The nightmare began Friday for a tough, diverse, bunch of guys’ who came from all over the US for a challenging week of training. After settling in at the cabin, and pounding a belly full of Diane’s chow, I gathered the group for their first of many challenges;

Fire Starting.

The survival portion of training here is a bitch, so we’d get in the mindset early. I showed the guys’, and they shot, a very cool survival weapon that Fighter Pilots carry in their ejection seat. The compact weapon shoots a .410 shotgun round for birds and small game, and also a .22 Hornet for something a bit larger. .

We’ll see if they can feed the class during a few days of misery in the swamps here.

I broke out a pile of flints and other implements for fire starting and gave a class by the bunkhouse. The Challenge: Pair up, and make fire.

The second challenge; move the fires 70 meters after you have them built.

No big surprise that a Fire Department Captain from New Jersey started a blaze quickly while others struggled to spark some tinder. Soon though, others grabbed the concept that requires teamwork, patience, and an understanding that the three things needed for a fire are oxygen, fuel and heat.

They also learned that the biggest single thing that separates man from any other wild animal on earth is fire, and the sole reason that we have evolved into what we are.

Humans don’t run from fire, when all other animals do. Strange…

Soon we had a blazing bonfire, and the guys’ received the “In-Brief” for how we operate the training and facilities here, and some assignments were made. The Fire Captain became the Class Leader, and he’d have his work cut out for him, as we turned individuals into team players with much of the responsibility resting on his shoulders.

Hell Night began with the SEAL PRT Test the next morning, after the class slept comfortably in the cabin and bunkhouse.

Two things piss me off about that test and need cleared up.

1. Some guys’ look at that test on paper and think, “Shit, all you have to do is 42 push-ups to be a SEAL?”

I’ll admit that test looks easy on paper. IT’S NOT. Taken “correctly,” it’s a ballbuster, and we show you how to “Correctly” take the test.

2. Some guys’ practice, practice, and PRACTICE that test.

Look boys… When you can pass that test, forget about that test. I ask guys’ on the phone how far they ran today? Many times the answer is 1.5 miles, and taken from the test.

When you can run 1.5 miles in under 11:30 for the test, that should be the LAST time you ever run that short a distance preparing for BUD/S.

You’d better get off your ass and put some major miles on the road if you hope to have any kind of chance in BUD/S.

1.5 miles is not a distance you should concentrate on.

Finishing the PRT, we were watering the guys’ by a road when a truck pulled over next to us. By chance, the driver was a good friend I hadn't seen in a long while. Heading for Blackwater where he works, I asked that he take a few minutes and speak with the class.

Scotty, never at a loss for words and wearing shorts, approached the class and began speaking.

The first thing you notice about Scott is a horrible scar on what’s left of his calf, compliments of an

AK-47 round taken in Panama during the invasion.

Scotty got them pumped for the day by explaining how he’d do BUD/S all over again if he could. BUD/S was fun and he had a great time, and the Teams were better. Although he’d had a few rough scrapes and lost friends, he had no regrets and wished the guys’ well this week.

With the PRT concluded, we began to grind the gears with team building exercises and let the healing begin for a great group who needed a dose of adversity from Doctor Pain. It doesn't take long for trainees to forget about their problems in life and just try and stick out the toughest 24-hours most will ever experience. All they have is each other, and they’d need to pull together fast or a long day would only get longer.

They did, and made it to lunch; So far, so good.

The guys’ met Mike and asked a few questions in between Mike’s stories of being one of the original SEALs selected by Marcinko for SEAL Team SIX.

Crazy high altitude night jumps gone bad, and a host of other stories, Mike established creditability quickly, and got the guys’ pumped.

Luke, Nick, and Ben helped as instructors for Hell Night. All had multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan and are the “cream of the crop” in SEAL Team, but Ben stands out slightly for a couple reasons.

First off, Ben could pass for a college student. Mid-twenty’s, very clean cut, boyish good looks, doesn’t swear or drink, deep Pennsylvania draw. Ben lives locally, but hauls ass to Pennsylvania often where he lives alone in a cabin without electricity and lives off the land foraging for food in the wilderness, and practicing his tracking skills.

