Fearless (17 page)

Adam overcame a cold, wet, sandy hell—plus his own gnawing demons—to get through BUD/S Hell Week.

Adam was known among the instructors for two reasons: his wife was expecting a baby, and he was one of only a few throughout the course who never once failed to give his all—and then some. His scores were not the highest, but his determination was unmatched, and that carried him into the third phase of BUD/S.

By the time Adam and the thirty remaining students of Class 227 headed to San Clemente Island—seventy-five miles off the coast of San Diego—for some of the last weeks of their training, he had learned the rudimentary skills of a combat diver. Now the focus was land warfare. Physically, Adam was in the best shape of his life, having completed the obstacle course in ten minutes, the four-mile run in boots in less than thirty minutes, and the two-mile ocean swim with fins in less than seventy-five minutes. He had also finished a grueling fourteen-mile run without stopping and a five-and-a-half-mile ocean swim.

Even though instructors never allowed students to slack off, during third phase they were particularly vigilant because of the use of explosives and live ammunition. Students also learned more advanced patrolling tactics and how to plan and execute realistic missions—firing upon target buildings, calling in close air support, and clearing buildings of the enemy. The men remaining had proven they weren’t going to quit; now they had to remain focused and uninjured for one last phase.

One of 227’s first training days on the island took the class on a conditioning jog up a steep, rocky rise. At the top the instructor allowed the men to catch their breath before leading them to a small, nearly vertical cliff that dropped down onto another steep, rocky slope. He pointed out a landmark at the bottom of this ankle-twisting obstacle course. Get down to that as fast as you can, he told them, then run back up. “Pays to be a winner,” he added.

Immediately, the men began to carefully sideslip and shuffle down the slope, which was “about forty-five degrees, a big giant rock face,” says Austin, who was just a few steps into his descent when Adam passed him. “Adam was sprinting a hundred miles an hour. He made it about halfway, his gangly legs and arms just flying, till he lost control and started somersaulting—three or four big flips—crushing him each time on the rocks. Somehow he ended up on his feet, ran to the end, and then sprinted back up. He was back on top before most of us were at the bottom.

“Everything Adam did was a sprint; he didn’t know how to hold back. He cared more about his performance and his reputation than his physical body.”

The baby was due February 18, 2000. Scheduled to return home from the island on January 31, Adam received permission to check in with Kelley the week before. “Everything’s fine, it’s all good,” Kelley told him. “What’s going on with you?” Good, Adam said, but there was a huge weapons practical test that coming Wednesday that had him stressed.

Kelley never let on to Adam that she had been on mandatory bed rest for the past few days due to complications with the pregnancy: preeclampsia and intrauterine growth restriction, both of which are potentially dangerous—and even fatal—for mother and baby. The morning after she talked with Adam, she headed to a doctor’s appointment for her weekly checkup. “We need to deliver this baby today,” the doctor said upon examining her.

When Kelley gave Adam’s parents the news, Janice took the next flight to San Diego, arriving at midnight. By then Kelley was already in induced labor and suffering from a literally blinding headache from the magnesium sulfate she’d received to lower her blood pressure. After eighteen hours of painful labor, through which Kelley couldn’t see much more than shapes and blurs, Nathan Cole Brown was born on Wednesday, January 26—all four pounds eight ounces of him.

While in recovery Kelley called the BUD/S compound to let them know that Adam Brown was the father of a healthy baby boy. “But do not tell him until
after
he completes the weapons practical this afternoon!” she told the instructor who answered the phone.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. “Understood.”

On San Clemente Island, Adam waited nervously for the weapons practical to begin, hoping he wouldn’t get called on first.

“Brown!” The instructor broke the silence. “You’re up!”

Adam stepped up to the carbine and handgun laid out on a table. When the timer began, he first cleared a jam in each weapon, then began disassembling and reassembling each weapon while the instructors peppered him with questions. “What is the effective firing range of this weapon, Brown?” “What is the purpose of that mechanism, Brown?” “What caliber is the ammunition used in that gun, Brown?”
Answering in stride, Adam reassembled both weapons. “Done,” he said, clicking the final part into place and raising his hands off the table.

“Good job, Brown. Good job. Now go over to the office and call your wife at this number.” The instructor handed him a piece of paper. “She just had a baby. You’re a dad. Congratulations.”

At the news Adam sprinted to the phone. “Are you okay?!” he asked Kelley. “Nathan is all right?”

“Yes,” Kelley said, sounding tired but happy. “He’s healthy. He’s little, but your mama is here and she said you were little too and that never slowed you down.”

“My mom’s there?”

“She’s staying for graduation, so you get done. Finish up and come meet your baby boy.”

