Inside SEAL Team Six (14 page)

Afterward, I went to the bathroom and saw that I had blood all around my teeth because of the mouth-to-cric breathing.

But the six soldiers survived, and Mark from our team was fine. Afterward, me and the eight guys I had put through goat lab received lifesaving medals.

Soon after the incident at Fort Bragg I was sent to Chile with two men from
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Chilean president General Pinochet, who had seized power in a bloody coup back in 1973, was growing increasingly unpopular. There was talk of another coup to depose General Pinochet, and three of us were tasked with surveying possible escape routes and finding safe houses, in case fighting broke out and the U.S. embassy and U.S. citizens had to be evacuated.

I flew to Panama wearing civilian clothes. With my longish hair and beard, I seemed to fit right in with the other people milling around the terminal in Panama City. But I couldn’t find the two guys from
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So I called the command and was told to go to my hotel. Still no sign of the guys from
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There was a band playing downstairs, so I went down to check out the scene and drink a beer.

Then, because I was wide awake, I drove fifty miles across the isthmus to the enlisted club at Fort Amador and had a few drinks there.

I returned to my hotel room hours later. There were still no messages. So I went down to the bar, which was full of people drinking and dancing. I surveyed the crowd and saw two well-built guys standing against the wall, observing the area, their arms crossed in front of their chests. They wore big watches and were the only two in the bar who weren’t participating in the fun.

I walked up to one of them and asked, “Are you Sergeant H.?”

He said, “Shh! Nobody’s supposed to know we’re here.”

“Well, Sergeant, I traveled all over the country tonight and saw about a thousand people, and you guys definitely stand out.”

On the flight down to Santiago, Chile, one of the
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guys talked about free-fall training. He explained how they practiced countless jumps in a wind tunnel. Then their riggers checked their chutes twice as they packed them. Finally, they did a jump, which was recorded on video and supervised by two instructors. Everything was by the book.

I told him about that tough old Vietnam-era SEAL who always had a can of Budweiser in his hand, how he’d asked us who hadn’t jumped before and then had us all jumping the next day.

At ST-6, we thought more out of the box, which suited me just fine.

A
t ST-6, when we were recalled for training or for real-world ops, we had an hour to get ourselves assembled in the team room to receive the warning order. The warning order gave us basic information about the upcoming mission. It started with a brief, concise statement: This will be a jump op. Boat crew three will conduct a raid on this building, which is located at this position, at this time and date.

The warning order included the topography of the land we were going into, the enemy forces we’d be going up against, the location of the nearest friendly forces, and the location and number of civilians in the area of operation.

Once we started planning, the amount of detail and specificity depended on the amount of time available. In Grenada, the guys used street maps and tourist maps because they had had little time to plan.

Typically, we started our discussion with preliminaries—who is on the op, what are the jobs, what gear is required. Then we analyzed the specifics of the situation on the ground.

Part of the warning order was a general outline broken down into phases. Phase one might be how we would insert (boats or helicopters, and what types), followed by the infill, including primary and secondary insertion.

The general outline also included information about the recon team, where we would meet up with them, and what info they had provided so far.

Depending on the operation, the commanding officer, executive officer, operations officer, or assault team officer would then talk briefly about what was going to happen during each one of the phases. In most instances, he concentrated on the insertion, infiltration, and actions at the objective, which were usually the most critical components of an op.

The officer also provided specific information about what was required from each operator on the team.

The warning order covered all the basics. Following the warning order, after we had some time to sort out the gear for the op, a patrol leader’s order (PLO) was prepared with the help of every member on the team.

All of the above topics covered in the warning order—infiltration, insertion, position, weapons, concealment, deception, ROE—were now broken down and discussed in detail.

Specific tactics were always determined by the team or element entering the engagement. Each assault team on ST-6 had a different standard operating procedure based on the skills and experience of its individual operators.

Once the entire team was present and we had a full muster, we’d synchronize all of our watches. Then the PLO was presented by various leaders of the team. They’d brief us on the weather forecast, moonrise, moonset, phase of the moon, sunrise, sunset, tides, currents, how deep the water was, natural boundaries, vegetation, landmarks, and so on.

The PLO provided specific detailed instructions to every assault team member on the op. Regardless of whether the mission required movement through jungle, desert, mountains, or urban areas, if the insertion or extraction was from sea, air, or land, it indicated all responsibilities and all fire positions—who covered right, who covered left, and who carried the grenades, Claymores, and any specific equipment.

