the exercise, when he lifted his head from the water for a breath of air, Bobby heard the female lifeguard crying.
“It’s so horrible,” she said.
Underwater, Bobby wondered what she was talking about. On his next grasp for air, the woman screamed again.
“I can’t believe they hit the buildings! Everyone’s dead!”
“What on earth is she talking about?” thought Bobby.
His next time up, a friend grabbed him by the arm.
“There’s some bad stuff going on. You need to see this,” he said.
Bobby got out of the pool and walked into the lifeguard’s office dripping wet. He watched the planes crashing on TV, and after a few minutes, he and his friend went back to their team room to learn the entirety of the attacks.
Bobby was in a U.S. Army Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) unit, also known as an A-team. As part of Third Special Forces Group, his team could deploy at any moment and were capable of facing just about any contingency thrown at them. The bad news, however, was that after al-Qaeda claimed responsibility, United States Special Operations Command (USSOCOM) formed a plan that kept Bobby’s unit out of the first few months of the War on Terror. He would have to wait to see action. Just like any soldier, he did not want to wait. He had done plenty of waiting, and he wanted to finally put to use the years and years of training.
Bobby had started his Army career in the regular infantry. In the Eighty-second Airborne Division, he had done almost every job available to an infantryman. He was a point man, breacher, Squad Automatic Weapons (SAW) gunner, radio operator, and machine gunner, but deep down, he wanted more. By the time he was an E4 specialist, two opportunities came his way to do just that.
He had always wanted to be an Army Ranger. When he was twelve years old, his family went to an air show on a local Army base. Bobby watched in awe as Rangers jumped from airplanes, parachuting onto the airstrip in front of him. He noticed everything about them—their camouflaged face paint and weapons and their beaming confidence. When the Rangers reached the crowd, they gave away recruiting flyers, but Bobby did not take one. He already knew that he was joining the Army, and he wanted to be a Ranger.
While still an infantryman, Bobby begged for the chance to go to Ranger school. After he discovered that one of the squad leaders in his platoon had failed the physical training test on the first day of Ranger school, Bobby walked straight into his platoon sergeant’s office.
“Sergeant, I think I’m ready to go to Ranger school,” he said.
“What makes you so sure that you’re ready to go?” inquired his platoon sergeant.
“Well,” he said, “I guarantee you that I won’t go down there and fail the PT test.”
Bobby’s confidence won over his leader—that and his stellar physical fitness performance. He consistently ran a sub twelve-minute two-mile. His platoon sergeant directed him to the soldier in charge of allocating schools, and before he knew it, Bobby got his wish.
In the summer of 1996, Specialist Bobby checked into Ranger school. The beginning test, the Ranger assessment phase, indicated how tough the school would be. Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, a five-mile run under forty minutes, a water survival assessment, a day-and-night land navigation course with a map and compass, and a twelve-mile hump with full gear were just the start. It was a grinder, but the school only got harder.
For sixty-one days straight, Bobby experienced the nightmare that is Ranger school. Of everything he confronted—food and sleep deprivation, extreme physical and mental fatigue, rugged mountains and exhausting swamps—his time with one soldier left the most memorable impression.
His first Ranger buddy was injured early on. Ranger Dobb, his second Ranger buddy, was an Eighteen Delta, Special Forces medic. Behind the legions of patches, and the lore of Special Forces, Dobb was a humble, down-to-earth soldier. Dobb was his first name, and when the class first started, he asked the other students to call him by it. Allowing those of lower rank to address him in that way is not normal for a staff sergeant. He also gave his fellow students advice.
“If you guys have any medical concerns, get with me first. I’ll try and help you as best I can,” Dobb said. In Ranger school, students hide injures to avoid being set back in the training.
Unfortunately, professional jealousy plagued Dobb. No soldier wants to believe that another unit is better than theirs. Throughout Ranger school, Bobby noticed animosity toward his partner, Ranger Dobb, from the Ranger instructors, or RIs. It amused Bobby that though the instructors tried harassing him, Ranger Dobb always came out on top. Once a fellow student requested Dobb’s help over the RI medic, causing an instructor to berate Dobb in front of the entire class.
High in the mountains, the students were in the middle of a long hike. One soldier slipped from the trail and rolled down the mountainside. Everyone heard him tumble, and when he stopped, the student let out a painful scream.
“Dobb!” he cried, sending an echo throughout the valley.
“Who the hell is Dobb?” yelled an RI.
“Doooobb!” again called the student.
By now the RI was fuming.
“I wanna know. Who the hell is Dobb?” he yelled.
“I am,” said Dobb. The RIs only knew him by his last name.
“What’s so special about you?” said the instructor.
