Friday afternoon, 11 February 2000. Class 228 waits in the Third Phase classroom for their proctor. Having Second Phase behind them is an immense relief, but they are still anxious. Two classes have graduated while Class 228 was in training. A third is about to graduate. All lost men in Third Phase. Third Phase is the demolitions and tactics phase. In the past, it was called the land warfare phase. All these terms apply. Third Phase training is divided into two segments—training at the Center and training on San Clemente Island. During the first five weeks of Third Phase, they will be at the Center. This includes four days of training at La Posta for land navigation and four days at Camp Pendleton on the shooting ranges. They will then fly to San Clemente Island for more tactics, more shooting, demolitions, and the field training exercises. Class 228 left Second Phase with twenty trainees. When they arrive in the Third Phase classroom, there is one man waiting for them—a single roll-in. Petty Officer Sergio Lopez is a lanky, handsome Puerto Rican with a heavy Brooklyn accent. He was forced out of Class 227 with broken ribs from a fall on the O-course, but now he's healed and ready for another attempt at Third Phase. Lopez is the last augmentee to Class 228.
Ten weeks from this day, Class 228 will graduate. Who will be here? How many will make it? While the final twenty-one wait for their proctor, they think about this.
“Feet!”
“FEET!”
“Seats, gentleman. Welcome to Third Phase. Lopez, welcome back to Third Phase. I'm Instructor Hall and I'll be your proctor until you graduate. Let's talk about this phase of training.” He pauses and surveys his trainees. “Third Phase is hard, gentlemen. You have to pay attention and stay focused. There's a lot to be learned here, a lot more than in First or Second Phase.” Eric Hall is just under six feet and speaks with a comfortable southern drawl.
“I'm the leading corpsman here in Third Phase. I went through with Class 122, so I've been around a while. I've had six platoon deployments with SEAL Teams Three and Five. I've been at BUD/S for a little over a year. Let's talk about some of the dos and don'ts here in Third Phase and what we expect of you—what I expect as your proctor.
“I expect you to be on time for every evolution, and I expect you to put out a hundred ten percent all the time. You put out and give it your best shot, I'll back you up. You don't put out, well—you guys don't want to go there. As I said, we have a lot to teach you and we don't have much time to do it. So we don't have a lot of time to hammer you. But, if you screw up, individually or as a class, you will get hammered. We don't put up with whiners here and we don't have time for people who feel sorry for themselves. We expect you to conduct yourselves as quiet professionals: confident, not cocky. Show spirit as a class and speak to the cadre in your man's voice. If you have legal problems, family problems, speeding tickets, use your class chain of command first. If they're serious, bring them to me immediately. Medical problems? See your class corpsman first, then come to me.
“Things not to do. Anything to do with illegal or unauthorized drugs, and any alcohol-related incidents, and you're gone. You know this; why do I even need to mention it? Stay out of The Plank, McP's, Danny's, and the Far East Rock. Those are team bars and you're asking for trouble if you go in there. You're going to be too busy to go in bars, anyway. You lie, cheat, or steal and you're done. That's not tolerated here. Again, I shouldn't even have to mention it.
“Things to do. Keep the spaces up and take care of your personal hygiene. Drink lots of water. BUD/S is hard, but we never deny you food or water. Have a good haircut and a good uniform. Take care of your own gear first, then the class gear and the vehicles. Ask questions, pay attention to detail. Safety is a priority; never forget that. And never quit—unless of course, you want to DOR. Class leader?” Gallagher is quickly on his feet, but Hall waves him back to his seat. “I'll want a class roster complete with room numbers and phone numbers. You and your LPO get with me after this and we'll make class assignments for the phase. You draw gear after this, right?”
“HOOYAH!”
“Okay, over the weekend get your personal equipment set up and get it properly stenciled. If you have any questions, see myself or Instructor Wiedmann. Make those blue helmets red. You're now in Third Phase. You'll have the rest of the afternoon to draw equipment, your MREs, and anything else you may need from supply. Next week the pace will be fast and then some.” Hall pulls a schedule from his notebook and looks up at Gallagher. “Sir, Monday morning I want the class standing tall at 0500 for a four-mile timed run. You're scheduled for rappelling training right after morning chow. We'll inspect your H-gear then.”
“Hooyah, Instructor Hall.”
“That's it. You've got ten weeks ahead of you until graduation. Ten hard weeks. Don't blow it now because you do something stupid or you're not taking this training seriously. Work hard and stay focused. Questions?” There are none. “Okay, have a good weekend.”
“Feet!”
“FEET!”
Class 228 has a weekend to celebrate the completion of Second Phase and prepare their field gear for Third Phase. They do both at Sean Morrison's home in nearby El Cajon. Morrison was a medical roll-in from Class 226 who joined 228 right after their Hell Week. He's a tough former Marine Corps sergeant who wants to become a Navy SEAL. While his wife, Kim, barbecues steaks for the hungry new Third Phase trainees, Sean helps his classmates with their H-gear. This Army-issue field gear is new to the sailors in 228, but not to the former marine.
H-gear is simply a canvas utility belt used to carry a light load of personal infantry gear supported by padded nylon suspenders. The trainees have to set up their H-gear in a prescribed manner: four ammunition pouches in front—two on either side of the front buckle-catch—a canteen hung just behind each hip, and a personal first aid kit in the small of the back. The only optional placement of equipment on the H-gear belt is the standard-issue combat knife. Trainees carry their combat knives on their left or right hip, opposite the side they will work their rappelling line.
In addition to the H-gear and their personal field equipment, the trainees also have new uniforms—camouflage utilities. Third Phase trainees used to be distinctive at BUD/S because only they wore camouflage utilities. Now all phases of training wear cammies. All metal surfaces of their personal field equipment are either painted flat black or covered with olive-drab tape to keep them quiet and prevent them from reflecting light. Sean Morrison helps them adjust their H-gear setups so they fit properly and ride comfortably. The class is fortunate to have Morrison's help, and the invitation to his home is a much appreciated break from the barracks. With the loss of Otter Obst, Morrison became the only married man in Class 228.
Third Phase does not start well for Class 228. The four-mile Monday-morning run is laid out on a 4.6-mile course; only five trainees pass. On Monday afternoon, a storm blows in from the Pacific and they have their two-mile swim in very rough water; none pass. None of the Third Phase cadre seem too sympathetic to the adverse conditions. The next day they run the O-course in the rain, so times are slow, and the scheduled conditioning run is in full H-gear with forty-pound rucksacks. With the exception of rappelling training from the sixty-foot tower, and the scheduled runs and swims, they are in the classroom learning radio communications and land navigation. Because of their deficiencies on the timed evolutions, they must get wet and sandy at every classroom break.
“Okay, guys,” Gallagher tells his classmates, “enough of this. If you have to go, just pee in your pants; we're not taking any more classroom breaks.”
On the positive side, the tactics instructors are excellent. Instructors Jon Wiedmann, Troy Deal, Doug Eichenlaub, and Gary Garbers are very professional and capable instructors. Everyone passes the land navigation test. On Friday morning, they load out for the land navigation practicals at La Posta on Monday. The last evolution on Friday afternoon is a conditioning swim.
Five trainees take an IBS through the surf to serve as a safety boat. The IBS flips in heavy surf and tosses the crew of 228ers into the waves. One of them gets his leg caught under one of the IBS cross tubes. It's Sean Morrison; he washes up on the beach with a badly twisted knee, one that will require orthoscopic surgery. Normally, this being Morrison's second injury and a serious one, he would be dropped from training. But Morrison is a very solid and popular trainee. Instructor Hall speaks up for him at the Third Phase Review Board and takes his case directly to Captain Bowen. Pending Morrison's surgery schedule and the pace of his recovery, he will be held at the Center and rolled into a future class in Third Phase. It's a real blow to Morrison to be set back once again, but the former marine's hopes of becoming a Navy SEAL are still alive. This again leaves twenty men in Class 228—twenty bachelor trainees.
The Naval Special Warfare Group One Mountain Training Facility at La Posta is a rugged military reservation in the Laguna Mountains some eighty miles east of San Diego. It's used by the West Coast SEAL and SDV teams and by BUD/S classes. La Posta is a Spartan facility with limited shooting ranges, old barracks, some highly difficult mountain terrain, and a challenging land navigation course.
At La Posta, the class learns more about patrolling, camouflage, and stealth—first in daylight, then at night. La Posta is at three thousand feet, so the February nights are cold. Sometimes the class is allowed in the barracks with their sleeping bags. Other times they find a lay-up position, or LUP, in the bush. Each morning they have a killer PT session or a conditioning run. The Third Phase tactics instructors are in excellent physical condition as a group, perhaps the best shape of all the BUD/S phase instructors. They lead PT and the conditioning runs as a team. The days are spent scrambling over the Laguna Mountains. The land navigation practical takes two days. Trainees, armed with map and compass, negotiate different courses that are usually five thousand meters in length, with each leg a thousand meters or more. Some pairs finish quicker than others, but they all finish—and they all pass the navigation practical. Late on Friday afternoon, 25 February, Class 228 is back at the Center. Earlier that morning, Class 227 graduated twenty-six men and sent them to the teams. On Monday, Class 228 checks out their assigned personal weapons from the armory for the week of shooting at Camp Pendleton. Class 228 is now the senior class at BUD/S; their class numerals grace the podium on the grinder.
Camp Pendleton is a 125,000-acre Marine Corps base between San Diego and Los Angeles. The base enjoys seventeen miles of southern California coastline, which makes it one of the most developmentally desirable parcels of land in the United States. The SEAL barracks at Camp Pendleton are warmer, but otherwise differ little from those at La Posta. Camp Pendleton is all about weapons safety and qualification, and proficiency with the M-4 rifle. In the teams, SEALs choose from a variety of rifles, handguns, and submachine guns, but the basic weapon is the M-4. The M-4 is a shortened refinement of the M-16 rifle that has been a U.S. military standard since the early 1960s. It is similar to the CAR-15 in that it has a semicollapsible stock, but the M-4 has a slightly longer barrel. In addition to the care, maintenance, operation, and firing of the M-4, the trainees are drilled continually on safety. Weapons safety is as much a conscious attitude in handling a firearm as it is a set of rules and regulations. Yet each trainee can quote the rules verbatim:
1. Consider all weapons loaded all the time.
2. Never point a weapon at anything you don't want to put a bullet through.
3. Never put your finger on the trigger unless you want to shoot.
4. Know your target and know what's behind it.
Qualification with the M-4 is twofold. First the trainees must shoot a qualifying score on a standard Navy rifle course. This requires precision shooting—marksmanship at two hundred yards. They all qualify, which is not easy with a small rifle like an M-4. Only Ensign Eric Oehlerich shoots an expert score, but several others are very close.
“This was a good day for us,” says Petty Officer Adam Karaoguz. “The shooting is great and when we're not shooting, we're in the rifle butts changing targets, and the instructors are two hundred yards away. What was really neat was that the bullets were whizzing by just a few feet over our heads. You could hear the ‘snap’ as the sonic wave passed. That got our attention!”