Secondly, Ben was pulled off the helo at the last minute on June 28th. It was the helo that was shot down during “Red Wing.”

Too much weight on the helo for a climb into the rugged mountains for the rescue mission, he and others waited for the helo to return in ten minutes to insert them as a second element.

It never came back. 

Luke and Nick taught half the group strikes and grappling after lunch. One of the guys’ remarked that if Nick hit you, you’d feel that strike for the rest of the week.

The other half went with Ben and me for patrolling and Swimmer Scout training at the pool.

Teaching the guys’ how to swim with a weapon, and in boots and cammies, the idea is to send a pair in to the beach first to have a “look see” and signal the rest of the platoon in when it’s safe. Not an easy skill to master in a couple hours, they’d need to pull it out of their asses quickly or the night mission would get hairy and down right dangerous, as the class would be on their own to cross the river and execute the plan.

While training at the pool, a group of fishermen happened by and were taken back by the wet teams carrying weapons and fins and huddled by the waters edge.

It’s not something they were used to seeing, and kinda shocked them.

As they were passing, I knew where they were heading, and it was another section where we would be swimming towards in a few minutes. I told the fisherman, “ If you guys’ go up there, we’ll just f**k you up.” His mouth opened slightly, and his eyes widened as he scanned the silent group of tough looking trainees, and he replied timidly, “Excuse me.”

I again said that we’ll f**k you up if you fish there.

I concentrate on the course, the safety of the guys’, and the quality of the instruction, but after studying the look on his face for a few seconds, I realized how what I had said sounded to him.

I only meant that we’d ruin his fishing by all of us swimming in that spot.

He thought we were going to beat his ass if he went any further, and looked mighty relieved when I clarified my statement.

With all the guys’ trained in Swimmer Scouts, and how to kill a man with bare hands, we took the “jacked up” and elated group and knocked the snot out of them with log PT, wiping smiles off faces quickly.

Log PT in BUD/S, is the closest most men come to seeing God. Here, we give a taste of that experience, and it simply SUCKS.

The guy it sucked worse for was the tallest guy we have ever put through training here. With all the logs even for the rest of the class, his log was noticeably much higher on one end, and he had it worse than anyone else.

As a “Boat Crew Leader” though, the thirty-something held strong through the punishment, and I’m sure he was glad when the pain ended.

What he didn’t know, was his burden of being tall would only get worse in a few hours and he’d be tested again, when he and all the others would lift a Zodiac boat over their heads a few times.

I use the phrase “a few times”, very loosely.

After a ‘pipe swinging’ supper that allowed them to forget their troubles, they learned camouflage and concealment, stealth and stalking, and began mission planning and preparation for a demanding operation. 

The three boat crews launched their Zodiacs on a dark river at 2100 and headed for their objective.

The mission:

Sneak close to the Target in the Zodiacs.

Launch Swimmer Scouts who would find a good area for the platoon to launch an assault.

Swimmer Scouts signal Platoon by red-lens flashlight when safe to swim in.

Launch the Platoon and do a good job of hiding 20-something trainees while we look for you.

When ready… Neutralize Ben and Luke; capture unharmed “Nick the Striker,” and extract.

Finally… Don’t get caught…

Even though I knew where they were, and what they were doing, when they passed me “code words” via radio of their progress, I was still shocked, as was everyone else, at the speed and violence of the assault.

It was over quickly, and Nick was drug to the water in flexcuffs.

WELL DONE; I congratulated the guys’ on a successful and complicated operation, and proceeded to reward them with a beating of exercises and boat drills that caused the ghosts haunting the “Tower of London” to roll in their graves.

IT WAS BAD, and making maters worse was the cold water causing the trainees to shake like they had seizures. 

I’d call the temperatures of the water “Therapeutic.”

