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

For a few moments, I considered writing a large SOS in the dirt, but Gulab
was anxious, and he half carried, half manhandled me out of the field and back
onto the lush mountain slopes, and there he found me a resting place at the side
of the trail where I could take cover under a bush. And this carried a bonus,
because the bush contained a full crop of blackberries. And I lay down there in
the shade luxuriously eating the berries, which were not quite ripe but tasted
damned good to me.
It was very quiet again now, and my trained sniper’s ear, honed perhaps
better than ever before, detected no unusual sound in the undergrowth. Not a
snapped twig, not an unusual rustling in the grass. No unusual shadow behind a
tree. Nothing.
We waited there for a short while before Gulab stood up and walked a little
way, then turned and whispered, “We go now.” I got hold of my rifle and twisted
onto my right side, ready to heave myself upward, a movement that this week
had taken a lot of concentration and effort.
I don’t know why it happened. But something told me to look up, and I cast
my eyes to the slope behind us. And right there sitting very quietly, his gaze
steady upon me and betraying nothing, was Sharmak, the Taliban leader, the man
I had come to capture or kill.
I’d seen only a grainy, not very good photograph of him, but it was enough
for me. I was certain it was him. And I think he knew I knew. He was a lean
character, like all of them, fortyish, with a long, black, red-flecked beard. He
wore black Afghan garb, a reddish vest, and a black turban.
I seem to recall he had green eyes, and they were filled with a hatred which
would have melted a U.S. Army tank. He stared right through me and spoke not
one word. I noticed he was unarmed, and I tightened my grip on the Mark 12 and
very slowly turned it on him until the barrel was aimed right between his eyes.
He was not afraid. He never flinched, never moved, and I had a powerful
instinct to shoot that bastard dead, right here on the mountain. After all, it was
what I had come for; that or capture him, and that last part wasn’t going to
happen.
Sharmak was surrounded by his army. If I’d shot him, I would not have
lasted twenty seconds. His guys would have gunned down both me and Gulab
and then, minus their beloved commander in chief, probably would have
massacred the entire village, including the kids. I considered that and rejected
shooting him.
I also considered that Sharmak was clearly not about to shoot me. The