by Dalton Fury
The boys were startled and at first thought it was the flash of a weapon from a friendly muhj who had mistaken the approaching Americans for the enemy. They didn’t want to kill the guy, so they fired a few rounds over his head to give him the message.
Instead of a muhj, it was a photographer, who immediately dove to the ground and started yelling, “Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot me!”
Tora Bora was still a dangerous place, no matter what your occupation, and it could be even more dangerous if you were armed with a camera, and not a rifle.
The boys finally reached MSS Grinch just before dusk, after four hours of heavy slogging and carrying snow-soaked loads. That night, they enjoyed the luxury of a warming fire. On the nearby ridges, the muhj continued to celebrate the end of the Holy Month. All night, they chanted verses from the Quran, beat little round drums, sang songs, smoked hash, and fired their automatic weapons at the moon.
Back at the schoolhouse things were also winding down in anticipation of our return to Bagram. The show here was over.
After all of the number crunching, the final body count emerged, although it was just a guesstimate. As best we could figure, the actual number of dead al Qaeda came to 220. Another fifty-two al Qaeda fighters had been captured, most of them Arabs and about a dozen Afghan, with a few Chechen, Algerian, and Pakistani fighters mixed in. Finally, there were the one hundred or so men who were captured crossing the border by Pakistani authorities.
There is no doubt that the real number of killed and captured enemy fighters was much higher, because many of the accurate bombs impacted directly on dozens of al Qaeda positions and either sent body parts flying in all directions or just obliterated groups of fighters where they stood. Several hundred others probably managed to run from the battlefield.
No one will ever know for sure, and it is not really all that important. We had taken Tora Bora, which the Soviets had failed to do in ten years of savage fighting.
On the morning of December 19, George, General Ali, and Adam Khan jumped in the lime green SUV. The rear window had been patched with clear plastic secured in place by duct tape. A few dozen muhj climbed into a few pickup trucks.
Intelligence reports had already turned the CIA’s attention from bin Laden to his deputy, Ayman al-Zawahiri, who had not been killed in an earlier bombing as first reported. Earlier that morning, a source had provided a possible location for al-Zawahiri, and the CIA was going to check it out, backed by General Hazret Ali, who was now America’s favorite warlord.
I doubted I would see them again anytime soon, so as they stepped into the SUV, I approached the vehicle to say goodbye. General Ali touched his chest over his heart, shook my hand and smiled, and touched his chest again.
As I shook hands with Adam Khan, my thoughts flashed to all the important work he had done. He seemed to always be at the center of the fight, and likely had saved the lives of several Delta operators. Words cannot express how deeply we were indebted to him.
“You didn’t just face a single enemy here, but battled political, regional, and personal dilemmas in a culture completely foreign to you and your men,” he said.
George, never much for small talk, said, “Your guys did a great job.” Before pulling away, the CIA leader leaned out the window and called, “As soon as your men get off the mountain, we have another one for you. Number Two is nearby.”
And with that, our Battle of Tora Bora officially came to a close.
For several years we would cling to the hope that bin Laden’s foul remains were still inside a darkened and collapsed Tora Bora cave and that the terrorist was forever an inmate in hell. It was not until October 2004 that we learned he had gotten out and was still alive.
We have to give him credit for that escape, but we also must recognize the price he paid. Bin Laden made it out, but he left behind a battered, beaten, and shell-shocked bunch of terrorists. Perhaps he also left behind some pools of his own blood, but most of all, he had to abandon buckets of self-respect.
Only two months after his spectacular and cowardly 9/11 attack on the United States, a handful of American and Brit commandos, a fleet of warplanes and an ill-trained force of Afghan muhj had ripped away his fortress and made him run for his life.
17
The Years Since
I’m just a poor slave of God. If I live or die, the war will continue.
