Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10

“Fired on from the rooftops, watching for car bombs, we learned to fight like terrorists, night after night, moving like wild animals through the streets and villages. There is no other way to beat a terrorist. You must fight like him, or he will surely kill you. That’s why we went in so hard, taking houses and buildings by storm, blowing the doors in, charging forward, operating strictly by the SEAL teams’ tried-and-trusted methods, ingrained in us by years of training. Because in the end, your enemy must ultimately fear you, understand your supremacy. That’s what we were taught, out there in the absolute front line of U.S. military might. And that’s probably why we never lost one Navy SEAL in all my long months in Iraq. Because we played it by the book. No mistakes.”

Luttrell offers insight into the Navy SEALs’ actions in Iraq, emphasizing the need to adapt and mimic enemy tactics in order to survive. He underscores the SEALs’ determination to establish dominance in unfamiliar terrains. This determination, while serving them well in Iraq, foreshadows the peril Luttrell and his team later face in Afghanistan. The above quote features a simile, where something is compared to something else using “like” or “as.” In this case, Luttrell compares the SEALs’ movement to that of wild animals.

“I can say from firsthand experience that those rules of engagement cost the lives of three of the finest U.S. Navy SEALs who have ever served. I’m not saying that, given the serious situation, those elite American warriors might not have died a little later, but they would not have died right then, and in my view would almost certainly have been alive today.”

Luttrell examines The Ethical Quandaries of Modern Warfare. He discusses the stringent regulations that soldiers must follow, suggesting that they can, paradoxically, exacerbate the dangers faced by elite troops. He critiques how distant policy decisions impact the immediate, life-and-death situations soldiers confront on the battlefield. He emphasizes how his fellow SEALs could have survived had they not been bound by these rules, highlighting the tension between institutional mandates and the unpredictable realities of combat. He questions the ethical cost of bureaucratic decisions during war.

“These men of the special forces have had other options in their lives, other paths, easier paths they could have taken. But they took the hardest path, that narrow causeway that is not for the sunshine patriot. They took the one for the supreme patriot, the one that may require them to lay down their lives for the United States of America. The one that is suitable only for those who want to serve their country so bad, nothing else matters.”

Luttrell illustrates the dedication and selflessness of the special forces members. He emphasizes their conscious choice to tread a path rife with challenges, contrasting them with “sunshine patriots,” or those whose patriotism wavers under the weight of adversity. The term “supreme patriot” accentuates the commitment of his comrades and how they are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for their nation. Luttrell salutes their spirit and underscores the distinct ethos that differentiates them from others. The text’s repetition of the word “path” creates rhythm and emphasis.

“The SEALs do place a premium on brute strength, but there’s an even bigger premium on speed. That’s speed through the water, speed over the ground, and speed of thought. There’s no prizes for a gleaming set of well-oiled muscles in Coronado. Bulk just makes you slow, especially in soft sand, and that’s what we had to tackle every day of our lives, mile after mile.”

Luttrell highlights the values and priorities of the Navy SEALs. While physical strength is essential, agility—both physical and mental—is paramount. The repetition of the word “speed” underscores the importance of swift decision-making and adaptability in high-pressure situations. Luttrell highlights the practical demands of the SEALs’ training environment and the real-world scenarios they encounter—“a gleaming set of well-oiled muscles” will not serve you but slow you down. Essentially, it’s not about looking the part; it’s about functional fitness and mental acuity, qualities that are indispensable in treacherous terrains.

“This was Captain Joe Maguire, the near-legendary Brooklyn-born Honor Man […] He talked to us calmly. And he gave us two pieces of priceless advice. ‘First of all, I do not want you to give in to the pressure of the moment. Whenever you’re hurting bad, just hang in there […] Second, take it one day at a time. One evolution at a time. Don’t let your thoughts run away with you […] Just get through the day, and there’s a wonderful career ahead of you.’ […] Captain Maguire instilled in us the knowledge of what really counted.”

Maguire’s advice addresses the immediate physical and mental challenges of SEAL training while offering a broader life lesson on resilience, perseverance, and focus. His emphasis on taking challenges “one day at a time” underscores the importance of being present in the moment, a mindset crucial for Navy SEALs in high-pressure situations.

“Tell us what you want, and we’ll do it. We’re loyal servants of the U.S. government. But Afghanistan involves fighting behind enemy lines. Never mind we were invited into a democratic country by its own government. Never mind there’s no shooting across the border in Pakistan, the illegality of the Taliban army, the Geneva Convention, yada, yada, yada. When we’re patrolling those mountains, trying everything we know to stop the Taliban regrouping, striving to find and arrest the top commanders and explosive experts, we are always surrounded by a well-armed, hostile enemy whose avowed intention is to kill us all.”

