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

In my view that was probably a bit light, since Sharmak could easily be back
to his full strength of maybe 150 to 200 warriors, reinforced by al Qaeda.
“We got gunships, Apache Sixty-fours, standing by,” he said. “Whatever we
need. We’re good.”
I stressed once more that we were undoubtedly surrounded, and he replied,
“Roger that, Marcus. We’ll act accordingly.”
Before we left, I asked them how the hell they’d found me. And it turned out
to be my emergency beacon in the window of the little rock house in the
mountain. The flight crews had picked it up when they were flying over and then
tracked it back to the village. They were pretty certain the owner of that PRC-
148 radio was one of the original SEAL team but had to consider the fact it
might have been stolen by the Taliban.
They did not, however, think it had been operated by Afghan tribesmen in
this instance, and they thought it unlikely the beacon had been switched on and
aimed skyward by guys who had not the slightest idea what it was for.
They thus reasoned that one of the SEALs was right down there in that
village, or in any event pretty damned close. So the guys just closed in on me,
somehow moving their own dragnet right past the Taliban dragnet. And suddenly
there I was, dressed up like Osama bin Laden’s second in command, arms
wrapped around a couple of tribesmen like we were three drunks falling up the
hill, the village policeman right behind yelling, “Two-two-eight!”
Led by Gulab, we set off for the village and moved back into my second
house, the one where we’d sat out the storm. The army threw a security
perimeter all the way around Sabray, and they carried me up past that big tree
and into the main room. I noticed that rooster was right there in the tree; he was
quiet for a change, but the memory of him still made me want to blow his
freakin’ head off.
The guys rustled up some tea and we settled down for a detailed debriefing.
It was noon in Sabray, and in attendance was a very serious group of army
personnel, from captains on down, mostly Rangers and Green Berets. Before we
started, I was compelled to tell ’em I had hoped to be rescued by the SEALs —
because now I’d definitely have to put up with a lot of bullshit from them, telling
me, “See that, the SEALs get in trouble, and they gotta send for the army to get
’em out, like always.”
That got a loud cheer, but it did not disguise my eternal gratitude to them and
what they had risked to save me. They were really good guys and took total
control in the most professional way. First they radioed into base that I had been