Hunters: U.S. Snipers in the War on Terror (6 page)

When the marines departed Afghanistan, Baker was satisfied with his time there. His role as a sniper covered surveillance, reconnaissance, and an engagement. He was one of the first Marine snipers to set foot in the country and to dispatch an enemy fighter. It was just the start of the war for conventional snipers, and for Baker, it was a success.

IN
the covert world of Special Operations, sniping is a highly regarded skill. Though it is one among many, snipers within Special Operations Forces know they will be called upon more often than not, especially when precision is needed. However, sniping is more than just shooting, and Spec-Ops warriors understand this better than any. In Afghanistan, two very different operators, a Navy SEAL and a Green Beret, experienced sniping and all its facets.

Chris, a Navy SEAL, wanted sniper training. He could have chosen the Naval Special Warfare sniper school, but his friend, an instructor at the First Marine Division Scout/Sniper School, guaranteed him a slot if he chose to go there. When he asked his platoon chief, the salty SEAL advised against it.

“You don’t want to do that. Do you realize that you are going to go up there, throw a rucksack on, and get beat? You’re going to be treated like dirt for ten weeks. Why would you want to do that?” asked his chief. He had been around long enough to know the reputation of U.S. Marines.

“I just want to do it. I’ve always wanted to be a sniper, and I want to go to that school,” explained Chris.

After a second, his chief replied, “OK. You’re an idiot, but go for it.”

Chris could handle the games. After all, he had been a marine before. He had started his career as a Marine artilleryman and by his fourth year in, he had passed the reconnaissance screening, but because he was a 0811, field artillery cannoneer, he was denied entry into the special unit. It was not until he took his wife to the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego for their anniversary and saw the “team guys” running by on the beach that he finally decided to pursue his childhood dream. In 1996 Chris attended Naval Special Warfare’s Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training and started his journey to become a Navy SEAL.

Four years later, he was back with the Marines, but this time it was different. He was one of two SEALs at the Marine sniper school. His class, 04-01, was the last one of the fiscal year in 2001. It started in July, and for three months, Chris and the other SEALs played the games at sniper school, but did everything the SEAL way. During field week, while the marines drew pictures and field sketches of the objectives, Chris and his partner took pictures with high-powered cameras. While the marines loaded their packs with their heavy radios and other equipment, Chris used his special lightweight and compact issued gear that the Marines had not even heard of.

By September, Chris had passed all the qualifications. He was two days from graduation, when on the morning of the 11th he pulled into the sniper school parking lot and an instructor stopped him, asking if he’d heard the news.

“No, what’s up?” replied Chris.

“We’ve just been attacked by terrorists,” said the marine.

Chris strolled into the classroom to find the other students huddled around a radio. They listened in detail to exactly what had happened. The instructors handed out still photos of the planes crashing into the World Trade Center towers.

The SEALs knew what to expect, and within hours there was a phone call. It was for Chris, and when he answered, the voice on the other end was serious and strict.

“Petty Officer Osman, your platoon has been recalled.”

This was not a drill, and the SEALs needed to report back to their team. Chris packed his gear. The marines asked him where he was going, but he could not talk about it. He said a final farewell and was gone.

The ride to Coronado was full of anticipation. Chris wondered if this could finally be the call he had always dreamed about—the call to go to war. At his base, guards searched everyone, and a long line congested the road to get in. They questioned Chris about the weapons in his truck, but when they found out he was a SEAL, the guards let him in.

In his team room, Chris learned his fate. The terrorist attacks called for swift retaliation, and there would be blood. His unit, SEAL Team Three, Echo Platoon, was a desert warfare team with an area of responsibility of Southwest Asia, and they were chosen to deploy immediately. His platoon began packing and when Chris was finished with the meeting, he packed as well. Each of them had a locker the size of a small room, full of gear and equipment. Chris pulled everything from flashlights to his ghillie suit and stuffed it into his bags.