Luttrell describes a dichotomy: the structured directives provided by officials versus the chaotic realities of war. The SEALs’ commitment to obeying the US government contrasts sharply with the unpredictable challenges they face. By mentioning the democratic Afghan government’s invitation to them to fight, Luttrell suggests that their mission is legitimate. Subsequent mentions of border restrictions, the illegality of the Taliban, and the Geneva Convention—dismissed with a casual “yada, yada, yada”—underscore the difficulties of adhering to rules in such a volatile environment. Luttrell emphasizes the grave danger the SEALs constantly face, with the omnipresent threat of a “well-armed, hostile enemy” always ready to strike.

“[T]he instructors disconnect your airline completely and put a knot in it. And you must try to get your inhalation and exhalation lines reconnected. If you don’t or can’t even try, you’re gone. You need a good lungful of air before this starts, then you need to feel your way blind to the knot in the line behind your back and start unraveling it. You can more or less tell by the feel if it’s going to be impossible […] Several of my longtime comrades failed […] [Y]ou can’t be a SEAL if you can’t keep your nerve underwater.”

Luttrell describes the intense underwater training that SEAL candidates undergo, emphasizing the challenge of dealing with equipment failures while maintaining composure. The rigorous test he recounts involves untangling a deliberately knotted breathing line, all while being deprived of sight and under extreme pressure. Luttrell highlights the extreme physical and mental demands placed on SEAL trainees. He also underscores the resilience and adaptability required of a SEAL.

“I told the guy to siddown, against the log. And then something ridiculous happened. About a hundred goats, all with little bells around their necks, came trotting up the mountain, swarming all around the spot where we were now standing. Then up over the hill came two more guys. All of us were now surrounded by goats. […] I tried to ask them if they were Taliban, and they all shook their heads, the older men saying, in English, ‘No Tali-ban…no Taliban.’ […] The question was, What did we do now?”

Luttrell and his team encounter local goatherds—a seemingly mundane event with potentially grave consequences. This moment underscores the intricacies and unpredictability of warfare in foreign territories. The SEALs grapple with a moral and tactical dilemma: Release these locals and risk exposure, or slaughter them. The encounter highlights the tension between combat protocol and ethical considerations, capturing the nuanced challenges faced by soldiers in complex environments.

“If we were thinking like ordinary law-abiding U.S. citizens, we would find it very hard to carry out the imperative military decision, the overriding one, the decision any great commander would have made: these guys can never leave this place alive. The possible consequences of that were unacceptable. Militarily. […] I looked Mikey right in the eye, and I said, ‘We gotta let ‘em go.’ It was the stupidest, most southern-fried, lamebrained decision I ever made in my life. I must have been out of my mind. I had actually cast a vote which I knew could sign our death warrant. […] At least, that’s how I look back on those moments now. Probably not then, but for nearly every waking hour of my life since. No night passes when I don’t wake in a cold sweat thinking of those moments on that mountain. I’ll never get over it. I cannot get over it. The deciding vote was mine, and it will haunt me till they rest me in an East Texas grave.”

Luttrell grapples with the weight of a life-altering decision he made in the heat of battle. He reveals the ethical complexities that soldiers often face—kill what may be innocent civilians, or risk exposure by letting them go? The lasting trauma and regret he expresses underscores the human cost of war, not just in physical casualties but in the emotional and psychological toll exacted on survivors. The text combines casual, conversational language—“lamebrained”—with lyrical repetition—“I’ll never get over it. I cannot get over it.”

“Right here was a twenty-first-century version of General Custer’s last stand, Little Bighorn with turbans. But they hadn’t gotten us yet. And if I had my way, they were never going to.”

Luttrell draws a parallel between his dire situation and the 1876 Battle of Little Bighorn in Montana Territory, where General Custer made his last stand. The reference encapsulates the desperation and overwhelming odds faced by Luttrell and his team. Luttrell’s defiant tone highlights his determination: Even in the face of almost certain defeat, the SEALs’ resilience and will to fight remains unbroken.

“The screaming had stopped. For everyone except me. I still hear Mikey, every night. I still hear that scream above all other things, even above the death of Danny Dietz. For several weeks I thought I might be losing my mind, because I could never push it aside.”

Luttrell examines the psychological toll of war on soldiers. His description of inescapable screams reveals the impact of warfare on mental health, dismantling the myth that certain individuals, such as tough Navy SEALs, are immune to trauma. Luttrell conveys how war’s scars can be as emotional and psychological as they are physical, and how they persist long after the battles have been fought. The above quote uses repetition—“I still”—for emphasis.

