Call Sign Extortion 17

by Don Brown

  Even if the Russian ghosts could have warned him with their loudest voices, Bryan Nichols was too focused on the task at hand to hear anything they would have said.

  Using GPS instrumentation and night-­vision goggles, Nichols slowed the Chinook over the landing zone and brought it down to a feathery landing just outside the Tangi River Valley, outside the “hot” combat area, in Afghanistan’s Wardak Province.

  Off to the side, his sister chopper, Extortion 16, also had set down. From the load area of both Chinooks, flight engineers and crews stepped out under the whirling rotary blades to open the cargo ramps. Rangers, wearing flak jackets and night-­vision goggles, and carrying automatic rifles, began filing out in quick precision. The chopper had landed outside the fire zone, as Nichols and his crew had been trained to do, for the Chinooks were big and slow and unable to effectively defend themselves against any kind of sustained antiaircraft fire. Under the battle plan, the Rangers would depart the choppers and move by foot into the battle zone, to attack Taliban and capture or kill the target, Qari Tahir.

  Having once been a ground soldier himself long before he became a pilot, Nichols could identify with the mission of the Rangers.

  So far, so good.

  In a few minutes, Nichols got an “all clear,” most likely from his friend, Staff Sergeant Pat Hamburger, another National Guardsman who was from Nebraska, and served as the helicopter’s flight engineer and gunner. The “all clear” meant that all the Rangers had cleared the cargo bay.

  It was 11 p.m. local time.

  “Thumbs ups” were exchanged, and the choppers’ rotary blades, which had been spinning during the short drop-­off of the Rangers, revved up. From the cockpit of Extortion 17, Nichols pulled up on the collective, the stick controlling vertical ascent, causing the big helicopter, sometimes described as an “airborne school bus,” to lift off the ground. Using his cyclic to turn the chopper back to the southeast, Nichols set a course for Base Shank and the Chinooks began their return journey through the air, over and around the mountains, back to the plains of Logar Province.

  We will never know what was said by the five National Guardsmen on their return flight to Base Shank. Perhaps they discussed their families. Perhaps they discussed their mission. Perhaps they were buried in thought, silently contemplating their fate. Perhaps some had a premonition that they were about to die.

  They knew they might be called back in a matter of hours to bring the Rangers back from the battle zone. Or, the Rangers might not be back for a day or more. Or the Rangers might never come back.

  The only thing certain about war was the uncertainty.

  They had no clue that shortly after returning to Base Shank, they would be called upon to fly another mission—this time with the super-­elite SEAL Team Six.

  They never knew that their next mission would be the last mission they would ever fly.

  Chapter 2

  Aboard Extortion 17

  somewhere over the hindu kush mountains heading southeast

  destination: base shank

  august 5, 2011

  shortly after 11 p.m. local time

  As the old Chinook helicopter flew through the night along a course heading back to Base Shank, thirty-­one-­year-­old Staff Sergeant Patrick “Pat” Hamburger, the chopper’s flight engineer and gunner, sat strapped in his position at the back of the aircraft.

  A well-­liked soldier with closely cropped hair and an infectious smile, as flight engineer, Pat was the senior enlisted member of the crew, or the “crew chief,” in military helicopter vernacular. This made him the most important crewmember behind the pilot and co-­pilot.

  Pat, a National Guardsman from Nebraska, was in charge of all logistical aspects of the helicopter’s operations, including loading and offloading cargo, and loading and offloading passengers—and was in charge of loading and unloading the Ranger team that had just deployed. From that standpoint, the most important of his tasks for this mission was over once that last Ranger stepped out the back of the helicopter.

  But loading and unloading cargo and personnel wasn’t Hamburger’s only duty aboard Extortion 17. He also served as the gunner, putting him in charge of firing any of the three M-240 lightweight machine guns aboard the aircraft.

