by Oliver North
The flight deck of a U.S. aircraft carrier is a virtual ballet on a very dangerous stage. The various functions of the crew are defined by the colors they wear: red for ordnance handlers and crash/salvage teams, purple for those who fuel aircraft, green for catapult and arresting gear operators, blue for those who drive the tugs that move aircraft, brown for chock and chain handlers, and yellow for the officers and aircraft directors who choreograph the whole nonstop show. Visitors like me wear white. It's an extraordinary scene of activity. Every person has a vital task. One crusty old Navy chief put it this way: "The T.R. flight deck is the busiest American airport east of New York."
C-130 Aircraft have been an indispensable part of U.S. operations for more than three decades and were among the first on the ground in Afghanistan
The Rhino airfield had initially been secured by a U.S. Army/U.S. Air Force Special Operations "pathfinder" team. They parachuted in and set up beacons to guide in USAF C-130s with the Marines aboard. The whole undertaking was a remarkable and little reported example of just how good our military has become at "joint" operations.
By dawn, there was no sign that tons of munitions and cargo and hundreds of U.S. military personnel had staged across Pakistan's Red Beach. No U.S. ships were visible offshore. And at a remote airstrip in Afghanistan, the Marines were unloading another planeload of vitally needed supplies and personnel. Less than forty-eight hours after they arrived, the doctors I first met aboard the USS Bataan were treating more than twenty casualties inflicted by an errant U.S. bomb.
Enemy resistance began within twenty-four hours of the Marines' arrival. Though Taliban leaders were losing fighters at an astounding rate and watching critical cities fall to the Northern Alliance forces almost daily, they had stubbornly vowed to hold Kandahar. But on 6 December, just ten days after the first U.S. conventional forces arrived "in country," the city fell to a force of Pashtun fighters led by Hamid Karzai, the man who would become Afghanistan's first democratically elected president.
With the collapse of their defenses at Kandahar, most of the surviving Taliban and Al Qaeda fighters headed for the hills on the Afghan-Pakistan border. U.S. forces, bolstered by British, Australian, and French troops flowing into Rhino, Kabul, and new bases in the north, set up positions to cut off the enemy retreat toward the mountains. Over the next several weeks there were numerous harsh engagements with Taliban forces attempting to make a run for Pakistan. Though scores of Taliban and Al Qaeda fighters were killed, the Marines suffered no serious casualties. In fact, other than CIA officer Mike Spann, a former Marine captain, the Marine Corps would not lose a single man in combat in Afghanistan until April of 2004.
America's generals and admirals are often accused of preparing for the next war by refighting the last one. Whatever the validity of that charge in the past, it certainly wasn't the case in the opening phases of Operation Enduring Freedom. The campaign against Osama bin Laden's Al Qaeda terror network and the Taliban despots in Afghanistan was made up "on the fly" by soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who rewrote military textbooks with one hand while they fought a new kind of war with the other.
From my firsthand observations for FOX News, it's evident that there were similarities to all other wars:
• massive numbers of ships, planes, men, materiel, and munitions;
• days and nights of back-breaking, sweat-drenched work being done by young Americans, thousands of miles from family and friends;
• countless hours of mind-numbing boredom punctuated by brief moments of stark terror; and
• loved ones at home, hoping and praying that a father, son, or brother—a mother, daughter, or sister—would return safely and soon.
But beyond these common connections to wars past, there was much about Operation Enduring Freedom that was different from anything our military had ever done before. Right from the start, this was a war for the record books:
• greatest number of aircraft hijacked in a single day: four;
• shortest time to build an international alliance to fight back: twenty-six days; and
• most journalists killed in a single week of war: eight.
And from 7 October 2001, when our counter-attack began, records continued to be set:
• The longest duration combat sorties in history: forty-eight straight hours (more than 14,000 miles by the B-2 bombers based at Whitman Air Force Base in Missouri).
• Longest close-air-support mission in aviation annals: eleven hours (by the U.S. Air Force 332nd Air Expeditionary Group).
• Highest number of close-air-support sorties flown in a single day in direct support of non-U.S. forces on the ground: seventy-one (by Navy, Marine, and Air Force F/A-18s, F-14s, F-15s, F-16s, and AV-8 Harriers).
• Deepest amphibious air assault ever conducted: 441 miles (by the 15th MEU).
• Longest resupply route to support a unit in hostile territory: 950 miles roundtrip (for the Marines at Forward Operating Base Rhino near Kandahar).
• Number of countries helping to win a war that do not want to be identified as "U.S. allies": seven.
That last entry in the record books is one reason why the war has been so challenging from the very start. U.S. commanders on scene, with whom I met, had to reconcile with the fact that the heads of state in the region didn't dare risk being seen as too close to the U.S.-led war effort. Afghanistan is a landlocked country, surrounded by nations where we had no U.S. military bases from which to launch offensive operations. This made the fight to finish the Taliban and Al Qaeda an extremely complex, very difficult, and very dangerous endeavor.
