Not a Good Day to Die

by Sean Naylor

  The time for a hard decision had come. To Haas, it was crucial that the Americans stick with Zia, even in retreat, in order to maintain some semblance of rapport with the G-chief. “Had we left him, it would have been, ‘Okay, they cut me loose, I’m not gonna play with these guys anymore, they’re untrust-worthy,” he said. “I explained to Mulholland that I could no longer debate the situation or options—I needed his approval to lead Zia home. Despite what I am sure was intense pressure on Mulholland not to give me that approval, he relented anyway and supported me, the on-scene commander. It was a tough call, but the right call.” At about 2:30 p.m. Schwartz told Rosengard that Task Force Hammer was returning to the safe house. The depleted convoy drove north, and by nightfall all surviving members of TF Hammer were back in Gardez. There, Zia Lodin and Hoskheyar denigrated the Americans for letting them down.

  HAMMER’S retreat resulted in mutual recriminations between some Mountain staff officers, who had always doubted the Afghans would show up for the fight and now felt vindicated, and those in TF Dagger who had guaranteed that the AMF fighters wouldn’t let the Americans down, but felt that by not arranging for close air support TF Mountain had not kept up their side of the bargain. The Special Forces officers were particularly infuriated when, in the days following Hammer’s withdrawal from the battlefield, Mountain officers made disparaging comments about the Afghans. “They wanted to turn around and bad-mouth the jundees and 594 and 372, because they fell back,” Fletcher said in exasperation. “Why’d they fall back? Because they were out in the open, coming up to the Whale in that big open area, and they were just getting pounded by mortars. They had nothing to fight against the indirect fires that they were taking, because they couldn’t get any CAS [close air support] in there to take it out. And they had no artillery. So they were left exposed. They would have been able to push into that little gap there no problem, if they had the CAS.” But to Bentley, who said he didn’t recall ever not providing a close air support asset to Hammer, the cause and effect were reversed. It was Zia’s failure to reach the Shahikot that resulted in close air support being devoted to Task Force Rakkasan, not the other way around. “There was no intent or malicious effort to empty the sky for Task Force Hammer at all…I was never under the impression that our lack of bombardment of the Whale was a contributing factor to Zia not fulfilling his piece of the plan,” Bentley said. “Once Zia’s movement ceased and we knew it wasn’t going to happen, we were going to go into the Shahikot valley, with or without Zia.”

  “The bottom line is the attack failed,” Rosengard said. “The attack was turned back by the enemy, and the commanders on our side, rather than having caused that to happen by a decision, accepted that as the imminent reality, and then went back to reorganize, to live to fight another day.”

  14.

  NIGHT finally cast its protective cloak over the beleaguered soldiers in the Halfpipe. The enemy fire died down as the guerrillas lost sight of the troops in the darkness. Then the most effective weapons system the United States was to employ against Al Qaida forces in the Shahikot arrived overhead—the AC-130 Spectre. The grunts in the Halfpipe quickly figured out the best way to use the gunship. They would identify enemy positions using their night-vision goggles and fire at them, causing the enemy to fire back, inadvertently confirming their position. Then the Americans would point their rifles’ laser sights (invisible to the naked eye) at the enemy locations as the Spectre arrived overhead to pummel the enemy with 105mm howitzer fire, each round sending a shower of sparks into the night sky. “A lot of the enemy would go into the caves, but the AC-130 was pretty damn effective,” Kraft said. “It caught a lot of them with their pants down.” For the first three hours after the sun went down, he said, “We handed their ass.”