  The M-240’s effectiveness was limited to close range, against enemy ground forces firing light weapons. For the 240s to work, the Chinook would need to be in a hover position, just above the ground, not much above treetop level, firing at enemy ground troops with rifles.

  But against incoming rockets, antiaircraft fire, surface-­to-­air missiles, or rocket-­propelled grenades, the machine guns were as effective as a peashooter in a gunfight at the OK Corral, a reality of which Pat Hamburger was all too aware.

  Hamburger had practice-­fired the weapons many times, but he had never fired the weapons in combat. Like his friend Bryan Nichols in the cockpit, this marked his first combat deployment to Afghanistan, his first foray into a war zone. Four of the five members of this Air National Guard flight crew were green from lack of experience.

  The two young Air Guardsmen sitting with Hamburger in the cavernous cargo bay, twenty-­four-­year-­old Corporal Alexander Bennett of Tacoma, Washington, and twenty-­one-­year-­old Specialist Spencer C. Duncan of Olathe, Kansas, were also green when it came to combat.

  Only the co-­pilot, Chief Warrant Officer David Carter of Denver, who sat in the cockpit alongside Bryan Nichols to help guide him on this first combat mission, had any type of substantial flight experience.

  Thankfully the Army had the good sense to draft an initial flight plan for this young crew to keep this bird away from known enemy antiaircraft positions. The initial flight plan would keep the Chinook away from the Tangi River Valley, where the Rangers were headed by foot and that had been the site of three attacks on American helicopters within the last ninety days. US military intelligence reported that in the last three months, the Taliban had deployed over one hundred fighters, armed with rocket-­propelled grenades, solely for the purpose of shooting down a US helicopter.

  Sending a Chinook over that valley, at least tonight, would be the equivalent of serving a sitting duck up at a point-­blank target in front of a double-­barrel twelve-­gauge for target practice with lottery proceeds rewarded to the winner for the kill.

  Thus, the initial flight plan, when deploying the Rangers, kept them from flying over that valley. In contrast to the later flight involving US Navy SEALs, the choppers would initially take the Rangers to a relatively safe zone, which had been pre-­cleared of enemy insurgents. As will be seen, the second flight plan, involving members of SEAL Team Six, would prove to be irresponsibly dangerous, and indeed foolish given the level of training of the National Guard flight crew, the antiquated equipment, and poor rules of engagement that were guaranteed to get all the Americans killed. If the Taliban knew or even suspected that the Chinook was transporting Special Forces, their helicopter would become a significant target.

  At 96 feet in length, the Chinook, an older Vietnam-­era helicopter pawned off to the National Guard, had a maximum capacity of thirty-­three in the cargo bay. But on the way back to Base Shank, under the dimmed cabin lights and the sonorous roar of the choppers’ twin engines, and the thwock-­thwock-­thwock of the sixty-­foot rotary blades slicing the night air, Hamburger and his young subordinates sat alone in the cavernous cargo bay, perhaps alone in their thoughts, perhaps wondering what would come next.

  The guardsmen knew what they were getting into when they enlisted. America was at war. Her opponent in this “War on Terror” was a nebulous enemy, without conventional uniforms, without conventional tactics. The enemy was willing to kill, maim, and destroy without regard to any semblance of the civilized rules of war. The Geneva Conventions meant nothing to this enemy. These guardsmen knew this. None of them had been drafted. None had been forced to sign up.

  So
ldiers enlist in the Army for different reasons. Some enlist out of patriotic duty. Some enlist because they need jobs. Others join with a thirst for adventure.

  The young guardsmen in the back of the chopper that night, Hamburger, Bennett, and Duncan, all knew that Afghanistan might one day call their names. From the relative safety of the Midwestern plains, or the foothills of the Rockies where their units trained, they all knew that from a faraway land, half a world away, American soldiers and sailors and marines were coming home in body bags.

  Yet they were prepared to serve, voluntarily, every one of them.