It got worse, and better, a couple hours later as DJ and Patsy showed up. DJ got off a plane and headed straight here after picking up Patsy. A hard training trip for DJ, he relaxed and unwound by inflicting pain on the class, while Patsy encouraged them to not quit as she talked about Danny being killed on Red Wing.

We gave them a chance for a break in the beating by offering the “dance off” contest that Patsy and Fallon judged. Winners enjoyed the show by watching the losers get beaten.

Wet, cold, and exhausted, the bad asses were given another break and enjoyed an hour eating an MRE and asking ANY question they ever had about SEALs and SEAL Team to the instructors who gave honest and frank answers.

All part of it here, trainees are so much more prepared for BUD/S mentally and knowledge wise than other BUD/S trainees when they “Class Up” in San Diego. 

You learn about BUD/S and SEAL Team, the training, the men; you learn from guys’ who have completed the training and live the life everyday, and not from some book or the Internet where you read about it.

Here, you live it, smell it, touch it, and understand it.

It’s tough, it’s in your face, it grabs you by the balls, and it works…

While the guys’ laughed at the stories the instructors told and relaxed after a VERY TOUGH day, I could tell they knew I was about to secure Hell Night, and that the nightmare was over. They were done, it was over, they had survived, and they were as proud of their accomplishment as any they would ever do.

When you least expect it… Expect it… and I yelled instructions quickly for the next race across the river and back. It would pay to be a winner and I MOTHER F**KIN MEANT IT.

The beating was long and severe; up boats, relay races, wheel barrel races, goon squads, bear crawls, on and on and on it went. Finally I asked how long would it take to get the boats back and that I’d secure Hell Night if they could do it.

I forgot to mention that the water in the river, during a strong Northeast wind, blows the water out like a tide. We had that wind, and the water levels were down more than 5 feet. Other classes had all that water to cover hidden snags on the bottom. This class had very little and would work hard to break loose of the endless obstacles along the way.

I always say, “When you least expect it, expect it,” and I should have saw it coming, but I didn’t. Somehow they beat the time as bad as it was on the river. More than that, they broke the record by almost two minutes and finished in 22:02.

Impossible, but they did it.

Impossible is what they say can’t be done with missions SEALs go on as well…

Anything is possible… ANYTHING…

I secured Hell Night and called in the Helo for a wild Pre-Dawn ride on a chilly morning.

Quite a cast and crew, their ages ranged from 38 to 16. It included a Fire Captain, guys’ that had SEAL Contracts, Headhunters, Painters, and a first ever here, a big Australian from Texas who is a Horse Chiropractor by profession. No shit...

I hear from guys’ “I run Triathlons,” “I run Marathons,” all kinds of stud types of activities. Most say this to me as a gauge of being ready, or that they won’t have any problems in BUD/S.

My reply back is “Can you do a Triathlon every day?”

You need to be able to do a Triathlon EVERY F**KIN DAY at BUD/S, no matter what temperature or weather condition, no matter how sick you are, no matter how tired, no matter ANYTHING…

The number one reason guys’ don’t make it through BUD/S Training is they are not physically ready for that lengthy punishment. 

You’ll find out here, if you’re ready to go out there…

Platoon Training would start after a few hours of sleep. What we didn't know at the time, was the Class would fight and struggle the rest of the week to accomplish the training.

A storm was coming, and we'd take "staying flexible" to a whole new level during the week.

Everything that could go wrong during the week, did go wrong...

Everyone sleeps on Sunday after Hell Night. Well, some do; most catnap and toss and turn for a few hours, as their mind is still in the game. It’s hard to forget what had happened a few hours before.

Land nav training for a few hours that night, and a good meal. Watch a movie and relax with a beer to unwind. Get some sleep; Matto we’ll be waiting in a few hours, and he’ll show what lies in store for you at BUD/S.

Matto is a charming, chiseled SEAL. A retired Master Chief with a diverse background in SPECWAR, Matto is sharp, and quick-witted. He can also dole out a punishing BUD/S style PT. Do the exercises correctly, use proper form; Matto demands perfection.

