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

almost bothered me more than not knowing. There was no way I was going to wait until late morning to get started. I needed to catch up.
    A single-lane cement road led to a gate. Large ten-foot-tall wooden security barriers lined the road, making it impossible to see inside the compound. Pulling through the gate, I started toward the parking lot in front of two 1970s-era two-story concrete buildings.
    As I pulled up, I saw two of my buddies walking into one of the buildings. I gave a quick honk and parked in a nearby space. They stopped and waited for me. A light rain was falling, and I hustled over.
    “You’re early,” they said. “We just finished breakfast. What time did you get on the road?”
    “Early,” I said, skipping right to it. “What do we have?”
    I wanted instant gratification.
    “You ready?” one said, smiling. “UBL.”
    “No fucking way.”
    Charlie was right the whole time. I couldn’t believe it. Now all of the talk from the mulch guy made sense. Jay was in D.C. helping plan this mission.
    “Yep, UBL,” one guy said. “They found him.”
    “Where?” I said.
    “Pakistan.”



CHAPTER 10
The Pacer
    They led me into a conference room that served as the operations center.
    Laptops and printers were set up on folding tables. Maps of Pakistan hung on one wall, including maps of a city called Abbottabad. All of the furniture was made of faux leather, with under-stuffed cushions and metal armrests. The guys had pushed most of the lounge furniture to one side next to the plastic plants to make room for gear.
    The room was empty except for a few civilians from the CIA working quietly. I tried to take in some of the maps and photographs, but it was all so overwhelming. I still couldn’t believe they finally found Osama bin Laden.
    We had never had any good leads. He was like a specter hanging over the whole war. We all dreamt about being on the mission to kill or capture him, but no one really thought about it seriously. There was too much luck involved. We all knew it came down to being in the right place at the right time, and walking into the operations center that Tuesday it appeared we were all in the right place. They had simply handpicked the most senior guys in the squadron rather than pull an existing troop.
    Mike walked up and saw us in front of the organizational chart. There were twenty-eight names on the list, including an EOD tech. An interpreter and a combat assault dog, named Cairo, rounded out the team.
    “Ali is a terp from the agency,” Mike said. “Terp” was short for interpreter. There would also be four alternates in case someone got hurt in training. “We broke everything down into four teams, and I’ve got you down as one of the four team leaders.”
    Tom was also listed as a team leader.
    “You’ll be on Chalk One for the infil,” Mike said. “Your team is responsible for the guesthouse, C1, to the south.”
    C1 was the designation for the guesthouse, a separate structure from the main house in the compound, which was where Bin Laden would most likely be living. Chalk One and Chalk Two referred to the two helicopters that would carry us on the mission.
    I noticed Charlie and Walt were also in Chalk One, but on a different team. The mission was organized so that both helicopters had the same capabilities. Chalk One mirrored Chalk Two. I had an officer on my team who would step in if Jay’s bird went down. Mike, our master chief, counted as part of my team, but once on the ground he was there to direct traffic and keep us on the timeline.
    The layout of the target was still unfamiliar. I could see a diagram on one wall showing the compound and the arrow-like shape of its walls. I knew the guesthouse was a peripheral assignment; I’d be lying if I told you for a split second I didn’t wish I was going to be part of the team that was tasked with going to the roof of the main building, called A1. If all went as planned they would be the first team to make entry into the third floor, where Bin Laden was thought to be living. That wish quickly faded and I focused on what I was tasked with. There was plenty of action to go around, and I was just happy to be a part of the mission.
    “Check,” I said, studying the chart. “Is Will coming back for this?”
    Will rounded out my team. He was assigned to our sister squadron, which was already based in Jalalabad, Afghanistan. A self-taught Arabic speaker, Will would be able to communicate with Bin Laden’s