  Now they were here, in this war-­torn place that had been a theoretical figment of their collective imaginations for years, knowing that some of the Rangers they had dropped off might never come home, knowing that for their own flight crew, survival was no guarantee, and knowing that their own deaths lurked around the corner.

  Perhaps the flight back to Base Shank was like a cold, wet washrag to the face, reminding them that Afghanistan was no longer a vague notion, but a sobering reality where even the smallest mistake could be your last.

  It has been said that a man thinks of family as death approaches.

  At some point during the flight from the landing zone back to Base Shank, it’s likely that thoughts of family flashed through Pat Hamburger’s mind.

  Pat’s brother, Chris, was back in Nebraska. Pat had telephoned Chris on July 26th, only eleven days before. His family members had been nervous about Pat leaving the safety of the corn-­plains of Nebraska for the deadly, war-­torn mountains of Afghanistan. Pat loved to joke around, reassuring his brother with humor, and didn’t even mention anything about his mission, only telling Chris that he had “stuff to do.”

  Anyone who knew Pat Hamburger knew of his loving kindness and tender heart as a father. As he flew in the back of the chopper through the dark passes of the Hindu Kush range, it is inconceivable to believe that he did not, at least for a moment, turn his thoughts to the two younger girls in his life. The tough National Guardsman had a marshmallow-­of-­a-heart for them both.

  Thirteen-­year-­old Veronica, his girlfriend Candie’s daughter, was not his daughter by birth. But Pat had for six years treated her as if she were his own. When he came home, she would hug him and squeeze him and kiss him as if he were her own daddy. And Pat was the principal father figure in Veronica’s life. Then, two years earlier, in 2009, Candie had given birth to Pat’s daughter Payton, and suddenly, Veronica had a baby stepsister. Oh how Veronica doted on her baby sister, and the thought of them together would bring a smile to Pat’s face!

  But it was Candie Reagan, the girl he’d met while he was working as a plumber at the Village Inn in Lincoln, who had changed Pat’s life. Candie was “the girl behind the desk,” and the initial attraction was instant, although a few months would pass before they solidified their relationship. Candie was an all-­American girl, and she had made him a better man.

  There can be little doubt that under the roar of those engines, Pat thought of Candie, for the last six years had been the sweetest of both their lives. Pat had shared his secret with his brother Chris. When he returned home to Nebraska, he would ask Candie to marry him. They would live together as husband and wife, and raise their daughters in a loving home.

  Now, on his very first deployment overseas, Pat had everything to live for.

  But first, he would have to find a way to survive the night.

  Chapter 3

  Base Shank

  logar province, eastern afghanistan

  2115 zulu time; 1:45 a.m. local time

  saturday, august 6, 2011

  The United States Military typically operates according to what is known as “Zulu time.” This means that reports of military operations, worldwide, are given at whatever the current time is in Greenwich, England, at the moment the operation occurs. Therefore, the military, in the coordination and execution of its operations, is not a respecter of time zones. This practice can at first blush cause confusion to laypersons and civilians not familiar with military procedure, as there is a natural tendency to always think in local time. In addition, the practice of converting Zulu time to local time can often become more confusing in parts of the world where daylight savings time is sometimes in effect.

  However, in order to best understand the events of the night of August 6, 2011, it is necessary to understand Zulu time and the relationship of Zulu or military time to the local times in the affected parts of the world.

  Kabul, Afghanistan, the largest city in the area in question, is always four-­and-­a-half hours ahead of Zulu time. Therefore, noon Zulu time would be 1630 hours, or 4:30 in the afternoon local time in Afghanistan. Likewise, midnight Zulu time would translate to 0430 hours, or 4:30 in the morning local time in Afghanistan. On August 5, 2011, at 21:15 Zulu time it was already 1:45 the next morning at Base Shank in the Logar Province of Afghanistan. Extortions 16 and 17, the helicopters that earlier in the evening had dropped off two platoons of US Army Rangers in neighboring Wardak Province, had returned safely to base.