“Well, I’m an Eighteen Delta,” he humbly replied. “Do you want me to go down and check him out?”
At that, the instructor lost it.
“Are you kidding me? You’re no better than our medics!” he yelled. “You’re just a student. You think you’re special because you’re Special Forces!”
In the end, however, Dobb had th
e last laugh. He was the class’s distinguished honor graduate. Dobb’s poise under pressure and his incredible leadership never left Bobby. He had never met a Green Beret before, but while working with Dobb, he watched his every move and learned what it meant to be a professional soldier. Dobb helped to propel him to Special Forces.
Weeks after the terrorist attacks, Bobby’s team wished the men from Fifth Group luck. They were headed to Afghanistan. Bobby knew he would get his time, but for now, it was back to training. A few months later, Bobby was in Florida with the rest of his team conducting refresher training for close air support. Their training was cut short, however, and his A-team was recalled to deploy to Afghanistan.
Sea to Land
SEALs are trained for all environments. They cover sea, air, and land as their name explains, which makes them versatile for different missions. They are capable of foreign internal defense, information warfare, security assistance, direct action, unconventional warfare, and more. However, underneath it all, SEALs are the best at maritime operations. Their skill in the water and everything associated with it separates them from other Special Operations units.
It made sense to Chris that when they landed in Kuwait, his platoon would be doing ship takedowns in the Persian Gulf. Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure, or VBSS as it is known, was their bread and butter. Chris’s platoon arrived to relieve the SEALs already there. The other SEAL platoon was moving forward to Afghanistan. When Chris’s platoon heard that, their enthusiasm about doing ship takedowns was almost lost; normally the SEALs did not mind doing them, but since there was a war, they wanted to be in it.
The platoon made the best of their situation. They began night patrols along the coast to interdict hostile vessels. Their boat, an MK V Special Operations Craft, held the entire team and was able to speed at fifty-four miles per hour. As a platoon sniper, Chris normally used his M4 and rotated with other qualified snipers in his platoon for the duty of sniper over-watch. If called upon, Chris would hold sniper over-watch from a helicopter while the rest of his platoon boarded the ship. After three weeks, they had yet to see action, until one night they finally got the call.
The SEALs were hustled into their ship’s cabin. Chris stood in the back listening to the situation.
“There’s a ship that needs to be taken down,” explained their unit commander. “Its name is Alpha 117. This ship was used to smuggle explosives into Africa. It destroyed multiple U.S. embassies, killing two hundred and injuring a few thousand people. You’re taking the lead, so jock-up. You guys are going right now!”
The SEALs rushed into action. Chris would not be a sniper on this mission. Instead, he would board the ship with the others. After suiting in essential gear and double-checking their weapons, the SEALs were ready in minutes. Soon they moved onto a smaller vessel, their Rigid Inflatable Boat (RIB), and sped toward the target.
It was pitch black when their RIB closed in on the target ship, already under way. When they pulled alongside it, the pole man hooked the railing, and the SEALs scurried up the ladder onto the deck.
Atop, Chris and six others waited for the rest of the men to climb up. They looked frightening; they all wore black balaclavas to cover their heads and woodland battle dress uniforms, while gripping M4 assault rifles. On their knees, the SEALs held security, but suddenly the cabin door swung open.
“Open door!” yelled one of the SEALs, and the team flooded toward it.
The man opening the door was smashed in the face and knocked over. Chris pulled him out of the way to let the other SEALs rush inside. He quickly zip-tied the prisoner’s hands and feet, and when the man began struggling, another SEAL, Chris’s cover man, bounced his head against the deck, yelling for him to “Stay down.”
Chris was assigned to the engine room team. He passed the prisoner off and fell in with three other team members. Their movement through the ship was fluid. They had trained a thousand times for ship takedowns, and now that it was real, they were well prepared. The heat from the ship had Chris sweating profusely, and when they entered the engine room, it was even worse.
Three men were working inside the engine room. When the SEALs ran in, the men lifted their hands and surrendered. Within three minutes, the ship was under control of the SEALs, and after they moved the ship’s crew to the back deck, a thorough search of the entire ship was done. Though no shots were fired, Chris enjoyed the mission more than any others. This was a true SEAL mission and at the time applicable only to the men of Naval Special Warfare. He even enjoyed the mission over his time in Afghanistan.
By late 2001, Chris’s team had been re-tasked. They were flown into Oman, a country on the Arabian Peninsula. Naval Special Warfare would be involved with a special unit hunting and tracking high-value targets in Afghanistan. SEAL Team Three, Echo Platoon, would be part of the group, and Chris’s platoon was headed to the desert.
