Kill Bin Laden: a Delta Force Commander's account of the hunt for the world's most wanted man by Dalton Fury Read Free Book Online Page A

had everyone’s undivided attention.
    Risking being overheard by someone unseen in the darkness outside the truck, Ski keyed his radio again and softly whispered, “Sounds like we are okay. Local commander told them to let us through.”
    I could feel the collective silent sigh of relief and relaxing of muscles as we eased an inch or two back into our sponge mattresses. We pressed ahead. Hydrated more. Wrestled the cans.
    We reached the final checkpoint five hours into the trip, and things picked up. The sedan of militiamen zoomed around us on the shoulder of the dirt road and we stopped and waited inside our trucks tense with anticipation as the empty minutes ticked away. After about ten minutes of waiting, Ski saw red lights blinking the okay signal in the distance and we continued forward.
    As we went by the checkpoint, only Ski and Shrek, in the truck cabs with the drivers, had the luxury of seeing the guards wrapped up snugly in blankets the militiamen gave them as gifts. Everyone was sitting around a small warming fire while one of the militiamen brewed up some hot tea to cut the sharp edge of the cold Afghan winter. They looked like one big happy family at a hometown cookout.
    Three checkpoints behind us, so far so good, but we were not clear yet. It was imperative that the trucks continue looking innocent and routine because we had been warned of a heavy machine gun emplacement afew hundred meters above the mouth of the valley. We had to pass right under its nose, and once committed on that road, places to bang a U-turn would be scarce, particularly while being shot at. The trucks rolled on, unmolested. Our cover was holding.
    Ski came up on the net. “Ten minutes.”
    I folded my map, shoved it in my chest pocket, powered off my GPS, and stuck it in its pouch. I wouldn’t need either item because Shrek and Ski had coordinated for a CIA source, a local carpenter’s assistant, as a guide, and he was to be waiting for us.
    I reached up to manipulate my NVGs, as I had done hundreds of times before, and the goggles fell off my helmet. “Shit! Of all the times, not now,” I whispered. A close look showed that the screws that attached the mounting bracket to the helmet had vibrated loose during the rollercoaster ride, and in the darkness the tiny screws were nowhere to be found. Coming to grips with the idea of having to rely on my own vision, on a hunch I sent out a net radio call asking if anyone had a roll of tape. A moment later a gloved hand appeared in the darkness clutching a roll of black electrical tape. Four wraps around my helmet and the goggles held like a charm.
    The trucks finally stopped, end of the line. After seven brutal hours crammed in the trucks it was time to drop from the belly of our Trojan horse and, we hoped, catch the enemy sound asleep.
    We quietly spread out along the valley floor, awed by the breathtaking sight of the large boulders in the valley and the steep walls of ridgelines to the east and west. As seen through the uneven shades of light green produced by the NVGs, the ridges seemed to extend as high as Jack’s beanstalk and we could not make out where the ridgelines’ highest peaks ended. As we took a knee and gained our bearings, it was obvious that our guide wasn’t going to simply walk us down the valley floor to the target building. No, we were going to have to climb a steep wall to get to Ahmed’s residence.
    It took Shrek ten minutes to locate our guide, who wore a faded olive drab army jacket and a black facemask to protect his identity should a local happen to be awake and see us through a window or doorway. He had to live here, and protecting his identity was crucial. We followed him over rickety single-log bridges, in between tight adobe homes where both shoulders rubbed against the walls, up precarious ledges, and over large rock formations.He knew exactly where he was going. No doubt that this was his hometown.
    The route was physically exhausting. We had started