Unbreakable: A Navy SEAL’s Way of Life (25 page)

Walking back to the compound, I merely said to myself, “Fuck it, let’s go pick another fight. The men will be bored if we just sit here and try to make sense of hell.”

I gathered the men of Bravo and put out the word and timeline. While they organized themselves and looked at maps, I sat down and finally had some food and Gatorade. Nothing like hot orange, piss-tasting Gatorade to bring out the flavors of hell.

When we departed the compound, we walked among the dead foreign fighters right outside the front gate. Then we passed the blown apart remains of the other thirty-two foreign fighters we had ripped apart with grenades, 40 mm, and 60 mm mortars. Damn, they had made a great attempt at getting in. “Sorry, gents,” I said to myself. “The victory only goes to the ones who win. That is the way of war.”

The rest of the night’s clearance was basically clearing a ghost town. We only found two old men, who were too tired and old to run away. However, we found out the head enemy lived in the middle of the wooded area about 200 yards from our location … in a fortress, the translator said.

I always wanted to see a fortress. I told my LT, “Let’s let him lead us there.”

With that, we set out on what truly looked like a wild goose chase. We circled back the way we came, through a maze of walls and irrigation ditches, then finally found a thirty-foot high building with no apparent entrance. After walking around the building what seemed like four times, we finally did find a way in. A new truck was inside this nice place. We all laughed at the truck because, at least at night, no apparent road was leading to the building. So we did what any SEAL would do. We popped the tires, cut the fuel lines, and cut the electrical systems.

The next day was slower, with the snipers only killing seven enemy fighters who had tried to climb up the hills near where I had killed the enemy sniper.

Finally, the flight out was truly the biggest sigh of relief I had ever had. Once we were miles away from the fighting area, I closed my eyes and thought of my family again. Stacy, I knew I was no longer afraid of dying. I don’t know when or where I will die, but the fear of dying left me for good over the last two days.

When we arrived back in our platoon compound, the operation’s center support crew had food and drink set out for us and were all wide-eyed with praise. They had watched most of the fighting on video feed and counted the enemy dead. And while I don’t wish that vision on my children, it made me want to tell them something very important: Kids, I can only hope that if you ever see a Navy SEAL or a Special Ops soldier that you acknowledge him in some way. Because you know what he is … and what he does for you.

ADAMANTINE LESSON NINE

Never give up

As you digest Section Nine, when you pick your path in life, you will have times when you mentally, physically, and emotionally hit exhaustion. There is no way around hitting it, and there is no way out of this rite of passage. I can safely say you will clearly hit it when you are committed to whatever you are doing. You might be the best at your profession, or just progressing your way up. Yet, you will hit this wall.

I can tell you that my experience has shown me 1,000 ways to not pass through to the other side of exhaustion in the pursuit of greatness. You will undoubtedly be able to find your own poor examples of how to fail. The solution, like all the ones I have shown you, doesn’t lie without. The solution lies
within
you. Don’t run and don’t hide from the pain, the fear, or the exhaustion.

Recognize you have created this path for yourself, and you
need
to be there. Those around you, too,
need
to be there as well. If you run and hide, they will, too. Or they will be forced to go without you. The loss of you may be enough to kill the whole effort. You count. As Stacy put it, “Do not fear dying. It only makes you weak.”

We have an underlying Internal Dialogue, a way of being during hard times that brings about perseverance and lack of fear unlike all others I have ever known. I call this a language of “Committed Unattachment.” In this language and way of being, you are fully committed to your goal and unattached to your emotions, pains, the whims of others, or even the occasional failure. Distractions don’t throw you off, rather, don’t throw off your Internal Dialogue. Mastering Internal Dialogue
is
your Unbreakable Life.

“Given enough time, any man may master the physical. With enough knowledge, any man may become wise. It is the true warrior who can master both … and surpass the result.”
—Tien T’ai

“Your work is to discover your work and then with all your heart to give yourself to it.”
—Buddha

L
ife seemed lighter for the next two days. We all got into our routines, whatever they were for each man, and continued to eat, rest, work out, and test our weapons. This totally insane ease of living we had acquired over the past three months can only be appreciated by those warriors who have faced this sort of hell. As I sit here and write to my kids my reasons for living, I reflect on stories I have read about adventurers like Lewis and Clark, or Shackleton, or, even, Columbus. They, too, must have faced horrible environmental conditions, faced the exhausting ups-and-downs of close encounters with death, and, finally, faced the morning when they woke up with no end in sight.

We now faced that exact state of being … “Shit, we are only half way.” I have read very little about Columbus or Lewis and Clark, but Shackleton’s voyage sits next to me on my combat desk. As I was thumbing through, somewhere around the middle, he noted the condition of “No end in sight,” and clearly addressed it in a way that reshaped the ultimate outcome of the entire expedition. He simply found a way to focus both his men and himself on each other—away from the conditions, away from
thinking about what had happened and what could possibly happen. I am inspired by that thought.