In the case of a combat swimming op, we’d indentify who the swim buddies were going to be and review the hand and arm signals that would be used on the surface and underwater.

In certain missions we reviewed the procedures for body searches.

As in the
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op, the rules of engagement were discussed in detail. They’re extremely important, because today’s wars are fought with restrictions in terms of who operatives are allowed to fire at and under what circumstances, and there are rules for taking prisoners, seizing property, and interrogating enemy soldiers.

Most civilians probably aren’t aware of the emphasis placed on ROEs and how they define and modify every U.S. military engagement.

We always designated a loss-of-communication plan too, and we answered the following questions: What signal will be used for withdrawal or extraction? Will we be using a 40 mm, a flare, IR chemical light, or an IR strobe? Would we come to report fifteen minutes past the hour, or every other hour?

All SEALs are experts at concealment and deception. And many of our ops included a deception plan. For example, we might blast off a lot of demo to make it sound like a hundred guys were storming a beach when in reality we were staging a night jump miles behind enemy lines.

We’d talk about how to get in, how to get out, and how to stay concealed, and remind one another of the importance of noise and light discipline. It’s amazing how well sound travels at night, especially over water.

Usually we’d use only hand and arm signals and radio communications, when they worked. If we needed to communicate something between squads or boat crews, we’d talk in a whisper. SEALs are expert at sneaking in and out of an area completely undetected. We do it all the time.

All of us learned about forty-five hand and arm signals in BUD/S. There are signals meaning I see enemy personnel; I see a danger area; stop; listen; enemy hutch three hundred meters to my three o’clock; and many more. They’re pretty basic, but in the pitch-darkness, they don’t work. That’s when we use a low whisper passed down the patrol formation.

In the PLO we’d discuss the challenge and reply we’d use to identify friendly forces. For instance, if you moved into a wood line and heard someone say, “Three,” you’d answer, “Four.” Because the code was seven.

We might simply use a red lens flashlight, but most often we used NVGs and IR, since we did practically everything in the dark.

SEALs are experts at inserting, causing all sorts of destruction, and then leaving the enemy to wonder,
What the hell happened?
It always sickens me when I’m in the field and see a bunch of MRE wrappers. It signals to the enemy that the U.S. military was here. Large, inexperienced units tend not to worry about leaving their trash behind for the enemy to find.

SEALs typically don’t cook in the field, because we don’t want to be detected by smell. That’s why we don’t use soap, shampoo, or cologne before going on an op.

We don’t break branches, and we don’t leave tracks. We also use the cover of darkness, when it’s available.

We avoid crossing bridges and walking through open areas. Do our best to stay off roads or open trails. And we try to move so that we can’t be tracked. No footprints. No turning over rocks. Move carefully through vegetation. No scrapes or broken branches.

Movement is always limited by weather and the type of terrain.

As for direction finding, our point man, rear security, and patrol leader generally use GPS, but the system fails on occasion due to equipment malfunction, cloud cover, or poor safelight reception. So, in spite of the technology at our fingertips, we still train and rely on good old-fashioned maps and compass techniques. We all know how to ascertain time and direction by looking at the sun, moon, or stars.

Our point man focuses on the sounds, or lack of sound, from native animals and birds. He knows that when birds fly off, it might mean movement nearby. He also listens for geese, dogs, or other animals that can give away position.

If we heard a dog barking or another animal making noise, we had to know what to do. Usually we either laid low in hopes it would move on or had specific plans and methods for taking out early-​warning creatures.

Included in every PLO was a list of contingency plans—the what-if list. What if you’re delayed on your insertion, someone is wounded, or a helo or insertion vehicle goes down?

What do we do if we’re compromised? What happens if you run into an enemy patrol? What happens if you’re separated from your squad or platoon? What do you do if you encounter extreme weather?

Every single operator has a primary and secondary duty. If the point man went down, rear security took his place. If the medic was incapacitated, someone was designated to take his place too.

We always had a loss-of-comms plan. What do we do if we can’t establish comms with one another, or with HQ?

We had procedures for calling in air support and rendezvousing with another patrol, unit, vehicle, or vessel. These were also discussed in the PLO.

We’d talk about what to do if we encountered the enemy or surprised a local unit. And how to behave if we were captured.

