by Scott McEwen
As a thunderstorm crashed overhead, the SEALs lined up and hiked into the horizon, a jagged tooth-like line lit only by the dim moon. Using a special GPS, they found their way to a rocky nook overlooking the sleeping village. Then, storm winds pushed in a thick, gravy-like fog that cut off the team’s view of the village. They had to move close—a dangerous decision so near to a Taliban stronghold.
Murphy found a finger of rock that looked down on the target—a perfect observation post, but a risky one. If they were attacked from behind, they could be trapped. Still, they settled in, hiding under brush and fallen trees. When the sun rose, the village would come to life and, the SEALs hoped, their target would emerge to relieve himself.
Shortly after dawn, the SEALs heard an eerie noise, a sort of tinkling sound that grew louder and louder. At first, they couldn’t explain it. Then, it became obvious. Goats. Hundreds of them, with bells around their necks, flooded down the slope. Then came the shepherds, two graybeards and a boy, driving the flock right into the SEALs’ position.
In a flash, Murphy and his men captured them.
Now came a painful choice. Shepherds often spy for the Taliban. And boys often support their siblings and parents by sitting on a high mountain lookout with a small mirror. A tilt of the mirror in their hand would flash a signal to the village below if American or allied forces approached. For these patient hours in the wind and rain, visiting Arabs or Pakistanis would pay as much as a dollar per day—a good wage for a boy in the remote slopes of Eastern Afghanistan. So these seemingly simple shepherds were likely employees or associates of the Taliban.
The team briefly considered shooting them, but they quickly decided against it. Gunshots would reveal their position. Morality was also a factor. “We are not murderers,” Murphy said, according to Luttrell. He ordered the prisoners to be released.
As soon as the shepherds were gone, the SEALs ran over rocks and stumps, surging up the slope to their old location. They had to find a defensive position before the enemy found them.
They were under no illusions. The information about their presence was too valuable not to be immediately passed along. It was only a matter of moments.
The Taliban were not long in coming. Initial intelligence reports put Shah’s forces at eighty fighters, but some forty Taliban appeared on the ridges above them. The enemy held the high ground and started flanking the SEAL team on both sides; they were about to be surrounded.
Luttrell began firing, followed quickly by Axelson and Dietz. Excellent marksmen, the SEALs started dropping the turbaned fighters. Still, they were outnumbered forty to four. Wood splintered all around them as the Taliban sprayed AK-47 fire. The SEALs couldn’t hold out for long.
The radio spoke only static. There would be no air support or rescue.
Murphy ordered them to retreat down the ravine, gaining distance and time. But the Taliban pursued their prey relentlessly.
In a singular act of bravery, Dietz volunteered to climb to a nearby peak to get a radio signal out of the narrow, sharp-sided valley. He ran up a steep slope as bullets made the dirt jump behind his steps. At the top, he frantically worked the radio. A stray shot took off his right thumb. More bullets pulverized the radio. It fell in pieces from his injured hands. He couldn’t get through to the base now. The cavalry would not be coming.
Dietz abandoned the pieces of the radio and climbed back down to rejoin his teammates. No one said a word. Whatever they would do next, they would do it together.
Most likely, Dietz took at least two shots as he scrambled down the mountain to rejoin the team. Without medical treatment, he would die within an hour. Still, he kept firing at the closing enemy.
Without an air rescue, or close-air support from above, the SEAL team was doomed.
Geometry, geography, and numbers were against them. The enemy outnumbered them and was closing in on them like the claws of a giant crab. The militants held the high ground and were encircling them. It was time for a Hail Mary pass.
The radio was gone, but Murphy still had his satellite phone. Stepping out of cover, the lieutenant walked into the open for a clear signal. He knew the enemy only needed seconds to target him. Murphy punched in the number for the SEAL command post at Bagram Air Base.
The seconds needed to transfer him to a senior officer were an agonizing eternity. When connected, he managed to report their dire situation at the moment that bullets showered the dirt and rocks around him. The officer said that help was on the way. Somehow, Murphy summoned the strength to respond, “Roger that, sir. Thank you.”