SIRKANKEL, AFGHANISTAN — Soldiers from the 1st Bn, 187th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault), scan a ridgeline for enemy forces during Operation Anaconda
INTO THE HINDU KUSH
After the fall of Kandahar, Al Qaeda forces retreated to hideouts in and around the White Mountain region of Tora Bora in eastern Afghanistan along the border with Pakistan. There, they occupied a network of deep caves that had been used by the Mujahadeen during the war against the Soviets. When signals and human intelligence indicated that Osama bin Laden was likely hiding in the region, U.S. air strikes, guided by Americans accompanying Northern Alliance troops, pounded the entire region. But on 17 December, when the last of the cave and tunnel complex was overrun, there was no sign of bin Laden.
With the region now in the grip of a bitter Afghan winter, offensive operations ground to a near standstill. If, as some suspected, bin Laden had fled into Pakistan, he would be difficult to find. The border region has long been notoriously lawless and beyond the reach of the government in either Kabul or Islamabad.
Pakistan's president, Pervez Musharraf, already the target of multiple assassination attempts by Islamic radicals, had quietly permitted the use of Pakistani air space and territory for U.S. forces to transit into Afghanistan. But he was adamant that Western troops would not be allowed to conduct military operations inside his country.
Musharraf had reason for concern. Though he maintains tight control over Pakistan's nuclear weapons, officials inside his own government—particularly the Pakistani intelligence and security services—were known to be sympathetic to the Taliban and Al Qaeda. Powerful Islamic radical imams routinely preached that the U.S.-led attack on Afghanistan was tantamount to waging war against Islam itself. On 28 October 2001, Islamist radicals burst into a church in Bahawalpur and blazed away for ten minutes with AK-47s, slaughtering sixteen Christian worshippers. And when Wall Street Journal correspondent Daniel Pearl was kidnapped in Karachi in January of 2002, Musharraf's police and security services proved unable to prevent the reporter's gruesome videotaped murder the following month.
During the winter of 2001–2002, remnants of the Taliban and Al Qaeda capitalized on the Pakistani president's precarious hold on power and the extraordinary difficulties of feeding and carin
g for hundreds of thousands of Afghan refugees to reestablish themselves in the largely lawless border regions of the two countries. By February of 2002, the U.S. Central Command had devised a plan to hunt down and strangle the terrorists hiding in the hills. They called it Operation Anaconda. They timed it to start in March in the still-snow-covered foothills of the Hindu Kush.
U.S. Navy SEALS discover caches of munitions and weapons in the mountains of Afghanistan
OPERATION ANACONDA — U.S. soldiers pause to search for enemy movement during a patrol near Sirkankel, Afghanistan
0300 HOURS, 4 MARCH 2002
The sound of an approaching chopper echoed through the inky, pre-dawn blanketing of Takur Ghar, a snow-covered, ten-thousand-foot peak in the remote reaches of northern Afghanistan.
Standing in the back of the MH-47E Chinook helicopter, a SEAL reconnaissance team clung to the red nylon webbing covering the walls of the aircraft. It wasn't easy to stay on their feet as they checked their gear one last time.
Petty Officer Neal Roberts prepared to be the first to exit the aircraft, positioning himself on the chopper's rear ramp. The snow flashing beyond the black opening glistened in the moonlight.
U.S. Central Command and the CIA had been monitoring a large pocket of Al Qaeda and Taliban forces in the area for some time. Operation Anaconda was designed to wipe them out. Part of the plan called for positioning recon and surveillance teams on hilltops to provide intelligence and to call in supporting fire.
This chopper held one such team.
As the Chinook approached the designated landing zone (LZ) in a small saddle just below the summit of Takur Ghar, the pilot spotted a scattering of goat skins and human footprints in the snow. The mountaintop was already occupied.
He called to the team commander. "Looks like our insertion may be compromised, sir."
"Do we have enemy contact?"
"No, sir, but there are definitely signs of recent activity here."
The Special Operations pilot flared the helicopter to slow it down, coming to a hover over their intended landing spot.
"Roger," replied the mission commander over the Chinook's intercom. "Abort mission."
Before the pilot could acknowledge the command, a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG)struck the helicopter like a small meteor, blazing through the aluminum skin, throwing flame and shrapnel around the cargo bay, puncturing hydraulic and fuel lines, and wounding one man. As the pilot struggled to maintain control of the bird, the helicopter pitched sideways. This tossed a crewman off the tail ramp just as a machine gun began peppering the aircraft like invisible fingers of death stabbing holes in the thin exterior, looking for flesh inside.
Tethered to the aircraft with a safety harness, the rear crewman dangled only a few feet below the ramp. Reacting quickly, PO1 Neal Roberts dropped to his belly and reached out to help the crewman inside. But it was clear the helicopter wouldn't stay in the air for long. The pilot jerked back on the controls to try to gain some altitude in the thin mountain atmosphere. The action nearly stood the chopper on its tail. With no safety harness to stop him, Roberts slid off the tail ramp. His teammates watched him fall about ten feet to the snowy outcropping below.
As the Chinook peeled away from the mountain, the rest of the team watched in horror and frustration as Roberts came under heavy enemy fire. The last they saw of him, he was shooting back, attacking a superior force all alone.