—USAMA BIN LADEN, VIDEO TAPE PLAYED
DECEMBER 27, 2001
A month or so after the Battle of Tora Bora, I had an opportunity to fill in the Delta command group on what happened there. The official briefing was followed with an informal afternoon cup of coffee and a private sit-down with Col. Jim Schwitters, the Delta commander who was known as Flatliner for his unflappable manner.
I had known him for years, and as we spoke, I recalled a day that had given me an unexpected glimpse of both the colonel’s experience, and our own. After a training exercise in an American desert, we were returning to the base when the old asphalt road led us past a little-known but historically important site. Some derelict single-story buildings loomed off to our left, and we pulled over. As the Unit chaplain and I waited at the vehicle, Flatliner walked to an old wooden wall that had been weathered by the fiery desert sun and was anchored by four rusted but sturdy steel support cables. The buildings were discolored and warped from years of exposure.
Flatliner rested his hand on one of the rusty cables and rubbed it with reverence. He spoke to us in his trademark dry manner.
“We probably went over this wall a hundred times,” he said softly. His eyes swept the area as if it were occupied by ghosts. “We had to get over the wall of the embassy to get to the hostages.” Flatliner added, looking up. “I don’t remember it being this high.”
It finally struck me that this was where Delta conducted its rehearsals for the planned rescue of American hostages in Iran back in 1979 and 1980. During that raid, Operation Eagle Claw, Jim Schwitters had been a young E-5 buck sergeant and was the radio operator for Delta’s founder and first unit commander: Col. Charlie Beckwith.
Besides this site being the rehearsal stage for the eventually aborted rescue mission, it also was where the infant Delta Force underwent its final evaluation by the Department of the Army to validate the long, painful, and costly birthing process.
If anyone knew first-hand how a good operation can go sour, it was Flatliner. He had been there.
The Delta commander listened carefully as I described the conflicted feelings that some of us had about the outcome in Tora Bora, and I believed that I was experiencing the same bitterness felt by the original Deltas after the Eagle Claw disaster. An important job had not been completed, and it was no one’s fault.
Tora Bora was yesterday, and all we could do about it was pick up and go forward to the next assignment. The war on terrorism was really only just getting under way, so there would be more battles in the future. Flatliner left the table after expressing how much he appreciated the boys’ efforts and individual acts of heroism.
There is no doubt that bin Laden was in Tora Bora during the fighting. From alleged sightings to the radio intercepts to news reports from various countries, it was repeatedly confirmed that he was there. The lingering mystery was: What happened then?
In February 2002, an audiotape was released to the al-Jazeera network in which the terrorist leader himself described the fighting at Tora Bora as a “great battle.” Although the tape was released at that time, it was not known when it had been made.
In May 2002, a decision was made to try and resolve the issue by sending troops back to the now-quiet battlefield and having them do some exploring. The destination was the spot where some of General Ali’s fighters had reported seeing a tall individual, whom they believed to be bin Laden, enter a cave about noon on December 14, the day that his last radio transmission had been intercepted. The muhj reported the lanky figure had been accompanied by approximately fifty companions. The cave they entered had been targeted by a B-5
2 bomber that dumped dozens of JDAMs on the site and forever rearranged the terrain. Follow-up strikes pounded the area day and night with an extraordinary amount of ordnance.
The investigation team was preceded by several dozen Green Berets and some Navy SEALs under my command, who drove in during the early-morning darkness and mowed down trees and obstacles with explosives to create a landing zone for a couple of CH-47 helicopters. Then a combined group of the 101st Airborne Division, soldiers of the Canadian army, and a twenty-man forensic exploitation team arrived.
The Canadians and 101st paratroopers found the caves completely sealed by tons of rubble that towered several stories high. It was obvious that the few hundred pounds of explosives they had brought along with them were not going to be enough to open that rocky tomb.
The forensic team shifted its focus instead to an eerie place known by the locals as the Al Qaeda Martyr Memorial, where colorful banners fluttered lazily on graveyard sticks, a place that would later give the intel imagery analysts fits during planning for the raid to capture Gul Ahmed. An assortment of Afghan mujahideen watched them work, probably feeling ashamed and insulted as dozens of jihadist graves were exhumed.
