No Easy Day: The Firsthand Account of the Mission That Killed Osama Bin Laden

CHAPTER 17 Exfil

I kept peeking into the cockpit to watch the flashing red lights on the gas gauge.

From the briefs leading up to the mission, I remembered it was supposed to take only ten minutes to reach the FARP site. I could feel the helicopter bank and make a wide turn like we were water circling a drain. We seemed to be doing laps around a particular area. The crew chiefs were at the doors scanning the ground from the windows. From the corner of my eye, I could see that the red blinking line on the fuel gauge was even smaller.

Once again, we were jammed into the cabin. Tom was sitting next to me. Walt had to sit on Bin Laden’s body, which was lying at my feet in the center of the cabin.

Soon after takeoff, my legs started falling asleep and I tried to wiggle my toes to keep the blood circulating. I knew that in the big scheme of events, our portion of the night’s work was now done. Still, none of us could relax until we got fuel and we were safely across the border.

Looking back into the dark cabin again, I forced the fuel issue out of my mind. We were all type A guys who liked to be in control. About thirty-eight minutes ago, all I wanted to do was push the rope out of the helicopter, slide down it, and assault the compound. Now, with that portion of the mission accomplished, I was again stuck in a helicopter with nothing to do.

What good was worrying about fuel going to do? I wasn’t a pilot. The red blinking lights could be Christmas lights for all I knew.

The helicopter did another long loop before banking hard and quickly descending into a hover. The crew chief threw open the door and I could finally see the dark silhouette of a CH-47 about fifty yards away.

Some of the SEALs from the other squadron were pulling security in the waist-high grass. As we touched down, they were on one knee facing away from the helicopter, scanning the horizon for signs of the Pakistani military or police. Rotor wash whipped the grass around them.

A pair of Army fuelers wearing goggles to protect their eyes from debris hauled a hose up to the Black Hawk. As the rotors spun, they connected the hose to the fuel tank.

“To save on weight, they want four or five of us to get off and ride back with the forty-seven,” Tom shouted over the noise of the helicopter.

With the additional weight from the body and a full fuel tank, we needed to lighten the load. The pilots were going to err on the side of safety. I saw a couple of guys get off, including Charlie.

Back in Abbottabad, the explosion at the compound had finally attracted the attention of the Pakistani military. Unknown to us, they grounded all of their aircraft and started a head count. With everyone accounted for, they scrambled two F-16 fighters armed with 30mm cannons and air-to-air missiles. Pakistan’s military has always maintained a state of high alert against India. Most of the country’s air defenses are aimed east toward that threat. The jets roared into the sky and raced toward the Abbottabad area.

Sitting in the helicopter, I checked my watch. I was impatient and wanted to get back to Jalalabad. I wanted to get out and help. We all did, but I knew the fuelers had a job just like we had our job. If I tried to help, it would only slow things down. And right now, the success of the mission hinged on the fuelers getting the helicopter airborne again.

The lone CH-47 that extracted the guys from Chalk Two was long gone when the jets arrived over the compound.

I watched as the fuelers snapped the hoses off our helicopter and dragged them back toward the CH-47. The rotors on their helicopter were starting to spin as the fuelers rolled the hose back up the ramp. The security team peeled back and got on board.

One after the other, both helicopters lifted off and headed west for Afghanistan. No more blinking lights. Now all we needed to do was get back across the border.

I checked my watch again. It took us twenty minutes to refuel. In my mind, I could see Pakistani jets chasing us. I didn’t know then, but the F-16s circled around Abbottabad before widening their search.

My brain went back to the booklet on Pakistan’s air defenses. There was no chance they didn’t know we were there. I just hoped we had a big enough lead on anything chasing us.

For the first time since getting the ten-minute call before the assault, I finally took my helmet off. Running my hand through my matted, sweaty hair, I forced all thoughts of jets and air-to-air missiles out of my head. We had roughly forty-five minutes until we got back to Jalalabad, and I didn’t want to sit there and worry. I was grateful when Tom gave us something to do.

“Let’s search the body again and make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

Walt climbed off of Bin Laden’s chest and put on a pair of rubber gloves. I slid the zipper down, and we pulled the bag open, exposing the body. Walt started to pat him down, first in front, and then he slid his hands along the body’s sides and back. Then we checked the pockets in his pants. We were looking for pocket litter—papers with phone numbers and other information.

As Walt searched, I noticed the crew chiefs on the helicopter were trying to get a look at the body. They’d scan outside the door and then steal a peek over their shoulder at the body. We waved them over and I shined a red-lens flashlight on Bin Laden’s face.

Their eyes lit up. They kept smiling. I could see both felt proud to be part of the mission. We had trained with them since the first days in North Carolina. Without these guys, there was no mission. They safely negotiated the Pakistani air defenses and now were minutes from getting us home. Seeing their excitement, I got my first sense that this was going to be bigger than we’d imagined.

Walt didn’t find anything. He zipped the bag up and returned to his seat on Bin Laden’s chest.

I closed my eyes and started to process what happened. Just more than an hour ago, I thought we were all going to die in a helicopter crash. It was funny, the crash stuck with me a lot longer than getting shot at through the door. I’d been in firefights, but the crash was a first. It happened in slow motion. I had time to think about it. I could feel tightness in my chest creeping in as I thought about falling out of the sky. I could see the ground rushing up at us.

I had no control, and that scared me the most.

Part of me felt like we had failed despite the body at my feet. We weren’t able to get as much intelligence as we could have. We left drawers unopened. The hallway on the second deck had stacks of boxes untouched. We usually did a better job, but we just ran out of time. We were perfectionists, and while the rest of the operation went smoothly after the crash, the SSE wasn’t up to standards.

We were always our own worst critics.

The radio squawked in my ear, shaking me from my daze.

“We’re back in Afghan airspace,” Tom said.

I’d find out later that we had a good head start, and the jets never got close to catching us.

Fifteen minutes later, I could see the ring of bright lights in Jalalabad. It was a scene I’d experienced hundreds of times, and this time didn’t feel much different. I knew that we’d made it back and in a few minutes we’d be on the ground and safe.

The helicopter set down just outside of the hangar. The protective halo of lights was on, and a white Toyota Hilux pickup was waiting for us on the tarmac.

As we climbed out, I could see three Army Rangers from the truck coming up to get the body. They’d been tasked with taking it from J-bad to Bagram.

The soldiers were led by a first sergeant who I’d worked with on my last rotation. He was still in the country since I’d gone home a month earlier. We’d run into each other a few times in the chow hall before the mission. He was squared away. We had a relationship of mutual respect.

But as they started to come toward the cabin to grab the body, we waved them off. This was our mission.

“Fuck no,” Walt barked. “We got this.”

We’d gone all the way to Pakistan to get him. We needed to see this thing all the way through.

I grabbed a handle on the body bag and we carried it to the back of the truck. I jumped on the tailgate, sitting backward. I could see everybody else piling out of the CH-47 and for a second felt a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders. Everyone made it back safely.

As we drove, the first sergeant grabbed my shoulder. When I looked up, he had his hand out with a 75th Ranger Regiment coin in his palm.

“You’ll be my son’s hero for the rest of his life,” the first sergeant said. “Congratulations.”

I nodded. I was really just happy that everyone was alive and home safe. We didn’t have time to think about legacy.