As Murphy staggered back to his men, bullets rained down on him. Bleeding and dying, he had given his men a chance.
No matter the pain, the SEALs had to keep moving and shooting. They scrambled and stumbled down the hills, stopping only to fire back at their pursuers. It would take almost an hour for help to arrive—an eon in battle. Would their ammunition and luck hold?
* * *
Back at Bagram, Lt. Cmdr. Michael McGreevy instantly approved a daylight rescue, though standard procedure was to fly helicopters only at night, when they were less vulnerable to ground fire. No one disagreed with his decision. They knew the stakes. He burst out of the SEAL command, almost bowling someone over. “They’re in a TIC!” McGreevy yelled. He meant “troops in contact,” or a battle to the death.
McGreevy ran into the barracks to round up any SEALs or Night Stalkers (elite Army units) he could find. The men sprang into action, grabbing gear and guns while running for the door. They knew the stakes and the score.
Onboard trucks racing for the airfield, sergeants divided men into “chalks,” or assault units.
Healy counted heads.
The posse was coming.
Rotors already were turning on the lead helicopter as the men clambered onboard.
The pilots had thundered through their preflight checklists.
Healy said to a nearby enlisted SEAL: “Get off. I outrank you.”
Friends say it was typical of Healy. He was taking charge, consumed with saving the lives of his men without any atom of concern about himself. It was a fateful decision.
* * *
Four helicopters beat into the sky, climbing at top speed. Less than twenty minutes later, the pilot had bad news. The two Black Hawks, including Healy’s, were too heavy to vault over the sharp spikes of the mountains of Afghanistan’s eastern Kunar province. As precious minutes ticked past, the choppers diverted to Jalalabad, where sixteen men were ordered off the Black Hawks. Healy stayed onboard.
The men who climbed off were silent but unhappy to be left out. “We wanted to get those guys,” one told us.
With more than ten minutes lost, the two helicopters decided to outrun their slower, armored escorts. Contact with the trapped SEAL team had been lost. There was no time to spare.
Soon, Healy’s helicopter neared the SEAL team’s last known location. The lead chopper moved into position. The SEALs and Night Stalkers stood up to rope down from the helicopter.
The door opened and the wind roared in. No one saw the two-man Taliban crew, on the ground below, load a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. In less than a second, the grenade found its mark (the open door), and a fireball erupted inside the helicopter.
The SEALs onboard the second Black Hawk were horrified to see the lead chopper explode, tilt its nose upward and spill men to the ground. The remaining air crew, belted in, were trapped inside a flaming comet, plunging down into a boulder-choked ravine. Flames speared out of every opening and as the craft splintered in the rocks.
Healy, McGreevy, and a dozen others were gone. The sudden loss of fourteen special operators was the largest one-time loss of naval special warfare personnel since World War II.
Inside the second helicopter, the SEALs desperately wanted to land and make the enemy pay. But the radio gave different orders: Leave now. No one had to explain. They had lost one aircraft and fourteen men; no one wanted the losses to grow. Murphy’s men were likely gone,
too. Why risk lives to retrieve corpses? The decision was logical but emotionally unwelcome. Full of quiet, angry, and sad men, the second helicopter lumbered home.
As night fell, the SEALs planned another rescue mission for their comrades. Survivors (if any) would be saved, and the fallen would be taken home with honor. The agonizing mystery: No one knew the fate of Murphy’s team. Could they still be alive?
* * *
Gloating, Ahmed Shah phoned the News, a daily in Islamabad, Pakistan. He said his men had killed five commandos and brought down a helicopter. He would release a video soon, he promised. Such a victory over the Americans had to be exploited so that Shah could rise in the Taliban’s ranks.
The news reached the United States the morning of June 29. No names were released. As the rest of the country prepared for the July Fourth weekend, several frantic families scattered across America waited for news of their loved ones.
They phoned and e-mailed each other, desperate for news. In a New Hampshire trailer park, Dan Healy’s mother, Natalie, awoke from a fearful dream. Is Dan OK? she wondered.