CH-47 Chinook helicopter
Among the American Special Ops troops on board was Petty Officer Stephen Toboz. Born in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, Stephen is the son of Glenda and Steve Toboz, a special education assistant and a retired state trooper.
After he graduated from Lock Haven High School with his brother Shawn, Stephen attended Lock Haven University and then enlisted in the Navy in 1991. After basic training, he went to the Navy's "A" School, where he studied electronics before traveling to Coronado, California, for BUD/S (basic underwater demolition/SEAL) training. This is the most demanding training in the U.S. armed forces, both mentally and physically. Trainees endure six months of rigorous training broken into three stages—basic conditioning, diving, and land warfare. Phase one also includes the infamous "hell week" in which candidates must endure five and a half days of continuous training, with a maximum of four hours sleep total. It is the ultimate test of a person's physical and mental motivation.
Stephen received his Trident in May 1993, officially marking his membership in one of the most elite Special Forces units in the world. From there, he reported to Naval Amphibious Base Little Creek in Norfolk, Virginia, and for the next five years served as a member of SEAL Team 8. In 1998 he was assigned to the Naval Special Warfare Development Group at Dam Neck, Virginia—the most select of all SEAL teams. That's why he was on a Chinook helicopter being shot at in the middle of the night over the hills of Afghanistan in March of 2002.
Back on Takur Gar, the wounded helicopter limped about half a mile and made an emergency landing. Stephen and his comrades charged into the snowy darkness and immediately set out to rescue their fellow SEAL.
During the ensuing gunfight, the badly outnumbered Americans fought valiantly. Out of the nearly two dozen U.S. soldiers who set out to rescue PO1 Roberts, six were killed. Among the eleven more who were wounded was Stephen Toboz.
Ordered to pull back by his team leader, Stephen was hit by a Taliban bullet that tore a fist-sized hole in his right calf. The projectile then spiraled down his leg, shattering the bones in his ankle and foot. Hours later when he was finally evacuated off the frozen hilltop, "Tobo" was still shooting back at those who had tried to kill him.
The U.S. doctors in Afghanistan saved his life. The doctors in Germany and back home in the U.S. tried to save his leg. But after multiple surgeries, Stephen figured he would get better faster without it. He told his doctors to amputate the leg below the knee.
Remarkably, that didn't end his career in the Navy. After being fitted with an ultramodern prosthetic limb, Stephen Toboz rejoined his team in Afghanistan. He says he did it because "Neal Roberts was my closest friend" and because "my parents taught me patriotism, duty, and determination."
Today Stephen Toboz is retired, but he still trains SEALs as a civilian instructor. Since he no longer wears a uniform, unless his young students hear it from others who know the story, they might never know that Stephen Toboz has a metal leg and foot or that he was awarded our nation's third highest award for valor—the Silver Star.
The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the Silver Star Medal to Aviation Boatswain's Mate 1st Class (Sea, Air, and Land) Stephen Toboz, United States Navy, for service as set forth in the following CITATION: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action against the enemy while serving as a member of a special operations unit conducting combat operations against enemy forces in hostile territory from 3 to 4 March 2002. Petty Officer Toboz displayed extraordinary heroism, superb tactical performance, and inspiring perseverance as a member of a six-man team that flew back into an enemy stronghold atop a 10,000-foot mountain in order to rescue a captured teammate. Caught in automatic weapons crossfire upon insertion, PO1 Toboz immediately maneuvered against an enemy machine gun position, killing three enemies with accurate 5.56-millimeter fire. He continued to engage additional combatants until ordered to break contact by his team leader. While withdrawing, PO1 Toboz was hit by automatic weapons fire which shattered his lower leg ultimately resulting in amputation at a later date. Nonambulatory and nearly hypothermic, he pushed through exhaustion and intense pain to maneuver over one kilometer through icy and precipitous terrain, refusing morphine in order to preserve his security posture. PO1 Toboz' tactical expertise and courageous efforts significantly attrited the enemy fighters atop the mountain and contributed to their eventual defeat. By his outstanding display of immeasurable courage in the face of heavy enemy fire, untiring efforts, and selfless devotion
to duty, PO1 Toboz reflected great credit upon himself and upheld the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.
Navy SEAL Stephen Toboz back in Afghanistan
Sgt Jade Fry meets with local Afghan women in a voter registration center in Kandahar City. The presence of female soldiers displays America's resolve as a democracy to give equal rights to all its citizens
KARZAI'S COURAGE
In 2004, our FOX News team went back to Afghanistan to see how things had changed. Defying most of the critics in the so-called mainstream media, the people of what many considered to be an "impossible place to hold an election" had gone to the polls and chosen their first democratically elected leader.
For the first time in history, Afghan women went to the polls and cast ballots. They emerged triumphantly from the polling places with upraised purple index fingers or thumbs. In a live broadcast, I described it as the "indelible stain of democracy." Despite threats from Taliban propagandists and apologists that they would be killed for voting, people walked for miles—sometimes through minefields—just to cast their ballots.