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

here. And he had what I now call the Look. That sneering hatred of me and my
country.
The Taliban guys let him come in and watch them knocking me around. He
really liked it, and I could tell they regarded him as “one of us.” He was allowed
to sit on the bed while they kicked at the bandage on my left thigh. He just loved
it. Kept running the edge of his hand over his throat and laughing, “Taliban,
heh?...Taliban!” I’ll never forget his face, his grin, his triumphant stare. And I
kept looking right up at that iron bar. The kid, too, was a very lucky boy.
Then my interrogators found my rifle laser sight and my camera and wanted
to take pictures of one another. I showed them how to use the laser to achieve
their pictures, but I showed them the wrong way around and told them to stare
into the beam with their naked eye. I guess the last favor I did them was to blind
the whole fucking lot of ’em! Because that beam would have burned their retinas
right out. Sorry, guys. That’s show business.
Right after that, must have been around midnight, a new figure entered the
room, accompanied by two attendants. I knew this was the village elder, a small
man with a beard, a man who commanded colossal respect. The Taliban
immediately stood up and stepped aside as the old man walked to the spot where
I was lying. He kneeled down and offered me water in a little silver cup, gave
me bread, and then stood up and turned on the Taliban.
I was not certain what he was saying, but I found out later he was forbidding
them to take me away. I think they knew that before they came, otherwise I’d
probably have been gone by then. But there was no mistaking the authority in his
voice. It was a small, quiet voice, calm, firm, and no one spoke while he spoke.
No one interrupted either.
They hardly said a word while this powerful little figure laid down the law.
Tribal law, I guess. When he left, he walked out into the night very upright, the
kind of posture adopted by men who are unused to defiance. You could spot him
a mile off, kind of like an Afghan Instructor Reno. Christ! What if he could see
me now?
Upon the departure of the village elder, six hours after they had arrived, at
around 0100, the Taliban suddenly decided to leave. Painful eyes, I hoped.
Their leader, the chief talker, was a thin character almost a head taller than
all the rest. He led them outside, and I heard them walk off, moving softly up to
the trail which led out of Sabray and into the mountains. Once more I was left,
bleeding badly and very bruised, eternally grateful to the village elder, drifting
off into a form of half-awake sleep, scared, really scared those bastards would