by Oliver North
Sar flourished in his new surroundings, learning English quickly and getting involved in sports. After high school he joined the U.S. Army and adapted to a life of discipline and purpose. A year after enlisting he became a U.S. citizen. When he tried out for Special Forces and was accepted, he knew he’d found a home. The camaraderie of the close-knit Special Forces A team gave him a sense of belonging he’d never had before.
As the Black Hawk approached the team’s objective, the helicopter crew chief shoved an index finger in front of Sar’s face and shouted “One minute!” He immediately flashed the signal to his men and they commenced their final check before touch down on what could well be a “hot LZ.”
Sarun Sar with ODA 732
Before launching on the mission, they pored over intelligence reports indicating the mountain valley was a stopover point on a major Taliban “ratline” for moving men and materiel in and out of Pakistan. They identified several of the cliff-clinging compounds to search and knew any enemy fighters they found would likely be well armed and willing to put up a fight.
The landing at first light was uneventful and as soon as the helicopter lifted off, MSG Sar and his men moved out to their first objective. It turned out to be a dry hole.
These kinds of missions were always delicate balancing acts between diplomacy and destruction. They were, after all, supposed to be winning the hearts and minds of the people here—the key component in defeating any insurgency. That of course worked best when the “locals” weren’t trying to kill every American they saw. MSG Sar and his men saw both sides of this fight. They won the support of a good number of fiercely tribal Afghans—and weathered numerous attacks since arriving at the remote special forces camp where they were based.
Master Sgt Sarun Sar takes a break while conducting combat operations in eastern Afghanistan. Sar and his team frequently conducted patrols along the snow-covered mountains in Afghanistan.
The A-Team aggressively pursued both facets of their job with equal vigor—humanitarian activities to improve the lives of the people and operational missions to root out the enemy. Though few Americans are even aware that Special Operations units conduct medical support and civil-affairs missions in combat zones, Sar and his men knew they were effective. Attacks had decreased over the previous several weeks. Nevertheless, the team didn’t go anywhere without plenty of ammo. Just in case.
The choppers lifted the team to their next objective—a tiny cluster of stone houses clinging to a promontory of rock about a hundred meters above the valley floor. Tactically, it’s always best to advance against a known or suspected enemy position from the high ground, but here, the only place to land a helicopter was on the valley floor. So the choppers split up. Sar’s turned into the draw on one side of the village while the other flared hard, to land on the other side of the hillside compound.
The helos hadn’t even touched down when Taliban insurgents opened fire from the slopes above.
From the door of his Black Hawk, MSG Sar could see armed fighters scurrying out of the village, taking up firing positions on the ridge. Already they were engaging the other half of his team, now obscured from his view by a finger of rocks separating the two LZs. There were a half dozen fighters visible and from the volume of fire, he knew there were many more he couldn’t see.
Determined to get on the ground and help his teammates, Sar yanked open the door of the H-60 and looked down. The pilot was hovering about six feet up, looking for a solid place to land. But Sar couldn’t wait. He turned to his comrades, shouted, “Follow me!” and jumped.
He landed in two feet of wet snow and began wading as fast as he could toward the enemy, sighting down the barrel of his M4 rifle as he ran and firing each time an enemy appeared in his sights. One Taliban fighter dropped, then another, as Sar raced toward them, determined to make every shot count.
The Taliban on the slope above turned and began shooting at him and he could hear their rounds snap past him as he ran. But the insurgents never went to the rifle range and he did. Another shot. Another enemy down.
Their ranks rapidly depleted by the charging Master Sergeant, the remaining insurgents decided discretion was the better part of valor. A half dozen of them jumped up and ran for a tree line near the compound. One turned and dashed through a small doorway into one of the stone houses. Another simply dropped his weapon and raised his hands in surrender.
Sar was almost to the huts. He waved his hand in a downward motion at the surrendering fighter. “Get down!” he yelled, realizing the man probably didn’t speak English. Or Spanish. Or Cambodian. Hand signals would have to suffice.
In the end, it didn’t matter anyway. The man changed his mind, snatched up his AK-47 and ran for the woodline. Two carefully-aimed shots from Sar’s M4 ended the drama. Nice try, buddy.
Sar ran to the structure he saw the insurgent enter and crouched near the doorway, preparing to clean house. But that’s when he realized he had a serious problem.
He was completely alone.
Looking back toward the landing zone, he saw the rest of his men fully engaged with the Taliban in the woodline. Only the team medic was moving toward his position. Sar waved at the man and shouted, “Get up here! I need a hand!”
Sarun Sar with recovered cache of munitions.
The medic arrived moments later, out of breath from the hundred-meter uphill sprint from the LZ. Now that he had someone covering his back, Sar quickly determined to press on and keep momentum instead of waiting for the rest of his team to close up. He flicked on the SureFire light on the end of his weapon and said, “I’m going in.”
He should have thrown a fragmentation grenade into the house before he entered. Tactically, he knew it was the right thing to do. But he didn’t know if there were any women or children inside. Sar decided to put the safety of potential noncombatants ahead of his own.
