Unbreakable: A Navy SEAL’s Way of Life (12 page)

I looked down at my watch. For some reason, I felt numb—a sick numbness. I am sure some psychoanalyst has a name for what I felt, and would be willing to base a PhD on it. Perhaps the numbness was due to having a sexual dream, then being ripped away into combat and killing someone. I began to care little about the dirt, surroundings, or what
was going on anywhere other than here. I was truly surprised by my lack of feeling, but maybe the urgency and exhaustion got me. I drank some warm Gatorade, ate an MRE (Meal Ready to Eat), and looked out my hole in the wall.

I don’t know how long I sat, but Carnie touched me on the shoulder and said, “Chief, LT wants to talk to you.”

“LT, what’s up?” I asked.

LT replied, “Nothing in particular. Just heard you shooting, and Nike said he saw a guy blow up with a grenade in his hand.”

“Well, one minute I was naked with my wife, and the next I was shooting some stupid ass trying to throw a grenade. So I am pissed … how are you?” I said.

LT replied, “Well, we have everyone’s bullets, bombs, and supplies here. I called out to everyone and told them it was here and we were busy fighting. If they wanted it, they would have to get it themselves.”

I replied, “That being said, I am going to make sure we have more water and food.”

“Don’t worry about it, Chief. The boys already pilfered the stores. I passed out at 3:30 this morning, and when I woke up, you were lying face down. We are all dead tired,” LT said.

I said, “Listen, our men don’t need to be awake every second. They are fighting for their lives and each other. If we don’t get sleep, we will not be effective. Sleep to stay alive. I am going to check in with everyone. At this point, they only need reassurance and a reminder we will cover their backs. With all this killing, they only need to know we support them—trust me on this.”

Before I made my rounds, I went back into the room where I had been sleeping to sit and take a minute to get my thoughts straight. I took this moment, “in the space between the bullets,” to reflect on what I had learned over the course of my life. This may be the last time I would actually get to connect and speak to all—or just one of—my men. This was real, no bullshit combat—real life or death. Every single condition played against us. We were in a static, defensive position and would be for the next three or four days. We had already shown the enemy most of the weapons we had for delivering death, and they also knew once the first round was fired, we would have bombs dropping on them. They had
tested our position to see if we had any kinks in our defenses, and we had plenty. Plus, we were tired.

Yet, I knew this was a crucial point in human performance I was personally putting all my effort toward. I knew this:

I sat and closed my eyes, saying to myself:

“I
need
to be here. This is who I am, and I enjoy combat. My men
need
me, and I
need
them.”

“I
need
to be here. This is who I am, and I enjoy combat. My men
need
me, and I
need
them.”

“I
need
to be here. This is who I am, and I enjoy combat. My men
need
me, and I
need
them.”

I repeated this thought until it became a part of me. After a bit, I heard my wife’s voice in my ears, like she was actually in the room:

Afterward, walking around, the bullet holes in walls and the sandbags no longer shocked me. This was our place. We owned it, and we would not only survive, we would flourish. The ladder leading up to our primary position had several bullet holes in it, yet no bullet found any of my men. Nike and Jake were in position again. Lying next to them was inspirational beyond any of my experiences.

Nike said, “Chief, could you relieve me? I am tired as hell. I need rest.” I looked over at Jake; his eyes were bloodshot, and I knew he was spent as well.

I replied, “Sure, but tell me what has been going on and where you think the enemy is working in on us.”

After Nike’s sniper brief, I said, “Send Carnie up here, too. Come back in ninety minutes, OK? I need you both to get rest, but I need you here as
well. Nike, leave your rifle here. I will put it to use.”

Within a minute, Carnie was next to me, and I had him briefed up on the killing field. I felt much better having him with me. He was a hunter, and I knew he would be looking into the dark places for the enemy.

Nothing happened during our watch, and the men were again rested and ready.