Because SEALs rarely engage their opponents at long range, there are rifle proficiency drills that the trainees must pass. These drills, along with their pistol qualifications, are scheduled for San Clemente Island.
Meals at Camp Pendleton, as at La Posta, are MREs, either in the barracks or on the shooting ranges. Each day there is a physical evolution—a hard PT or a conditioning run. Conditioning runs at Pendleton are among the hardest to date. The trainees have to learn to run while carrying weapons and operational equipment. In addition to their H-gear and packs, the class must carry “Stumpy,” a short, fat, seventy-pound log with four carrying handles. The trainees take two-minute turns running with Stumpy on these eight-mile runs. Again, the Third Phase cadre make all the tough runs with the class. The physical harassment is less than it was in Second Phase, but still part of the training. Safety infractions or weapons-handling discrepancies are carefully noted by the instructors. These accumulate and have to be worked off. This happens on Wednesday night, when the class is put through a hammer session with water hoses and PT in the mud.
“It's like a bar tab,” Bill Gallagher says philosophically. “The chits build up and we have to work them off. Once it's done we move on—no hard feelings. And on the really hard runs and PT sessions, the tactics instructors do them with us. That makes all the difference.”
In addition to the range work with the M-4 rifle, each trainee has to pass a weapons assembly exam. This is a bench test during which they must disassemble and reassemble the M-4, the 9mm Sig Sauer pistol, and the Mk-43 machine gun, naming each part as they go. They do this with an instructor standing by with a stopwatch who questions them while they work. “What is the cyclic rate of fire of this weapon? What is the maximum effective range of this weapon? What is the muzzle velocity of this weapon?” Wrong answers or sloppy procedures go on their bar tabs.
On Thursday morning, Class 228 moves on to the SEAL tactical-shooting exercise. This takes place on a range where the trainees run between the shooting stations. Each station is different—a trash can, a vehicle, a window frame. They learn combat shooting techniques, like how to roll on their sides to shoot from under a car or the best way to take a brace on a windowsill. Their targets are metal silhouettes, which “ping” when hit. The trainees race from station to station, double-tapping (shooting twice) each target. The target silhouettes vary in range from fifty to a hundred meters. The trainees’ scores are a function of time and the number of hits. As with many combat skills, smooth is fast.
Thursday afternoon begins with famfire, or familiarization firing; no score is kept. The trainees get to shoot the Mossberg Model 500 shotgun and the Heckler&Koch MP-5 submachine gun, both weapons in the SEAL inventory. Thursday is also the day of the class top-gun shoot-off. Each member of the class contributed $10 toward a shooting trophy, a Ka-bar knife with “Class 228 Top Gun” inscribed on the blade. It's a single-elimination tournament with two shooters going head to head on the range. Each has a magazine and ten rounds locked into his M-4 rifle, standing at the ready position. When the senior instructor says “go,” the two shooters drop to a kneeling position and shoot at a metal silhouette at twenty-five meters. Then they continue down to a prone position and shift their fire to a silhouette at fifty meters. They can fire as fast and as many rounds as they like; an instructor is standing behind each trainee as a safety observer and scorer. The first shooter to get a “ping” on each target wins; the other is eliminated.
Some fire rapidly, looking for a quick hit; others take their time to sight in and squeeze. Smooth is fast, and the smoothest and fastest is Ensign Eric Oehlerich.
“I guess all that elk hunting in Montana had something to do with it. With elk, a good shot may not last long and you have to take it quickly. And you only get one chance.” Oehlerich is quick and accurate—two shots, two pings, every time. He now has a new knife to go with the ski-racing trophies he keeps at the family home back in Whitefish.
The apprentice warriors are beginning to master the techniques of shooting—the art of getting rounds on the target. For now, the targets are numbered, concentric circles on the target ranges. On the combat ranges, they are paper or metal silhouettes. The trainees are too hard-pressed with the pace of BUD/S to think about why it is important to get rounds on the target. That will come later.
Friday morning features another four-mile timed run, and several of the slower 228ers are worried about making the thirty-minute cutoff. The class gathers around their slow runners and they make the run as a class. Casey Lewis and Marc Luttrell are on the bubble because they have yet to make the timed run in Third Phase, but they make this one. Luttrell is still having trouble with stress fractures in his legs. Ensign Jason Birch ties a line between himself and Luttrell, half pulling him on the run. Bill Gallagher and Eric Oehlerich run on either side of Lewis. The whole class runs the four miles under twenty-nine minutes, its best effort to date. Normally, the times on swims and runs are sacred, and the instructor staff religious in their observance. But this time, the Third Phase staff overlooks the individual help on a timed run. The class is working as a team, and that counts for a great deal at BUD/S.
Week four and part of week five at the Center are devoted to the study of demolitions and high explosives. The trainees learn about electric and nonelectric firing assemblies and the types of explosives they will be handling, such as TNT and plastics. On the inert firing range just south of the Center, the new demolitioneers make up their firing assemblies and set their blasting caps into dummy charges. In the 1950s and early 1960s, forty-pound charges were routinely set off on the Strand during demolition training. In the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, the charge limit was brought down to half a pound. Now, due to environmental considerations, all demolitions are conducted on San Clemente.
Physical conditioning continues—weekly four-mile runs, two-mile swims, the O-course, and rucksack humps in the soft sand. On a calm day, all of the trainees swim the two miles under seventy minutes; with that, the class has passed all Third Phase time standards. Just before they begin their load out for San Clemente Island, Lieutenant Rhett Fisher, the Third Phase officer, takes them on a fourteen-mile beach run, the longest run at BUD/S. But this run is in shorts and running shoes. For most of the men in Class 228, it's been a long time since they ran in dry clothes and in something other than boots. It's not a pleasure, but it's almost pleasant. Ahead are the combat runs and ruck humps on San Clemente.
Late afternoon, 17 March. The McDonnell Douglas C-9, a military version of the commercial MD-80, settles neatly onto the airstrip and takes the taxiway back to a small, two-room terminal. Class 228 has arrived on San Clemente Island—the Rock. They pile their gear and personal weapons into an old white school bus, a twin of the one that took them from the Naval Special Warfare Center to the North Island terminal. It's a two-mile drive to the BUD/S training camp, located on the opposite side of the airfield from the San Clemente terminal.
San Clemente is one of the Channel Islands off the southern California coast. It's a rugged, boulder-strewn strip of land sparsely covered with scrub grass, ice plants, and cactus—lots of prickly pear and golden snake cactus. On a clear day, Catalina Island can be seen to the northeast. San Clemente is young as islands go, some 3 million years old. There are no trees and no groundwater, yet San Clemente was inhabited by Native Americans some six thousand years ago. More recently, it was used by sheep ranchers, fishermen, and smugglers until the Navy took possession in 1934. Since then, the southern portion of San Clemente has been used as a naval gunnery and bombing range. On the northern end of the island, the airstrip serves to train Navy pilots for touch-and-go landings prior to landing on aircraft carriers. Other than a small cadre of civilian workers and sailors, the indigenous population consists of gray foxes, lizards, crows, and a few rare and endangered bird species. The coastal areas and kelp beds host large populations of marine life and California sea lions. The northeastern tip of the island is reserved for Navy SEALs. On this reservation, Naval Special Warfare Group One recently built a training base to support the West Coast SEAL and SDV teams. A short distance up the beach is the BUD/S compound. Right next to these facilities are the weapons and demolition ranges. Most of the coastline consists of rocky outcroppings and cliffs that plunge directly into the sea. The BUD/S compound enjoys a protective cove with one of the island's few sandy beaches.
BUD/S students have been coming to San Clemente Island since the late 1950s for weapons and demolitions training. The training compound had been a blend of tent and prefab wooden huts until the construction of Camp Al Huey in 1989. “Uncle Al” was a Vietnam-era master chief petty officer who dedicated his life to the teams and the training of Navy frogmen and SEALs. Camp Huey is a modern facility that has the feel of a community college—classrooms, a dormitory, a cafeteria. But instead of laboratories and a library, there is a weapons-cleaning building, an armory, an IBS storage barn, and gear-staging facilities. There are no athletic fields, but there is an obstacle course. It's a minicampus for apprentice warriors. San Clemente focuses on weapons, demolitions, and small-unit tactics— the basics of the SEAL trade.
As soon as Class 228 arrives at the compound, it gets a tour of the facilities and quickly settles into its “dorm,” which consists of squad sleeping bays. The students arrive with their M-4 rifles, rucksacks, H-gear, a change of clothes, swim gear, and sleeping bags—bare essentials, but everything they will need for training on San Clemente. After the evening meal, the Third Phase cadre welcomes them with a shark-attack video—lots of great whites hitting chunks of meat underwater. Then they jock-up for a night conditioning swim in the cove.
Class 228 quickly learns that life on the island is different from life at the Naval Special Warfare Center. For the first time at BUD/S, they eat, sleep, and live in close proximity to their classrooms and training ranges. The routines and military protocols revolve around SEAL training at their own facility, rather than as a tenant on a Navy base. Each morning, Class 228 forms up in their compound to raise its flag and sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The men form up again at night to lower the flag and sing “America the Beautiful.” Their singing is coarse and off-key, and no threat to the Vienna Boys’ Choir, but they get the job done. The spirit is definitely there.
Apart from weekly runs, PT, conditioning swims, and the O-course, the class must do “chow PT.” In the morning, they do maximum push-ups and maximum sit-ups in two-minute timed intervals. At noon, they have to run up to Frog Rock, a pinnacle just above the camp. The distance is only a little over two hundred meters, but it's all uphill and the last fifty meters is a steep rocky trail. They have to make the run in less than a minute and thirty seconds. To do this requires an all-out sprint. At night they have to do fifteen chin-ups and fifteen dips. All three chow PTs are done with full H-gear and full canteens of water.
But the teaching to harassment ratio, which made a positive leap from Second Phase to Third Phase, gets even better on the island. This doesn't mean there is no physical penalty for inattention to duty, but as long as the class stays focused on training, the Third Phase instructors focus on teaching. On San Clemente, the trainees use all the weapons, demolitions, and tactics instruction they received at the Center, La Posta, and Camp Pendleton. Here they will experience combat shooting, set off live explosives, and conduct night patrols over unfamiliar terrain—all evolutions that require planning and attention to detail. The days are long on the island, and so are the weeks. The training day begins at 0600 each morning, sometimes earlier, and lasts until 2000, sometimes later—seven days a week.
Class 228 is still vulnerable. Not since Class 223, five classes ago, has a class not lost at least one man while on the island. The reasons why some trainees fail here vary. For some, it's a serious safety violation on the shooting or demo ranges. For others, it's the inability to shoot a qualification score or successfully complete the basic SEAL rifle or pistol proficiency practical. Occasionally, a young man will find that handling live demolitions or close-quarters shooting is just not something he wants to do for a living. Class 228 has four solid weeks—twenty-eight days of training— between them and graduation. Class 228 arrived at San Clemente with twenty men; they want to leave together as a class.
