I can't feel my legs.
It's been at least ten minutes and there is no indication on the instructors faces that this torture would end anytime soon. The icy water laps around me and the other men of Class 245 as another wave rolls in. The water must be at least 55 degrees but I can't tell anymore, hence the numb legs.
I could give up, walk right out of this frigid water and back to base but I won't. I made it the first two weeks and after hell week it should be smoother sailing, at least I hope. Hell Week is compared to Satan's lovely home because it's a torturous five days of non stop drills that test our boundaries and separate the strong from the weak. It's sure doing a mighty fine job at that. "You cold yet boys?" Instructor Jefferson's voice abruptly pulls me back into my current frigid reality. "No sir!" We try to say it in all together but half of us cannot get the words off of our trembling tongues.
"I didn't hear you!" he hollers again, his voice resonating above the crashing waves.
"NO SIR!" My teeth are chattering so hard it's like they are going to crack in half.
My body is so numb I actually feel warm. It's a nice feeling, pleasant almost, like I could fall asleep. I'm no doctor but that can't be a good sign. All twenty-two of us are slowly freezing, which is just perfect.
"Okay men, time to get out." Says one of our instructors after which we instinctively respond with "Hooyah!"
Never in my twenty years of life have I heard more beautiful words. I jump, well jump is really pushing it. I slowly crawl my way back to my feet which are struggling to support my weight. But hey! At least we are out of the water.
"No lollygagging. I'll give you ten seconds to get from the beach to the top of the hill. If any one of you is a second past the time limit you are all going to do fifty rocking chairs!" I shutter at the thought of doing rocking chairs. They are like burpees on steroids.
"GO!" Instructor Jefferson shouts. It takes all my remaining strength to move my legs over the damp sand to the edge of the hill. The incline isn't drastic but it sure as hell isn't easy. My legs are burning from being in icy Northern Californian water for so long.
The last bit of sun is going down below the horizon, turning the Autumn sky a dark pink as I make my way up the hill. The sand turns to grass and seconds seem to stretch on for minutes. I look around to see I'm in the middle of the group. No way will I be that poor soul who causes us to do those rocking chairs, not matter how exhausted I am.
My feet finally hit the top of the hill and I almost collapse with relief.
"7.5 seconds, Brecker." Instructor Montgomery says and I breath a sigh of relief.
The last person up made it in 9.2 seconds and I say a silent prayer thanking whoever is listening that we won't be doing those damned rocking chairs.
"Good job men. Now head to the tents, change and go to the mess hall. You have 45 minutes." Instructor Montgomery, the second in command, says before turning his dark head toward the mess hall.
"Hooyah!" We scream before going to the the canvas tents that we are living in this week.
Class 245 started with eighty candidates and less than three weeks into this six month course it has been reduced to twenty-two men. We will most likely lose another five men from pressure and maybe two from injury. Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training is not supposed to be easy. This job we aspire to do is hard, it's literally life and death so if someone can't handle a little cold and pain then it's their life on the line in war.
Stripping off my damp clothes is the best feeling in the world besides those damn good massages my girlfriend Kelly gives me. We get time off now and then during these six months to see friends and family but not much.
The Navy Seal lifestyle goes like this:
1st. Duty & Country
2nd. Family & Friends
It may seem harsh but it's not like I don't love my family and girlfriend, I do. That's why I'm here, why a lot of us are here. To protect them and many others like them from the war zone that is slowly consuming our world.
I leave the tents, go to the mess hall and find table where my team members George Mallory, Kevin Lupus and Frank Gendek are sitting. Yesterday our instructors split us up into teams, from IBS surf passage drills to log lifting, I'll be going to hell and back with these men.
Teamwork is a huge part of being a Navy Seal so learning how to work as one is vital. They are good men, around my age. The oldest and biggest of us is Frank at twenty-five, who looks like a giant leprechaun. He is going through BUDs for the second time after dropping out two years ago. He's also ranked higher than us as a Corporal making him team leader. The rest of us are newbies, Privates, fresh out of the army just to go back in.
"Hey, Andrew." George says to me in a weary voice, his thin body still consumed with shivers from earlier. I sit down next to him on the bench across from Kevin and Frank. They are too busy shoveling food down their throats to do anything but greet me with a nod.
