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

phone.
    “Hey, what’s up?” I said when Phil picked up.
    It was well after eight at night, since I’d come from the West Coast.
    “Still here,” he said. “Come into work tomorrow early and I will get you up to speed. Planning is underway. But we’re waiting for D.C. to make a decision.”
    The next morning, I was at work early. Phil met me in the squadron room. We sat down at the conference room table.
    “We’ve got one hostage,” Phil said. “Four pirates. They want two million dollars for him.”
    “Nothing like knowing exactly what you’re worth,” I said.
    “I’d ask for more,” Phil said. “A couple of million seems a bit light, unless you ask my ex-wife.”
    “Where are they going?” I asked.
    “They want to link up with their buddies and try and get Phillips to a camp or a mother ship,” Phil said. “So, we’ve got to be ready to do a ship takedown or go over the beach and take out one of the camps.”
    We’d spent years preparing for either mission.
    “We’ve already got a handful of guys on the
Bainbridge
,” Phil said. “They were working in Africa and jumped in last night. Negotiations broke down Thursday.”
    “How long do we have before they make shore?” I asked.
    “They don’t want to make landfall where they are now because of some tribal issues,” Phil said. “Their tribe is a little farther south so they can’t make landfall for another two days, so hopefully we have a timeline to work against.”
    I asked about the recall.
    “No recall, but it’s being discussed,” Phil said.
    “Why haven’t we heard anything yet?” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense that it takes this long to make a decision.”
    “Dude, it’s Washington,” he said. “Does anything make sense?”
    A day later, we finally got a page recalling us. Most of us were already at the command. Our gear was packed and ready.

    About twenty hours later, the ramp of the C-17 cracked open and sunlight spilled into the cabin.
    I could feel the breeze on my face as I shielded my eyes from the bright East African sun. Minutes later, I saw the small parachute attached to a massive gray high-speed assault craft (HSAC) snap open and start to drag the boat out of the back of the plane. The boats were loaded with all the gear we needed. The plan was to drop them and the crews first, followed by the assault teams.
    CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
    I could hear the boat on the metal rollers as it started toward the door, picking up speed before disappearing off the ramp. Moments later, a second parachute opened and the gray blur of the second boat flew past as it shot out, followed by the boat crews.
    “Yeah,” I yelled as I watched the boats go. Others around me cheered as the boat crews disappeared off the ramp.
    My heart was beating faster, more from excitement than anything else, as I waited for the thumbs-up from my teammates on the ramp. They were watching to make sure the chutes on the boats opened.
    We were jumping over the horizon from the USS
Bainbridge
so the pirates couldn’t see us. The USS
Boxer
, an amphibious assault ship used to carry Marines into battle, was going to rendezvous with us and we’d stage off of her deck.
    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