Mark Owen - No Easy Day

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.

Just inside the hangar, I saw Admiral McRaven.

He was standing by himself near the door with his hands in his pockets. He must have come over from the Joint Operations Center as soon as he heard the radio call that we crossed the border.

The truck stopped just outside the door of the hangar, and he came over to the back near the tailgate. He seemed eager to see the body.

“Let’s see him,” McRaven said.

“OK, sir,” I said, sliding off the tailgate.

I grabbed the bottom of the body bag and pulled it off the truck. It flopped on the cement floor like a dead fish. Kneeling down, I unzipped the bag. Almost all of the color had faded from his face and his skin looked ashy and gray. The body was mushy, and congealed blood had pooled at the bottom of the bag.

“There’s your boy,” I said.

McRaven, dressed in his tan digital camouflage uniform, stood over Bin Laden as I grabbed his beard and pulled his head to each side so the admiral could see his profile.

“He obviously just dyed his beard,” I said. “He doesn’t look as old as I expected he would.”

I stood up and backed away as the others gathered around the body. Many of the guys from the other helicopters hadn’t seen him yet. Soon, there was a crowd around McRaven, who had knelt down to get a better look.

“He is supposed to be six foot four,” McRaven said, scanning the crowd.

I saw him point.

“How tall are you?”

One of the SEALs answered. “Six four,” he said.

“Do you mind lying down next to him?” McRaven said.

After a quick double take to make sure McRaven wasn’t just fucking with him, the SEAL got down beside the body bag as McRaven eyeballed the measurement.

“OK. OK,” McRaven said. “Stand back up.”

The measurement was mostly a joke. But Bin Laden didn’t look quite like we had imagined. I am sure McRaven was having the same thoughts I had back on the third deck.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, I saw Jen. She looked pale and stressed under the bright lights of the hangar. Guys were still walking into the hangar when she saw Ali. He smiled at her and she started crying. A couple of the SEALs put their arms around her and walked her over to the edge of the group to look at the body, which surprised me.

A few days before in the chow hall, Jen had told me she didn’t want to see Bin Laden’s body.

“I have no interest in seeing it,” she told me. “My job description doesn’t include having to look at a dead body.”

I was sure this was some sort of bravado. She didn’t have to get dirty in her line of work. She wore expensive high heels and she didn’t worry about carrying dead weight to a waiting helicopter. She’d beaten Bin Laden on an intellectual level.

“If we pull this off,” I had told her from across the table, “you’ve got to see the body.”

Back in the hangar, Jen stayed on the perimeter of the crowd. She didn’t say anything, but I knew from her reaction she could see Bin Laden’s body on the floor. With tears rolling down her cheeks, I could tell it was taking a while for Jen to process. She’d spent half a decade tracking this man. And now there he was at her feet.

It was easier for us.

We saw dead bodies all the time. It was the kind of ugly we lived with, and we spent no time thinking about once it was finished. We were not jaded warmongers, but if you’ve seen one dead body, you’ve seen them all.

People at Jen’s level never had to deal with the blood. So to finally see Bin Laden’s body at her feet must have been jarring.

I wandered away from the crowd. Leaning against the truck, I set down my rifle on the tailgate and stuffed my gloves into one of my cargo pockets. Most of the guys were back now and coming into the hangar. There were a lot of smiles.

Teddy was one of the last guys to walk into the hangar. I could tell by his face he was mad and maybe even a little embarrassed by the helicopter crash. I intercepted him as he walked into the hangar and gave him a crushing bear hug.

“Teddy,” I said. “You’re the heat.”

He gave me a sheepish smile and tried to wiggle out of my grip.

“Dude, seriously,” I said.

I know for a fact he kept the mission on track by ditching the way he did. Everybody was focused on who pulled the trigger but it was a lot harder to land a crashing helicopter than it was for any of us to pull the trigger. One wrong move and we all would have been in a pile of debris in the courtyard. Teddy saved all of our lives.

“Strong work,” Walt said, giving me a handshake that turned into a hug.

For the next few minutes, we all rotated around, congratulating one another. People were still coming into the hangar. I don’t remember who I talked to as much as I do how it felt to be back safe.

It didn’t take long for the shit-talking to start.

“Blow up the house? Really?” I heard Charlie say to the EOD guy.

Eventually, we got together for a few posed pictures. We were one big team. As soon as the picture-taking ended, we all went back into work mode. Our five minutes of fun was over and it was time to get to Bagram to get the intelligence processed.