It nearly cost him his life.
He pointed his weapon in the doorway of the dark, musty hut, quickly scanning the room starting in the nearest corner—like cutting off slices of a pie. The light swept across the room, then stopped on the face of the Taliban fighter crouched in the corner. In an instant, Sar took in the man’s malevolent look, and the AK-47 pointed directly at his head. Before he could react, the man fired. Sar saw the muzzle flash light up the room just before the bullet snapped his head back with the force of a sledgehammer. He fell back out the door and cried “I’m hit!”
The medic pulled him away from the doorway and checked him over. Sar’s Kevlar helmet was on the ground nearby, its chinstrap broken. “I don’t see any blood,” the medic replied. “It looks like he hit you in the helmet. You’re okay.”
Okay was a relative term, but considering what just happened, Sar could have fared much worse. The stocky Team Sergeant scrambled to his feet, adrenaline pumping, resolved that the man who shot him was about to have his day end very badly. Still unwilling to risk killing anyone who didn’t deserve to die, he reached for a flash-bang grenade instead of a frag. Pulling the pin, he tossed the stun grenade through the door, waited for the explosion, then charged into the smoke-filled space and fired twice, killing the insurgent. There was no one else in the room.
Before Sar’s ears stopped ringing, the rest of his team had killed and driven off the remaining Taliban fighters. In a matter of minutes they cleared the remaining structures, uncovering a large cache of insurgent weapons, ammunition, rockets, explosives, and communication equipment.
Months later the unit returned to their home base in Hawaii, and Master Sergeant Sarun Sar was awarded the Silver Star for his actions that snowy day in March 2005. True to the nature of most Special Operators, he was uncomfortable with all the attention. In his mind he wasn’t doing anything particularly heroic, only protecting his men. They are, after all, his family.
Sarun Sar with Afghanistan children
SILVER STAR:
; MASTER SGT SARUN SAR
The President of the United States of America, authorized by Act of Congress July 9, 1918 (amended by an act of July 25, 1963), takes pleasure in presenting the Silver Star to Master Sergeant Sarun Sar, United States Army, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action while serving as Operations Sergeant of Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha 732 (ODA 732), during combat operations in support of Operation ENDURING FREEDOM, in Afghanistan, on 2 March 2005. Master Sergeant Sar was part of an Aerial Reconnaissance Force mission that landed to examine a suspicious collection of buildings. His actions under overwhelming direct enemy fire, even after receiving a head wound, were instrumental in securing the objective area and in the survival of his fellow Soldiers. Master Sergeant Sar’s actions are in keeping with the finest traditions of military service and reflect great credit upon himself, the Combined Joint Task Force Afghanistan, and the United States Army.
Sarun Sar with his wife at awards ceremony
SPECIAL FORCES OPERATIONAL DETACHMENT ALPHA
The Special Forces “A-team,” more commonly called an “ODA” was the primary unit used to take down the Taliban. It is a highly trained force of a dozen Green Berets, each with a particular specialty, but cross trained in the jobs of all the others. All are language trained and have received specialized military training such as military free-fall parachuting, scuba, or sniper training, among others. The unit is normally led by a captain and a warrant officer. There is a team sergeant whose job is to oversee all operations and manage enlisted personnel. The rest of the team is composed of two each of weapons specialists, medics, engineers, communications specialists, and ops/Intel specialists. One or two Air Force Tactical Air Controllers are usually attached to the team.
This tried-and-true configuration gives the ODA incredible flexibility to be able to further split the team into various elements based on the mission at hand and enables the unit to bring the full spectrum of U.S. military combat power to bear against the enemy.
ODA in Afghanistan traveling by all terrain vehicle
In each of the following photos of ODA teams, at least one team member has been killed since the photo was taken. These men have all paid a huge cost in the war on terror.
ODA 531 in Iraq
ODA 7326 in Zerikoh, Afghanistan
ODA 7315 in dive training in Florida
OPERATION REDWING
EAST OF ASADABAD
Night high in the Hindu Kush. In the dark, near-freezing rain pelted four, almost invisible figures crouched in the tall grass of a pasture terraced into the rocky mountainside. The faint greenish glow of their night vision goggles was the only potential giveaway, but without them the men would have fallen off the mountain during their arduous trek from where they fast-roped into a tiny clearing hours earlier. They dared not stop for long; both hypothermia and the approaching dawn pursued them.
The operators were members of SEAL Team 10, on an armed reconnaissance mission deep in hostile territory near the Af-Pak border. This was a hunting trip and their prey was a terrorist named Ahmad Shah, leader of a vicious band of thugs called the “mountain tigers.”
The heavy rain was deathly cold, but for these four seasoned warriors, that was a good thing. The storm reduced their chances of being compromised because nobody in their right mind would be outside on a night like this. Nobody except U.S. Navy SEALs. These were exactly the conditions and misery their training prepared them to endure.