They met Matto in the darkness early Monday morning. After introductions, the first exercise was to “get wet.”

Everything in BUD/S is about doing it wet, cold, and sandy. Very uncomfortable, it makes guys’ reach deep inside.

After repeated trips to the water, and piles of push-ups and flutter kicks, Matto pumped them up giving tips and statistics on BUD/S Training, and sent them back to the cabin to clean up.

Trainees in ranks, wet, sandy, spent, and covered in snot, Matto said to let him know tomorrow if they’d like to “Ramp Up” the PT, and make it a little harder?

The guys’ kicked ass on the compass course and had lunch. Don, the jump dude, showed up and taught parachuting that afternoon while I took a couple guys’ with me for a recon.

We had a Tomcar this week to use for anything we wanted. A Tomcar is a cross between a 4x4 and a Hummer. It holds four guys’ and we’d allow the class to use it for a target assault the next night, and see how the booger eaters on the target would respond as it sped in with Airsoft weapons blazing from each seat.

It would be at least, very entertaining…

We broke out the Airsoft weapons that evening and showed the guys’ how to safely shoot them. How do we do that? Well, we shoot each other at various distances and watch each other wince in pain, and make noises as the BB’s impact.
Very realistic training, when one hits you, you’ll find cover fast…

I taught patrolling as the sun set, and we picked a good ole country boy as point man to lead the patrol that night.  A long patrol, the trails were wet and slippery, and the night sky had very little illumination.

The longer the patrol got, time wise, the more tired guys’ became, and constant sounds rang out of guys’ falling in the mud, followed by quiet laughter and good natured heckling.
The most heckling came when I’d eat shit and take a mud bath, as I’m no Ballerina out there either.

Our point man kicked ass and got the tired bunch back in one piece. Get some sleep, Matto waits.

As the guys’ showed up for PT, Matto announced that he had received an e-mail from one of the guys’ that night that said his PT the day before was good, but it wasn’t great.
He was only kidding, but he took the PT up a notch.

A big notch…

Back at the cabin, we began survival training and showed the guys’ how to butcher a large animal, and their last supper before a grueling few days spent assaulting targets and foraging for food in the thick swamps.

The rest of the day was spent issuing gear, planning the missions, loading boats, and mentally preparing for the toughest part of the course here; all while the sky turned dark, and the winds picked up.
We had a storm on its way, and I watched the weather closely.

The first Target the guys’ would hit is a big, tough one. Very difficult, I allow the guys’ to come up with some devious means to take it from a determined group of veteran Airsofters who show up out of curiosity each month to defend it.

We’ve hit them from the North, from the South, and from the North and South simultaneously. We’ve hit them from Zodiacs, we’ve launched swimmers, we’ve impersonated pizza delivery dudes, we’ve Trojan Horsed them.

They never know what the class will come up with, but it’s always entertaining.

Tonight, the plan was to hit them in the Tomcar from the West, while two Zodiacs hit them from the East.

We launched the Zodiacs at sunset. Ben drove one boat; I drove the other, while the Class Leader and his three guys’ waited at the cabin for the call that we were in position with “Eyes On” the Target.

With the Target a few miles distant, we ran into trouble immediately. The high winds had blown the water from the River, leaving it a shallow mess of mud and debris that had our engines sucking bottom and bouncing off hidden logs.
I’ve seen it happen before, but never this bad. A wide River turned into a muddy creek overnight!

We made it though, and watched the Target from a distance. We’d have a tough fight in a few minutes; the Target was alive with activity.

The Boat Crew Leader passed the Captain the code word to begin the assault. We watched from the boats, and waited until we saw him arrive on Target in a cloud of dust that sent bad guys scattering for cover, guns a blazing.

We moved in quickly, sneaking in from behind, and began whacking booger eaters immediately. Not a one sided fight, our own guys’ began taking heavies and a steady stream of good, and bad guys’, headed to the safe zone after being killed.  