The first two weeks on the island are devoted to tactics and weapons. The weapons range at the BUD/S training camp allows for precision shooting and immediate action drills, or IADs. The precision shooting training with M-4s was completed at Camp Pendleton, where the men shot for qualification. At the San Clemente BUD/S range, they shoot for score with their secondary weapon, the 9mm Sig Sauer P-226 pistol.
“Ready on the right; ready on the left. The firing line is ready. With a magazine and five rounds, lock and load.” The first group of shooters rack and tap their magazines into the handles of their pistols. There is a clatter as they release slides to chamber a round and click their weapons on safe. Then they wait facing their targets, weapons at the low ready position.
“Commence fire!” A fraction of a second later, a volley of fire ripples down the line. They've all had classes on marksmanship, but putting rounds down range is really the only way to learn. Instructor Scott Steams and Chief Warrant Officer Jim Locklear roam the firing line behind the trainees. After each break in the firing, they step up to coach their shooters.
Scott Steams is a quiet first class petty officer who was raised in Colorado. After two years on an aircraft carrier, he decided to become a SEAL. He came to BUD/S after three platoon deployments with SEAL Team Three. Jim Locklear is the assistant Third Phase officer. Either he or Lieutenant Rhett Fisher is on the island when training is being conducted. This is Locklear's second tour at BUD/S; he was a Third Phase instructor in the early ‘90s. The class originals remember Locklear from 228's Hell Week. He's pretty much done it all; he's served with the Underwater Demolition, SEAL, and SDV teams and has six platoon deployments behind him.
“Relax, inhale, exhale, and squeeze on the outgoing breath,” they tell their student shooters.
“Sight picture and trigger squeeze; sight picture and trigger squeeze.”
“Relax and don't anticipate the shot. If you anticipate, you'll push the rounds off target.”
“Front sight focus. You should see your sights clearly; the bull's-eye should be fuzzy.”
Shooting is a knack, and most of the class picks it up quickly. Once the trainees have the basics and settle down, they can easily shoot a qualification score. The men with good eyes and steady hands begin to qualify as experts. Only Zack Shaffer and Chad Cleaver are having persistent problems and shooting under qualification. In Shaffer's case, his rounds are going low and to the left. The warrant officer watches him empty a magazine downrange.
“Okay, Shaffer,” he begins in a soft Georgia drawl, “here's your problem. You got to squeeze only with your trigger finger. What you're doing, you're squeezing the butt of the weapon with your bottom three fingers, so's you're dropping the nose of the weapon. Hold it firm, not tight, and when you have a good sight picture, squeeze only with your trigger finger.”
Shaffer does this and his score comes up. Then Locklear helps him with his breathing, and he nearly qualifies as expert. For Cleaver, it's just a matter of relaxing and not anticipating the shot. Instructor Steams coaches him in a soothing voice, making small corrections in his grip and breathing rhythm. The Beaver begins to put his rounds on target and qualifies.
Past the basic marksman qualifications, the trainees have to learn to move, shoot, reload, shoot, clear jammed weapons, and continue shooting. There are performance tests for both the M-4 and the P-226. The shooting course for the P-226 emphasizes short-range shooting and speed—manipulation and marksmanship. The trainees, with their instructor shooting coaches just a step behind them, engage silhouette targets at five to seven yards. One drill calls for them to double-tap two separate targets, center of mass, within four seconds. Another has them double-tap a silhouette, change out magazines, and double-tap it a second time within eight seconds. Smooth is fast—manipulation and marksmanship.
Performance tests with the M-4 are much the same, only the ranges are longer and the shooting more precise. From the low ready position, the student shooters must come up to the offhand, or standing, position and make a head shot at twenty-five yards within five seconds. In twelve seconds, they have to make one center-of-mass shot at twenty-five yards, change out magazines and make another center-of-mass shot. From the offhand position, they drop to the prone firing position and make two center-of-mass shots at fifty yards in twelve seconds. Shooting experience in the class varies. A few, like Eric Oehlerich, grew up hunting. The ensign from Montana is clearly the best marksman in the class. At least half of the trainees never fired a weapon until they joined the Navy. As the performance tests progress, the trainees gain confidence and begin putting rounds on target.
One of the most dangerous evolutions on the range are the immediate-action drills—IADs. These drills are to SEALs what parachutes are to combat pilots. However, unlike parachutes, which are a break-glass-in-case-of-emergency item, IADs have to be learned and practiced, and they are serious evolutions. SEALs plan missions to see and not be seen; to be the ambusher, not the ambushee. But they have to be prepared if things don't go as planned. That's why the instructors have IADs. At BUD/S, the trainees learn the basics of IADs. Later on in SEAL Tactical Training, these drills will become more complex. In the platoons, the SEALs will take IAD training to a very sophisticated level.
Class 228 learns two basic IADs—the leapfrog and the center peel. The leapfrog is a simple maneuver in which one element of a squad or a platoon moves while the other shoots. This can be done to assault a target by leapfrogging forward, but it is primarily used to break contact by leapfrogging away. In either case, the trainees are putting live rounds downrange with men in front of them. It is critical that the fire is highly disciplined and that there is clear separation between the firing element and maneuvering element. The center peel is a maneuver to break contact when patrolling in stagger-file order. In open country or with a larger, platoon-sized element, SEALs often patrol in two files—two lines of men moving in parallel with a stagger between the man to the left or right. The point man, who walks ahead and between the two files, encounters and engages the enemy. He empties his magazine and initiates the center peel by running back through the center of the two files. The two men at the head of each file shoot and peel back through the two files, changing magazines on the run. Before they execute these IADs with live fire, they walk through them, then practice them on the run with dry or pretend fire—“BANG, BANG, BANG,” they cry, then they move, change magazines, and cry “BANG, BANG, BANG” again. Only then do they perform carefully choreographed, live-fire IADs.
After a week of weapons work with the class still twenty strong, the trainees begin a block of instruction on tactics. But first the tactics instructors break them in with a rucksack run.
“That ruck run has to be absolutely the hardest evolution in BUD/S,” Bill Gallagher says after they finish. “It was horrible.” I remind him that he said that of Patstone's hydrographic recon without wet suits in San Diego Bay during First Phase. And the same of the back-to-back, four-mile timed runs in Second Phase. “No, really, this was without a doubt the toughest thing we've done—honest!”
The Third Phase tactics crew on San Clemente—Instructors Wiedmann, Garbers, and Eichenlaub—splits the class into three squads and runs them around the north end of the island with forty-pound packs, full H-gear, full canteens, and personal weapons. Each man carries about fifty-five pounds. For eight miles they go up and down hills, through cactus fields, and across rockfaces. Then the squads race around the airfield, another three miles, with each squad having to carry one of its number. The trainees have to work as a team; they distribute the “wounded” man's gear and weapons and take turns carrying him. The three tactics instructors are rucked up like the students and make the run with them. Since it always pays to be a winner, each instructor encourages his squad to be the first in the ruck run. Navy SEALs are proud of the fact that they have never left a man behind in combat. This mind-set begins here, where they learn that they can be totally exhausted and still carry a man out on the run. This is an evolution that emphasizes teamwork, motivation, and spirit. A few in 228 are again developing stress fractures in their legs, so they are the ones who are carried. Distribution of the downed man's gear and the sharing of man-carry duties are essential to sustaining a good squad pace.
Following the ruck run, the trainees hit the classroom and get down to the serious business of basic squad tactics. A key SEAL tactic they learn and will practice again and again is the over-the-beach (OTB) operation. They do this once in daylight, then over and over again at night. First, they paddle to the objective area and anchor the IBSs several hundred yards offshore. Then they send in scout swimmers to recon the beach. Only then is the entire squad brought ashore. Next, they scurry across the sand and crawl into hiding just past the high-water line. SEALs are most vulnerable when coming ashore, so they practice these sea-to-land crossings over and over in full combat gear with weapons. During OTB ops, they wear fins that fit over their boots and partially inflate their life jackets to carry their combat load. Once ashore, they strap the fins to their H-gear for land travel. It's cold, wet, dirty work—and it must be learned well. These future SEALs will do this again and again in advanced training and in their SEAL platoons.
Class 228 also learns basic SEAL skills such as ambushes, hasty ambushes, structure searches, prisoner handling, reconnaissance techniques, and raid planning. For the most part the teaching is crawl, walk, run. The men learn it in the classroom, rehearse it in the field in the daylight, then go out and do it at night in simulated tactical situations. Class 228 leans into the task and works hard. The trainees pass their tactics and land warfare written exams, and then they are ready to move on to a week of demolitions.
The men in Class 228 are still locked into the BUD/S mentality: one evolution at a time—work as a team, get the job done, put out 110 percent, and don't piss off the instructors. They are all but immune to cold water and lack of sleep, and they can almost taste graduation day. But a few of them are beginning to think about the training—or more specifically, about what they are being trained to do. There is no formal discussion about killing or of the time when rounds on target will mean rounds through a man, but a few of the more mature men in 228 are starting to speak of it. Over chow or when they are cleaning gear, they occasionally talk of a time when the job may require the taking of a human life. It's a gut check of a different sort.
SEAL demolitions training includes fixed ordnance like claymore mines and hand grenades. The men also work with illumination and pyrotechnics such as pop flares and 40mm grenade-launched parachute flares. But the heart of demolitions training is the heavy demolitions—the C-4 satchel charges, Mk-75 hose, and bangalore torpedoes. Back at the Center, they learned about electric and nonelectric firing devices, charge initiation, blasting caps, and the safe handling of all these. Now it's time for the real thing. The handling of explosives, like the handling of weapons, is guided by rigorous and precise standard procedures. Supervision by the Third Phase staff is constant and redundant. With the heavy demolitions it's crawl and walk; there is no running. They diagram and plan the demolition shots in the classroom, then head for the range. Class 228 will get four demolition shots—three on the beach and one underwater. On Monday afternoon, 3 April, their third week on the island, the class gathers on a deserted section of beach a half mile from the camp.
“Okay, men, bring it in and listen up,” says Instructor Robert Ekoniak (or Instructor Ikon, as the trainees address him). “We have three shots today. The first is a checkerboard shot with haversacks, the second is with Mk-75 hose, and the third is with the bangalores. The procedures for all the shots will be the same: hump the demo down to the beach, lay out the shot, tie in the detonation cord. On all these shots, we'll bring the det cord leads to the landward side of the demo field. Once I've checked the field and the det-cord tie-ins, we'll clear all nonessential personnel up to the road where the vehicles are parked and get a head count, got that?”
“HOOYAH!”
Petty Officer Ekoniak is a boatswain's mate with a degree in economics; he's a veteran of SEAL Team One and a military demolitions expert. “The guy knows so much about explosives,” says Eric Oehlerich reverently. “And he really knows how to get it across to the class. He's as good as any instructor I ever had at the Naval Academy.”
“The two guys with the firing assemblies,” Instructor Ikon tells them, “will then cap in. At that time, I'll want another head count. When the count's right, they will pull the fuse lighters on my signal, and we'll all move to the bunker. I'll want a final muster when everyone's in the bunker, okay?”
“HOOYAH!”
“Let's work smooth, let's work as a team, and let's make it happen. Who's in charge of the first shot?”