None of the DNA recovered from the cemetery proved to be the bin Laden jackpot, and the suspect cave where the terrorist leader was believed possibly to be entombed was impenetrable. The mission was a bust, doing little more than deepen the mystery.
TV personality Geraldo Rivera had spent several days near Tora Bora during the battle and returned to the mountains for a television special in September 2002. His interview with Gen. Hazret Ali in Jalalabad was broadcast on September 8, and I tuned in.
The general looked sharp in a suit and his familiar muhj hat, no longer just a bewildered muhj commander, but someone of substance and importance in his country. Shortly after the Tora Bora battle, Afghanistan’s new leader, Hamid Karzai, had promoted Hazret Ali to the rank of three-star general, and the sly fellow with only a sixth-grade education had become the most powerful warlord in eastern Afghanistan. I was biting my nails while he was on camera, but he stayed with our agreement and never even hinted that American commandos had been anywhere near the Tora Bora battlefield.
Ali remained consistent and accurate with the known facts: Usama bin Laden was seen by some of his fighters in Tora Bora and was repeatedly heard talking on the radio. Initially, the terrorist had been full of confidence and resolve, encouraging and sending instructions to his al Qaeda forces. But as the battle wore on, that confidence evaporated, and he was heard apologizing to his men and weeping for his failures.
That matched up perfectly with what I knew to be the basic reasons to show bin Laden had been there.
General Ali also used the broadcast to level blame at his archrival, Haji Zaman Ghamshareek, for orchestrating the cease-fire fiasco during the fight, and negotiating with al Qaeda fighters to buy time for bin Laden to escape. He offered no proof of the latter part of his statement.
A few years later, a newspaper in Pakistan reported an Afghan Interior Ministry spokesman who had been present at the battle as saying it was General Ali who was truly at fault, and that bin Laden paid Ali to look the other way as the terrorist fled across the border.
It was just tit-for-tat fingerpointing and got us no closer to finding out how bin Laden obtained safe passage into Pakistan.
While Ali became a three-star, his slippery rival Zaman fled the country and, at the time of this writing, remains on the run.
Several days after that interview, Rivera was back on TV from near the Afghanistan and Pakistan border. Sitting on a large boulder, the visibly exhausted television guy described having made a three-hour walk through the Tora Bora Mountains, from Afghanistan into Pakistan. He displayed a colorful tourist map on which he had marked a small black X near the border to illustrate his location. His point was that if he could do it in three hours, then bin Laden would have had plenty of time during the cease-fire to abandon the field and cross safely into Pakistan. Just a three-hour hike!
For emphasis, Rivera read off his current latitude and longitude coordinates. I’m not sure exactly where Rivera was, but my mates and I had a good laugh as we watched him weave this bit of show business. What he claimed was a mere three-hour trek was a stretch of his imagination, because he was there in pleasant weather; during the harsh winter campaign, that same route would have required about ten hours, if it could have been done at all. Huge peaks blocked the way, along with impassable valleys where the snow blew horizontally in a hard and wicked wind and temperatures stayed well below freezing. By the way, the only thing shooting at Geraldo during his peaceful tour was his photographer’s camera.
The two events were in no way comparable. Rivera gave us nothing new.
Peter Bergen, an author and well-known terrorism expert, uncovered vital clues in doing research for his superb book, The Osama Bin Laden I Know. From custodial transcripts of Guantánamo Bay detainees and a few Arabic newspaper comments of al Qaeda fighters who claimed to have fought at Tora Bora, Bergen pieced together information that shored up the claim that bin Laden, two of his sons, Uthman and Mohammed, and his chief deputy, Dr. Ayman al-Zawahiri, were all in the mountains during the fight. Some even claimed that bin Laden was wounded. Bergen chillingly portrayed a man who was staring death in the face and clearly anticipating his own martyrdom.
