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

Finally we reached what I took to be a cave set deep into the mountainside. They
lowered me to the ground, and I tried to talk to them, but they could not see my
signals or understand my words, so I drew a blank. But I did manage to make
Sarawa understand I suffered from diabetes and required water at all times. I
guess the dread of dying of thirst remained uppermost in my mind, and right
then I knew I could not get down to that river, not by myself.
They carried me to the back of the cave and set me down. I think it was
around 0400 when we got there. It was Thursday, June 30. They left me with no
food, but they did come up with a water container, an aged Pepsi bottle actually,
the most evil-smelling piece of glass on this planet. I thought it must have been
used for goat shit in a previous life. But it was all I had, a bottle from a sewer,
but filled with water.
I was afraid to put it to my lips, in case I contracted typhoid. Somehow I held
it above my face and poured its contents into my mouth like one of those
Spanish guys tending their bulls, or whatever they do.
I had no food or weapon, and Sarawa and his guys were on their way out. I
was terrified they’d never come back and had just made a decision to dump me.
Sarawa told me he’d be back in five minutes, but I was not sure I could believe
him. I just lay there on the rocky floor, in the dark, all alone, shivering in the
cold, uncertain of what would befall me next.
In the remains of that night, I fell to pieces, finally lost my mind and sobbed
hopelessly out of pure fear, offering no further resistance to anything. I thought I
could not take it any longer. Reno would have kicked my ass, for sure and
certain. Hopefully on the right side, not the left.
I kept on thinking of Morgan, crazily trying to communicate with him, trying
to get my thought waves tuned in with his, begging God to let him hear me. And
soon it began to get light. Sarawa had been gone for over two hours. Jesus
Christ! They’d dumped me out here to die; Morgan didn’t know where I was or
whether I was dead or alive; and my SEAL buddies had given me up for dead.
My brain would have been racing but for the fact that I had suddenly been
attacked by a tribe of big black Afghan ants, and that really got my attention. I
might have given up, but I was fucked if I was going to be eaten alive by these
little sonsa-bitches. I got myself raised up and laid into ’em with my Pepsi bottle.
Most of them probably died from the smell, but I killed enough to beat them
off for a while. And the hours ticked by. Nothing. No Pashtun tribesmen. No
Sarawa. No Taliban. I was getting desperate. The ants were trickling back. And I
no longer had the strength to mount a full assault on them. I went into selective-