“Right here, Instructor Ikon,” says Ensign Clint Burke.
“Then let's get to it, sir.”
Ekoniak watches as the class unloads Mk-138 haversacks of C-4 explosives from the demo truck and humps them fifty yards down to the rocky shoreline. He and Ensign Burke direct the class as they lay the haversacks in a checkerboard pattern near the water's edge. The class works as a team to tie in the haversacks to the det-cord trunk lines. Det cord looks like clothesline and is an explosive train used to connect and prime separate charges. Preceding classes have placed their charges in this same shallow, rocky cove. Toward the center of the cove, the rocks are smaller due to repeated explosions—little rocks out of big rocks on a grand scale.
Ekoniak is everywhere—directing, teaching, answering questions. “This kind of admin demo is important, guys. When you're in the teams and the admiral wants to blow a hole in the reef or to level a section of beach, this is how you'll do it. The checkerboard can knock down the berm so vehicles can make it from a landing craft across the beach.”
Class 228 is hearing more about “when you're in the teams …” They didn't hear much of this in the First and Second Phases. They also like Instructor Ikon. He not only knows demolitions, but he treats the trainees with respect and in a professional manner. They don't hesitate to ask questions in setting up the demo field. While Ekoniak moves about to teach and inspect, he keeps his eye on the entire field.
“You ready to cap in, Mister Burke?”
“Yes, Instructor.”
“Then get your people up on the beach and get me a good count.”
Clint Burke sends the rest of the trainees up the hill and John Owens calls back down, “I got nineteen men, sir!”
“Got ‘em all, Instructor.”
“Vehicles started, ready to move?”
“Hooyah.”
“Then cap in, sir.”
Ekoniak hands him a roll of time fuse and Burke goes to work. On one end of the double length of time fuse are two nonelectric blasting caps. On the other end are two spring-loaded, mechanical Mk-60 time-fuse lighters. Burke and his classmates built this firing assembly and carefully clocked the burn time using time fuse from the same reel. This one is set for ten minutes. He carefully tapes the caps to a bend in the det cord and lays out the time fuse.
“Ready to pull, Instructor Ikon.”
Ekoniak quickly inspects Burke's work and gets the all clear from Warrant Officer Locklear up on the road. Locklear is serving as the range safety officer, or RSO.
“Do it, sir.”
“Fire in the hole!” Burke yells, removes the safety pins, and pulls both fuse lighters. He inspects the fuse lighters to see that they are burning. “I see smoke!”
Burke and his instructor walk up the hill to the vehicles. Ten minutes later, almost to the second, the students and instructors feel the shock wave and blast as five hundred pounds of C-4 goes high order. More little rocks.
They do this twice more, building one field with Mk-75 hose and the other with bangalore torpedoes. The Mk-75 hose is filled with PETN, a high explosive used to dig trenches and blast channels in coral. The bangalore torpedoes are long metal tubes filled with an explosive called Composition-B. These tubes can be connected end to end to form a long train of explosives. The early frogmen used bangalore torpedoes to blast openings through barbed wire on the landing beaches of Japanese-held islands in the Pacific. Today, beaches that the Marines may have to cross are still protected with barbed wire and antipersonnel mines, so Navy SEALs still remain proficient with bangalore torpedoes.
On Tuesday afternoon, the class prepares its charges for the underwater shot. Seven swim pairs prepare double Mk-138 haversacks for the seven concrete-and-steel beach-landing obstacles that have been positioned in fifteen feet of water. Each haversack contains twenty-five pounds of C-4. Because of the tamping effect of water that will reduce the blast effect, the water shot is conducted on the beach in front of the camp. Seven pairs of swimmers will load demo onto the seven obstacles, and the other six trainees will circle the line of obstacles with a reel of det cord to build a trunk line to connect the charges on the obstacles. After evening chow, the trainees go to the beach and practice dry loading their charges on training obstacles positioned up on the beach.
The next day, the class swims out to their obstacles, towing their demo packs behind them. The men knife the bladders that float the haversacks and follow them as they sink to the bottom. Now they begin loading demo for real. It's high tide, so the obstacles are in close to twenty feet of water. The trainees tie the explosives to their obstacles and cinch the charges in tight. The objective is close, intimate contact between C-4 and concrete. Then they tie into the trunk lines using knots they learned in Indoc and practiced in First Phase. The trainees have weighted themselves so they can work comfortably alongside their charges. Except that the water is colder and no one is shooting at them, it's chapter and verse from a book written by the frogmen of World War II.
The head count on the beach is right. Two swim pairs remain in the water with two instructors. They have the firing assemblies. On the signal from the RSO, the trainees begin to tie their firing assemblies into the trunk line. These are similar to the ones used on the previous day's shots, only they're waterproof DWFAs—dual waterproof firing assemblies. Waterproofing a nonelectric firing assembly is a technical and highly evolved procedure. During World War II, the Navy expended no small amount of time and money to develop a reliable, waterproof firing assembly. None of them worked. The early frogmen solved the problem on the job: waterproof neoprene cement and condoms—two condoms for extra protection from the saltwater. They worked every time. Thirty years ago with Class 45,1 made DWFAs like the World War II frogmen. Class 228 does it the same way. And they still work every time.
“Fire in the hole!” yells Eric Oehlerich from the right flank of the field.
“Fire in the hole!” cries Sergio Lopez from the left flank.
The two trainees find the pull rings in the double prophylactics and trigger their fuse lighters. “I see smoke!” Then they and their swim buddies head for the beach. Instructors check their work and quickly follow them to the shore. The obstacle field is dual primed with two fifteen-minute firing delays. The trainees and instructors retreat up to the camp to watch the shot. It goes high order as planned, but forty seconds late.
“Temperature and pressure, gentlemen,” Instructor Ekoniak tells his students, “but mostly it's temperature. You'll almost always have a slow burn time from a water shot unless you're in the tropics.”
“Does that mean there's no penalty?” asks Lopez. If a shot goes early or late by more than ten seconds, the class owes the instructors a case of beer.
“Heineken, Lopez,” Ekoniak replies, “one case, por favor. Consider it a lesson learned with time fuse, and better over the projected burn time than under. If the time of a water shot is critical to an operation, put your timefuse sections in the water when you do the burn tests.”
“You want that case tonight, Instructor,” says the D-8, Tyler Black, “and maybe some help drinking it?”
Ekoniak chuckles. “You wish. But no beer until after the field training exercise.” Then he turns serious. “I'm heading back to the Strand tomorrow morning. I wish I could be here for your field training exercise, but I have to get ready for Class Two-two-nine. It's been a pleasure working the demo field with you, gentlemen. I want you guys to stay focused—stay tight. Work together on your FTX.”
With three weeks down and one to go, Class 228 is ready for their field training exercise—almost. On the afternoon of their underwater shot, the trainees have the Combat Run. The Combat Run is the work of Instructor Shane McKenzie. McKenzie is the smallest of the Third Phase staff, but long on spirit and enthusiasm. His specialty is demolitions, but he is equally knowledgeable in tactics and weapons. A veteran of SEAL Team One, McKenzie has been at BUD/S for two and a half years; another six months and he will return to the teams. He divides the class into two squads of ten and briefs them on the course. The squads muster on the pull-up bars by the chow hall in full H-gear. Prior to this, they've staged their rucksacks with forty-pound loads on the beach.
The first evolution is the push-pull. Each squad must do a thousand push-ups and five hundred pull-ups, collectively. The full San Clemente instructor staff is on hand to count the reps. Then the squads race over to the boat barn, pump up two IBSs per squad, and run them down to the beach. Squad One is led by Bill Gallagher and Squad Two by Eric Oehlerich. Once on the beach, they push through the surf and paddle out to the marker buoy a quarter-mile offshore. On the way back in, they have to dump boat; the last time they did this was back in First Phase during Hell Week. When they hit the beach, Squad Two holds a two-minute lead. From the beach, each squad takes two mounted truck tires that have been rigged with nylon towing straps. Each squad must drag two of these tires to the rifle range, which is half a mile away and all uphill. The straps are short, which accommodate only two or three men at a time; the squads have to use teamwork and trade off on the drag straps as they pull the tires up the long hill to the range.
There are two events at the rifle range—grenade toss and shooting competition. Each squad member takes a hand grenade from a bucket and tosses it at a box target bound with concentric circles for proximity scoring. Accuracy and proper procedure count. The grenades, color-coded by squad, are practice grenades with safety pins, release spoons, and three-second delays. On the rifle range, the trainees’ personal weapons are laid out by squad. The silhouette targets are at twenty-five meters. Oehlerich's squad is still in the lead, but Gallagher and his men are closing. Once the squad is on line on the rifle range, they have ten seconds to lock, load, drop to a prone firing position, and fire five rounds. Only center-of-mass rounds score. From the range, Instructor McKenzie declares one of the men from each squad “down,” and the other squad members have to carry him back to camp and down to the beach. Along the way, they are attacked by Instructor Ikon. He has placed small radio-controlled charges that detonate along their route back to the camp. When these charges go off, the squads have to take cover and, using the newly learned IAD techniques, leapfrog away from the “contact.” Once in camp, they run with their downed man to the water. There they pull their fins over their boots and grab their rucks for the combat swim portion of the Combat Run. As they've been taught during OTB training, they inflate bladders in their rucks and tow them behind themselves through the surf. As a squad, they have to swim the same course as they took with the boats—quarter of a mile out, around the marker buoy, and a quarter mile back. When Squad Two comes through the surf, Squad One is right behind them. Several instructors are on the beach tossing artillery simulators. The squads must leapfrog across the beach as if they were under mortar fire. The finish line is a hundred-yard sprint from the beach up to the camp. It's a close contest; the winners will be the trainees who can pull and stow their fins, ruck up, and get moving first. Squad Two manages to scurry off the beach first. Squad One gives chase, but can't quite run Oehlerich and his men down.
The Combat Run is a three-hour evolution that puts a premium on teamwork, spirit, and grit, which makes them all winners. But only one team will win the race, and the stakes are high. For the winners, Camp Al Huey bragging rights; for the losers, evening chow cleanup. BUD/S trainees are never dainty eaters, but at chow that evening, I noted that Squad Two was a little more sloppy than usual. After evening chow, each squad cleans and stows the equipment used during the Combat Run, and cleans all personal gear and weapons. Then the men turn in for a rare eight hours of sleep. At 0800 the next morning, they're back in the classroom.
“All right, gentlemen, this is what you've been waiting for: the FTX. BUD/S is a long pull, and you've had a long eight weeks here at Third Phase. This is where we put it all together—put it all in one sock. Everything you have learned throughout training you will use in one form or another during the next week. It's going to be a lot like Hell Week— long hours, not a lot of sleep. You've got to stay focused for just a bit longer. You will definitely have to work as a team.”
Instructor David Johnson just arrived on the island to work the FTX. He's a sharp-featured, seasoned BUD/S instructor with a ruddy complexion, sky-blue eyes, and a Philadelphia accent. He's a veteran of SEAL Teams Two and Four, with four platoon deployments under his belt.