  Then, during another lull, LaCamera finally got the chance to medevac the worst of his two dozen casualties, some of whom had been lying in pain on the cold ground for fifteen hours. The agents of their salvation were the crew members of an Air Force HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopter that flew into the valley with an Apache as its escort. When Kraft heard the birds were inbound, he ordered Staff Sergeant Robert Brault to establish an LZ about 200 meters west of the Halfpipe, marking the LZ with infrared “chem lights” and strobe lights. The medevac helicopter found Brault’s LZ. As it landed, the guerrillas in the ridgelines awoke to the fact that an American helicopter was hovering tantalizingly within range. An RPG flew out of the darkness and exploded in midair behind the Pave Hawk’s tail. Oh, no, now we have a helicopter down, thought Ropel, watching from the top of his knoll. Something else to worry about. But with relief he realized the helo had survived and was making a 90-degree turn before landing. Once it was on the ground, the 1-87 troops detailed to help the casualties rushed the most seriously wounded aboard. They weren’t the only ones making a dash for the helicopter. A lieutenant who had not been wounded, but was clearly shaken by the day’s combat, was seen to throw his weapon away and run toward the bird as it sat on the ground with its rotors turning. As he tried to jump aboard, Brault grabbed him by his webbing and threw him away from the helicopter. “This bird is for wounded!” he shouted at the terrified lieutenant. (“Some people just weren’t meant for combat,” Brault said later.) The fighters in the mountains weren’t done. A DShK gunner fired two ten-round bursts at the helicopter as it sat still and vulnerable on the valley floor. Healy’s heart sank. They’re gonna hit the medevac bird with our guys on it, he thought. But again, the enemy’s aim had been off. The 240 gunners in the Halfpipe returned fire furiously, while Ropel’s men pointed their lasers at the spot where they thought the DShK was. Moments after the Pave Hawk had pulled away with the casualties on board, the AC-130 opened fire and the DShK position disappeared to cheers of “Yeah, motherfuckers!” from the troops in the Halfpipe.

  Knowing they were due to be pulled out of the valley in a couple of hours, the 1-87 leaders focused their efforts for the rest of the night on two goals: killing as many of the enemy as possible with close air support, and retrieving as much gear as possible from their abandoned rucksacks. Kraft sent fire teams from 1st Platoon to retrace their steps to their LZ, searching for dropped gear, while 2nd Platoon fire teams did the same to their LZ. By now enemy fire was minimal. The AC-130 had done its job well, and for the first time all day the soldiers were able to search for abandoned rucksacks without having to dodge bullets. Priority was placed on retrieving complete rucksacks (many had been torn apart by Al Qaida fire) and sensitive items like night-vision goggles. LaCamera was keen to avoid taking risks in order to salvage items of dubious importance. He didn’t want to have to write a letter that said, “Dear Mrs. Jones, your son was lost because he was going to get a set of binos.”

  Word came that the helicopters were inbound. 1st Platoon remained in the Halfpipe, rifles aimed at the eastern ridge, providing cover while the rest of the force moved to a new LZ Brault had set up about fifty meters from where the medevac bird had landed. (Chinooks, being larger aircraft, need a bigger LZ.) Peterson and his mortar troops recovered their tube and the rest of their gear and moved to the LZ with 2nd Platoon. Despite the pain he was in from the dozen pieces of shrapnel lodged in his legs and buttocks, Grippe had stayed on the battlefield rather than be medically evacuated. Now he carried his own ruck as he limped away from the Halfpipe. 1st Platoon then withdrew from the Halfpipe, followed by Kraft and Hall. The arrival of the two Chinooks led to one last adrenaline rush as the troops piled aboard and then sat for what seemed an eternity waiting for takeoff, bracing for an RPG or mortar round to hit them on the brink of their escape. But none came. Exhausted from a day of battle, cowering in fear of the AC-130, or dead, the enemy had shot his bolt. The Chinooks lifted off. After they had been airborne for a couple of minutes, the soldiers breathed a little easier. The battle of Hell’s Halfpipe was over and they had all lived to fight another day.

  What LaCamera’s force achieved March 2 was not what they had set out to accomplish. When the Chinooks carried them aw
ay from the Shahikot, there were no blocking positions in the southeastern corner of the valley. But those blocking positions, so important in the Anaconda plan, had been made almost irrelevant by the enemy’s disposition and determination to fight a fixed battle. There’s an old Army saying, “Don’t fight the plan, fight the enemy.” The eighty-six soldiers Paul LaCamera took into LZs 13 and 13A had fought the enemy damn well before withdrawing without losing a single man. Kraft took issue with descriptions of the battle as “an eighteen-hour miracle.” He told his troops, “It wasn’t a miracle, guys, it was you.” Peterson was equally proud of the soldiers’ performance, but he was under no illusions that things might have turned out a lot worse. “We were blessed,” he said. “We were fucking blessed.”

