Free Kill Bin Laden: a Delta Force Commander's account of the hunt for the world's most wanted man by Dalton Fury Page B

ready for the entire nightmare to be over. When he finished his short brief, he turned me around and pointed me in the initial direction.
    It was pitch-dark, no moon yet, and the ground was soaked. Had I not been steered in the right direction, I might easily have walked off the edge of the earth. Armed with a rubber M-16 rifle, eight different map sheets, and a compass, and toting a sixty-pound rucksack, I was away on the first of what would soon seem like a lifetime’s worth of steps.
    Trying to jog the trails at night was stupid. After three weeks of assessment, this was not the time to twist an ankle or blow a knee, both easy to do in the blackness on an unknown trail. I maintained my own desired pace for an hour, maintaining a good pace count so as not to miss a turn in the trail. One wrong turn could spell the end.
    Incessant pain in my upper back helped keep my mind off the weight of the rucksack digging into my shoulders during the hour that passed before I came into contact with any other humans. Four or five candidates were whispering to each other as they huddled around the white light of a candidate’s flashlight that illuminated a rain-soaked map case. The trail had gone cold because heavy rains had flooded the low areas and deep pools of rainwater hid what I thought was the desired footpath.
    The discussion centered on whether to go through the water in hopes of picking up the trail when the terrain rose, or steer around it by taking some other trail that was not seen on the map. I had stopped for a breather close by and tried to listen in to the verbal logic train. Just then, a Ranger candidate stepped from the darkness, breathing heavily. He was soaked up to his chest, and his rucksack still dripped water. His compass dangled from around his neck as he held his map and flashlight in one hand and weapon in the other.
    He silently signaled to the huddled group that trying to ford the flooded trail was not an option. The Ranger then approached me and said, “No way, man. It’s too deep.” I recognized him them. Nitro was a seasoned Ranger squad leader from Savannah, Georgia, home of the 1st Ranger Battalion.
    We were under strict orders not to talk to anyone during the exercise, but taking risks is what this business is all about anyway. Delta was not looking for choirboys. “How far did you get?” I asked.
    “About twenty meters or so. It’s hard to tell.”
    I looked at my map again, my hand wiping rainwater off the plastic case, but preventing me from seeing the important fine brown contour lines telling elevation and the blue dotted lines that showed an intermittent stream.
    “I’m going for it,” I said quietly. “Can’t afford to go around. It will take twice as long to get back on the right trail.”
    “I don’t know, man. I don’t think you can make it.” Nitro’s opinion was not to be underestimated, but time was our enemy.
    I glanced over at the group. Some were still debating the issue while others had already taken off to find an alternate route. Their flashlight beams could be seen faintly in the distance.
We’re wasting time here
, I thought.
    “You can always go around if you want, or you can come with me,” I offered, “We’ll strike some high ground not too far past where you turned around.”
    Nitro looked at me for a second, shifted his heavy rucksack around on his back and shoulders. “Alright, I’m with ya,” he said. Years later in Aghanistan, I saw Nitro’s courage firsthand in the face of enormous odds and ambiguous surroundings.
    By now I was completely soaked, except for one area, and a few steps later, the icy water finally reached my groin, too, giving me a frigid reality check. I don’t exactly remember when Nitro and I eventually split up, but once we lost each other, another twenty-nine hours passed before I saw him again.
    The rain worsened over the next few hours and my body temperature was dropping fast. I had only eaten a single bite of a chocolate