“I knew one other thing as well. For the first time, I was entirely alone. Here in these Taliban-controlled, hostile mountains, there was no earthly teammate for me, and my enemy was all around.”

Luttrell conveys the sense of isolation he felt in an environment teeming with adversaries. He underscores not just his physical solitude but his emotional and psychological vulnerability amidst overwhelming danger—he “was entirely alone.” Luttrell emphasizes the perilous circumstances—“my enemy was all around”—and amplifies the sense of imminent threat.

“American! Okay! Okay!”

In this pivotal scene, Luttrell, wounded and alone, is discovered by local Afghan villagers. The shout of “American” identifies Luttrell’s nationality. Subsequent affirmations—“Okay! Okay!”—signal not an imminent threat but a surprising moment of potential assistance. Amidst the chaotic backdrop of a Taliban-dominated region, this moment marks the beginning of an unexpected twist in Luttrell’s journey—he encounters those willing to risk their lives to aid him.

“To an American, especially one in such terrible shape as I was, the concept of helping out a wounded, possibly dying man is pretty routine. You do what you can. For these guys, the concept carried many onerous responsibilities. Lokhay means not only providing care and shelter, it means an unbreakable commitment to defend that wounded man to the death. And not just the death of the principal tribesman or family who made the original commitment for the giving of a pot. It means the whole damned village. Lokhay means the population of that village will fight to the last man, honor-bound to protect the individual they have invited in to share their hospitality. And this is not something to have a chitchat about when things get rough. It’s not a point of renegotiation. This is strictly nonnegotiable.”

The concept of “lokhay” is deeply rooted in the Pashtun cultural code and provides insight into their unwavering commitment to hospitality and protection. While an outsider might view assisting a wounded man as a simple act of humanity, for the Pashtun, it is a solemn vow, binding not just an individual but an entire community to defend the person in their care. This distinction underlines the gravity of their decision to help Luttrell and showcases an aspect of their cultural values, which often go unnoticed in mainstream American narratives. The text weaves in humor and maintains its conversational voice—“And this is not something to have a chitchat about when things get rough.”

“They lifted me up. And slowly we began to head down to the village. I did not understand, not then, but this was the biggest break I’d had since the Battle for Murphy’s Ridge first started. These friendly Pashtun tribesmen had decided to grant me lokhay. They were committed to defend me against the Taliban until there was no one left alive.”

Luttrell realizes the gravity of the gesture extended to him by the Pashtun tribesmen. As he’s physically lifted by them, he’s also symbolically lifted from a state of fragility to being under the protective umbrella of “lokhay.” The tribesmen’s decision to grant Luttrell this protection is a turning point, signifying not just their commitment to their age-old tradition but also a ray of hope for Luttrell in the direst of circumstances.

“What I definitely did not know was that there were now well over two hundred people gathered at the ranch. No one went home. It was as if they were willing a hopeless situation to become hopeful, as if their prayers for me could somehow be answered, as if their presence could somehow protect me from death, as if they believed that if they just stayed in place, no one would announce I had been killed in action.”

At Luttrell’s parents’ ranch in East Texas, a vast assembly of friends, family, and community members had convened. Unbeknownst to Luttrell, this gathering symbolized the unwavering faith they held in his survival. Their refusal to leave the ranch epitomized a collective hope, signaling their depth of support and community unity, especially in the face of potential tragedy. The narrative repeats “as if” to create a sense of emphasis, lyricism, and rhythm.

“The SEALs also would not even consider the possibility that I was dead. He’s missing in action, MIA. That was their belief. And until someone told them different, that’s all they would accept. Unlike the stupid television station, right? They thought they could say any damn thing they felt like, true or not, and cause my family emotional trauma on a scale only a community as close as we are could possibly understand.”

Luttrell contrasts the staunch loyalty and belief of the SEALs with the thoughtlessness of the media. The SEALs, holding to their code of leaving no man behind, refused to believe Luttrell was gone without evidence. In stark contrast, the media rushed to judgment, prioritizing sensationalism over sensitivity.

“With the goatherds, I was able to work out that from the scene of the original battlefield where the others died, on that terrible night of June 28 I had traveled around seven miles, four walking, three crawling. Seven miles! Wow! I couldn’t believe that. But these herders knew their land. And they, like everyone else, knew all about the Battle for Murphy’s Ridge, where it had been fought and the very bad losses sustained by the Taliban.”

