Hunters: U.S. Snipers in the War on Terror by Milo S. Afong Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Milo S. Afong
denied entry into the special unit. It was not until he took his wife to the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego for their anniversary and saw the “team guys” running by on the beach that he finally decided to pursue his childhood dream. In 1996 Chris attended Naval Special Warfare’s Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training and started his journey to become a Navy SEAL.
Four years later, he was back with the Marines, but this time it was different. He was one of two SEALs at the Marine sniper school. His class, 04-01, was the last one of the fiscal year in 2001. It started in July, and for three months, Chris and the other SEALs played the games at sniper school, but did everything the SEAL way. During field week, while the marines drew pictures and field sketches of the objectives, Chris and his partner took pictures with high-powered cameras. While the marines loaded their packs with their heavy radios and other equipment, Chris used his special lightweight and compact issued gear that the Marines had not even heard of.
By September, Chris had passed all the qualifications. He was two days from graduation, when on the morning of the 11th he pulled into the sniper school parking lot and an instructor stopped him, asking if he’d heard the news.
“No, what’s up?” replied Chris.
“We’ve just been attacked by terrorists,” said the marine.
Chris strolled into the classroom to find the other students huddled around a radio. They listened in detail to exactly what had happened. The instructors handed out still photos of the planes crashing into the World Trade Center towers.
The SEALs knew what to expect, and within hours there was a phone call. It was for Chris, and when he answered, the voice on the other end was serious and strict.
“Petty Officer Osman, your platoon has been recalled.”
This was not a drill, and the SEALs needed to report back to their team. Chris packed his gear. The marines asked him where he was going, but he could not talk about it. He said a final farewell and was gone.
The ride to Coronado was full of anticipation. Chris wondered if this could finally be the call he had always dreamed about—the call to go to war. At his base, guards searched everyone, and a long line congested the road to get in. They questioned Chris about the weapons in his truck, but when they found out he was a SEAL, the guards let him in.
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
Four years later, he was back with the Marines, but this time it was different. He was one of two SEALs at the Marine sniper school. His class, 04-01, was the last one of the fiscal year in 2001. It started in July, and for three months, Chris and the other SEALs played the games at sniper school, but did everything the SEAL way. During field week, while the marines drew pictures and field sketches of the objectives, Chris and his partner took pictures with high-powered cameras. While the marines loaded their packs with their heavy radios and other equipment, Chris used his special lightweight and compact issued gear that the Marines had not even heard of.
By September, Chris had passed all the qualifications. He was two days from graduation, when on the morning of the 11th he pulled into the sniper school parking lot and an instructor stopped him, asking if he’d heard the news.
“No, what’s up?” replied Chris.
“We’ve just been attacked by terrorists,” said the marine.
Chris strolled into the classroom to find the other students huddled around a radio. They listened in detail to exactly what had happened. The instructors handed out still photos of the planes crashing into the World Trade Center towers.
The SEALs knew what to expect, and within hours there was a phone call. It was for Chris, and when he answered, the voice on the other end was serious and strict.
“Petty Officer Osman, your platoon has been recalled.”
This was not a drill, and the SEALs needed to report back to their team. Chris packed his gear. The marines asked him where he was going, but he could not talk about it. He said a final farewell and was gone.
The ride to Coronado was full of anticipation. Chris wondered if this could finally be the call he had always dreamed about—the call to go to war. At his base, guards searched everyone, and a long line congested the road to get in. They questioned Chris about the weapons in his truck, but when they found out he was a SEAL, the guards let him in.
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
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