  THE night also brought a respite for the nine men of the Rakkasan TAC stuck on the Finger. (Mako 31 had long since taken their leave of the TAC to reoccupy their original observation post. “I’ve killed enough for today,” one of the SEALs told Savusa before walking off.) Under cover of darkness the junior officers Corkran had brought with him as a security team left the position to scout out a new LZ for the Chinook being sent to extract them. They found what looked like a good spot about 500 meters to the west and returned to collect the rest of the TAC. This time Savusa walked point as the short column descended to the valley floor. But when they reached the spot picked out by the security team they realized it was too rocky. They walked over 1,000 meters to a more suitable location. Once there Gibler got on the radio to direct the inbound Chinook to their location. He did this based on the direction the noise of the Chinook’s engine seemed to be coming from, because the helicopter pilots couldn’t see the green chem light being held aloft by one of Corkran’s captains. It was about 3:30 a.m. when the Chinook finally landed, “that was an awesome sight,” Murray said. “It had been a long day.” Even before the helicopter took off, enemy fighters were swarming over the position on the Finger that the TAC had just vacated. As he had on the flight into the valley, Savusa said a prayer as the helicopter carried him back to Bagram. This time he prayed for the soldiers who remained in the valley. Murray’s thoughts reflected those of Peterson sitting on another Chinook. The Air Force officer knew they had ridden their good fortune hard and put it away wet. “We were,” he said not long afterward, “the luckiest sons of bitches.”

  WHEN darkness fell all Rakkasan units along the eastern ridge except for those with LaCamera began one of the most difficult movements in Anaconda. The plan was for all elements to link up west of Betty and then move north to LZ 15, which lay on some fairly flat ground about 750 meters west of the eastern ridge and 2,000 meters east of the north end of the Whale. But things started badly and only got worse. Preysler pulled his men off their blocking positions. Baltazar’s 2nd Platoon moved down to the link up point to await the others. The next closest unit, C Company’s 1st Platoon, joined up with them. The temperature plummeted, freezing clothes that were drenched with sweat from the movement down the slope. A soldier became hypothermic and stopped breathing. The medics resuscitated him with CPR and put him in a sleeping bag, but to Nielsen it was a warning sign. “Hey sir, I don’t think we’re going to be able to move as a team tonight,” the sergeant major told Preysler. “We’ve got some guys going down.” The two leaders agreed to secure the site they were at and move on at first light.

  Helberg’s scouts linked up with Luman’s platoon and established a perimeter in a wadi about 1,000 meters west of Diane and settled in for the night, waiting for Crombie’s force. The temperature was 17 degrees Fahrenheit. Luman created a rest plan so everyone got a couple of hours sleep while others stood watch.

  After lightening their load by dumping all but the most essential equipment and supplies from their rucksacks, Crombie’s men embarked on a torturous march west and then north, aiming for the infrared strobe light marking the link-up point. Every painful climb uphill preceded a slipping, sliding descent down a snow-covered north-facing slope. The ground was so jagged and rock-strewn that there seemed to be nowhere flat enough to place a foot. Winded, Crombie pushed himself forward, driven on by adrenaline and a sense of responsibility. Aware that they were “moving through Indian country at night,” he applied “a lot of asshole leadership” (his words) to get troops to pull security when the column paused to rest. But eventually he had to acknowledge his men were smoked. He halted the march 300 meters from the link up point and, like Luman, established a rest plan so half his men stood guard while half slept. Overhead an AC-130 circled protectively.

  While the colonels and generals in Bagram tore up plan after plan and the Rakkasan infantry marched this way and that along the eastern ridge, Pete Blaber’s thirteen NCOs hidden in the mountains kept on killing. Some of the air strikes they called in were spectacular, all were ruthless; none more so than the bombing of a mud compound that appeared to be a field hospital, or at least a casualty collection point, for wounded Al Qaida fighters. Speedy and Bob had patiently watched and waited, biding their time as they observed more and more enemy casualties being brought to the little fortress 200 meters northeast of Zerki Kale. Once the sun had set and the target appeared ripe, with between ten and twenty personnel inside, India added it to a list of four other targets they wanted struck. At about 10:15 p.m. a B-52 with the call sign Mummy 21 high overhead released a stick of JDAMs from its belly that flew unerringly to their targets, hitting each in quick succession with a series of explosions that rumbled down the valley with a sound like nearby thunder. “He hit all five of those targets dead-on,” said an NCO who watched the strike. Three bombs hit the casualty collection point alone, completely destroying it. “This was a devastating hit,” stated another account. “No survivors were seen.”