Luttrell’s retrospective astonishment at his own journey suggests that sheer determination and resilience kept him alive. The mention of the goatherds situates the reader within the Afghan terrain and offers a subtle commentary on the intricate network of information and shared knowledge among locals. By alluding to the widespread knowledge of “the Battle for Murphy’s Ridge,” Luttrell underscores the significance of the skirmish within a broader context. He suggests that the conflict’s repercussions resonated beyond the immediate battlefield.

“The U.S. Armed Forces represent the greatest fighting force this world has ever seen, and we keep getting our butts kicked by a bunch of illegal thugs who ought to be eliminated. Look at me, right now in my story. Helpless, tortured, shot, blown up, my best buddies all dead, and all because we were afraid of the liberals back home, afraid to do what was necessary to save our own lives. Afraid of American civilian lawyers. I have only one piece of advice for what it’s worth: if you don’t want to get into a war where things go wrong, where the wrong people sometimes get killed, where innocent people sometimes have to die, then stay the hell out of it in the first place.”

Luttrell examines both military decision-making and American sociopolitical pressures. He critiques the constraints of bureaucracy and politics on military operations. This serves as a commentary on the conflict between the on-ground realities of warfare and the detached perspectives of policymakers and legal bodies.

“In the military, if we don’t know something, we say we don’t know and proceed to shut up until we do. Some highly paid charlatans in the media think it’s absolutely fine to take a wild guess at the truth and then tell a couple of million people it’s cast-iron fact, just in case they might be right.”

Luttrell compares military conduct and media practices, highlighting the values of integrity and responsibility. He emphasizes the military’s commitment to certainty and reliability, while critiquing the media’s sometimes hasty dissemination of information. He indicts media practices and emphasizes the dangerous implications of uninformed speculation, particularly in matters of war and national security.

“And right there sitting very quietly, his gaze steady upon me and betraying nothing, was Sharmak, the Taliban leader, the man I had come to capture or kill. […] If I’d shot him, I would not have lasted twenty seconds. His guys would have gunned down both me and Gulab and then, minus their beloved commander in chief, probably would have massacred the entire village, including the kids. I considered that and rejected shooting him. I also considered that Sharmak was clearly not about to shoot me. The presence of Gulab made it a complete standoff, and Sharmak was not about to call in his guys to shoot the oldest son of Sabray’s village elder. Equally, I did not feel especially inclined to commit suicide. Everyone held their fire.”

In describing this confrontation, Luttrell creates suspense. The variety of calculations and unspoken understanding between adversaries underscores the nuances of war beyond sheer combat. The act of holding fire, despite having the enemy within sight, reveals the complex web of motivations, loyalties, and consequences that define decisions in a war zone.

“I made the top step first, and as I did so, I came face to face with an armed Afghani fighter I had not seen before. He carried an AK-47, held in the ready-to-fire position, and when he saw me, he raised it. I looked at his hat, and there was a badge containing the words which almost stopped my heart—BUSH FOR PRESIDENT! He was Afghan special forces, and I was seized by panic because I was dressed in the clothes of an Afghan tribesman, identical to those of the Taliban. But right behind him, bursting through the undergrowth, came two U.S. Army Rangers in combat uniform, rifles raised […] Behind me, with unbelievable presence of mind, Gulab was roaring out my BUD/S class numbers he’d seen on my Trident voodoo tattoo: ‘Two-two-eight! It’s Two-two-eight!’ The Ranger’s face suddenly lit up with a gigantic smile. He took one look at my six-foot-five-inch frame and snapped, ‘American?’ I just had time to nod before he let out a yell that ripped across the mountainside—‘It’s Marcus, guys! We got him—we got him!’”

Luttrell juxtaposes the initial danger he believes he faces with the overwhelming relief of recognition by friendly forces. He uses specific details, such as the hat’s badge and Gulab’s shout of Luttrell’s BUD/S class numbers, and emphasizes the thin line between life and death in unpredictable circumstances. The joyous exclamation by the Ranger underscores the emotional weight of rescue and comradeship amid peril.

“It was Sunday now. And […] was it great to hear the English language again, just the everyday words, the diverse American accents, the familiarity. I’m telling you, when you’ve been in a hostile, foreign environment for a while with no one to whom you can explain anything, being rescued by your own kind—tough, confident, organized guys, professional, hard-trained, armed to the teeth, ready for anything, bursting with friendship—well, it’s a feeling of the highest possible elation. But I wouldn’t recommend the preparation for such a moment.”

This passage alludes to the deep human connections that ground soldiers amidst the chaos of war. Luttrell’s characterization of the rescuing soldiers paints a picture of camaraderie and professionalism. The text weaves in dry humor—“I wouldn’t recommend the preparation for such a moment.” This underscores Luttrell’s resilience and ability to find hope in the most dire of circumstances.