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

from the consequences of the first one, made way up there on that granite
outcrop which ought to be named for Mikey, our superb leader. The Battle for
Murphy’s Ridge.
Every decision I made from now on would involve my own life or death. I
needed to fight my way out, and I did not give a damn how many of the Taliban
enemy I had to kill in order to achieve that. The key point was, I could not make
another mistake. I could take no chances.
The far side of the canyon remained silent as the sun disappeared behind the
high western peaks of the Hindu Kush. I figured the Taliban had probably split
their search party in this particular area and that I’d gotten rid of one half. Out
there, somewhere, in the deathly silence of the twilight, there would almost
certainly be three more, looking for the one surviving American from that
original four-man platoon that had inflicted such damage on their troops.
The friendly clatter of the U.S. Apaches had gone now. No one was looking
for me. And by far my biggest problem was water. Aside from the fact I was still
bleeding and couldn’t stand up, the thirst was becoming desperate. My tongue
was still clogged with dust and dirt, and I still could not speak. I’d lost my water
bottle on the mountain during the first crashing fall with Mikey, and it had now
been nine hours since I’d had a drink.
Also I was still soaking wet from when I fell in the river. I understood I was
very light-headed from loss of blood, but I still tried to concentrate. And the one
conclusion I reached was that I had to stand up. If a couple of those Taliban
came around that corner to my left, the only way to approach me, and they had
any form of light, I’d be like a jackrabbit caught in someone’s headlights.
My redoubt had served me well, but I had to get out of it right now. When
the bodies of those three guys were found at first light, this mountain would be
swarming with Taliban. I dragged myself to my feet and stood there in my
boxers in the freezing cold mountain air. I tested my right leg. Not too bad. Then
I tested my left, and that hurt like the devil. I tried to brush some of the shale and
dirt away from where I’d packed the wound, but the shards of the shrapnel were
jutting out of my thigh, and every time I touched one, I nearly jumped through
the ceiling. At least I would have, if there’d been one.
One of my main problems was I had no handle on the terrain. Of course I
knew that the mountain reared up behind me and that I was trapped on the cliff
face with no way to go except up. Which from where I stood, almost unable to
hobble, was a seriously daunting task. I tested my left leg again, and at least it
wasn’t worse.