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A cover for action might be: I was walking down this street looking for this particular building.

A cover for status might be: I’m working as a counselor for the U.S. embassy. Since I was a medic, I always used to say I was helping out at a certain relief agency that was providing medical support to the locals. It worked like a charm.

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You have to be able to live your cover. So you practice it and know it well.

Many SEALs have attended SERE School and are practiced in the techniques of survival, evasion, resistance, and escape. We know that if captured, we should try to escape as soon as possible. During SERE School, we’re taught how to resist interrogation. That’s one reason it’s very difficult, if not impossible, to get any worthwhile info out of a SEAL.

Typically, the corpsman briefed the search-and-rescue plan and the location of the nearest medical facility. Then the commo guy would brief the comms portion of the PLO. The point man would discuss the primary and secondary insertion and extraction routes; the team tactician the specific actions at enemy contact. We all prepared and briefed our specific portion of the mission to our fellow team members and to HQ personnel attending the PLO.

Specific equipment and clothing was also briefed. Were we going to wear
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gear, desert camo, or flight suits?

Then we specified the first-line gear we’d be carrying at all times for the specific mission. First-line gear usually included a sidearm, a knife, and an escape-and-evasion (E & E) kit—compasses, flashlights, maps of the area, local currency, and medical gear.

Second-line gear was defined as the equipment we were going to need for our first twenty-four hours of survival—water, MREs, and extra ammo. It was carried on a harness, a vest, or a belt, depending on the op. Second-line gear had to be worn at all times except when sleeping in a tent, barracks, or hotel, in which case it was kept at the foot of the bed.

Today, in operations in the Middle East, SEALs keep their second-line gear on a belt or in a vest and don’t leave the base or garrison without it.

Third-line gear incorporated the things needed for longer-time survival—we called them comfort items—and was usually carried in a backpack, a go-bag, or a bailout kit. It might include extra food and extra ammo, a weapon-cleaning kit, a large orange-colored air panel (to mark your location), a smoke grenade, Claymore mine, a larger medical kit than what you carried with your first-line gear, possibly a butane stove, and maybe a jungle hammock to keep you off the jungle floor.

If an operative was leaving the base or hotel in a car, third-line gear was usually kept in the backseat or stashed in the trunk.

First-, second-, and third-line gear were always prioritized according to the country we were going to and the mission. The gear could change during the mission based on the security level. All this was specified in the PLO. It was part of our planning.

Each SEAL also carried specialized equipment needed for his role in the platoon. So the commo guy carried the satellite phone and radio, and the medic was responsible for the more advanced emergency medical kit. I carried morphine and specialized medical equipment that enabled me to perform a cricothyrotomy, put in a chest tube, or do a cut-down if needed.

Crics, chest tubes, and cut-downs are essential parts of combat medicine. Crics are used to establish airflow when someone’s airway is blocked or damaged; I’d simply slice the person’s throat just below the Adam’s apple and insert a plastic tube to reestablish breathing. Chest tubes are needed for penetrating wounds to the thorax. And cut-downs are required when you can’t get an IV into someone who is wounded.

Once outfitted, the team assembled outside. Typically, every operator carried a blowout patch—a four-by-four-inch battle dressing used to control major bleeding—in his lower left cargo pocket. If that man was hit, everyone on the team knew to use his blowout patch.

Outside, we’d do a sound check, jumping around to make sure our gear didn’t rattle or create any noise during movement. Often, we had PJs (Air Force Pararescue) or CCT (combat-control technicians) accompany us through training and on missions. Combat-control technicians were experts at establishing and maintaining communications.

Then we’d do a weapons check by firing off several rounds to verify that each weapon was in optimum working order.

Next, we’d stage a rehearsal. We were sometimes able to plan ahead and create a mock-up building,
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If we didn’t have time to mock up a building, we’d draw the floor plan on the cement.

We’d execute a walk-through first and review all the commands and procedures. When we worked with U.S. SWAT teams, we’d draw the room, house, or building plan in a parking lot, drive up to the structure, disembark from the vehicle, take cover, simulate the breach into the building, and rehearse actions on the objective.

Any information missing from the PLO was requested in an essential elements of information form (EEI) that was sent up the chain of command.

Sometimes the patrol leader would answer our questions. Other times the questions were handled by intel officers, the commanding officer, or even the task force commander.