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

fighting as one in a team of four or maybe ten or even twenty, but always as one
unit, one mind, one strategy. We are, instinctively, always backing up, always
covering, always moving to plug the gap or pave the way. That’s what makes us
great.
But up here, being hunted down, all alone — this was entirely another game.
And first I had to learn to move like an Afghan mountain man, stealthily, staying
out of sight, making no sound, causing no disturbance. Of course, we had
learned all that back in California, but not on the heightened scale which was
required up here, against a native enemy even more stealthy, quiet, and unseen
than we are.
Crawling around on all fours was not going to help. I had to concentrate,
work myself into the correct military position before I pounced on my prey. I had
to conserve ammunition, make certain I was going to kill before I carried out the
deed, and above all try to stay out of sight and not betray myself by lumbering
around like the wounded grizzly I was.
I resolved that when I next had to strike out against my enemy, it would be
with our customary deadly force, always ensuring I held the element of surprise.
Those are the tactics that invariably win conflicts for the truly ruthless underdog
like the mujahideen, al Qaeda, and, from now on, me.
I dragged myself back up onto my hands and knees. I listened carefully, like
an eager hound dog, turning my head sideways to the wind. Nothing. Not a
sound. Maybe they’d given up or perhaps they considered I was probably dead.
Either way I was out of there.
With my rifle jammed in my belt I began moving west, toward the water. It
was still way below me, and since I was trying to avoid falling down this
freakin’ mountain again, I would zigzag my way down the steep slopes until I
found it.
I’ve long lost count of the distance, but it felt like three or four miles,
crawling along, resting, praying, hoping, trying my best, just like Hell Week. I
think I did black out two or three times. But finally I heard the waterfall. I heard
it hissing in the afternoon sun, tumbling off a high rock and into a deep pool
before running down to the lower levels of the stream.
Somehow I arrived right on the top of that waterfall, maybe twenty feet
above the flow. It really was beautiful, the sun glinting on the surface and all
around it the trees on the mountain, high above the valley, on the edge of which
was an Afghan village, way, way below me, maybe a mile.
For the first time for as long as I could remember, no one was trying to hunt