Next, I went over to the hellhole and checked in with KM and EOD. They had cleaned the area up and were laughing and joking about something not related to combat. We all shared a dip of Copenhagen and some water—true warrior rations. EOD and I stood up and walked toward the door. He was old, like me, and I knew his point of view would be a good one. I stood silently … waiting.

He replied, “Ridge Boss, thanks for picking me to come with you guys. I have never been with a platoon who wants to be in combat like you all. Makes it easy. We will survive this, don’t you worry.”

Before I could answer, KM started firing the .50 caliber.

I grabbed EOD and told him to come with me to get the mortar rolling because we didn’t have any helos or aircraft on station. We needed to keep the enemy at bay for twenty minutes.

Running toward the mortar pit, rounds cracked over our heads, and the snipers were putting rounds on target. With EOD getting the mortar ready, I climbed the ladder and yelled at Nike, “Give me bearing and distance to where the enemy is.”

After a moment, he yelled down to us with the bearing and distance. I was shocked: “400 yards, 50 degree magnetic.” I grabbed my compass, laid in on the ground next to the tube and said, “Warrant, give me 400 yards at 50 degrees.” I prepped three rounds and waited.

“Ready.”

“Nike, shot out,” I yelled as I dropped the mortar down the tube.

EOD and I waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, Nike yelled back down, “Good hit, fire for effect.” I dropped four rounds as fast as I could. After the impact of the fourth round, all the enemy fire stopped, and LT came over saying, “Stop firing. We have two F-18s inbound. Good job on first mortar rounds.”

With the F-18s on station, we took time to eat, drink, and resupply our rounds.

Nike came down and we shook hands as he said, “War isn’t all that bad. I just wish it wasn’t so fucking hot. My balls are turning to scrambled eggs.”

Over the remainder of the day, the enemy showed up two more times, but they were not coordinated, and I actually felt bad for them. They were using a motorcycle to carry fighters with machine guns and RPGs across a flat section, from the cover of one building to another one 200 yards away. Albeit, it was 700 yards away from our position—a sniper’s dream. I climbed up to Nike and Jake’s position, and we worked through the ballistics we needed to engage. After watching this bike carry the enemy four times, we knew they clearly felt comfortable.

“Next time across Nike, you lead three minutes, and Jake, you lead two and a half minutes,” I calmly said.

The motorcycle appeared with driver and passenger carrying a RPG. I said, “Stand by … 3, 2, 1, execute.” The guns erupted and the bike reacted as if hitting a wall, exploding up into the air and launching driver and passenger. After the dust settled, we waited. Someone ran out and grabbed the driver and passenger but, wisely, left the RPG laying where it was.

“Nicely done, gents,” I said. “I will buy you a coffee back on base.” I smiled.

With nightfall came the C-130 gunship and new resupply parabundles. This time, only four chutes landed, so gathering the bundles was much easier. We had called back to our support crews on base and explained how we wanted the bundles packed. The whole resupply only took two hours this time. All the other positions sent their men to our compound to pick up supplies, and at 0200 hours, all was quiet, so we were able to rest.

The sleep I had the second night was without dreams; it was also without thoughts of combat. However, we did get attacked by a swarm of bugs that literally made Ground Launch’s mouth and lips swell as if filled with air.

I thought that was funny until he said, “Damn. I am having a hard time breathing.”

We were close to having him evacuated, but he gave himself two shots of Benadryl and drifted off to sleep. His face deflated back to normal.

Before he fell asleep, he grabbed my hand and said, “Don’t send me back; I have to stay here. If I leave, I think I will never see you all again.”

LT and I looked at each other, and I replied, “Don’t worry, brother. We need you here, too.”

On day three, I awoke at 0300 hours so I could take watch the first two hours before dawn and relieve the men in the sniper positions. But when I attempted to sit up, I realized I was actually forty-one years old. My arm had fallen asleep, and my mouth was filled with bugs. My family laughs, because they know I sleep with my mouth open. My back seemed to have frozen and didn’t want to bend. And, finally, my fingers, especially my trigger finger, had become swollen and could hardly bend due to the amount of mosquito bites. Getting old ain’t for sissies!