“Myself and the rest of the staff are here to help you. We will present you with the problems; you solve them. Use us as a resource. Got a question? Got a problem? Bring it on. The only stupid question is the one you don't ask. We can't hurt you anymore, and we have just a few short weeks to get you ready for the teams. And only one week of serious training out here. Any questions to this point?” Silence. “When there are, and I guarantee there will be, come to me or any of the instructors, anytime, day or night. If we're in the rack asleep, get us up. We're here for you. This is your last chance to learn and lock down some very important information before you leave BUD/S.”
Johnson hands Lieutenant Gallagher two folders. “These are your missions for tonight, sir. Keep one for your squad and give the other one to the second squad. Work quickly and carefully. This is a night reconnaissance and we want your Warning Orders ready at ten hundred this morning, so that doesn't give you a lot of time.”
“Hooyah, Instructor.”
Johnson leaves them and the class splits up into two 10-man squads— one squad in each of the two classrooms. Bill Gallagher will be in charge of Squad One for the FTX and Eric Oehlerich will have Squad Two. Oehlerich is emerging as a strong leader who can get things done. He's the smallest of the five officers in the class, but does everything well. Basic SEAL skills like shooting and fieldcraft seem to come naturally to him. It's almost like he's done it all before. The two squads go to work on their Warning Orders, which have to be ready in a little more than an hour.
“Time hack … stand by … five, four, three, two, one … Mark. Time is now ten-twelve Tango, April fifth. I'm Ensign Birch and I'll be giving the Warning Order for our mission tonight.” The Warning Order is a short brief given by the patrol leader to alert his men on the kind of mission they will be conducting. He will let them know what operational gear to prepare and to assign duties to help prepare for the mission. Jason Birch reads the mission statement verbatim from the flash training message, then gives a quick update of the enemy situation.
“The basic mission concept is this: We insert by helicopter, patrol in on foot, do the recon, collect intelligence, foot patrol out, and extract by helo. Everyone will have their basic combat load, full H-gear, full canteens, and full cammie face paint, just as I've outlined it here on the Warning Order board, plus the following special equipment as noted. Seaman Black will bring the sketch kits and camera. Assignments: I'll be the patrol leader, Mister Oehlerich is the APL, Lopez the radioman, and Armstrong will be my point man. The rest of you will fill out the squad file as indicated on the board. Our time log is as follows: the Patrol Leader's Order will go down at sixteen hundred, inspection at seventeen hundred, and rehearsal at seventeen-thirty. At eighteen thirty we board the helo to begin the operation. Any questions, guys?” There are none. “Our actions at the objective will require two recon stops. Once we find a suitable ORP [operational readiness position] near the objective, Armstrong, Lopez, and I will recon the target using a cloverleaf pattern to cover the two stops, make sketches, and take pictures. Then we'll rally at the ORP and proceed to the extraction point. Your special briefing assignments are on the board. Keep me advised if you have any problems in completing them prior to the Patrol Leader's Order at sixteen hundred. This completes the Warning Order for Squad Two.” In the adjacent classroom, Ensign John Green finishes his Warning Order with Squad One.
“Questions, comments?” Birch asks.
Again there are none—from the trainees. “Just a couple of points, Mister Birch,” says Instructor Scott Stearns. “Since you have plenty of men in your squad, why not assign two recon parties, one to do each recon stop while you control both from the ORP? Sure, there will be some command and control issues to consider, but you might shorten your time on target with two elements working the problem. Just a suggestion, sir; think about it.” He adds a few more comments about the Warning Order, then says, “I'll be available all day if you have any questions.”
Stearns is what is called the lane grader for Squad Two's first FTX problem. He will be with the squad during its briefings and all mission preparations, and he will accompany it on the mission. He will critique the squad at various stages of the problem, just as he did the Warning Order. He'll also conduct the final mission critique. He's there as a resource and as a safety observer, but in all other respects, the trainees are to ignore him; he's just a shadow.
The trainees of both squads begin to plan their mission and work on their assigned portions of the mission preparation. They also have to stage their personal gear and weapons. They're on a timeline and have to be ready to go at 1600, just five hours away. Collectively, they work on portions of the Patrol Leader's Order, but Jason Birch will do most of the briefing. Their mission is the reconnaissance of a communications site. It's a sneak-and-peek operation—gather intelligence, without making contact or being seen. John Green and his squad are to recon a SAM missile site.
Ensigns Birch and Green lead their squads into the field that night. I have my choice and decide to fall in behind Jason Birch's squad. The last time I walked in the field at night in a squad of men with their faces blackened was in the lower Mekong Delta in 1971. Neither mission goes as planned. The helos, which are pickup trucks, dump the two squads near their infiltration points, but not exactly. The squads have to adjust their route to the target. There is a low overcast, making for a very dark night. Squad members have to patrol within touching distance of each other. Both squads miss their targets and have to patrol back to find them. There are rocks, ravines, and cactus to contend with. Once on target, they creep close to their objectives, and the squad leaders send out their sketch teams to survey the enemy sites. They are back in the classrooms by 0230 for debriefings and critiques. The lane graders tell them what they did right and what they did wrong. Then the patrol leaders type up their reports for submission the following morning.
The next night, Squad Two attacks the target that Squad One reconned using the intelligence Squad One gathered the previous night. Squad One attacks Squad Two's target from the night before. They attack with blank ammunition, fire, and maneuver using the leapfrog technique they learned only a few days ago. Ensigns Oehlerich and Burke lead these squad attacks. The second day of the FTX is much like the first; the trainees plan most of the day, patrol most of the night, and get about three hours of sleep. They're learning. There are a lot of mistakes, start to finish, but not so many as the night before.
Class 228 has completed two of the FTX problems and has two more to go. The first were squad actions—recons and blank-fire assaults. The final problems are platoon-size, live-fire exercises. The trainees will have two days to plan and rehearse for these last two missions. These are the big ones.
“You guys are learning, but you've got to pay attention to detail,” Warrant Officer Locklear tells the class officers and John Owens the following day. They are in full greens and H-gear and soaked to the skin. The classroom-to-surf distance on San Clemente is about the same as it is at the BUD/S compound. Periodically, Locklear gets the class leaders off alone for an informal teaching session. Earlier that morning, during the live-fire rehearsal for tonight's mission, the class forgot to bring radios and ear protection. And one man was unaccounted for. Locklear lectures them in his easy southern drawl.
“Sometimes we have to send you down to the surf to wash off the stupidity,” he tells them. “Am I right in assuming that you'll not be forgetting any gear tonight?”
“HOOYAH!”
“I expect you people to think and to be students of the game. You're the class leaders; I expect you to set the example for the others. You can't be making these silly mistakes and forgetting gear—losing track of a man. Today it's a trip to the surf. Tomorrow it could be a man's life. All right, ‘nuff said; let's move on. LPO?”
“Hooyah, sir,” Owens replies.
“It's your job to have a good head count at all times that the men are working on their assignments. Know where every man is at all times, okay?”
“Hooyah.”
“Accuracy. I know you're gonna have other members of your platoon brief portions of the operation, but the patrol leader has to make sure their briefings are accurate. I caught one of you guys posting data on high and low tides that was wrong. The level of the tide will determine how much beach you'll have to cross on insertion—how much danger area. Right?”
“HOOYAH!”
“Contingencies. Y'all gonna need to have well thought out contingency plans on insertion, extraction, infiltration to the target, and exfiltration from the target. And you gotta brief these contingencies to the troops so they understand ‘em. And finally, you have to spend more time with the actions at the objective. The AAO is the whole enchilada. Your boys have to know what to do and what to expect at the target. You've got whiteboards, sand tables, and flip charts to get the job done. A picture is worth a thousand words. You guys seem to love that PowerPoint stuff, but all it can do is project words. Draw pictures; the troops can carry that image in their heads, but they won't remember a list of what-comes-next steps. Y'all have your Patrol Order this afternoon, right?”
“HOOYAH!”
“Well then, you'd better get to work. An’ I wanna see some kick-ass drawings in your briefings.”
“HOOYAH!”
“Fair enough. See y'all at the Patrol Order.”
“Security is set, all doors and windows closed, blinds drawn. This will be your Patrol Order for our direct action mission tonight. At this time we'll update our time hack … five, four, three, two, one … Mark. Time is fifteen thirty-seven on Saturday, April eighth. I'm Ensign Oehlerich, and I'll be the patrol leader for tonight's operation. We're on for a live-fire, demolition ambush and intelligence collection mission, and we have to submit a post-op report no later than zero nine hundred tomorrow morning. This will be a full platoon-sized operation. You've had your Warning Order this morning; any discrepancies—problems? Everyone good to go? Fine. I'll now read the mission tasking.” Oehlerich reads from the training message that tasks them with intercepting and neutralizing a van carrying a load of dissident nuclear scientists.
“Concept of operations.” He turns to the whiteboard and an elaborate sketch of the northern tip of San Clemente Island with the airfield running through the middle of the drawing. “We'll insert in two Zodiacs and paddle to here, anchoring the Zodiacs two hundred yards off this beach just south of the western end of the airfield. We'll swim in to this point and insert across the beach to an ORP here. From there we'll infil by foot patrol along the base of this cliff, skirting the western edge of the airfield, and cross this flat area to our objective. At the objective, we'll deploy along this berm and set the ambush. When we're finished, we'll exfil from the objective along the coast back to a rally point here, then back to the insertion point.” He follows their route in and out on the drawing with a pointer. “From there we'll exfil over the beach to the Zodiacs.”
Oehlerich hits the PowerPoint and brings down the rules of engagement, which he reads from the screen. Seaman John Collins briefs the trainees on the environmental and hydrographic conditions, as well as the terrain features. For hazards they have sea lions, which have been known to nip at a fin or an ankle, and the occasional shark, “the man in the gray suit.” Leopard sharks are sometimes seen around San Clemente, but they are curious and relatively harmless as sharks go. Adam Karaoguz briefs the class on the enemy situation and specifics about the reaction force that may be in the area. Zack Armstrong, who again has the key job as walking point, takes the platoon through the infiltration route to the target. Oehlerich trusts Armstrong. Both of them grew up in the mountains, hunting and hiking, and both know how to move at night and in the bush.
“Actions at the objective. Once we reach a position close to the target,” Oehlerich says as he taps a point on the whiteboard drawing, “we'll form an ORP and set security. Myself and Armstrong will conduct a patrol leader's recon of the target. When we get back to the ORP from the PL recon, I'll pass along any additional information as necessary. Then we'll patrol in stagger-file formation to the objective area and deploy along this berm near the road. Everyone remember your place along the berm from the rehearsal? Good. Once we're in place, I'll give the command ‘demo team out.’ I want that word passed up and down the line; everyone has to know that we have men leaving the line and going downrange. Dougherty and Lopez will move forward and set out the claymores so they have good coverage in the kill zone.” Claymore mines are small packs of C-4 explosives backing a sheet of ball-bearing-like steel pellets—simple and lethal. “When they come back into the line, they'll give me the firing leads to the claymores. While they're out setting up the claymores, each of you will lay out three full magazines. Then we wait for the target vehicle to approach the kill site.”