The ocean swell picked up and waves started pounding the island, making the conclusion of phase three particularly brutal for Class 227. In one exercise, as students swam through the surf zone with their rucksacks, a wave hammered Christian when he attempted to pull on a fin and he ended up with a broken ankle. He struck a deal that he could graduate from BUD/S if he pushed through the final exercises on crutches.

Before the other students headed back to Coronado and Christian headed into surgery, they celebrated their last day on the island with a barbecue, during which the commanding officer followed tradition by telling them that this was only the beginning of their training. “You’ll train for the rest of your careers,” he said. “And if you’re lucky, you’ll get a chance to serve your country and do the real thing.”

Kelley and Nathan were released from the hospital and able to drive to the BUD/S compound with Janice when Adam returned from San Clemente Island. The family’s reunion was shared by a throng of Adam’s classmates, who slapped the new father on the back when Kelley presented him with his swaddled baby boy. “He’s so little,” said Adam, holding the newborn awkwardly. The baby’s head flopped to one side, and Janice jumped forward. “Don’t drop him,” she said, guiding Adam’s hand up to support his son’s neck.

That evening Nathan fell asleep cradled in Adam’s arms as he sat on the couch of the Browns’ El Cajon home. “It’s a miracle,” he kept saying. “I can’t believe it.”

Kelley cuddled up beside Adam and together they stared at Nathan as he slept, mesmerized.

At BUD/S graduation a week later, Adam was one of only twenty-six men left, including Austin and Christian, fresh out of surgery. It was an especially moving occasion for the Brown family—including Shawn and his wife, Tina, and Manda and her husband, Jeremy—as they watched proudly. “We knew something extra about Adam,” says Shawn. “Nobody there realized what else Adam had been through just to get in the Navy.”

During training an instructor had told the men that they would become like brothers, closer than any friends in high school or college. He had encouraged them to embrace that brotherhood and find strength in it, but to never, ever forsake the importance of family. Now, after hugging and thanking every member of his family for having faith in him, Adam presented to his father the Bible that Chaplain Freiberg had given him after Hell Week. Inside the cover, on the page opposite the chaplain’s note, Adam had written,

T
HE DOCTOR WHO RECONSTRUCTED
Christian Taylor’s ankle told him the injury was a game changer. “He told me I’d never be able to do the job,” says Christian. “Never be able to jump out of planes or handle the pounding I’d take as a SEAL. But I knew I could. I just had to get some rehab and suck it up.

“When they told us what SEAL teams we were going to go to, there were two things I wanted,” he continues. “One was to go to the East Coast, and the other was to
not
be on the same team as Adam. I heard my name and ‘Team FOUR,’ which was perfect—East Coast team. Then they said, ‘Adam Brown, Team FOUR,’ and I just shook my head.”

Still annoyed that he’d been medically rolled from Class 226 into 227, Christian put the blame for his stress fractures not on the instructors or the curriculum of BUD/S, but on Adam. Adam was the only person to ever push him so hard his body had failed. If they were on the same team, that rivalry was sure to continue, and frankly, he didn’t know if he could maintain the pace.

These were some of the thoughts Christian mulled over as he convalesced in Coronado while Adam, Austin (who was also assigned to SEAL Team FOUR), and most of the other graduates headed to Fort Benning, Georgia, for three weeks of airborne training before checking in at their respective teams. Kelley returned to Arkansas with Nathan, planning to bounce back and forth between the Browns’ home in Hot Springs and her father’s home in Little Rock. One week into airborne training, however, Adam called.

“Itty Bitty,” he said, “everything is okay, but … it’s calling my name.”

“My heart sank when he said that,” says Kelley.

Adam had been drug free for a year and seven months, but she’d done her research
and learned that relapse was still extremely likely. For Adam the trigger was a glance at a gas station from a man he instantly knew was a dealer—a suggestive look that said, “You need something?”

“You have come too far,” Kelley told him. “You are not going to throw all this away. You need to be strong; we’ve got a family now.”

“I know,” said Adam.

“We’re coming out,” she said. “Think about where we can stay, and I need to talk to Austin. Is he there?”

When Adam had filled Austin in on his past, Kelley wasn’t so sure it was a good idea, thinking word would get around that Adam was a recovering addict and had been in jail, which couldn’t help his reputation in a community where reputation was everything. But now Austin reassured her that he was keeping an eye on Adam and urging him to be careful about whom he shared his story with. Kelley was thankful and relieved that Adam had someone close by watching out for him. “You’re a good friend,” she said to Austin before hanging up.

Next Kelley informed her father, who had planned to drive with her to Fort Benning in a couple of weeks, that there’d been a change of plans. “Something came up with Adam’s training,” she said. “We need to leave sooner.”