With their new land warfare mission, the SEALs began preparing. Painted weapons and equipment lay in their berthing area, and at that time, most of the SEALs had not used Humvees before. Chris, having been a Marine, was very familiar with them. With the help of another platoon from SEAL Team Three and a platoon from SEAL Team Eight, he helped to train his platoon on night driving, basic mechanical skills, and immediate action drills. He also pulled out his sniper rifles. He had a .300 Winchester Magnum and an M14 with match-grade ammo. Should he need them, they would be good tools for the distances of Afghanistan.
Task Force K-bar was their new assignment. This elite group was formed with Special Operations units from seven different countries. The Task Force was given the mission to destroy, degrade, and neutralize the leadership of al-Qaeda and the Taliban. They learned of terrorist training camps, bomb-making factories, civilian and enemy personnel, and where to find al-Qaeda and the Taliban. They were to be on the hunt the entire time. Chris’s platoon, in particular, would be hunting in the eastern region of the country. There they expected difficult terrain and cold weather.
Echo Platoon touched down at Kandahar Airport in late December 2001. Right away the cold was felt. Three hours before, the temperature had been over 120°F; now it was just above 60°F. The SEALs were given no time to acclimate. The enemy needed to be hunted, and the SEALs needed to get into action.
Before Chris’s arrival, the Taliban had been removed from power. The Northern Alliance and their allies, U.S. Special Forces, and CIA operatives had pushed the Taliban from the major cities, while al-Qaeda had been driven to the countryside. However, a few hours north of Kandahar, in the Paktika Province, al-Qaeda had regrouped near the town of Khost.
That group occupied the Zhawar Kili cave complex. This complex was an enormous expanse of underground tunnels, with compounds and buildings nearby. Its use was for holding supplies and terrorist training camps, and for storing ammunition and troops. Al-Qaeda leadership also planned their missions there. Initially, an Army Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) team was tasked with the mission, but certain events led to Chris’s platoon from SEAL Team Three taking over. They, along with a few attachments, were dispatched to clear the caves.
FID/Recon
Bobby was excited about Afghanistan, but his first deployment there saw limited sniper operations. Before leaving Fort Bragg, his team learned that they would be doing FID, or Foreign Internal Defense, training. Essentially, they would teach the Afghanistan National Army how to fight; it was just the type of mission especially suited for Special Forces soldiers.
FID is one of many missions for an Operational Detachment Alpha. A-teams are comprised of twelve men, expertly trained at infiltrating remote, hostile countries, finding friendly local-nationals, and training them on weapons and tactics. Each member learns this during five extremely difficult training phases known as the Q-course. Those who pass earn the eighteen-series military occupational specialties and the honor to be called a Green Beret. For Bobby, the training had happened years ago, and now he would be putting it to use.
His A-team arrive
d in Afghanistan’s capital city, Kabul. Right away, they met the indigenous troops they would be training. The job was tricky business for the SF soldiers. Bobby was honored to train the very first troops of the new Afghan government, but there was a harsh reality behind it. The possibility of al-Qaeda and Taliban insurgents infiltrating the ranks to learn the Army’s capabilities and strategies was highly likely, but the job had to be done.
Bobby was one of the two 18Bs, weapons sergeants, in his team. His expertise dealt with the employment of several types of weapons both foreign and domestic. They included small arms, light and heavy crew-served weapons, and antiaircraft and antiarmor weapons. He had also become proficient with sniper rifles before joining SF.
In the Eighty-second Airborne Division, Bobby had been in a scout platoon. There, he was given the chance at scout/sniper school at Fort Benning, Georgia. The elite of the infantry, the scouts made up the reconnaissance and sniping element for the battalion. Bobby’s conclusion about sniping was simple. Just as with the animals he had killed for food growing up, if he had to, he would snipe another human and with no problems.
From Ranger school to sniper school, Bobby was bound for another dreadful adventure. The students stayed in a barracks built in World War II. Within seventy-two hours of arriving, Bobby and the others were forced to make ghillie suits from scratch. From there, students dropped from the course like flies after failing stalking and shooting. Bobby was no stranger to scoped weapons. He had hunted with them since childhood in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. He enjoyed the challenge of shooting targets at extended ranges, even when he was forced to find the distances during the unknown distance phase of the training.
His most memorable experience, though, was the FTX, or the Final Training Exercise. For a week straight, the students were forced to use everything they had learned. Planning, patrolling, stalking, reporting, and the final exercise: one shot at an unknown distance target. After six long weeks, Bobby graduated sniper school and received the B4, sniper identifier military occupational specialty.
Hunters: U.S. Snipers in the War on Terror Page 5