The live-fire FTX problems have a good deal of realism along with a heavy dose of administrative time-outs and strict range-safety procedures. The “target” is a derelict van towed into the ambush site. It's seen previous duty as an ambush target, and is riddled with holes. Inside the van, are cardboard silhouette targets from the shooting range taped to the seats.
“After the target is in place, I'll lock and load with a full magazine. No one loads until the demo team is back and I have a good count, okay? When you hear me chamber a round, everybody locks and loads. Make sure you're well down on the berm. After we're ready to shoot, the RSO will give me the clackers [claymore triggers], and I'll connect them to the firing leads. Then I'll crank off the claymores. When the shot goes, that's your signal to come up on line and start firing. Keep up a sustained rate of fire until I yell ‘cease-fire.’ We'll then clear and safe all weapons, and you'll hear me call ‘search team out.’ Lewis, Shaffer, and Armstrong will go forward and search the vehicle to look for any intelligence materials. The rest of us will stay on the berm, on line, covering them. As soon as they return to the line, I'll give the word and we'll fall back to the ORP. Karaoguz will be on the far left side of the line, and he will lead the platoon file out. Move quickly in a hasty patrol; we're going to want to clear the target area quickly. Mister Burke will be the back door. Everyone taps him on the way out, and he gets the head count coming off target. Once back at the ORP, we'll get a second head count and begin the exfil. Now, we've rehearsed this a half dozen times and we had a good live-fire rehearsal this afternoon. Let's go over it again on the sand table.”
The class gathers around a sand table mock-up of the target area, and Oehlerich again takes the men through the actions at the objective using little toy soldiers. When he's finished and there are no more questions, Zack Armstrong briefs them on their exfiltration route and the extraction back over the beach. Petty Officer John Owens is the radioman, or RTO. He covers call signs, frequencies, prowords, and other details of the communications plan. Seaman Marc Luttrell briefs them on the medical contingencies and Dan Luna covers the escape and evasion plan. Oehlerich again claims the podium for his final comments.
“Okay, guys, we've rehearsed it and everyone knows their jobs. Let's be alert, have good hand and arm signals, and let's have good noise discipline.” He checks his watch. “From here we go to chow, then back to the barracks to jock-up and cammie-up. I'll hold the patrol leader's inspection at eighteen hundred. We'll hold the final rehearsal and walk-through at eighteen thirty. At nineteen thirty we board the bus for the trip to West Beach, where we'll launch in Zodiacs. Questions? Then this concludes my Patrol Leader's Order.”
Warrant Officer Locklear and Instructor Johnson punch through a quick critique of the briefings. They're both complimentary and critical. The class takes notes on how the presentation or the mechanics of the mission could have been done a little better or a little differently. Just after midnight, a van full of paper-silhouette nuclear scientists suffer multiple claymore and rifle hits by Class 228.
Two nights later, the moon is higher in the sky at dusk and a little fuller. The tide is high as a gentle surf crashes on the beach just down from Camp Huey. A pair of dark figures tumble from a breaker and scurry across the sand to the cover of the beach grass just over the berm. They're dressed in full combat gear, faces black. They carry their swim fins looped over their wrists and their rifles at the ready. Moments later, another pair follows them. They quickly form a small perimeter and wait, watching and listening. Then a single pair rises and begins a careful, cloverleaf reconnaissance of the area, looping out and back to clear their assigned sectors. They're back in less than ten minutes and re-form the perimeter. Bill Gallagher is wearing a waterproof Saber 3000 radio with earpiece and boom microphone.
“APL, this is the PL, over.”
Out on the anchored Zodiacs, Ensign John Green, Gallagher's assistant patrol leader for the final FTX problem, waits with the rest of the platoon.
“Go ahead, Patrol Leader, over,” Green replies over his Saber.
“We're secure; let's do it.”
“APL, roger, out.”
The other sixteen trainees, fins strapped over their boots, quietly slip over the side of the Zodiacs and begin to swim to the beach. Gallagher guides them ashore and across the beach with a red-lensed penlight. The platoon melts into the scarce beach vegetation, weapons at the ready. From there the men move fifty meters away from the beach to their first ORP. They set up a circular perimeter with Gallagher, Green, Cleaver, and Owens in the center. While they get their bearings for the first leg of the patrol, the rest of the platoon ties their fins to the back of their H-gear in preparation for land travel. The head count comes around and everyone is ready to move. Beaver Cleaver is on point. He leads them off the beach and up along the coastal cliffs toward their target. From the shadows off to one side, the Third Phase staff quietly watch their students insert across the beach and begin their foot patrol to the objective.
As did Oehlerich on the previous FTX mission, Gallagher sets another ORP near the target. The platoon goes into a security perimeter while Gallagher and Cleaver creep forward to observe the target. They are just off the road that leads to the enemy base. It's a radar and communications site that consists of two small wooden buildings, two radar dishes, two 6X.6 trucks, and a water buffalo—not the four-legged kind, but a trailered water tank. Since they're pushing the long end of their time on target, Gallagher decides to call his men up rather than return to the ORP for them.
“APL, this is the PL, over.”
“Go ahead, PL.”
“We're in place. Bring the platoon forward in two files, your squad on the right side of the road and Squad One on the left. How copy, over?”
“Understand Squad Two up the right side of the road, Squad One on the left, over.”
“PL, good copy, over.”
“We're moving. APL, out.”
Soon there are two files of dark shapes picking their way along the dirt road that leads to the enemy site. As briefed during Gallagher's Patrol Leader's Order, the two files turn ninety degrees left and right as they come on line at Gallagher and Cleaver's position. They assume a prone firing position. The platoon enjoys the cover of a slight rise about thirty meters from the radar dishes and vehicles. Gallagher taps his transmit key.
“APL, prepare to assault.”
“APL, roger, out.”
Gallagher and Green are positioned on a rise directly across the road from each other. They each pass the signal to prepare to assault. Down the line, left and right, the members of the platoon pull loaded magazines from their ammo pouches and lay them out at the ready. Only two trainees, Matt Jenkins and Seaman Warren Connor, are not on line. They take a position about ten meters behind the line of shooters to serve as rear security. They're also the grenadiers. Instead of magazines, they lay out illumination rounds. Slung beneath the barrels of their M-4s are M-203 grenade launchers. On either side of the two grenadiers, several instructors meld in behind the line of students on the skirmish line. With them is Captain Bowen, who has come out to watch 228's final FTX. There is no talking. Instructor Johnson looks up and down the line; there's enough moonlight for him to see the thumbs-up from his staff safety observers. This is a range, and the range is clear. He walks over and taps Gallagher on the foot.
Bill Gallagher is waiting for this. He locks a full mag into his M-4 and taps his bolt release tab. The bolt rattles home, chambering a 5.56mm tracer round. A mechanical tap-and-clatter ripples down the line of trainees as Class 228 goes hot. Johnson receives another up-check from his safety observers and he again taps Gallagher on the foot. For a nanosecond, a flash of red connects the closest structure to the muzzle of Gallagher's M-4 as the tracer round makes contact. Dozens more follow as the platoon engages the target. Some of the men come up to a kneeling firing position as they change out magazines—three magazines, twenty rounds per mag, over a thousand rounds, all well-aimed, single shots. Full automatic is only for the movies; the drill is accurate, sustained fire. It's over in about forty seconds.
“Cease-fire! Cease-fire!” Gallagher yells. “Clear and make safe all weapons!”
The operation “goes admin” as the instructor/safety observers quickly check that all weapons are clear and safe. Every thirty seconds or so there is a whoosh and a pop as Jenkins and Connor keep the target lit with their 40mm illumination rockets.
“You're clear, Mister Gallagher,” says Instructor Johnson. “Continue with the problem.”
“Squad One maneuver!” Gallagher calls loudly. No need for sound discipline now. “Squad Two is base!” The two squads echo the commands so everyone gets the word. Ensign Green's Squad Two will remain in place as the base element; Lieutenant Gallagher's Squad One, as the maneuver element, will assault the target.
“Ones up!”
“ONES UP!”
“Ones forward!”
“ONES FORWARD!”
Bill Gallagher and four men from Squad One move forward. Off to their right, Green's squad covers them from the flank. To Gallagher's left are the remaining members of Squad One.
Bang, bang! Bang, bang! This is night fire and maneuver without the live fire or blank fire. There is no time to stop and fit blank-firing adapters to their weapons.
“Ones down!”
“ONES DOWN!” Gallagher and his men drop to a prone firing position.
“Twos up!” Clint Burke, Gallagher's assistant squad leader, gets his element on their feet.
“TWOS UP!”
“Twos forward!”
“TWOS FORWARD!” Burke and his men move up on the run. If this were a live-fire exercise, they would be changing magazines.
Bang, bang! Bang, bang! Gallagher and Green “fire” while Burke and his element advance. As Squad One leapfrogs forward, Squad Two shifts its fire to the right, still on target but away from the advancing maneuvers of Squad One. While this is pretend fire, it is serious business. Crawl, walk, run. Within a year, these same trainees will cover their SEAL platoon mates with live fire and move downrange while other SEALs behind them are hot.
Gallagher yells, “On line!”
Squad One replies, “ON LINE!”
“Forward!”
“FORWARD!”
Squad One moves into the target area, line abreast with weapons shouldered, while Squad Two simulates shifting their fire off target. In the eerie glow of the parachute flares from the illumination rounds, Squad One moves into the target. Gallagher is like a sheepdog moving behind the skirmish line.
“Hold!”
“HOLD!”
“Clint, you and Owens clear that dish!” The two men close on the mobile radar platform while the rest of the squad holds.
“I got long!” yells Owens as he points his M-4 past the radar site watching for a threat behind the target. Burke quickly searches the area around the radar.
“Clear!” Burke reports.
“Clear long!” echoes Owens. They drop to one knee and await further direction from their patrol leader.
“On line!”
“ONLINE!”
“Forward!”
“FORWARD!” The skirmish line continues through the target area.
“Hold!”
“HOLD!”
“Cleaver! Luna! Clear that vehicle!”
Luna yells, “I got long!”
Squad One moves through and clears the remaining radar dish, vehicles, and structures. Once through the objective area, Gallagher orders the platoon to set security. Ensign Green leads Squad Two up on the run, and they establish a loose perimeter around the target.
“Search teams out! Demo teams out!”
Two 2-man teams begin a search of the structures and radar installations for documents and other intelligence. They find some files and computer disks stashed in one of the small plywood huts. The two demo teams lay their charges out on the ground rather than on the radar dishes; these targets have to remain intact for Classes 229 and 230.
“Demo team one ready!” yells Seaman Tyler Black.
“Demo team two ready!” yells Petty Officer John Collins.
“Understood,” Gallagher answers. “Stand by!” He's waiting for his search teams to report back in.
“Four minutes, thirty seconds, sir,” reports Brendan Dougherty. It's his job to keep the elapsed time on target. He reports in every thirty seconds. The enemy reaction force in this FTX problem has a response time of ten minutes, so safety considerations aside, they have to get off target as soon as possible.
As soon as both search teams report in clear to Gallagher, the patrol leader says, “Demo team one, pull!”