Captured on videotape, the Captain sped into the Target crossing the railroad tracks with all four wheels off the ground, shooting dumbfounded bad guys’ from all four seats. He continued to fly around the Target reeking havoc on groups of Opposing Forces who scattered and thought “it never ends with these guys’.”

We finally secured the Target after a long battle.

Good and bad guys’ got together and laughed and regaled the action. The toughest hit of the night came from the bad guys’ who fired a 40mm grenade into the Tomcar and peppered its occupants with painful projectiles.

A few pick-up games, and more pain for the guys’, I prepped the boats and worried about what lied ahead that night, as we’d move far up the shallow river to the survival area.

Entering the narrow tributaries on a dark night, we paddled, pushed, and pulled the boats over endless snags and mud, working hard to reach the survival area.
The survival area is one of the few areas along the river that has dry land. Seventy meters from it, we were stuck and could go no further.

BUD/S Training is a controlled training, and you are taught to NEVER quit.

One of the first lessons you learn in SEAL Team is how to quit, and some deprogramming takes place.  

As a “Small Unit,” a small problem can become a big problem fast, and there are plenty of times in SEAL Team that we back off and try something else.
This isn’t working, we’ll f**k someone up, or we’ll fail the mission if we continue.

We are taught to use common sense, and realize our limitations. Abort the mission, and try again another day if things aren’t adding up.

Sometimes, quitting is the only way…

We could have got there, we were close, but getting back out was the question, as some very shitty weather was just South of us, and the concern was what was left of the water would dry up like Moses parting the Red Sea.

I hated to do it, but I called bullshit after a noble attempt, and we headed for the extraction point and safety.

Up early the next morning, Ben began by teaching tracking to the class.

SEAL instructors are always taught to “establish creditably” before teaching. It’s the ‘why’ you should be listening to me thing.

Ben began by talking about tracking in the rough terrain of Afghanistan as point man, and sealed his creditability by telling a story of arriving home after deployment and noticing something different at his property.  
He saw that a board on his fence was broken that enclosed his three acres and a wire on another section of fence was down.

He studied the tracks that were left, and determined that they were two weeks old, that a woman had broken the board, and that a tall, fat guy had broken the wire.
Being too big to cross the wooden fence, the lazy, fat guy had crossed another section and both proceeded to his barn where they stole his electricity while erecting a new house next to his.

He called the contractor who built the house, and gave him no time to deny what had happened. Ben proceeded to run down the chain of events of who (woman/fat guy), when (two weeks ago), where (She broke this/He broke that), and what (They stole my electricity).

After a one-sided phone call, Ben received a check for the electricity a few days later.

Ben laid out a puzzle of tracks for the guys’ to study. The objective: When the class on tracking is completed, tell me what happened in the puzzle.  

Ben taught how grass lays when disturbed, how to tap around hidden tracks and find them by how the ground around them sounds. Size and weight of the person, was he carrying a load, was he friend or foe. On and on he went, and when finished in a couple short hours, he had the guys’ go back to the puzzle and figure out what happened there.

Very hard to read, they quickly pieced the puzzle together. The person making the tracks was being followed. The person who made the tracks had stopped, and looked over his right shoulder. He stopped again, and looked over his left shoulder. He knelt down, panicked, and then began running.

I’ve seen some impressive things, but instructing for so short a time, and the guys’ being able to read the tracks was amazing. Ben wasn’t even close to finishing as he began the food, water, shelter, and fire starting training that lasted the day.

I took care of a few things and caught up to the Class as they were eating pine bark and nuts. Ben showed them wild onion, garlic, and a host of editable plants that had the class snacking during the training.
Ben explained poison snakes, ivy and oak, and showed the class the difference in ivy and oak as an example. A few feet away, I lifted a large section of tin roofing buried by pine needles; underneath were two huge copperheads and completed the class on poison snakes.

Ben finished training with the fire starting. A complete kit of materials he gathered from all over the world, Ben demonstrated making a fire with a hand drill, and soon had smoke. A hand drill ain’t easy, but he made it look that way, impressing the class to no end when he produced a hot ember and ignited the tinder, as the winds began to howl as the storm approached.