The rest of the book tells some truly incredible tales that aren’t physically achievable, then or today. Yet, mentally, the depth of courage, character, and perseverance needed to just get through the day is unfathomable. Hell, I like it more because my men and I are accomplishing and performing inside that same margin—that space where there is no end in sight, the future is unclear.

In an effort to be in this very moment, paying no attention to what has happened or what may happen in the future, I simply got up, walked outside with my rifle, and headed to the range. Along the way I gathered up my platoon and had them load bullets, and as a fun treat, we packed the cooler full of Dr. Pepper and Gatorade. Making the best of this situation truly meant luxury, and Dr. Pepper is like champagne.

Yet, as we wrapped up living in the moment and all sat drinking our “champagne,” our boss’s truck came tearing down the range road. I looked at Nike and said, “Now, this cannot be good!”

“Ridge Boss, we have a rescue mission. One of the SFA teams is pinned down and have several dudes wounded and several dead,” LT told me, with a sort of out-of-place smile.

I got moving. “Nike, pack up and head back. LT and I are going to ride back in his truck and begin planning this mission. I want to see the entire platoon in thirty minutes in the planning tent.” Nike received my communication with a shrug and a smile.

While LT and I rode, we discussed what had been previously relayed to him regarding the SF Team and the time line we had to effect a rescue mission. What was clear, even in the brief tactical discussion, was the terrible, mountainous terrain and short amount of time we had to coordinate.

“Boss, all we need is clearance to go, and the amount of time we will be on location.”

“Our men truly need nothing else but to know those two things … where and how long,” I said as a matter of principle.

Once back at camp the immediate intelligence brief described the location and the truth about the Team’s disposition. The mission was designated highest priority, and all other missions were put on hold until the
SF Team was rescued. High-level priority makes planning as easy as falling off a rolling log into water. We had our air assets. We had our weapons and gear ready. We had three hours to plan our insertion point and extraction point. I chose to set our time in the target area at forty-eight hours. No one likes to be in the field longer than that.

With the intel package in my hand, I walked over to the planning tent and, within fifteen minutes, had described where we were to insert, how long we were to stay, and where the SF Team was relative to our mountaintop position. I left the men to plan the various elements and special gear and guns we would require to support the team. As I withdrew from the tent, I looked up at the starry night and said, “Shackleton, you are one smart dude. Focus only on the men and the connection to each other.”

“Nike, stand here with me for a second,” I suggested to him as the rest of the guys walked away. “This is frowned upon during all these silly military leadership courses we all have to attend, but I want to tell you something.” I paused for a moment, knowing my pause would make him look up at me. “I have now seen you survive the worst conditions without receiving even a scratch. The platoon sees it as well. You will not die in combat, that is clear. We will be inserting on the ridgeline above the SF Team. I want to you get your sniper thing on again. I doubt we will even take a single round into our position, but I personally intend to use my sniper weapon to hold the enemy at bay. Make sure all the men get that this is going to be a sniper’s wet dream.”

“Ridge Boss, I appreciate the praise. I would say the same for you. I have no idea how those ten rounds went through your clothing and didn’t hit your skin,” Nike said as he reached back to his green notebook. “Let’s make a wager, then: all this sexy talk and praise is for women. Spartans don’t talk this way. The longest kill shot wins the platoon money pool,” he said confidently.

“So, what is the pool up to now?” I asked, eyebrow cocked.

“I am not going to tell you the details. That would be illegal,” he said as he walked away.

Watching Nike walk back into the tent, I smiled. At the last moment, he turned and saluted with his middle finger. It would be a long night for the men of Bravo platoon, a longer night for the men of that SF Team, and an even longer day tomorrow for the enemy, who would be fighting
for their lives.

I walked back to my combat room and slid the curtain shut. I was no longer nervous about going into combat. My lack of nervousness somewhat made me wonder if this was a normal feeling of combat maturity, or me just being jaded by my constant dealings with death. The reason really doesn’t matter, because this is what I do and who I am. At some point in the collective lives of my children, I know they will create this sort of condition for themselves. What you say about yourself and what you actually do are the same thing.

For me, I truly enjoy the “everything” about this situation. I love the men. I am a SEAL. My wife loves who I am and what I do. Please let me offer this quote to my kids before I go to battle, again: “We are Sparta.”

Queen Gorgo:
Spartan!

King Leonidas:
Yes, my lady?

Queen Gorgo:
Come back with your shield, or on it.

King Leonidas:
Yes, my lady.

“… tonight we dine in hell.”

—From the movie
300

My combat uniform went on smoothly for the first time. My body armor fit like a glove. My MK17 felt like an extension of my eyes and arms. I loaded each round into my magazines and felt their balance and weight. Everything felt good. My two grenades were solidly affixed to my gear. Even the radio headset seemed to work. I doubted it would work later, but at the moment it felt great. Finally, I lifted my MK13 off the rack and checked the action and attachments. My backpack was loaded with food, water, and extra bullets. Time to go to war.

