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

10
An American Fugitive
Cornered by the Taliban
Then I found a piece of flinty rock on the floor of the cave, and,
lying painfully on my left side, I spent two hours carving the
words of the Count of Monte Cristo onto the wall of my prison:
God will give me justice.
Sarawa and his friends did not attempt to take away my rifle. Yet. I carried it
with me in one hand while they slowly lifted me down the steep track to the
village of Sabray, a distance of around two hundred yards and home to perhaps
three hundred households. In my other hand I clutched my last grenade, no pin,
ready to take us all to eternity. It was a little after 1600, and the sun was still
high.
We passed a couple of local groups, and both of them reacted with obvious
astonishment at the sight of an armed, wounded American holding his rifle but
being given help. They stopped and they stared, and both times I locked eyes
with one of them. Each time he stared back, that hard glare of pure hatred with
which I was so familiar. It was always the same, a gaze of undisguised loathing
for the infidel.
They were, of course, confused. Which was not altogether surprising. Hell, I
was confused. Why was Sarawa helping me? The worrying part was Sarawa
seemed to be swimming against the tide. This was a village full of Islamic
fanatics who wanted only to see dead Americans. Up here in these lawless
mountains, the plan to smash New York’s Twin Towers had been born.
At least, those were my thoughts. But I underestimated the essential human
decency of the senior members of this Pashtun tribe. Sarawa and many others
were good guys who wished me no harm, and neither would they permit anyone