After a miserable attempt at what I call “disturbed yoga,” I made my way to the ladder to the primary sniper position. Jake and Texas were sitting up, talking softly and looking out into the past and future killing fields. The night was moonless, and even though we all had night vision, we didn’t see much. Above us, in the sky, a C-130 could be heard flying a big circle, with eyes on every single position.

I called out to them, “Hey, gents! I will stay up here. You all can just get some sleep.” But instead of going down the ladder, they both just lay back, took off their helmets, and within three seconds were asleep.

Only I remained. I scanned the surroundings, recalling all the bullets and bombs that had hit our position over the past two days. With much effort, I crawled around the position checking the sandbags; all had holes in them. I grabbed several new sandbags to rebuild the position. A cold beer would have been nice, because temps were already 100 degrees with no wind at all, and gangs of mosquitoes were working their magic on my neck, face, and hands. Too bad we don’t fight in cooler climates. I mean,
really.

Two hours passed, and the rest of the men were stirring and getting ready for another day in hell. Lawyer was checking in with the Lead JTAC, who just happened to be Snowman. I heard KM and EOD checking, clearing, and reloading the .50 caliber. That sound immediately made the compound hum. If the past two days were any indication for the future, we had forty-five minutes until the enemy began their newly-designed assault.

With everyone in place, hydrated, fed, loaded, and ready, I climbed down the ladder and moved over to LT. “Boss, why don’t we just call contact now and forego the wait to get air on station. Have the birds loiter five miles out, talk them onto our position, and clear them hot. Let’s catch the enemy unprepared,” I said with a straight face.

To my surprise, LT replied, “Already done. Two AH-64s checked on five minutes ago and are ready. Wanna make a bet as to where and how many enemy show up?”

“Hell, yes. They are coming from behind building four. Approximately eight enemy. They do the same thing every morning. However, wait for me to get two at the break in the wall. I have taken five over the past two days; same time, same bad channel,” I replied.

I moved to my happy spot on the wall of shame and dialed my scope to 280 yards. Then I watched. At 0725 hours, two men with RPGs slowly made their way down the wall, stopping frequently to look at another position where several Army SF soldiers were camped out. I guess the word didn’t get passed from the other five guys who died before. As they broke cover between walls and stopped at the tree in between, I fired. The turds were standing side by side, and the round went through one head and the others dude’s midsection. He then fell out of my sight picture. I turned around—Texas was shaking his head.

I gloated, “My work is done. I am here all week.” It is not cold to have banter in combat because the other side of that cold exterior is probably the knowledge that someone else’s life simply ended.

Just then, the enemy returned fire from behind building four. I heard the JTACs working the problem with the AH-64s, and heard the pilot respond with his Gatling guns followed by several rockets. As the second pilot passed over, I heard him say, “Six KIAs.”

The majority of the day, we experienced only small, half-hearted attacks across the battlefield in other positions. I heard the medevac bird being called. Some SF soldier had taken a round to the neck, and Snowman had personally effected his rescue. I decided all four of us needed to take a walk into the interior of the target area, check in on Snowman, and see why we had all come to this Godforsaken place.

At noon, I gathered several of my men and told LT where we were going, why, and to expect us back in ninety minutes. Moving outside the
semi-protected compound is a funny thing. We absolutely did not trust that every building was cleared, so we cleared our way back through the buildings, looking for Snowman.

After clearing through several buildings, we realized this place was the enemy’s version of a strip mall. Each building had something unique to offer, and we felt as if we had gone back in time to the 1900s. One shop made us all stop and smile—it was filled with fresh grapes. Let me tell you, cold grapes in a cooler will bring a smile to the face of the most bitter of men. And we were bitter—and smiling and laughing. I was stuffed when we closed that door behind us.