As the platoon ordnance rep, Chris accounted for all of the platoon’s weapons. The armory held their MK-23 and P226 Sig Sauer pistols, M4s with accessory kits, M60s, and M203 machine guns. These, along with M14 and MK-11 sniper rifles, were a few of their weapons. Altogether, it was a mini-arsenal but standard for a sixteen-man SEAL team. It took two days to pack everything, and when they were done the team had seven pallets of gear, all vital equipment necessary for a SEAL platoon deployment.

During that time, the team also underwent isolation. No phone calls, no leaving base. They could not even go to chow without being escorted. They also began paperwork and were ordered to fill out their last will and testament. Chris left everything to his wife and daughter.

By week’s end, Chris was allowed home. He kissed his wife and daughter good-bye but could not tell them where he was going because he did not even know. Though it was a painful moment, the possibility of having to do it had always been in the back of his mind. The only difference was that now it was all real.

When they returned to base, the SEALs loaded up. A massive C5 cargo plane awaited them at North Island Naval Air Station in Coronado. The small group of warriors boarded the plane, and though Chris still had no clue as to where they were headed, he knew that they were going to fight terrorists, and that was all that mattered.

On September 11, 2001, a few thousand miles from Camp Pendleton, California, Bobby, an Army Special Forces (SF) soldier, prepared for combat divers course. At Fort Bragg, North Carolina, he arrived at the pool early to practice Navy drown-proofing.

At the deep end of the pool, straps were bound to his wrists and ankles. The idea was to push off the bottom and get a breath at the top without using his hands or feet for propulsion. Halfway through the exercise, when he lifted his head from the water for a breath of air, Bobby heard the female lifeguard crying.

“It’s so horrible,” she said.

Underwater, Bobby wondered what she was talking about. On his next grasp for air, the woman screamed again.

“I can’t believe they hit the buildings! Everyone’s dead!”

“What on earth is she talking about?” thought Bobby.

His next time up, a friend grabbed him by the arm.

“There’s some bad stuff going on. You need to see this,” he said.

Bobby got out of the pool and walked into the lifeguard’s office dripping wet. He watched the planes crashing on TV, and after a few minutes, he and his friend went back to their team room to learn the entirety of the attacks.

Bobby was in a U.S. Army Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) unit, also known as an A-team. As part of Third Special Forces Group, his team could deploy at any moment and were capable of facing just about any contingency thrown at them. The bad news, however, was that after al-Qaeda claimed responsibility, United States Special Operations Command (USSOCOM) formed a plan that kept Bobby’s unit out of the first few months of the War on Terror. He would have to wait to see action. Just like any soldier, he did not want to wait. He had done plenty of waiting, and he wanted to finally put to use the years and years of training.

Bobby had started his Army career in the regular infantry. In the Eighty-second Airborne Division, he had done almost every job available to an infantryman. He was a point man, breacher, Squad Automatic Weapons (SAW) gunner, radio operator, and machine gunner, but deep down, he wanted more. By the time he was an E4 specialist, two opportunities came his way to do just that.

He had always wanted to be an Army Ranger. When he was twelve years old, his family went to an air show on a local Army base. Bobby watched in awe as Rangers jumped from airplanes, parachuting onto the airstrip in front of him. He noticed everything about them—their camouflaged face paint and weapons and their beaming confidence. When the Rangers reached the crowd, they gave away recruiting flyers, but Bobby did not take one. He already knew that he was joining the Army, and he wanted to be a Ranger.

While still an infantryman, Bobby begged for the chance to go to Ranger school. After he discovered that one of the squad leaders in his platoon had failed the physical training test on the first day of Ranger school, Bobby walked straight into his platoon sergeant’s office.

“Sergeant, I think I’m ready to go to Ranger school,” he said.

“What makes you so sure that you’re ready to go?” inquired his platoon sergeant.

“Well,” he said, “I guarantee you that I won’t go down there and fail the PT test.”