  Bryan Nichols, Pat Hamburger, and the other Army National Guardsmen of Extortion 17 had gone to standby status, probably trying to grab some shut-­eye, in the event they were called out on another mission.

  Not far away from the Air National Guard members, members of the US military’s most famous and elite fighting force, the internationally acclaimed SEAL Team Six, the group that ninety days earlier had killed the world’s most notorious terrorist Osama Bin Laden, maintained a state of readiness, just in case.

  SOC (SEAL) Aaron Vaughn, a six-­foot-­four-­inch Tennessean with sandy-­colored hair and radiant blue eyes, and a seasoned combat veteran, was among the members of the SEAL team’s “Gold Squad” deployed at Base Shank that night.

  A former SEAL instructor, Aaron was among the bravest and most decorated of America’s warriors. But no matter how focused he became or dangerous his mission was, Aaron Vaughn’s heart was never far from home.

  As SEAL Team Six maintained its readiness in the dark hours of the Afghan morning, it was 5:15 p.m. back home in Virginia Beach, where Kimberly Vaughn was caring for the couples’ two small children, Reagan and Chamberlain.

  Kimberly Lineberger and Aaron Vaughn met in Guam in 2005, where Aaron was deployed as part of a rapid-­action force to the Arabian Gulf region. He stood tall and handsome, a superhero, an American Navy SEAL.

  Kimberly had been a Washington Redskins cheerleader on a mission to the South Pacific with the USO to entertain the troops about to deploy to the Middle East. Glamorous and beautiful, her instant chemistry with Aaron proved magnetic. Their story became the fairy-­tale meeting of which romance novels are written—an NFL cheerleader and an elite American warrior. The initial attraction on a faraway island grew into an abiding and nourishing love, cemented across time and distance by a mutual commitment to their Christian faith.

  Aaron and Kimberly were married in May of 2008, and shortly after that, Kimberly gave birth to their son Reagan. They made their home in Virginia Beach, and made plans to build their dream house. Three weeks before his final deployment to Afghanistan, Kimberly gave birth to their second child, a little girl named Chamberlain.

  On the afternoon of August 5th, 2011, hours before the final flight of Extortion 17, as Kimberly drove along the interstates in Virginia Beach, with Reagan and Chamberlain strapped in their car seats, the cellphone rang. Aaron’s voice came over the Bluetooth, and his family would hear him for the last time. For the final time, Aaron and Kimberly, separated worlds apart, on different continents across thousands of miles of ocean, would proclaim their love for one another.

  At 2130 (9:30 p.m.) Zulu Time, or 0200 (2:00 a.m.) local time in Afghanistan, several hours after Aaron and Kimberly spoke by phone, all hell broke loose at Base Shank.

  According to one version of the story, word came down that the two Army Ranger units w
ere pinned down by the Taliban. These were the same units, apparently, that had been transported to the Tangi River Valley by the two Chinooks hours earlier the same evening.

  We use the phrase “according to one version of the story,” because the national and international press reported, in the days following the shoot-­down, that the SEALs had been deployed to rescue the Rangers, who were supposedly “pinned down” by enemy Taliban forces. Later, the military seemed to back away from the “Rangers were being rescued” story, and reported that the SEALs were being deployed to capture the well-­known terrorist Qari Tahir.

  In what will later be described by a US Navy SEAL as one of the fastest and chaotic “spin ups” to a mission that he has ever seen, seventeen members of SEAL Team Six—the informal name given to the Navy’s elite Special Forces Developmental Group (DEVGRU) based out of Virginia Beach—sprang into action. The SEALs gathered their weapons and rushed to the airstrip, where the two old Chinook helicopters, the same choppers that had transported the Rangers to the edge of the battle zone, were waiting, with engines running.

  In recounting the chaotic minutes leading up to the launch, certain facts are clear, while other factors remain unclear. Perhaps the ambiguity surrounding this launch is a simple consequence of the fog of war. Perhaps the unanswered questions will linger for other reasons.