As I walked out of my combat room, I turned and took off my wedding ring, placing it once again on my computer. The ring would be there when I came back. Hell was no place for Stacy. When I looked up above my computer, I saw the printed quote Stacy had said to me so many months ago:

No longer was the wait on the airfield filled with the tensions usually
surging through my body prior to all the missions we had been on during the first half of the deployment. I was, however, more uniquely aware of the rest of the platoon. We had all pre-positioned ourselves in the different “sticks” we needed to be in to load the helos. I was always in the first stick, which normally meant the first bird to land and the first bird to receive fire from the enemy. Even that, however, seemed old and trite and of no concern.

My men in stick one were all stretched out on the ground with their helmets off, their heads resting on them. With body armor on, it is difficult to lay down and rest your head, so the only solution is to take off that damned brain bucket and use it for a pillow. I lay with my helmet pillow, listening to the various communications being conducted through my headset. Only our LT stood, attempting to look around and coordinate the ever-resistant cat herd conducting the pre-liftoff nap. I had learned long ago that making these men play military was senseless. I am sure always being the first one to drop my gear and lay down didn’t help. Yet, as I looked at LT, I thought to myself,
Good luck, brother.

In the distance, the whining of the engine turbines brought us all back from thinking of some sexy women or wives to getting ready to load the helos and fly into some new hellish place. I do not know what it was like for the other men, but this pre-flight time was, for me, filled with running through the operation in my head—getting a clear picture in my mind of how the men would step off the helo, where they would go, and what we would do if we were attacked right there on insert. Running through whatever scenario my mind wanted to play with had been disturbing when I was a new chief. Earlier I had attempted to force my mind to focus on the plan. But after experience showed me no plan ever survived initial contact with the enemy, I abandoned that silly way and let the thoughts roll on their own. As I got more comfortable, I realized bits and pieces of the wandering thoughts actually came to fruition. Those brief glimpses allowed me to react faster, because I would recognize them later:

The movement of the helos toward our position brought us all to our feet and we began walking toward the pickup point. Following the load plan, I was always last to get on once the head count was perfect. Once on the ramp and walking up, the helo gunner would hand me the radio cable so I could hook in and listen to all the related communications that would be passed between the pilots. The motherfuckers talk so fast I could never follow every detail, yet when they saw enemy on target or they were getting shot at, I would at least get a sense of how many enemy and from what direction they were once off the helo. Knowing those two pieces saved our asses, I was listening in like it was rap music, and I hate rap music.

In the air I had “Tommy nap time,” with part of me thinking of Stacy and another part listening to pilot rap music. The flight time was going to be close to an hour, because the stupid SF had driven, yes driven, deep into the mountains and had somehow decided to drive through a narrow pass. The map had shown four mountains rising up out of the valley, from 8,000 feet at the valley floor to 9,500 feet where we were going to land. The height would give us a tactical advantage to be sure, but to get there we had to land on a knife’s edge, with only the ramp of the helo touching the ground. We would only have a twelve foot by twelve foot area to off load twenty-two SEALs. “It is what it is,” was all we could say to each other when I briefed the men.

The pilots ensured we understood that the longer we took to get off, the more drift the helo would have. If we took too long, someone was going to step off into a 500-foot drop. My personal plan was to get off first and immediately get on my hands and knees to crawl forward only ten feet or until I saw or felt the cliff edge. In reality that’s not the way it went.

As the one-minute-out call came from Nike, I woke up and disconnected from the helo comms while the ramp was lowering. As I watched, the ramp suddenly stopped halfway instead of fully lowering. Then, suddenly, someone yelled, “Go,” and the surge from behind pushed me to my hands and knees while I was still on the helo. So I crawled, with my rucksack on my back and Nike stepping on my fingers, to the edge of the ramp. Once there I saw only six feet of flat ground for twenty-two SEALs
and the inability to stop the surge behind me. Somehow I fell out and everyone decided to use me as a stool to ease the strain on their drop from the ramp. I was on my belly waiting for the jump on Thom to stop. Finally the crushing stopped, but somehow I was being pulled toward the edge by both Nike and Jake. In only a couple of seconds, I realized what was actually going on. They both were slipping toward the cliff, and their legs were dangling off the edge, so they were using me to hoist themselves back up. Problem was, I wasn’t anchored to anything, either, so all three of us were getting pulled toward the edge. Finally, EOD jumped on my back, and we waited for the helo to lift off.

At least we weren’t going over the edge. Then the comedy really began. Within a split second, I felt EOD jump off my back; suddenly, and he was lying next to me, face up. I looked at him puzzled, because his arms and legs were up like he was a turtle on its back. For a second, I thought we were falling down the mountain in freefall. Then I felt the sudden oppressive weight of something push down on my rucksack and my body pressed into the ground. My night vision goggles snapped off, and my helmet got twisted. More accurately, my helmet began to twist my head and neck. Then the weight was gone, and the helo downwash kicked up dust and rocks.

“What the fuck just happened?” I yelled at EOD.