As night fell, the guys’ prepped for another mission, and one that I’d throw a few twist into.

We’d use the Tomcar and another vehicle to insert the guys,’ and drive right to the doorsteps hitting them hard. Their mission was to capture a woman; not just any woman, this one was a fighter, and protected by four brothers, and a cranky assed husband.
Their secondary mission was to only capture and not kill the men. Also, the ultimate insult in their Targets culture was stealing, so another objective was to steal a few chickens, and let them know you did it.

I could smell the testosterone in the vehicle, as the balaclava wearing Bad Asses sat silently during the drive up a long country road, going over the mission in their heads.
I swung in fast up the driveway, and pulled into the yard in front of two of the brothers who were quickly thrown to the ground and cuffed.
I raced to the house as the Team entered and heard the loud yelling of “ON THE GROUND MOTHER F**KER, DON’T YOU F**KIN RESIST ME, as the husband was hit hard and bound.

They began to search the house and found weapons all over. Searching rooms, they entered a dark bedroom and found the Target hiding in a small closet, and she came out swinging.
“ON THE GROUND BITCH,” she was pulled to the floor struggling, and warned in a deep New Jersey draw, “QUIT FIGHTING, OR I’LL PUT ONE RIGHT IN YOU”RE F**KING HEAD!”

Cuffed and under control, she was whisked to the running vehicle, as her family was consolidated and kept quiet nearby.

The commotion in the chicken pens was loud, and the search continued for a final family member unaccounted for. He was found and secured in short order, and placed with the others. All were insulted with the “WE GOT YOUR CHICKENS BOYS.”

It was over in minutes, a head count was taken, and they left as quickly as they had arrived, disappearing into the darkness.

At the debrief, the storm hit hard throughout the night, and continued all day Thursday, while Ben taught them Close Quarter Combat, and they practiced the skill at the cabin. Becoming proficient, and working well as a Team, I tasked them with another mission.

Their Target had red hair, a red beard, and only a few teeth in his head.

Pretty easy to identify… He’s an ugly f**ker, and we want him…

Suspected of smuggling weapons, the Class was to search a large property for a large weapons cache.

If they found it, bring him in.

If they didn’t find it, place a tracking device on him stealthfully during a search, and place another tracking device on his vehicle.

Hopefully he’d unknowingly lead us to the cache.
Another twist in the mission, lets give the Captain a break, and allow one of the SEAL Contract guys’ a chance to lead the mission and show us what he had, before he went to BUD/S.

A lightning fast strike, they hit the Target hard. Wearing balaclavas again, they had no trouble getting toothless to comply quickly, as he never even flinched while the searched the large property for the weapons. A few minutes later, the radio crackled that the search was complete…

No weapons were found.

They searched the ugly bastard, and attached a tracking device to his belt, one on his vehicle, and quickly disappeared.

Back at the cabin, the guys’ debriefed the operation and some relaxed with a few bottles of cold barley soup.
Me, I was on the phone to the drop zone and watching the storm intensify.

There appeared to be no way the drops were going the next day. Too much water had fallen, with lots of flooding locally.
I’d have to make up for the lost jump, or risk having disgruntled trainees on my hands. One sure way to keep guys’ with Alpha personalities happy involves shooting, and plenty of it.

I called in the big guns, in the form of a tattooed SEAL son of mine. Get your ass down here and help Daddy with the training.

I scheduled a local range that was covered and dry for a day of shooting a pile of weapons. All set, we loaded the vehicles with an arsenal, and enough shells and bullets to take over a small Country.

I let the range know we were on our way, and some puss faced, bean counter on the other end began some bullshit saying he had not received permission for the owner that allowed us access.

The owner said we were coming, right?

Yes, but he didn’t give me permission to allow you on the range, and I can’t get in touch with him.

I repeated, “the owner told you we were coming, so what’s the problem.”

The problem was he was a dumbass and needed a few of his teeth loosened.  

I’d take care of that later, now, we needed a range. No problem, a phone call to a buddy was all that was required.