Back in the vicinity of Asadabad, rescue teams had landed and were moving toward the crash site and the ground team’s last known position. Nearly every type of U.S. Special Forces—Rangers, Night Stalkers, SEALs—joined the mission. Afghan Special Forces provided translators and guides. Overhead, Navy and Air Force planes filled the sky, searching for the missing Americans and pounding enemy positions. The cavalry had come.
* * *
On the ground, Luttrell climbed through the brush. Alone and burning with thirst, he had spent the night hiding in a shallow cave as Taliban footsteps crunched around him. He had no way to contact the Americans flying overhead. If he showed himself, the Taliban would shoot him before they could land.
Dizzy and blurry-eyed, Luttrell collapsed on a mountain trail. He stirred as a shadow covered him. He looked up at a bearded shepherd. The man gave him a thumbs-up sign. Should he trust him? Could he? Luttrell snatched a hand grenade off his vest and pulled the pin. Only the Texan’s thumb prevented the explosion. Undaunted, the man helped Luttrell to his feet. Together, they lurched toward the village of Sabray, where Luttrell was deposited on a heap of cushions in a stone hut.
* * *
Under heavy fire, rescuers scoured the battlefield. Within two days, they found Dietz. His autopsy report later revealed he had sixteen mortal wounds and many other injuries. He had died fighting, killing at least a score of Taliban, whose bodies lay nearby.
Close by, they found Murphy. Riddled with bullets, he, too, had died a warrior.
As the search went on, the Taliban seemed to hide behind every tree, squeezing off a few shots and running. But they were being beaten back. The Americans had arrived in force.
All the men lost on the helicopter were recovered by July 3. Their bodies were respectfully prepared for transport to the United States, as the search continued for Axelson and Luttrell. Could they still be alive?
* * *
On July 4, in Willis, Texas, the phone rang. Holly Luttrell answered it, fearing the worst. She listened intently and then told her friends the good news: her son was alive. One of the SEALs at Luttrell’s house was his swim buddy from BUD/S, J. J. Jones. A proud Texan, Jones was one of the few African-Americans in the SEALs. He and Marcus were close friends. Jones ran into the yard, asking the crowd of relatives, neighbors, and SEALs to be quiet. Then he shouted, “They got him, guys! Marcus has been rescued!”
As the crowd roared its approval, Jones gave the rest of the news:
Luttrell was taken to safety by helicopter and was already in the air to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany for emergency medical treatment.
* * *
Still, the SEALs kept searching for Axelson. They found him July 10, among fallen timber. His distance from the other SEALs indicated that he had kept fighting, alone, for perhaps an hour, maybe more. The Taliban found him incredibly hard to kill.
That day in 2005 proved to be the deadliest day in the history of naval special warfare since the June 6, 1944, Normandy landings.
But the operation was a success, though a costly one. Operation Red Wings and the rescue effort broke the back of the Taliban in Afghanistan’s eastern Kunar province. The Taliban would not return in force to that region until 2010, when the Obama administration signaled that it would gradually withdraw from Afghanistan.
In August 2005, the Marines launched Operation Whalers (like Red Wings, also named after an NHL franchise) to destroy Taliban remnants. The eighteen-day campaign of mountain battles drove the last of Shah’s men into Pakistan. As a result of the sacrifice made by the SEALs, Night Stalkers, Rangers, and Marines, the people of Kunar province were able to vote in that September’s parliamentary elections, the first free elections in decades.
Shah reportedly died in Pakistan in 2006, in a shootout with a villager. The dispute that ended the warlord’s life, according to a Pakistani press report, was over the custody of a chicken.
Luttrell, Dietz, and Axelson received the Navy Cross, the nation’s second-highest decoration for valor.
A memorial service for Healy was held in Exeter, New Hampshire, on July 17, 2005—which would have been his thirtieth birthday. The funeral procession was a mile long and traveled not far from the stony Atlantic Beach where he had swum as a boy.
In a White House ceremony, President George W. Bush posthumously awarded Lt. Michael Murphy the Medal of Honor; his parents tearfully accepted it on his behalf. Murphy’s grave at Calverton National Cemetery in New York later received a special Medal of Honor headstone.
