Lone Survivor_ The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 ( PDFDrive )

distribution unit) for guiding in an incoming helo, plus the spotting scope, and
spare batteries for everything. Danny had the radio, and Mikey and Axe had the
cameras and computers.
We took packed MREs — beef jerky, chicken noodles, power bars, water —
plus peanuts and raisins. The whole lot weighed about forty-five pounds, which
we considered traveling light. Shane was there to see us away: “ ’Bye, dudes,
give ’em hell.”
All set, we were driven down to the special ops helicopter area, waiting to
hear if there was a change. That would have been “Turn three!” The third time
Redwing had been aborted. But this time there was only “Rolex, one hour,”
which meant we were going as soon as it was dark.
We put down our loads and lay on the runway to wait. I remember it was
very cold, with snowcaps on the not-too-distant mountains. Mikey assured me he
had remembered to pack his lucky rock, a sharp-pointed bit of granite which had
jabbed into his backside for three days on a previous mission when we were in a
precarious hide and none of us could move even an inch. “Just in case you need
to stick it up your ass,” he added. “Remind you of home.”
And so we waited, in company with a couple of other groups also going out
that night. The quick reaction force (QRF) was going to Asadabad at the same
time. We had just done a full photo recon of Asadabad, which they carried with
them. The deserted Russian base was still there, and Asadabad, the capital city of
Kunar Province, remained a known dangerous area. It was of course where the
Afghan mujahideen had almost totally surrounded the base and then proceeded
to slaughter all of the Russian enlisted men. It was the beginning of the end for
the Soviets in 1989, only one range of mountains over from the spot we were
going.
Finally, the rotor blades began to howl on the helos. Apparently the many
moving parts of Operation Redwing, so susceptible to change, were still in place.
The call came through, “Redwing is a go!,” and we hoisted up our gear and
clambered on board the Chinook 47 for the insert, forty-five minutes away to the
northeast. “Guess this fucker Ben Sharmak is still where we think he is,” said
Mikey.
We were joined by five other guys going in to Asadabad, and the other helo
took off first. Then we lifted off the runway, following them out over the base
and banking around to our correct course. It was dark now, and I spent the time
looking at the floor rather than out of the window. Every one of the four of us,
Mikey, Axe, Danny, and me, made it clear, each in his own way, that we did not