The shooting goes on during the survival training, but we’d been unable to get up the river where we do it. We’d shoot close by in a swampy field that turned out to be perfect for what we needed.

Rifles, pistols, shotguns, the weapons never cooled off. Running “Stress Courses” to get the blood flowing, the guys’ would do a variety of exercises to wind them before they shot a weapon for time and score.
Bullets cracked down range all day, as mud flew, and balloons burst.  The guys’ hammered a poor performance, and applauded a great one. Everyone kicked ass, as we tightened up the shot groups and left the range around 4:30 for one more class before graduation.

Knife Fighting…

After a tough week of staying flexible, and rolling with the punches, the guys’ learned that the last fight you want to get into, is a knife fight. Even winning one, you’ll get cut in most cases.

Taps, stabs, and slashes, the guys practiced and paired up for a final snot blowing two minutes round. After learning with the training knives, the matches involved the guys’ fighting with sharpie markers, and hits were counted. The final matches involved wrestling, and the marker would be thrown in and fought for.    

Much was learned, and a good time had by all.

Clean up, the guests will be arriving soon for the party. SEALs they hadn’t met, instructors they had, wives, girlfriends, and widows, all began arriving to congratulate them.

I said a few words, and Patsy Deitz read off the names of the graduates. They received their certificates, and shook hands with a long line of SEALs who passed some “Well Done’s” to them.    

I’m always proud of all the guys’ who grit their teeth and finish the course. It’s a tough week, and it takes a special guy to pass it. I don’t normally single anyone out for an extra well done, but I did during this Class.

I explained to all the guys’ something that had been kept a secret between a trainee and myself all week. I said that in all my long years of instructing, on active duty, and retired, I had never trained a guy that did not want to be trained. EVER…

This Class was a first for that, and came from a guy with a little too much on his plate. He didn’t want to come to the course, he forced himself to come, and I guess figuring he needed a BIG change in his life, or he’d continue spiraling downward.

Guys’ come here for many reasons, and we teach them how to win.

A big responsibility for me; if he failed, there probably wasn’t much worse he could feel about himself, and I would have to live with that myself.

An occasional reassuring slap on the back during Hell Night was all that was needed, he did it all on his own. The feeling of accomplishment finishing Hell Night gets overwhelming, and you feel like nothing can ever stop you again.

A “Born Again” color came on his face after Hell Night, and he loosened up in a big way. He took a leadership role during assaults, and turned out to be a quick-witted and very funny guy. The course fit him like a glove, and all the other guys’ loved him.

Inspiring, motivating… Some of my finest work, and the proudest I’ve ever been of a graduate.

When I was done embarrassing him, he spoke a few words at graduation and welled up a bit with emotion. I don’t think he noticed, but I joined him as well.

The Captain Class Leader spoke, and singled out a guy the Class thought needed honorable mention. Fast Eddie never expected he’d be the one they gave the “Hard Charger” Award to. He wasn’t the best at everything through training, he just never stopped smiling no matter how hard things got, and was always willing to help.

Fast Eddie should have gotten another award, as he knew no limits on his quest to insert his Zodiac on a forbidden Target here.
Ohhhh Eddie…

Never mind… you had to be here.

I had to punch the Captain, who welled a bit himself as he spoke. A tough guy, from a tough city, he did a great job of leading the Team, and deserved a moment.

The guys’ earned, and enjoyed, a great graduation party, highlighted by Ben playing the banjo, guitar, and harmonica on the porch, where we all sang Johnny Cash songs, and had some big laughs.

The other highlight was the Horse Chiropractor giving free adjustments; he was damn good, and hooked a bunch of broken SEALs right up.
So proficient in fact, that when he adjusted Ben, he had Ben’s shoes off and remarked, “I can see you don’t wear shoes much, and you always walk on the sides of your feet to avoid leaving tracks.”

Ben, and all of us were astounded at how spot on he was.  

The Class where everything went wrong, and everything went right.

Nice job 0908, very nice job…

Kick Some Ass…