  The reality was now dawning at the TF Blue TOC in Bagram, the TF 11 operations center in Masirah, and the JSOC headquarters in North Carolina that Blaber had been right about the Shahikot and that there was a real battle going on there. In the Blue TOC, where TF 11 commander Trebon was monitoring the operation, having flown to Bagram from Masirah shortly before D-Day, there was a flurry of planning activity underway to try to capitalize on AFO’s success. Trebon’s phone was ringing off the hook with calls of congratulation on what Blaber’s—and by tenuous extension, Trebon’s—teams had achieved. Even Central Command chief Tommy Franks called to compliment Trebon on the success of India, Juliet, and Mako 31. Trebon forwarded several of these calls to Blaber. Then, after discussing the situation with Joe Kernan, the TF Blue commander, Trebon placed a call to Gardez himself. But Trebon’s call in the afternoon had a sting in the tail. “Pete, wonderful job,” he told Blaber. “Look, we can’t ask you guys to continue this, you’re not set for that. What I want to do is turn this over to TF Blue, let them command it; and let them continue prosecuting the fight.” Blaber and his AFO organization should be out looking for “the next battlefield,” rather than continuing to fight on this one, he said. “I want to send some [Blue] guys down and I want you to get these guys in there as quick as possible.” Blaber asked whether this meant TF Blue was going to conduct direct action missions, their supposed forte. No, Trebon replied, their initial missions would be recon missions just like the three teams already in the valley had been conducting.

  To the AFO personnel in Gardez and in the valley, Trebon’s move to have TF Blue take over the operation was ill-considered and appeared to be motivated by professional jealousy. After pooh-poohing Blaber’s contention that there was a large enemy force in the Shahikot, the other TF 11 elements had been left on the outside looking in when events had proven him correct and his thirteen men were the only JSOC forces on the battlefield. The TF 11 elements in Bagram and Masirah seemed to have no appreciation for the thousands of man-hours the AFO teams had invested in understanding the Shahikot. To those who hadn’t spent time in Gardez, the formula for success in the Shahikot seemed simple: put some operators in the high ground and have them call in air strikes on the enemy. They had been listening to India, Juliet, and Mako 31
doing that all day. Now the SEALs wanted in on the action, and Trebon was only too happy to help.

  Realizing that even with logic on his side he had no hope of winning this argument, Blaber tried to compromise with Trebon in an attempt to ensure that the TF Blue teams weren’t sent in blind. He recommended that the Blue teams follow the same routine as the three teams already in the valley; i.e., that before infiltrating, they spent some time at Gardez studying the history and geography of the Shahikot, talking to the CIA, Special Forces and Afghan militiamen who had been working in the area, and reviewing all the relevant intelligence. Blaber said he had always considered himself as working for Kernan, the TF Blue commander. He went on to suggest that TF Blue send an officer down to Gardez to work underneath him and help integrate the new SEAL teams into the operation, with Blaber reporting to Kernan, the TF Blue commander. Trebon’s response was noncommittal. Trebon told Blaber that Kernan would be calling him soon with further guidance.

  Next to call was Kernan. Blaber again made his pitch to stay on in Gardez working directly for Kernan, but with any SEAL teams sent into the Shahikot reporting to Blaber as the AFO commander. Kernan said that instead he would send an officer down to Gardez sometime in the next couple of days to take over command and control of the operation, and asked that Blaber help ease the new guy into the job. No problem, said Blaber, adding that in his opinion Tony Thomas, the Task Force Red commander, or the Blue operations officer would make excellent choices. Kernan said he’d discuss it with his subordinates in Bagram and get back to Blaber with a decision. He also asked Blaber for his recommendation on when the official turnover of command and control to TF Blue should be. Blaber suggested the moment the first TF Blue team lifted off from Gardez en route to the Shahikot. But the conversation ended without a firm decision on when the handover should be.