Mark Owen - No Easy Day

In the water below, the boat crews landed near the HSACs and started clearing off the parachutes. We had thirty minutes to wait before we jumped, which seemed like much longer.

I was sitting near the front of the plane on one of the bench seats. On top of me was one of my squadron’s communications specialists. He was wearing a tandem passenger harness strapped to the front of me. Hours before, he’d learned that not only was he going to Africa to help us with a hostage situation but he was also going to jump into the Indian Ocean to do it.

In order to get all needed personnel down to the USS Boxer , we had to jump three tandem passengers, including the communications specialists. These three non-SEALs were essential support personnel. During the flight over, I had a chance to sit down with the communications tech and brief him.

“You’re mine,” I said to him. “You ready for this?”

He was thin with a short haircut and a bookish demeanor. He looked a little nervous when I started to go over the jump and what to expect.

“You ever jumped before?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

When we got the six-minute call, everyone stood up to do our last-minute checks. I noticed the communications specialist looked pale. He hadn’t said a word since the door opened the first time. At least my first jump was over Arizona. His was a real-world jump into the Indian Ocean.

“We’re going to be fine,” I said.

He didn’t look convinced.

The ramp opened again. There were about forty jumpers on the plane, and we lined up on the ramp.

“Stand by,” the jumpmaster yelled, giving us the signal that we had less than thirty seconds before the jump.

I could feel the communications specialist’s leg start to shake. It was practically vibrating as we got closer to the ramp.

“Hey, buddy, just relax,” I said.

All I needed him to do was remember everything I had told him.

“Green light, GO!”

The jumpmaster pointed off the ramp.

Up ahead, everyone started waddling to the ramp and diving off one by one. As we got closer to the ramp, I could see the sky and water meet at the horizon. I reached up and tapped my passenger on the shoulder twice and screamed over the wind into his ear.

“HANG!”

That was the signal to get into position. I wanted his toes hanging over the edge of the ramp so when we dove out I didn’t rake his shins on the ramp.

He froze. I could feel his feet try and dig into the ramp. I tapped him again and yelled.

“HANG!”

Again, he didn’t move.

We didn’t have time to wait. I pushed him forward and we dove off the ramp.

The drogue chute popped off my back. The small parachute helped stabilize us and controlled our speed during free fall. Just like during hundreds of other jumps, I went through my checks and pulled the handle and opened the main canopy.

Suddenly, all the airplane noise bled away and everything was perfectly quiet. The only sound was the chute snapping in the wind.

Looking around, it was beautiful. The fresh air was a welcome relief from the C-17 cabin. The sky and water were the same crystal blue and only a few wispy clouds were high above us. Scanning below me, I could see a maelstrom of parachutes all circling the four gray boats bobbing on the ocean below.

It looked like a World War II dogfight as my teammates swooped around in circles avoiding one another and coming to rest in the ocean.

The water was calm, with very small waves. Not far off I could see the flat deck of the USS Boxer waiting for us. As we came in, I flared out the parachute and splashed down into the bathtub-temperature water. Unhooking the communications specialist, I started to work my way out of the parachute harness.

We weren’t more than twenty yards from the boat. Sliding my flippers off my ankles, where I’d taped them for the jump, I started to swim over to the communications specialist. Behind me, the chute started to slip below the surface as the reserve parachute filled with water, dragging it to the bottom. I swam up to the communications specialist as he paddled, in a life jacket, toward the ladder hanging off the boat.

“How was it, dude?” I said.

“That was crazy,” he said.

It was the first time I saw him smile since the ramp opened.

Climbing aboard the HSAC, I found a place near the front while we waited to get a head count. Since the boats were only built for twelve people, it got crowded quickly. I climbed to the bow and let my feet dangle in the water. I let the current push my fins around.

“Hey man, did you see any sharks?” one teammate said to me as he climbed into the bow area.

“No,” I said. I knew the waters around here were infested, but I hadn’t noticed anything coming in.

“Dude, as I was coming in I saw this massive shadow below,” he said.

I slid my fins closer to the boat.

During our flight over, Phillips tried to escape, ratcheting up tensions. He made it into the water before being fished out at gunpoint. The pirates bound the captain’s hands and threw a phone and American two-way radio into the ocean, thinking the captain was somehow taking orders from the ship.

By now, the lifeboat was out of fuel and was adrift. Commander Frank Castellano, captain of the USS Bainbridge , persuaded the pirates to be towed by the destroyer, and to allow the ship’s rigid-hulled inflatable boat to deliver food and water. During one of the supply runs, the fourth pirate, Abduhl Wal-i-Musi, asked for medical attention for a cut hand. He was transferred to the Bainbridge for treatment. He’d been injured when Phillips attempted to escape.

After setting up on the USS Boxer on Saturday, we sent a small team over to the USS Bainbridge . The rest of the squadron was told to hold tight. In the event that the lifeboat made landfall, we would be forced to attempt a rescue mission on shore.

The team that went over to the Bainbridge was made up of an assault team, multiple snipers, and a small command element. The SEALs set up an overwatch position on the fantail of the Bainbridge . Snipers started a rotating watch as negotiations continued. We waited patiently for the situation to develop.

On Sunday, we suddenly got word that Phillips was now on board the USS Bainbridge and safe. Soon all the guys were back and I ran into my friend Gary. He was in the class ahead of me during BUD/S. Gary came to Green Team a few years after me. He started his SEAL career driving mini-subs. It was funny to think of him folding his six-foot-four-inch frame into the sub. He was awarded a Silver Star on the last deployment. He literally stitched up five guys trying to flank his element during a mission in Kandahar. Gary went over to the Bainbridge and was in charge of interrogating the captured pirate Wal-i-Musi.

We shook hands.

“Dude, holy shit, give me some scoop.” I said.

“We caught the last one when he popped his head up and smoke checked all three,” Gary said.

Gary told me he was tasked with talking to the injured pirate, Musi. Gary hoped the pirate could persuade his comrades to surrender. Gary started killing Musi with kindness when he got to the Bainbridge .

“Hey, man, want some ice cream?” he said. “How about a cold Coke?”

Musi and Gary struck up a quick friendship over food and comfort. Gary kept Musi out in the open so the other pirates could see him drinking Cokes and eating ice cream. Since the pirates still on the lifeboat had to yell back and forth to negotiate.

“I can’t hear,” Gary told Musi. “Tell them to pull the rope in.”

Musi agreed and the line got shorter and shorter, the lifeboat inching closer to the Bainbridge . The seas were getting rough and with no engine the lifeboat was getting tossed around. As it got dark, Gary and his teammates pulled the lifeboat even closer. It was pitch-black and there was no way the pirates could tell they were being pulled closer to the USS Bainbridge . On the fantail, Gary and his teammates scanned the lifeboat. Infrared lasers that can be seen only through night vision goggles danced over the skin of the boat.