Murphy was the fourth Navy SEAL to be awarded the Medal of Honor, the first since the Vietnam War, and the first U.S. service member in Afghanistan to receive the nation’s highest award for heroism. In a private meeting before the ceremony, Dan and Maureen Murphy gave the president a gold dog tag as a tribute to their son.
The official commendation tells the tale:
“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as the leader of a special reconnaissance element with Naval Special Warfare Task Unit Afghanistan on 27 and 28 June 2005. While leading a mission to locate a high-level anti-coalition militia leader, Lieutenant Murphy demonstrated extraordinary heroism in the face of grave danger in the vicinity of Asadabad, Konar [sic] Province, Afghanistan. On 28 June 2005, operating in an extremely rugged enemy-controlled area, Lieutenant Murphy’s team was discovered by anti-coalition militia sympathizers, who revealed their position to Taliban fighters. As a result, between 30 and 40 enemy fighters besieged his four-member team. Demonstrating exceptional resolve, Lieutenant Murphy valiantly led his men in engaging the large enemy force. The ensuing fierce firefight resulted in numerous enemy casualties, as well as the wounding of all four members of the team. Ignoring his own wounds and demonstrating exceptional composure, Lieutenant Murphy continued to lead and encourage his men. When the primary communicator fell mortally wounded, Lieutenant Murphy repeatedly attempted to call for assistance for his beleaguered teammates. Realizing the impossibility of communicating in the extreme terrain, and in the face of almost certain death, he fought his way into open terrain to gain a better position to transmit a call. This deliberate, heroic act deprived him of cover, exposing him to direct enemy fire. Finally achieving contact with his headquarters, Lieutenant Murphy maintained his exposed position while he provided his location and requested immediate support for his team. In his final act of bravery, he continued to engage the enemy until he was mortally wounded, gallantly giving his life for his country and for the cause of freedom. By his selfless leadership, courageous actions, and extraordinary devotion to duty, Lieutenant Murphy reflected great credit upon himself and upheld the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.”
When justice is done, Dietz, Axelson, and Healy will also receive the Medal of Honor. Their heroism continues to inspire the teams. Their willingness to sacrifice their lives for t
he teammates illustrates the core of the SEAL culture.
A narrow bar called Danny’s, a few blocks from the SEAL base in Coronado, California, is a regular hangout for off-duty SEALs. Its ceiling is built like a boat bottom, and its high chairs and vinyl booths have seen better days. On the wall are pictures of Murphy, Axelson, and Dietz (along with eleven recently deceased SEALs). No names or ranks adorn the photos. But, if you’re a SEAL, you know their faces and their legend. The only words written under the photos are “Long Live Brotherhood.”
CHAPTER 6
Fallujah: The Perfect Op That Led to Prosecutions
Glowering over the Euphrates River, Fallujah is a dirty, crowded Iraqi city of some three hundred thousand people. In 2004, it was notorious for killing Americans for sport.
In Fallujah’s basements, they mixed chemicals, in its kitchens they made bombs, in its open-air markets they sold machine guns, and in its mosques they justified it all. Boys were lookouts and couriers, girls snapped photos of American patrols, women assembled fuses, local men trained to fight, and bearded men from abroad, with sweaty wads of cash, paid for it all.
Forty-three miles west of Baghdad, Fallujah was the heart of the “Sunni triangle” and the center of anti-American opposition. It was the headquarters for the insurgency, which used foreign fighters and foreign money (to pay out-of-work Iraqis as much as $600 per attack) to kill Americans and thousands of Iraqi civilians in the name of “Iraqi independence.”
Like Belgium in World War I, Iraq was fast becoming a blood-stained land where distant foreign forces came to war and recruit natives for both sides. Iraq’s neighbors—mainly Iran and its Arab ally, Syria—smuggled in and supplied bomb makers, sharpshooters, and money men. Al Qaeda, which American air power had smashed on the plains and treeless hills of Afghanistan, was eager to face and fight their nemesis in the urban canyons of Iraqi cities, where America’s famed reluctance to kill civilians would diminish its artillery and air power advantages.
