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

pulled out.
The presence of an unseen Afghani tracker was very bad news for me, not
least for the remnants of my morale. The thought that there was a group of
killers out there, stalking me across this mountain, able to see me when I could
not see them...well, that was a sonofabitch in any man’s army.
I decided to press on and hope they did not decide to open fire. When I
reached the top, I’d take them out. Just as soon as I could see the little bastards.
First sign of light, I’d stake my position underneath some bushes where no one
could see me, and then I’d deal with them as soon as they got within range.
Meantime, I was so thirsty I thought I might die before that hour approached.
I was trying everything. I was breaking the thinnest tree branches off and
sucking at them for liquid. I sucked at the grass when I found some, hoping for a
few drops of mountain dew. I even tried to wring out my socks to find just a taste
of water. There is nothing quite so terrible as dying of thirst. Believe me. I’ve
been there.
As the night wore on, I began to hear the occasional U.S. military aircraft
above the mountains, usually flying high. And when I heard one in time, I was
out there whirling my buzz-saw lights, transmitting the beacon as well as I
could, still a walking distress signal. But no one heard me. It occurred to me that
no one believed I was alive. And that was a very grim thought. It would be pretty
hard to find me up here, even if the entire Bagram base was searching for me in
these endless mountains. But if no one believed I was still breathing, well, that
was probably the end for me. I experienced an inevitable feeling of utter
desolation. Worse yet, I was so weakened, and in such pain, I realized, once and
for all, I was never going to make it to the top of the mountain. Actually, I might
have made it, but my left leg, blasted by that RPG, was never going to stand the
climb. I would just have to keep going sideways, struggling across the steep face
of the mountain, sometimes down, sometimes up, and hope to get my chance.
I was still losing blood, and I still could not speak. But I could hear, and I
could hear my pursuers, sometimes calling to each other. I remember thinking
this was very strange because they normally moved around in total silence.
Remember those goatherds? I never heard that first one coming until he was
about four feet from me. That’s just the way they are, treading softly, lean, light
men with no encumbrances — not even water.
When those Afghans travel, they carry their guns and ammunition and
nothing else. One guy carries the water for everyone; another hauls the extra
ammunition. And this leaves the main force free to move very fast, very softly.