HOMEPAGE

O homem que matou Osama Bin Laden
Publicado em: 12 Fev, 2013
Partilhar: Partilhar no Twitter

So we’re looking down the hallway at the door to the stairwell. I figured this was the only door to get upstairs, which means the people upstairs can’t get down. If there had been another way up, we would have found it by then.

We were at a standstill on the ground floor, waiting for the breacher to do his work.

We’d always assumed we’d be surrounded at some point. You see the videos of him walking around and he’s got all those jihadis. But they weren’t prepared. They got all complacent. The guys that could shoot shot, but we were on top of them so fast.

Right then, I heard one of the guys talking about something, blah, blah, blah, the helo crashed. I asked, What helo crashed? He said it was in the yard. And I said, Bullshit! We’re never getting out of here now. We have to kill this guy. I thought we’d have to steal cars and drive to Islamabad. Because the other option was to stick around and wait for the Pakistani military to show up. Hopefully, we don’t shoot it out with them. We’re going to end up in prison here, with someone negotiating for us, and that’s just bad. That’s when I got concerned.

I’ve thought about death before, when I’ve been pinned down for an hour getting shot at. And I wondered what it was going to feel like taking one of those in the face. How long was it going to hurt? But I didn’t think about that here.

One of the snipers who’d seen the disabled helo approached just before they went into the main building. He said, “Hey, dude, they’ve got an awesome mock-up of our helo in their yard.” I said, “No, dude. They shot one of ours down.” He said, “Okay, that makes more sense than the shit I was saying.”

The breacher had to blast the door twice for it to open. We started rolling up.

Team members didn’t need much communication, or any orders, once they were on line. We’re reading each other every second. We’ve gotten so good at war, we didn’t need anything more.

I was about five guys back on the stairway when I saw the point man holding up. He’d seen Khalid, bin Laden’s [twenty-three-year-old] son. I heard him whisper, “Khalid… come here…” in Arabic, then in Pashto. He used his name. That confused Khalid. He’s probably thinking, “I just heard shitty Arabic and shitty Pashto. Who the fuck is this?” He leaned out, armed with an AK, and he got blasted by the point man. That call-out was one of the best combat moves I’ve ever seen. Khalid had on a white T-shirt and, like, white pajama pants. He was the last line of security.

I remember thinking then: I wish we could live through this night, because this is amazing. I was still expecting all kinds of funky shit like escape slides or safe rooms.

The point man moved past doors on the second floor and the four or five guys in front of me started to peel off to clear those rooms, which is always how the flow works. We’re just clearing as we go, watching our backs.

They step over and past Khalid, who’s dead on the stairs.

The point man, at that time, saw a guy on the third floor, peeking around a curtain in front of the hallway. Bin Laden was the only adult male left to find. The point man took a shot, maybe two, and the man upstairs disappeared back into a room. I didn’t see that because I was looking back.

I don’t think he hit him. He thinks he might have.

So there’s the point man on the stairs, waiting for someone to move into the number-two position. Originally I was five or six man, but the train flowed off to clear the second floor. So I roll up behind him. He told me later, “I knew I had some ass,” meaning somebody to back him up. I turn around and look. There’s nobody else coming up.

On the third floor, there were two chicks yelling at us and the point man was yelling at them and he said to me, “Hey, we need to get moving. These bitches is getting truculent.” I remember saying to myself, Truculent? Really? Love that word.

I kept looking behind us, and there was still no one else there.

By then we realized we weren’t getting more guys. We had to move, because bin Laden is now going to be grabbing some weapon because he’s getting shot at. I had my hand on the point man’s shoulder and squeezed, a signal to go. The two of us went up. On the third floor, he tackled the two women in the hallway right outside the first door on the right, moving them past it just enough. He thought he was going to absorb the blast of suicide vests; he was going to kill himself so I could get the shot. It was the most heroic thing I’ve ever seen.

I rolled past him into the room, just inside the doorway.

There was bin Laden standing there. He had his hands on a woman’s shoulders, pushing her ahead, not exactly toward me but by me, in the direction of the hallway commotion. It was his youngest wife, Amal.

The SEALs had nightscopes, but it was coal-black for bin Laden and the other residents. He can hear but he can’t see.

He looked confused. And way taller than I was expecting. He had a cap on and didn’t appear to be hit. I can’t tell you 100 percent, but he was standing and moving. He was holding her in front of him. Maybe as a shield, I don’t know.









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