Chapter Ten
“Welcome to hell, gentlemen!”
Huddling facedown on the asphalt of the grinder, Matt covered his ears with his hands.
Instructors were firing simulated rounds over the trainees’ heads, while others sprayed them with high-pressure hoses.
Flash-bang grenades exploded along the periphery of the group, whistles were shrilling, men yelling.
It was complete and utter chaos.
“Crawl to the whistle, gents! Crawl to the whistle.”
One whistle started bleating with short staccato blasts. Disoriented, Matt belly-crawled toward it, getting a face full of hose water for his trouble. Another whistle sounded behind him, so he changed direction and inched toward that one instead.
This happened over and over. Soon his elbows were raw and bleeding from the wet asphalt. The gunshots started up again, instructors stepping in and around the squirming mass of students as they fired over their heads.
“Shock and awe, baby!” Bernson yelled. “Shock and awe.”
As awful as this was, it wasn’t anything like being attacked in the classroom had been.
Close-quarters gunshots, muzzle flashes, spent brass pinging everywhere—it had been utterly terrifying.
He’d hit the deck, desperate to escape but unable to find an exit, in the end curling up in a fetal position and trying to protect his head.
“Focus, Soup.”
Matt had lifted his face out of his arms to see Shane on his belly next to him. His eyes were calm and steady as he cupped the back of Matt’s head and pressed his lips to his ear. “Breathe. In combat you have to work through your fear and still perform. C’mon, you can do it.”
Seeing Shane so calm, hearing him sound so rational despite the pandemonium all around them, helped Matt regain control. He just had time to squeeze Shane’s shoulder in thanks before the surging tide of humanity separated them.
By midnight they’d lost six men.
“Hell Week is only five hours old, people!” Bernson shouted. “You think you’re miserable now? How d’ya think you’re gonna feel in three days? Go ahead and quit! Avoid the rush!”
As the night wore on, they were in and out of the ocean, alternating punishing PT with surf torture.
Breakfast was a welcome respite, an hour-long chance to eat as much as they wanted and drink some hot water.
The cafeteria workers looked at them with pity in their eyes as bedraggled men loaded up their trays.
Breakfast in hand, Matt staggered to a table and collapsed to sitting, his chin sagging to his chest.
“Hey, Soup.”
He looked up blearily to see Shane smirking at him. “Hey,” he croaked.
Matt felt like shit on the bottom of someone’s shoe, but it seemed like Shane was having a blast. His eyes were bright and he was shoveling food into his mouth like there was no tomorrow.
“How can you eat that?” Matt asked, picking at his mound of eggs.
“How can you not?” Shane rejoined. “Fuel up. Without sleep, food is the only thing gonna keep us going.” He finished his last bite and jumped up to exhort the guys who were having trouble choking anything down, using back slaps, high-fives, threats, anything to motivate them.
At one point, Matt felt his hand on the back of his neck. “Eat,” he ordered softly. “If you die, I won’t get my night.”
“Oh, God.” Matt ducked his head to hide his laughter from the cadre. “Sex fiend.”
“You know it.” A fleeting caress of Shane’s thumb, then he was gone. Matt picked up his fork and ate methodically until his plate was clean.
“Dump your trays! Everyone get wet and sandy!”
As the day wore on, evolutions started to blur together—rock portage, the O-course, exhausting runs and swims, relay races and games. They were kept on the move constantly, except for meals. Men quit left and right.
“Wh-what d-day is it again?” Matt forced out through chattering teeth as he and Trey tread water in the darkness next to a floating steel pier.
“T-T-Tuesday,” Trey groaned. “I think.”
“Fuck.”
“Come on up here for a nice, long rest, boys!” one of the night cadre of instructors called out. Men heaved themselves out of the water and were told to lie down on the cold steel.
“Just relax for a while. Look up at the pretty stars.”
Matt felt like there was a block of ice underneath his body. The shivers racking him were so violent his body scooted along the frigid surface. Guys were crying out as muscles seized and cramped up from the cold, and they flopped around like fish.
This is gonna end. Nothing lasts forever. Embrace the suck!
“There’re blankets and hot chocolate in the back of the ambulance. And the heater is on!” the instructor shouted. “C’mon in and get warm.”
“N-negative,” a few weak voices called out.
“No? Well, back in the water, gents. We can do this all night.”
Matt got to his hands and knees and started to crawl toward the edge of the pier. “Push me in, Soup,” Trey begged him as he passed, grabbing on to his arm. “Push me in now or I’m gonna get up and quit.”
“No, you’re fucking not.” With every ounce of his strength Matt rolled him off the edge of the pier and into the water, and just as he was about to follow, he glanced toward the ambulance.
Shock roared through him when he saw Shane climbing into the back of it, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“You’re quitting?” he shouted, getting to his knees. “Get the fuck back here, you asshole!”
His voice wasn’t much more than a thread of sound, but Matt railed against Shane until an instructor ordered him into the water now.
Casting a bitter look toward the departing ambulance, Matt stood up on trembling legs and leapt off the pier. He went under, and by the time he clawed his way back to the surface, his shock and disappointment had morphed into full-blown rage.