Black responds, “Fire in the hole … I see smoke!”
“Demo two, pull!”
Collins reports, “Fire in the hole … I see smoke!”
“Five minutes, Mister Gallagher.”
“Got it, Dougherty. Collapse security! Bring it in! Cleaver, where are you?”
“Right here, sir.”
“Take us out of here, hasty patrol; Mister Green has the back door— let's go, guys, move it!”
John Green is waiting on the perimeter. Cleaver runs past him and gives a quick high five on his way out of the target area. As the rest of the platoon collapses in on the target and forms a single column, the men pass Green and slap his hand. Gallagher is the last man off target.
“Got ‘em all?”
“You're twenty; last man!”
The two officers fall in at a trot away from the objective. Two hundred meters off target, Cleaver pauses and the platoon goes into a hasty perimeter. With administrative time subtracted, their time on target was just over five minutes—good, but not great.
“Okay,” Gallagher says in a low voice, “standard patrol formation, quick and quiet. Let's boogie.”
Cleaver takes a bearing on the initial leg of his exfil route and heads into the night. Gallagher and the rest of Class 228 file in behind him. Soon after they begin walking, two explosions erupt from the target, now well behind them.
Midway through their exfil, instructors with blank-firing automatic weapons ambush them. The platoon leapfrogs away from them to break contact—Bang, bang and move; bang, bang and move. They're back in an ORP near the beach just after midnight and begin their extraction by squads—back across the beach and out to the anchored Zodiacs. At 0240, the platoon is back in the classroom in their seats, faces streaked and black. There is a small pool forming under each chair as seawater drips from the men's clothing. Lieutenant Gallagher conducts his patrol leader's post-op briefing on the whiteboard. When he finishes, Instructor Johnson joins him.
“Mister Gallagher,” Instructor Johnson says when Gallagher concludes the post-op, “how do you think you did?”
“I think we did okay, Instructor. We could have been a little quicker getting off target, and, well, our leapfrog maneuver to break contact on the exfil wasn't terribly smooth. We had to rush on the setup to make our timeline, but I think it went all right; my guys did a good job.”
“I think you all did a good job, Mister Gallagher. So do the rest of the staff. Now, we threw you a few curves, but nothing really too bad—just enough so you know what it will be like. You have to understand that a special operation seldom goes according to plan; often you have to improvise, think on your feet, make adjustments, react as new situations arise. We have a lot of administrative constraints here in BUD/S. It's basic training; there's a lot of artificiality.” Johnson pauses and regards them thoughtfully. “But we want you to see the process, understand the basics of mission planning and taking that plan into the field. Now you're ready for the more complex training you'll get at STT and in your platoons. And always, always remember the three requirements of a direct action mission: the element of surprise, violence of action, and fire superiority. Warrant Officer?”
“Y'all did well; I'm proud of you,” Locklear adds. “You have anything for them, Captain?”
“Not right now,” Ed Bowen replies. “I know you still have work to do. But I like what I see; you're a good class. We'll talk more next week when you get back to the Strand.”
The men of Class 228 have finished their last formal training evolution. After a quick cleaning of their weapons and themselves, they get about five hours of sleep. The next day is a workday. They clean the camp, police the ranges, and prepare personal and training gear for the trip back to Coronado. They work hard, grin at each other a lot, and nobody is sent to the surf zone. Training is over. The last night on the island, they have a keg party and do skits for the instructors. The class officers man the charcoal grill and cook steaks and fresh sea bass. Spearfishing is good around San Clemente, and the Third Phase instructors take advantage of this. Well into the evening, Instructor Johnson again takes control of the class.
“Okay, fall in, two ranks facing me. C'mon, c'mon; we don't have all night.” The partyers quickly revert to their role as BUD/S trainees and line up. “You guys have been at this for what, six months now? You're starting to learn something about this business. So I want each of you to come up with one single word or trait you think is necessary to get through training. You first, Mister Gallagher.”
“Perseverance.”
“Very good, sir. Fall out.” Gallagher drops away from the first rank.
“Commitment.”
“Good one, Owens. Fall out.”
“Courage.”
“Good. Fall out, Shaffer.”
“Determination.”
“Okay, Lopez.”
“Humility.”
“Excellent, Mister Birch—very important. Fall out, sir.”
“Tenacity.”
“Excellent, Armstrong. Fall out.”
“Stamina.”
The list grows as each member of the class makes his contribution. “Who's your admin officer?” Johnson asks. Karaoguz raises his hand. “I want each of you to give your word to Karaoguz, and I want him to type them into a list. This is your list, your words. Make a copy, put it in your wallet. Later on in your advanced training and in the teams, when your classmates are no longer around, you'll still have their words with you. Pull ‘em out—read them—live by them. BUD/S is over, but training is not. We train our whole lives. Then someday, just maybe, you get to do it for real. Then the success of your mission and the lives of your teammates will depend on just how well you trained. Understand what I'm saying here?”
“HOOYAH!”
“Okay, guys, party on.”
The next day the scheduled airlift is canceled and Class 228 endures the ten-hour ride back to the Amphibious Base in the open bay of a utility craft. But they're happy travelers. After Indoc and the brutal attrition of First Phase and Second Phase, Class 228 has achieved a rare distinction. They return from San Clemente with the same twenty men who left the Strand four weeks ago.
Graduation week. Once a dream, now a reality. It's an easy week with administrative chores like dental X rays, jump school briefings, wet-suit measurements, and course critiques. Captain Ed Bowen meets with the trainees and presses them for a candid assessment of their training. Class 228 was the first class to begin its training during Bowen's tenure as commanding officer of the Naval Special Warfare Center. He will read the men's critiques closely.
The trainees are out almost every night eating hamburgers, having a beer or two. They've made it and they know it. The last graded physical evolution is the SEAL physical readiness test, or PRT It consists of maximum push-ups, sit-ups, and dead-hang pull-ups in a two-minute interval. Following the exercises, the men immediately complete a three-mile timed run and a half-mile timed open-ocean swim. There is no punishment for those who finish last, but they're still BUD/S trainees; they fight to be first. Their individual scores will improve when they get to the teams and their bodies recover from the rigors of BUD/S, but they don't do badly. The top scorers in each event:
|
Seaman Warren Conner |
230 push-ups |
|
Lieutenant (jg) Bill Gallagher |
158 sit-ups |
|
Ensign Jason Birch |
37 pull-ups |
|
Seaman Larry Romero |
15-minute, 33-second three-mile run |
|
Petty Officer John Collins |
12-minute half-mile swim |
For the best overall score out of a possible five hundred, Petty Officer John Owens is the iron man of Class 228 with a top score of 460. Ensign Eric Oehlerich is a close second at 458.
There are two more physical evolutions between Class 228 and graduation, Hooyah PT and the Balboa Park Run. Both evolutions are designed to be fun and to build class spirit prior to graduation. Hooyah PT for Class 228 is a swim trunks, T-shirts, and boots evolution, but it's not an easy one. They run the O-course, run seven miles in the soft sand, then run the O-course again. Ensign Jason Birch, who finished last in the Monster Mash at the end of First Phase, wins the Hooyah PT. Most classes are bused over to Balboa Park in San Diego for their final run. Due to time constraints and scheduling, 228 is driven ten miles south on the Strand Highway to Imperial Beach, and they run back to the Center along the Strand bicycle path. It's an easy trek; most run at a conversational pace, but Seaman Larry Romero is well ahead of everyone else.
On Thursday, the members of Class 228 complete their BUD/S checkout, collect their new orders, and rehearse for graduation. At long last, the flags and the rows of folding chairs and the raised speaker's platform will be for them. On Thursday afternoon, Class 228 meets for a few hours with one of SEAL Team Two's most famous alumni, Lieutenant Tom Norris, USN (Ret). Tom was my classmate in BUD/S Class 45. He won the Medal of Honor for making his way into North Vietnam to rescue two downed American pilots. The operation was the basis for the 1988 Hollywood movie Bat 21 staring Gene Hackman and Danny Glover. Several weeks after this daring rescue, Petty Officer Mike Thornton of SEAL Team One won the Medal of Honor for saving the life of a badly wounded Tom Norris, after the two of them found themselves in a shoot-out with a North Vietnamese battalion. Following two combat tours, Tom Norris enjoyed a colorful and storied career with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
“When's the last time you went to a BUD/S graduation?” I asked him a few months ago.
“When we graduated from BUD/S back in 1969,” he told me.
“Then you better come out here and help me graduate Class Two twenty-eight. You just gotta meet these guys. They're terrific.”
It was good to see my old friend Tom with this new generation of BUD/S graduates. They fell right in with each other—talking about the teams, swapping stories about training. I couldn't really tell who was enjoying themselves more, Tom or Class 228.
21 April 2000. A threatening line of storms hangs off the southern California coast, but a slight offshore breeze comes up midmorning and holds them offshore. The BUD/S compound is turned out as it is for every graduating class. The BUD/S grinder is ringed by state flags, and there is a tent in one corner for punch, cookies, and the graduation cake. At a table in the opposite corner are two instructors selling BUD/S T-shirts and SEAL memorabilia. A raised dais served by three steps rests on the west side of the grinder before the backdrop of a huge American flag. There are close to five hundred guests packed into the rows of folding chairs. This is Class 228's last day at BUD/S. Two Medal of Honor recipients are on hand to honor the class. This is my second graduation address: I also spoke at Class 182's graduation.
“Vice Admiral Stockdale, Lieutenant Norris, Captain Bowen, Naval Special Warfare Center staff, distinguished guests, members of the Naval Special Warfare community, and members of Class Two twenty-eight. And especially the friends and families of Class Two twenty-eight, for without your support, these fine young men may not have made it through this difficult and demanding training. This is very much your day too.
“Class Two twenty-eight … hoo-yah! You made it. Congratulations on a job well done. I can't tell you how proud I am of you, and what a distinct honor and privilege it is for me to serve as your graduation speaker.
“Today I have three duties. One is to speak to the accomplishments of Class Two twenty-eight. The second is to offer a few words of wisdom as you move on to advanced training and into the teams. The third, as is the prerogative of an old warrior, is to tell a story or two about how it was in my day. In regard to this latter duty, I'll try to be mercifully brief.
“The numbers and the statistics say nothing about the spirit, teamwork, and dedication of the men seated here before me, nor of the obstacles they've overcome to make it to this stage in their journey to become Navy SEALs. But the numbers do speak to just how selective this training is, and the rigor of the selection process.
“One hundred and fourteen men had official Navy orders to Class Two twenty-eight.” As I talk about the attrition in the ranks of 228,1 can see a number of old SEALs nodding appreciatively. “At one time or another, one hundred and thirty-seven young men were listed on a roster with Class Two twenty-eight behind their name. The twenty men seated here today are the ones who made it.
“What happened to all those others? Why aren't they here today? A few of them arrived at BUD/S and quickly found that this training and this way of life were simply not for them. A few tried their best, but simply did not have the physical tools to get through this training—not many, but a few. Others were injured and are still at BUD/S. They hope to be seated up front in this place of honor at some future BUD/S graduation. But most of those who left Class Two twenty-eight had good intentions and strong bodies, but they lacked a key ingredient; they lacked the heart of a warrior. That's what BUD/S is all about—heart. These twenty men have shown that they have the heart to become a warrior.
