Marcus luttrell

“Death to the 
infidel.”
Stupid pricks. 
Their loose objective is always to frighten the life out of people, and right now they seemed to be 
succeeding. I could hear women screaming, children crying, but no return of fire from the 
tribesmen of Sabray. I knew precisely what that would sound like, and I was not hearing it. 
I looked at Gulab. He was braced for action, leaning in the window with me, one eye on the front 
door. We both clicked our safety catches open. 
Up above we could still hear the screaming, but the gunfire subsided. Little sonsabitches were 
probably beating up the kids. Which might have inspired me to get right back up there and take 
on the whole jihadist army single-handed, but I held back, held my fire, and waited. 
We waited for maybe forty-five minutes and then it was quiet. As if they had never been here. 
That unseen village calm had returned, there was no sense of panic or sign of injured people. I 
left it to Gulab to call this one. “Taliban gone,” he said simply. 
“What happens now?” I asked him. “Bagram?” 
Gulab shook his head. “Bagram,” he said. Then he signaled for the umpteenth time, “Helicopter 
will come.” 
I rolled my eyes heavenward. I’d heard this helicopter crap before. And I had news for Gulab. 
“Helicopter no come,” I told him. 
“Helicopter come,” he replied. 
As ever, I could not really know what Gulab knew or how he had discovered what was 
happening. But right now he believed the Taliban had gone into the house where I had been 

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staying and found I was missing. No one had betrayed me, and they had not dared to conduct a 
house-to-house search for fear of further alienating the people and, in particular, the village 
elder. 
This armed gang of tribesmen, who were hell-bent on driving out the Americans and the 
government, could not function up here in these protective mountains entirely alone. Without 
local support their primitive supply line would perish, and they would rapidly begin to lose 
recruits. Armies need food, cover, and cooperation, and the Taliban could only indulge in so 
much bullying before these powerful village leaders decided they preferred the company of the 
Americans. 
That’s why they had just evacuated Sabray. They would still surround the village, awaiting their 
chance to grab me, but they would not risk causing major disruption to the day-to-day lives of 
the people. I’d been here for five nights now, including the night in the cave, and the Taliban had 
crossed the boundaries of Sabray only twice, once for a few hours of violence late in the evening, 
and once just now for maybe an hour. 
Gulab was certain they had gone, but he was equally certain we could not dare go back to the 
house. It was almost ten in the morning by now, and Gulab was preparing to leave and take me 
with him, once more out into the mountains. 
It had passed midnight back in Texas and the vigil at our ranch continued. The media was still 
voicing its opinion that the SEAL team was dead, and the latest call from Coronado had been 
received. There was still no news of me. They all knew there would be another call at 0400, and 
everyone waited out there in the hot July night, their hopes diminishing, according to Mom, as 
the hours ticked by. 
People were starting to speculate how I could possibly have survived if no one at the American 
base knew where I was. But news was really scarce, except for the part some members of the 
media invented. And people were beginning to lose heart. 
Except, apparently, for Morgan and the other SEALs, none of whom would even consider I was 
dead. At least that’s what they always told everyone. “MIA,” they kept repeating. “MIA. He’s 
not dead till we say he’s dead.” 
Morgan continued to tell everyone that he was thinking about me and I was thinking about him. 
He was in contact, even if no one else was. And Senior Chief Gothro kept a careful eye on my 
mom in case she disintegrated. 
But she remembers that night to this day, and how there were people growing sadder by the 
minute. And how the SEALs held it all together, the chaplains, the officers, the noncoms, some 
ordering, some imploring, but asking everyone to keep the faith.