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M
ARCUS
Y
ou get close to the people in BUD/S, but you try not to get
too
close until after Hell Week. That’s where the heaviest attrition is.
We graduated two dozen guys out of our class; less than ten
percent the number that started.
I was one of them. I’d started in class 231, but the rollback
meant I graduated with 233.
After BUD/S, SEALs go to advance training—officially known
as SQT or SEAL Qualifying Training. While I was there, I was
reunited with a friend of mine I’d met while at BUD/S—Marcus
Luttrell.
Marcus and I got along right away. It was only natural: we were
a couple of Texas boys.
I don’t suppose you’ll understand that if you’re not from Texas.
There seems to be a special bond between people from the state. I
don’t know if it’s shared experiences, or maybe it’s something in
the water—or maybe the beer. Texans tend to get on pretty well
with each other, and in this case we formed an instant friendship.
Maybe it’s not that much of a mystery; after all, we had a lot of
experiences in common, from growing up with a love of hunting to
joining the Navy to toughing out BUD/S.
Marcus had graduated from BUD/S prior to me, then went off
to do special advanced training before returning to SQT. Trained as
a corpsman, he happened to check me over when I got my first O
2
hit while diving. (In layman’s terms, an “O
2
hit” occurs when too
much oxygen enters your bloodstream during a dive. It can be
caused by a number of different factors and can be extremely
serious. My case was very minor.)
Diving again. I always say I’m an “ . . . L,” not a SEAL. I’m a
land guy; you can keep air and sea for someone else.
The day my incident occurred, I was swimming with a lieutenant,
and we were determined to get the day’s golden fin—an award for
the best shit-hot dive of the day. The exercise involved swimming
under a ship and planting limpet mines. (A limpet mine is a special
charge that is placed against the hull of a ship. Generally, it will have
a timed charge.)
We were doing extremely well when suddenly, while I was
underneath the hull of the ship, I experienced vertigo and my brain
turned into a vegetable. I managed to grab hold of a pylon and hug
it. The lieutenant tried handing me a mine, then tried signaling to me
when I wouldn’t take it. I stared blankly into the ocean. Finally, my
head cleared, and I was able to get out and continue.
No golden fin for us that day. By the time I got back to the
surface, I was all right, and both Marcus and the instructors cleared
me.
Though we ended up in different Teams, Marcus and I kept in
touch as the years went by. It seemed like every time I was coming
back from a combat deployment, he was coming in to relieve me.
We’d have lunch together and trade informal intel back and forth.
T
oward the end of SQT, we got orders telling us which SEAL
Team we were about to join. Even though we had graduated
BUD/S, we didn’t consider ourselves real SEALs yet; it was only
when we joined a Team that we would get our Tridents—and even
then we’d have to prove ourselves first. (The SEAL Tridents—also
known as a Budweiser—is a metal “device” or badge worn by
SEALs. Besides Neptune’s trident, the symbol includes an eagle
and an anchor.) At the time, there were six Teams, meaning three
choices on each coast, East and West; my top pick was Seal Team
3, which was based out of Coronado, California. I chose it because
that team had seen action in the Middle East and was likely to
return. I wanted to get into the heat if I could. I think all of us did.
My next two choices were for Teams based on the East Coast,
because I’d been in Virginia, where they are headquartered. I’m not
a big fan of Virginia, but I liked it a lot better than California. San
Diego—the city near Coronado—has beautiful weather, but
Southern California is the land of nuts. I wanted to live somewhere
with a little more sanity.
I’d been told by the detailer I worked for that he would make
sure I got my top choice. I wasn’t 100 percent sure that was going
to happen, but at that point I would have accepted whatever
assignment I got—obviously, since I had no real say in the matter.
Getting the actual assignment was the opposite of dramatic. They
brought us into a big classroom and handed out paper with our
orders. I got my top choice: Team 3.
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