Kill Bin Laden: a Delta Force Commander's account of the hunt for the world's most wanted man Read Online Free PDF Page A

tribal contacts were reported to have been good enough to smuggle the terrorist mastermind through a snow-swathed mountain pass that was just seven miles to the south, and out of our reach.
    Well, well. That changed things a little bit and made it a little more personal. Mr. Ahmed was given the moniker of a “known al Qaeda supporter,” a designation normally accompanied by a mission statement of “kill or capture.” Again, that alone was no big deal, but pulling it off would have a rather pleasant spin that would make the assault troops tighten our chinstraps a little tighter and affix our olive drab Velcro American flags a little straighter on our shoulders. If this intelligence on Gul Ahmed was true, it would provide the first viable lead on anyone that could help us piece together the puzzle of how bin Laden escaped from Tora Bora.
    The thought of going back into Tora Bora was exhilarating. We couldn’t have been happier to visit this gentleman’s family and pay our respects.
    We needed to know if the HUMINT—intelligence gleaned from humans—of bin Laden finding a refuge, even for a short time, in this al Qaeda facilitator’s house was factual. It would have been nice for everybody if we could have simply dropped in to see the man during the day. Sit around cross-legged on a colorful Afghan rug, sip some lukewarm tea, and grub on nuts and dried dates while we asked a few questions.
    Somehow we felt that would not work. This gentleman probably would respond only to a little more aggression.

    The first order of business was to locate Ahmed’s bedroom, and one of the best reconnaissance operators in the business volunteered for the job. He was known in Delta as Shrek, affectionately named after the movie cartoon character with whom he shared a similar large and muscular build. He sported a deep bronze tan from the sun’s glare off the snowy peaks in northern Afghanistan, and much of his face was covered by a thick brown beard that he had grown over many months. Shrek might draw notice on a street corner in Iowa, but would fit in well among the Afghan locals. He had proven his skills time and again, and as much as any Delta operator, Shrek had developed a good feel for the people of the area and understood the very different culture in which honor, hospitality, and revenge are valued like Americans cherish baseball, hot dogs, and apple pie. He had been decorated for valor while chasing bin Laden through the mountains almost a year earlier, and in my opinion there was no better man for this job.
    We had a lot of information, but Shrek would hopefully provide us with actionable intelligence we needed to present the situation for a strike to our higher command. Intelligence had to be
actionable
. Not a guess, not too sketchy, and not too old to receive approval to execute a mission. No actionable intelligence equaled no mission launch and typically would send the whole lot of us back to sliding another movie into the DVD player or pumping more iron under the big tent.
    We were asking Shrek to hang it all out, to undertake the sort of mission that most American men can only experience vicariously throughTom Clancy novels or Tom Cruise Hollywood thrillers. On his own, he would have to burrow into a dangerous haystack that was made up of dozens of log-and-mud-walled adobes jammed together on a steep, terraced ridgeline, and discover the needle that was the home of Gul Ahmed.
    “Oh, yeah,” I added during the initial briefing, putting one more big task on his broad shoulders. “While you are there, we also need you to confirm that Mr. Ahmed is at home and not shopping across the border in Pakistan.”

    As Shrek made his final preparations, I stopped by his tent and found him dressing for success with a well-worn Afghan mujahideen outfit, including the baggy drawstring pants and a shirt down to his knees. The one thing wrong with his attire was that a red and green baseball cap with the emblem of the Hard Rock