What a waste. What a fuckin’ waste. Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you trust me? I would’ve helped you like I helped Trey!
The water churned as exhausted men fought to keep their heads above it. They were ordered back onto the pier, then back into the water, then back onto the pier.
“Hey, Soup, I gotta pee. Get ready.”
Trey’s voice was scratchy and weak, but he managed to roll across the frigid steel toward Matt, who wordlessly held his cupped hands out. The hot urine warmed his frozen fingers, and Matt didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so blissfully good in his entire life.
Fuck that clown. Now this was brotherhood.
* * *
“Suck it up, guys,” Bernson snapped the next morning when he heard the news.
“Shit happens and sometimes the guys you least expect can’t hack it.
” He stared at each of them in turn. “Look at it this way. In combat, what if one of your buddies goes down? You can’t focus on it; you have to move on and get the job done. The time for mourning comes later.”
That night they were allowed to stagger into a tent and sleep for ninety minutes.
Despite his exhaustion, Matt couldn’t rest. He sat on the edge of his cot, his legs cramping, wishing for death.
In the dark and quiet, his thoughts turned once again to Shane.
Why had he DORed? He’d been doing so well, finishing strong in each evolution and motivating everyone else.
It made no sense, and Matt’s exhausted brain couldn’t come up with any reasonable explanation except that he was just a lousy quitter.
“Well, good riddance,” Matt muttered, bitterness threatening to swamp him. “What a loser.”
He looked around the fetid-smelling tent.
A couple of the other guys weren’t sleeping either, though most had passed out cold.
When the whistles shrilled indicating rest time was over, Matt and the other non-sleepers tried to drag them up with words of encouragement, helping them stand and getting them outside.
“You know the drill. Get wet and sandy!”
Like a horde of zombies, the men lurched toward the ocean. After lying still for so long, muscles had stiffened and seized up, so a few dropped to crawling. Matt tripped and fell, sprawling flat on his face. It took everything he had to get up again and immerse himself in the frigid water.
He watched as a handful of men refused to get wet and turned to head toward the vans idling nearby. To Matt’s horror one of them was Elias, Shane’s roommate.
“No!” Matt staggered out of the surf and charged after him. “You don’t want to do this, not again! Not after we lost Hov!” He grabbed Elias’s arm. “Finish out the day, man. It’s just wet and sandy. We’ve done it a million times. C’mon, you can do it.”
A couple of instructors saw what was happening and ordered them into the water or else.
“Hooyah!” Matt flung himself into the surf, watching sadly as Elias and the others were whisked away. As the long night wore on, the number of boat crews continued to shrink until there were only three.
Eighteen men left out of forty-seven.
Somehow the last eighteen hung on, through the all-night paddle on Thursday followed by an early morning four-mile run with their boats above their heads on Friday.
Matt forced himself to finish strong in each evolution, because that usually meant a chance to get warm, either by being allowed to change into dry clothes or getting to drink some hot chicken broth.
It pays to be a winner.
By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, everyone was half-mad with lack of sleep, most had an injury of some sort and a few could barely walk. But they continued to gut it out, because it was Friday.
“What day is it again, Wednesday?” a grinning instructor asked Bernson.
“Nah, it’s Thursday, ’tino.”
“You sure? I’m pretty sure it’s only Wednesday.”
Matt could see a couple of his classmates, goofy from exhaustion and not able to think clearly anymore, halfway believed what the instructors were saying. He wanted to contradict the two assholes, but he just didn’t have the energy.
“Push ’em out, fellas. We’re not anywhere close to being done here.”
They pushed ’em out. When they wobbled to their feet again, Bernson said, “You’re gonna love this next evolution, men. It’s a doozy. Right, ’tino?”
“Yep. Worst one yet.”
“You ready, people?”
The “hooyahs” were hoarse and scratchy, but they were there.
“The next evolution is…” He paused. “Nah, there isn’t one. You’re secured.”
It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. When they did, the celebration was as loud and boisterous as men dead on their feet could make it. The instructor cadre dispensed handshakes, back slaps and effusive praise.
At last Bernson shouted, grinning, “C’mon, heroes. Head to the bus. Let’s get you outta here.”
Arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, the eighteen survivors staggered toward the bus.
Despite Matt’s swollen knees and aching joints, he felt like he was floating on air.
When the group crested the sand berm toward the parking lot, he could see a line of men standing there waiting to congratulate them.
One of them was Instructor Salazar. “You made me proud, guys. Fantastic job.”
“You’ve just accomplished something most men never will,” Chief Howe said. “It’s an honor to shake your hand.”
In accordance with tradition, toward the end of the line waited some of the commanding officers of the West Coast SEAL teams.
“Looking for a few good men in Team Three.”
“Love to have you in Team Five. Come find me after graduation.”
At last the survivors were allowed to board the bus, where they found bottles of soda and candy bars on each seat. As Matt stuffed the chocolate in his mouth, he didn’t think he’d ever been so tired, in so much pain…or so happy.