Bobby’s confidence won over his leader—that and his stellar physical fitness performance. He consistently ran a sub twelve-minute two-mile. His platoon sergeant directed him to the soldier in charge of allocating schools, and before he knew it, Bobby got his wish.

In the summer of 1996, Specialist Bobby checked into Ranger school. The beginning test, the Ranger assessment phase, indicated how tough the school would be. Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, a five-mile run under forty minutes, a water survival assessment, a day-and-night land navigation course with a map and compass, and a twelve-mile hump with full gear were just the start. It was a grinder, but the school only got harder.

For sixty-one days straight, Bobby experienced the nightmare that is Ranger school. Of everything he confronted—food and sleep deprivation, extreme physical and mental fatigue, rugged mountains and exhausting swamps—his time with one soldier left the most memorable impression.

His first Ranger buddy was injured early on. Ranger Dobb, his second Ranger buddy, was an Eighteen Delta, Special Forces medic. Behind the legions of patches, and the lore of Special Forces, Dobb was a humble, down-to-earth soldier. Dobb was his first name, and when the class first started, he asked the other students to call him by it. Allowing those of lower rank to address him in that way is not normal for a staff sergeant. He also gave his fellow students advice.

“If you guys have any medical concerns, get with me first. I’ll try and help you as best I can,” Dobb said. In Ranger school, students hide injures to avoid being set back in the training.

Unfortunately, professional jealousy plagued Dobb. No soldier wants to believe that another unit is better than theirs. Throughout Ranger school, Bobby noticed animosity toward his partner, Ranger Dobb, from the Ranger instructors, or RIs. It amused Bobby that though the instructors tried harassing him, Ranger Dobb always came out on top. Once a fellow student requested Dobb’s help over the RI medic, causing an instructor to berate Dobb in front of the entire class.

High in the mountains, the students were in the middle of a long hike. One soldier slipped from the trail and rolled down the mountainside. Everyone heard him tumble, and when he stopped, the student let out a painful scream.

“Dobb!” he cried, sending an echo throughout the valley.

“Who the hell is Dobb?” yelled an RI.

“Doooobb!” again called the student.

By now the RI was fuming.

“I wanna know. Who the hell is Dobb?” he yelled.

“I am,” said Dobb. The RIs only knew him by his last name.

“What’s so special about you?” said the instructor.

“Well, I’m an Eighteen Delta,” he humbly replied. “Do you want me to go down and check him out?”

At that, the instructor lost it.

“Are you kidding me? You’re no better than our medics!” he yelled. “You’re just a student. You think you’re special because you’re Special Forces!”

In the end, however, Dobb had the last laugh. He was the class’s distinguished honor graduate. Dobb’s poise under pressure and his incredible leadership never left Bobby. He had never met a Green Beret before, but while working with Dobb, he watched his every move and learned what it meant to be a professional soldier. Dobb helped to propel him to Special Forces.

Weeks after the terrorist attacks, Bobby’s team wished the men from Fifth Group luck. They were headed to Afghanistan. Bobby knew he would get his time, but for now, it was back to training. A few months later, Bobby was in Florida with the rest of his team conducting refresher training for close air support. Their training was cut short, however, and his A-team was recalled to deploy to Afghanistan.

SEALs are trained for all environments. They cover sea, air, and land as their name explains, which makes them versatile for different missions. They are capable of foreign internal defense, information warfare, security assistance, direct action, unconventional warfare, and more. However, underneath it all, SEALs are the best at maritime operations. Their skill in the water and everything associated with it separates them from other Special Operations units.

It made sense to Chris that when they landed in Kuwait, his platoon would be doing ship takedowns in the Persian Gulf. Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure, or VBSS as it is known, was their bread and butter. Chris’s platoon arrived to relieve the SEALs already there. The other SEAL platoon was moving forward to Afghanistan. When Chris’s platoon heard that, their enthusiasm about doing ship takedowns was almost lost; normally the SEALs did not mind doing them, but since there was a war, they wanted to be in it.