“Words of wisdom. Advice. I have nothing original to offer, so I'm just going to recall a few words of wisdom and advice that came from your BUD/S instructors and mentors. They're worth hearing again.
“Remember back to the end of your two-week Indoctrination Course when your Indoc proctor, Instructor Reno, told you that in the teams you'll be closer to your teammates and platoon mates than you ever were to your high school or college friends. But he told you to never, ever, neglect your family. In the teams you will live and fight alongside your teammates, but never forget your family; they come first. If you remember Instructor Reno's words about the importance of family and follow them, then you will honor Instructor Reno.
“In First Phase, during one of your core values presentations, Chief Schultz talked about right and wrong. He told you that in the teams and when you're out in town on liberty, you'll have times when you'll question whether something is right or wrong—a good idea or a bad idea. The chief said that if it's a close personal debate between right and wrong, it's probably wrong. I wish some chief petty officer had said that to me when I was a young officer in the teams. It would have saved me a few headaches and some personal embarrassment. This is good advice. Trust me on this one, guys, you will often be challenged by the hard right and the easy wrong. If you think twice and do the right thing, then you will honor Chief Schultz.
“Let's next recall that Friday on the beach at the demo pits when Ensign Joe Burns said those magic words: ‘You're secured from Hell Week.’ Remember how good you felt at that moment? You'd finished Hell Week.” I pause and look at Class 228 and all twenty are grinning, even those who completed a previous Hell Week. “But think back to what else Ensign Burns said. He told you that Hell Week was just a speed bump at BUD/S. I saw the look on your faces when Joe said that. Five days of pain, cold water, and no sleep! And the man just called it a speed bump! As you leave here and take up the challenges of advanced training and platoon duty, remember this perspective. There are some tough days ahead for each of you, and some very demanding duty as a SEAL operator. Think of these challenges as speed bumps on your journey to become a warrior. If you work hard and meet these challenges well, you will honor Joe Burns.
“In Second Phase, your proctor was Instructor Steve McKendry. During his proctor briefing, he talked about alcohol. Instructor McKendry said that he didn't drink because it affected his performance as a Navy SEAL— his personal goals as a warrior. Steve McKendry didn't tell you not to drink, but he did tell you not to let alcohol get between you and your goal to become a SEAL. No words of mine can possibly put a proper value on this advice. If you use alcohol, do so responsibly. And if you never let alcohol come between you and your goal to become a warrior, then you will honor Instructor Steve McKendry.
“And finally, I want to remind you of what Instructor David Johnson said after your final field training exercise on San Clemente Island. He complimented you on your performance in the field, but he also told you that you'd just scratched the surface of your professional careers, that you'd always be in training—always learning your trade. He said that it would never get easier, but that it would get better—that you would get better. Think about this as you train and work to elevate your professional skills. Do this as you continue your journey to become a warrior, and you will honor Instructor Johnson.
“You've had some excellent mentors during your stay here at BUD/S. As you move on and take up new duties and challenges, take their words of wisdom with you. You will honor them in the teams.
“And finally, a few words about what it was like when I was a BUD/S trainee—the old days, back when Moby Dick was a minnow. We go through this training as a class, but we leave training as individual BUD/S graduates. Since you began this training you've been told that reputation is everything. It's a small community; everybody knows everyone else. As you move on to the teams, the reputation you earned as a BUD/S trainee will follow you. It was the same way when I graduated with Class Forty-five. Like Bill Gallagher, I was a junior grade lieutenant from the fleet and my class's leader. We began with seventy-some trainees, and thirteen of us graduated. Like Bill, at times I felt like Colonel Travis at the Alamo as the class got smaller and smaller.
“Some of you in Class Two twenty-eight are leaving here with a great reputation. You came here and ate this program up. Sure, you had a few anxious moments along the way, but barring serious injury, you always knew you'd make it. Others of you have struggled with this training. For one or two of you, you weren't sure you'd be sitting here today until you got on that boat leaving San Clemente Island for the long ride back. It was just the same in Class Forty-five.
“There were any number of gritty performances I saw while observing Class Two twenty-eight. If I had to single one of them out, it was Ensign Clint Burke during the last few days of Hell Week. Clint is big for a BUD/S trainee, and he never stood taller than in Two twenty-eight's Hell Week. Whatever boat he was under almost always won, because Clint carried his share of the boat and then some. We had a guy like that in Class Forty-five. His name was Al Horner. Al was six-four, almost as tall as Clint, and he was a horse—best swimmer in the class and a solid BUD/S trainee. But under the boat he was awesome. I led the little guys in my boat crew and Al led the big guys in the other boat. I don't think we won a single race during Hell Week.” Al had flown in with his wife and I asked him to stand. The group gave him a nice round of applause for what he'd accomplished three decades earlier.
“Al was one of the best in Class Forty-five and he took that fine reputation with him to Underwater Demolition Team Twenty-one. He served the teams and his Navy with distinction. Clint, I know the staff here at BUD/S, as well as your classmates, think you did a terrific job in BUD/S. We know you're going to be a success in the teams.
“Not all of you in Two twenty-eight performed as well as Clint Burke. It's a tall order, no pun intended. And I know many of you struggled just to be here today. Some of you may still be wondering if you belong in this business. It's been a long, hard pull, and you may still have doubts about yourself. There's more tough duty ahead. Well, it was the same for us back in Class Forty-five. I remember one of my classmates particularly well; I didn't think he was going to make it. He was last on most of the swims and on most of the runs. When we finished Hell Week, he looked like Don Knotts on a bad day. I know my instructors spoke openly about his suitability to be in the teams. There was serious talk about dropping him from training. However, he's also here today. I am speaking, of course, about my friend Tom Norris.
“It is with a deep measure of reluctance and humility that I talk about the shortcomings of a man like Tom Norris. But there's a valuable lesson here. That medal, the Medal of Honor, that Tom and Admiral Jim Stockdale are wearing today represents the highest honor our nation can bestow on a warrior. We are honored to have them with us on this special day. But hear me on this one, guys, because it's very important; what you do in the teams is more important than what you did at BUD/S. If you have earned a good reputation here at BUD/S, keep up the good work. What the sign over the entrance to the grinder says will be true as long as you're in the teams: ‘The only easy day was yesterday.’ For those of you who struggled and sweated and barely made it to graduation, as did Tom Norris in Class Forty-five: I want you to keep struggling, keep sweating. Once your new teammates and platoon mates find that you're ready to work hard— to listen and learn—they won't care what you did at BUD/S. Trust me on this. Work hard, stay focused, do the little things. You can have a great career in this business, even a courageous one. And if you still have doubts about that, then I want you to have a talk with Tom Norris after this ceremony.
“In closing, I want to ask you a favor. We SEALs get our share of recognition for what we do. In the teams, there are a number of non-SEALs who work very hard to make us look good—to make you look good. I'm talking about the technicians in the armory and the dive locker, the supply folks, and the administrative personnel. They deserve our respect and appreciation. So at least once a day, I want you to compliment one of them, or give them a good word. They do so much for us and seldom get credit for it. And there's another group of warriors we SEALs are privileged to serve with, men who seldom get the recognition they deserve. I'm talking about the combatant crewmen in our Special Boat Units. Many of you will fight alongside them. These men are professionals in their own right, and if you don't think running across a state-five sea on a moonless night at forty knots doesn't take the right stuff, then you have a good deal more to learn. The combatant crewmen in the Special Boat Units are our brother warriors; treat them with respect.
“Class Two twenty-eight, once again, congratulations. Speaking for Tom Norris and Al Horner from Class Forty-five, and all the other old guys here today, let me say that we admire you and we wish you luck in the teams. God knows, we envy you. On behalf of a nation that is sometimes slow to value or even understand your sacrifice, thank you. You have chosen the difficult, dangerous, and often underappreciated path of a warrior in America. The words of the Canadian national anthem say it well: thank you for standing on guard for all of us. Thank you for being there so the rest of us can enjoy America's blessings and freedoms. On behalf of myself, thank you for allowing me to share just a small part of your journey.
“Friends and family of Class Two twenty-eight, thank you again for your sacrifice. Only with your continued support and understanding will they be able to reach their full potential as warriors and Navy SEALs.”
As I look into the faces of Class 228, and past them to the old guys—to my generation of SEALs—I again realize just how much all this meant to me back when I was a young warrior, and continues to mean to me now that I'm an old one. And how proud I am of these marvelous young men who want to be Navy SEALs.
There is a big lump in my throat, but I manage to say, “This concludes my remarks.”
Captain Bowen presents each man in Class 228 with his graduation certificate. Tom Norris and I are there to shake each of their hands. Then it's time for the Honorman Award. The Honorman is chosen by the BUD/S staff and is based on physical, academic, and leadership achievement. There are several in the class who could receive this award. Bill Gallagher led his class well. Adam Karaoguz and John Owens were superb petty officers. Clint Burke was a rock. It is not an easy choice for the staff, and it's the only individual award in the BUD/S graduating class. The Class 228 Honorman Award goes to Ensign Eric Oehlerich. I believe it was a good choice. I would be proud to have any of these men in my platoon, but if pressed to choose the man I would most like to have beside me in a fire-fight, it would be Eric Oehlerich. As the Honorman from Class 45, I was proud to shake his hand and offer my congratulations.
“Thanks, guys,” Oehlerich says to his classmates from the podium after receiving his award. “They gave it to me, but it's for all of us. Hooyah!”
It is customary for each class to present a memento to the Center, usually some form of ornate plaque with a class picture, the names of the graduating class, and an inscription or motto. More often than not, the inscription is a few macho words or a tough-guy motivational phrase. Not in the case of Class 228. Bill Gallagher steps to the podium.
“Captain Bowen, we'd like you to have this memento from Class Two twenty-eight. In addition to a picture and our names, it's inscribed with a poem. I'd like to read it, if I may.” Only Bill Gallagher doesn't read it; he delivers it verbatim—from memory and from the heart.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever Gods may be
for my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the Captain of my soul.
“Sir, I request permission to ring out Class Two twenty-eight.”
“Permission granted,” Bowen replies, returning his salute.
Gallagher leaps from the platform and races around the gathering to the corner of the grinder. Three clangs on the BUD/S bell and it's over for 228. How fitting that Lieutenant Bill Gallagher, who so capably led Class 228 from the beginning, should have the last word from the podium before he rings out his class. From across the grinder, a new class leader calls the ranks of new trainees to attention.
“Two … Two … Eight!”
“HOOYAH, TWO-TWO-EIGHT!”
“Two … Three … One!” Gallagher replies.
“GOOD LUCK, TWO-THREE-ONE—HIT THE SURF!”
Class 231, currently in Indoc, is a big one—some 230 strong. They break ranks and head for the Pacific. They quickly return, cold, wet, and sandy, just in time for Chaplain Freiberg's benediction and to watch the SEAL honor guard retire the colors.