Bergen also uncovered that in October 2002 bin Laden’s personal will was published in the Saudi magazine Al Majallah. The al Qaeda leader had signed his on the twenty-eighth day of Ramadan 1422 Hegira, which was December 14, 2001, on our calendar. Another match.
On December 27, 2002, two days after Christmas, my troop was once again back in Afghanistan and had gathered atop a tan mud-brick and mortar building in the center of Bagram Air Field. It was the same building we had occupied when we first arrived on that cold and mysterious night the previous year.
In those days the building was a skeleton of neglect, with large bullet holes, and loose wires hanging from the roof. Since then, it had progressed from being an emergency bunkhouse, to being a movie room, to transient quarters, to the Rangers’ headquarters, to becoming the Speer Medical Clinic. It was named in honor of Delta Force medic Chris Speer, who was mortally wounded in a firefight near Khost.
Bagram was now the epicenter of combat operations in Afghanistan, with dozens of large green and tan tents erected over plywood stands, indirect fire bunkers strategically placed, and a large metal hangar or two in which commanders and large battle staffs managed the war effort.
On this day, the weather was clear and cool and offered a beautiful view of those stark peaks to the north. More than a full year after the Tora Bora battle, most of the boys and air force combat controllers now wore full beards and were dressed in blue jeans, boots, and some form of light cold-weather top. They stood at attention as I pinned medals on their chests for their actions twelve months earlier—two Silver Stars and a handful of Bronze Stars for Valor.
Our little ceremony was sans fanfare. No large formations with senior officers who were nowhere near the action giving congratulations and returning hand salutes. No live news coverage, or the presence of family and friends, or tables laden with finger food and punch. Just a private session for some sterling warriors who thought the medals were more than they deserved anyway. Typical Delta.
The men who fought at Tora Bora have always believed that just having been granted the responsibility of going after bin Laden, our nation’s highest priority at the time, had been reward enough. The medals might be enjoyed by the grandkids years from now, but we would gladly trade them in for confirmation that Delta had played a role in killing Usama.
For years, no positive confirmation came out to prove that bin Laden had survived. At least not on the public record, although I trusted that the intelligence community knew more than it could say.
I used to wake up daily hoping that a breaking story would scroll across the television screen, stating that forensic evidence had come
to light to prove that bin Laden had died in that godforsaken place. I hoped that he had remained in his fortress to fight and defy the world and the invading infidels. After all, that’s what he advertised.
During those long months, I personally believed that a wounded bin Laden had fought a good fight until a precision-guided bomb, directed by an operator on a nearby ridgeline, punched his ticket to paradise. I planned to hold on to that theory until the intelligence community could prove I was wrong.
However, it was Usama bin Laden himself who finally did that. The terrorist leader appeared on television in a taped video late in October 2004, only days before the presidential election.
I knew immediately that the tape was the real thing. His posture, the voice, his thin body, and the aged beard that seemed frosted of snow were unmistakeable. Unfortunately, the man was still alive.
But . . . How?
Another critical piece of the puzzle surfaced in January 2007. The source was Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, who had been one of the CIA’s favorite sons during the Afghan war with the Soviets before changing his stripes to become one of the most wanted men in the war on terror. Allegiances shift rapidly over there, and Hekmatyar was now the leader of the Hezb-e-Islami militant group.
Hekmatyar bragged during an interview with Pakistan TV that his men had helped bin Laden, two of his sons, and al-Zawahiri escape from Tora Bora. He claimed that after American and Afghan troops surrounded the cave complex, his own fighters “helped them get out of the caves and led them to a safe place.” Was he telling the truth or spreading the myth? Can you trust any warlord, much less one who is a dangerous terrorist?
After six years of pondering the significance of the Battle of Tora Bora, I see some things much clearer.
Perhaps the most difficult thing to watch was the painful education of the American military in the work of confronting fanatical Muslim extremists. We were naïve back in December 2001 to think that Westerners could invade a Muslim country and rely on indigenous fighters to kill their Islamic brothers with tenacity and impunity.
