For days, a small band of Navy SEALs was the only U.S. force deep in Taliban-controlled southwest Afghanistan.
By night, under a blanket of stars, the SEALs watched.
By day, under an unblinking sun, they watched.
At all times, they spoke in whispers.
For much of a week, the San Diego-based commandos monitored a private airstrip about 60 miles southwest of Kandahar, waiting for hundreds of Marines to swoop in Nov. 25 and capture that piece of Afghan desert.
Yesterday, two SEALs described how they and their colleagues operated in enemy territory, setting the stage for the 420-mile-long helicopter flight of U.S. Marines from ships in the Arabian Sea to establish a forward base dubbed Camp Rhino.
Their description is a glimpse into secret operations during the war against terrorism.
Naval Special Warfare Command guidelines prohibit disclosing the commandos' names, even first names, and many other details about activities in Afghanistan.
It's known that Navy SEALs, Army Green Berets and Rangers and Air Force special tactics teams are operating in Afghanistan. But that's about all.
The SEALs' mission at the airstrip was simply to "put eyes on target," said a lieutenant, a four-year veteran of the special operations force.
But, first, the commandos had to get there unseen.
Flown in by the Air Force, the SEALs were dropped off at night then marched miles to a vantage point overlooking the airstrip.
"To be successful, you have to get in undetected and get out undetected," said a chief petty officer with 12 years in special operations.
Each man -- the number of SEALs wasn't divulged -- carried 100 pounds of gear. In addition to their M-4 assault rifles, 9mm pistols and long-range sniper rifles -- typical weapons for such troops -- each carried enough water and food to last days.
By sunrise, the men were hunkered down and out of sight. "We could see anything coming (our way) from a good distance," the chief said.
For several days, they took turns peering from hiding places dug into the talc-like sand.
"The big challenge was staying clandestine, watching everything you do," said the officer, who was the assistant platoon leader.
They picked a location where they could see the landing zone and make sure no one surprised them. "We could sit still and could cut the movement to zero," said the 35-year-old chief.
Missing were such luxuries as tents and sleeping bags. Before the mission, the commandos broke down their meals ready-to-eat packages, discarding everything they disliked to lighten their load, even by ounces.
They ate meals cold -- the chemical heating pouches smell when warming -- to avoid giving away their hiding place.
The nighttime cold, in the 20s, was a battle in itself.
Each SEAL wore layer upon layer of underwear and clothing. Not standard G.I. gear, but special lightweight, water-repellent garments made for warmth and comfort.
During the day, layers were shed as temperatures rose into the 60s.
They operated silently because the desert can amplify and transmit sound long distances, the chief said.
The only sounds they heard were the nearly constant wind, U.S. jets streaking toward targets around Kandahar and the occasional low rumble of 1,000-pound bombs blasting the Taliban.
From their dugouts, the men saw little to worry about.
At night, small animals moved through the desolate brush. Crows and other birds flew during the day.
But nomads or enemy Taliban never came.
"The target was unoccupied," the 34-year-old officer said.
Neither SEAL admitted to boredom.
"There's enough to worry about," the lieutenant said.
The chief picked up the comment: "What you end up doing is you're circling in your head the different scenarios, like if anything happens, what do you do. . . . You play that over and over in your head."
He added, "It takes a lot of discipline to stay focused."
Although the nearest U.S. forces were Camp Pendleton's 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit on ships in the Arabian Sea -- hours away by helicopter -- the commandos never felt isolated.
"There wasn't any time that we felt all alone because of the air coverage and our communications," the chief said.
On the final night, the commandos broke camp and slipped in small groups around the airfield. Several marked a landing zone for the Marines -- something the SEALs have been doing in one form or another since their World War II origins as Navy frogmen. Others prepared to repel any Taliban fighters attracted by the incoming choppers.
Then they waited for the "thump-thump-thump" of the Marine CH-53 Super Stallion helicopters packed with assault troops.
The Marines' landing was the mission's most dangerous time, the officer said.
"If there was (any enemy) around, this is when they would show themselves," the chief said.
There were no surprises.
Waves of helicopters flowed onto the airfield, kicking up thick clouds of dust. Marines poured out, taking up defensive positions.
Finally, the SEALs showed themselves.
A Marine captain walked up to the SEAL lieutenant and said, " 'Thanks for freezing your butts off for us,' " the officer said.
Within hours, the SEALs were aboard a C-130 transport plane heading to safety.
The two SEALs said their training made the operation succeed.
"We had a peace of mind that our training would get us through anything that might happen," the chief said.
The lieutenant added that Afghanistan had nothing on Hell Week -- the notoriously tough make-or-break week of training when SEAL candidates must function with four hours of sleep all week.
During the cold nights, "I would think about Hell Week," the officer said.
James W. Crawley:
(619) 542-4559; jim.crawley@uniontrib.com