Twenty-nine year old Lieutenant Michael Murphy commanded the mission. An athlete and former lifeguard from Patchogue, New York, he graduated with honors from Penn State and turned down offers to attend law school to earn the SEAL trident. Known affectionately by his men as “Murph,” the energetic officer made multiple deployments around the globe in support of the Global War on Terror.
Above: Lieutenant Michael Murphy
Below: Petty Officer First Class Marcus Luttrell
One of two snipers on the team, Petty Officer First Class Marcus Luttrell was determined to become a SEAL since he was a teenager in rural Texas. He prepared for missions like this nearly all his life—hunting with his twin brother, taking long runs with an older mentor who drove him to get in shape, and swimming every summer at the lake near his home. Though incredibly fit, the altitude was taking its toll as he and his mates struggled up one slippery draw and down another. The biggest member of the team, Luttrell doubled as the unit’s medic—carrying a standard load of weapons, grenades, ammunition, and field equipment—plus a full field trauma kit. He was the only member of the team who wasn’t married or engaged.
Fellow sniper, Sonar Technician 2nd Class Matt Axelson was a mountain goat by comparison. The wiry native of Cupertino, California, was pensive and quiet, but well respected for his keen intellect and easygoing manner. Axe never lost his cool. He was also an expert mountaineer, having grown up climbing in the the Sierra Nevadas.
Sonar Technician 2nd Class Matt Axelson
Petty Officer Danny Dietz
Luttrell’s spotter, Petty Officer Danny Dietz also grew up in the mountains—the Rockies around Littleton, Colorado. A superb athlete and martial arts expert, Dietz was also a devoted husband, a devout Roman Catholic, and served as the communications specialist on this mission.
Snow still covered the jagged peaks above ten thousand feet. The four-man team found precious little cover as they slowly picked their way upward among loose shale and stubbly trees. Before dawn that day the team moved, unseen, into a position where they could observe the tiny mountain village believed to be the home of Ahmad Shah.
The SEALs spent the early morning hours concealed behind jagged rock outcroppings, putting their binoculars on the village below them anytime it wasn’t obscured by clouds that periodically enveloped them. Hours passed and as the sun rose, its rays dried their soaked bodies and equipment. Soon however, the temperature shot up and the men began to envy Danny, who occupied the only spot of shade.
Villages cling to the mountainsides in the harsh terrain of Afghanistan.
Marcus Luttrell was wedged beneath a log, carefully noting patterns of life in the village through his binoculars when he heard approaching footsteps. He rolled over just in time to see a turbaned Afghan wielding an ax standing over his position. He snapped his rifle up and pointed it at the man, whose eyes went wide, clearly terrified at encountering a heavily armed American. He dropped the ax.
The team had no time to discuss the sudden turn of events before a herd of goats trotted up behind the frightened shepherd, surrounding the equally startled SEALs. With them were two more goat herders.
The Special Operators quickly rounded up the three men and sat them down on a log. A nightmarish question lay before them. What to do with the three herdsmen? If they let them go, there was a good chance the local men would immediately alert the Taliban of their position. The other option—killing three unarmed civilians—wasn’t part of their “win hearts and minds” plan.
The unarmed Afghan herders were in the wrong place at the wrong time and posed a serious risk. But no matter how they are portrayed by Hollywood or the media, American warriors aren’t cold blooded killers. The ethical dilemma of what to do about the three unarmed noncombatants was very real and the team wrestled with it for some time. Petty Officer Dietz tried repeatedly to raise higher headquarters on the radio, to no avail. They were on their own, faced with a life-or-death decision. In the end, they put it to a vote. When the tally was taken, each man weighed in with his opinion and in the battle between sound tactics and compassion, compassion won out.
They let the three men go. In this case, their compassion turned out to be more a greater sacrifice than any of them could anticipate.
Their cover blown, Lieutenant Murphy made the decision to move. They shouldered their packs and began picking their way higher on the mountain, looking for an easily defensible site where they could lay low until
headquarters could be contacted. The four SEALs picked their way higher up the rocky slope for over an hour and then stopped to rest and observe the village below. Though the cluster of mud-brick and stone structures appeared quiet, each man had a gut sense they had been betrayed by the herders they set free. By mid-afternoon the sun was beating down on them with the intensity of a blowtorch. They sat perfectly still, each in his own hiding spot and tried to get some rest.
“Ssssst!” It was Matt Axelson. The other men looked over to see him rigidly aiming his rifle up the slope behind them. The men followed his gaze and saw that their worst nightmare had just become reality.
Nearly one hundred Taliban fighters were arrayed along the ridge above them, each armed with either an AK-47 or RPG. The SEALs could see the men moving to flank them on both sides. They were all but surrounded.
Above and below: Taliban fighters
Matt Axelson with a silenced SOPMOD M4 rifle.
Seconds later the whole mountainside erupted in a hellstorm of bullets and explosions. Taking advantage of all available cover and concealment, the SEALs returned fire with everything they had, picking off insurgents with each shot in a “target-rich” environment. But every time they cut down the lead rank of advancing fighters, another dozen replaced them. RPGs impacting around the SEALs reduced boulders to showers of rock shards with the same effect as shrapnel.