"That was brutal." I say, digging into my food. "Are we getting checked by the medics after this? I don't think my body wants to do anything but sleep."
Frank pauses, considering. "Yeah I think so. They need to make sure nobody loses any fingers or toes after doing surf torture."
I look around as the rest our class files in. We are missing two people. Before I even get a chance to wonder where they are a faint bell rings in the distance.
"There goes another one" Kevin says.
"Another two." I correct him as the second bell chimes.
If you want to drop out of BUDs you have to do a "walk of shame" type of fiasco. You walk back to base camp where the dormitories are, not too far from here and ring the bell outside the main office. After that you take your helmet and place it in the line next to the other helmets of failed Seals. It's rough.
—
We got checked by the medics right after dinner then it was straight off to bed. Sleep would be stretching what was actually going on, it was more like a nap. Hell week wasn't about rest but the ability to prevail with minimal to no sleep in harsh, stressful conditions.
Far too soon I am jerked out of my peaceful nap by a car horn blaring in what seems like my ear. The men around me groan and I hear Kevin mumble something that sounds like "Five more minutes."
We have ten minutes to get out of bed and down to the beach. Which we all managed to do, even Kevin.
Instructor Jefferson is there on the beach waiting for us, illuminated by large flood lights. The baseball cap he has on hides his shiny bald head, that otherwise would've shined brighter than the moon. It's the ungodly hour of 0300 and the prospect of doing drills was not the most welcoming thought but the food and sleep did help renew some of my lost energy.
"Time for mud flats." Instructor Jefferson informs us. My arms quivers slightly at the idea of rolling around in cold, wet mud.
We jog over to the mud flats and line up shoulder to shoulder. George to my left and Frank to my right.
After everyone got into position, Jefferson tells us to begin.
The whistle blows indicating we should the deck. I throw myself down and mud splatters all over me. It coats my face, goes up my nose and tries to sneak its way into my eyes. I mumble a curse that would've made my mother hit me over the head.
Next, the whistle blows twice and we all start crawling through the slippery mud. It seeps into every crevice of my fatigues. The damp smell of earth and salt water surround me. My arms slip and slide in the mud as they try to find purchase. My grunts join those around me.
At least I'm not the only one struggling.
Three short blows of the whistle sound and we all stand up.
This sequence goes on for another ten minutes, nonstop. My whole body aches and I feel clammy from the damp mud clinging to my clothing.
Just four more days of this and it will be done.
I just want to prove to myself I can graduate BUDs. When I turned eighteen I decided I would stop being a quitter. I was sick and tired of the disappointment etched into my parents faces when I failed out of high school, never went to college and got into fights that ended with me in the hospital. I have so many regrets. But BUDs isn't one of them. When I entered the army my life changed. No more sleeping in, no more half assing, no more excuses.
I am doing this for myself, I never want to fall back into my old ways. I don't want to be that person anymore.
The men around me grunt as we all rise to our feet. George's groan is the most audible. "At this rate your class will never see Friday." Instructor Jefferson announces as if this is a fact, but really it's just his form of motivation. "Take five. For the next drill you're getting wet!"
Next to me I feel a rustle. "I don't think I can do this." It's George.
This isn't the first time I've heard those words spoken this week from other men.
"What do you mean, man?"
"I don't think I'm cut out for this. I hate this. All of it." He rakes his hands through his muddy, short blonde hair, not too different from my own.
My heart breaks for him. He seemed so confident earlier today, but this just shows how BUDs breaks people down.
As much as I want to tell him no, he can push through, it'll pass, I can't. I would be lying to him. So instead I just pat him on the back before he sulks away over to the instructors.
—
"Okay men time for surf passage. Take your boats waist deep into the water before you even think about getting in. Don't get crushed by the waves, don't abandon your team and don't start whining about the water. If you are lucky you won't end up in it." Instructor Montgomery announces before leaving us to grab our boats.
"We're down one man which isn't good. We'll have to work ten times harder to get past the surf." Frank says as we grab our boat. The thing is made out of rubber but it sure as hell isn't light. I place my hand under one of the ends of the boat and on three we heave it up onto our shoulders.
After a minute all the teams, some with four some with three men like us, line up on the shore ready to begin.
"Ready." One of the instructors yells above the crashing of the waves just barely visible in the early dawn light.
My fingers squeeze the boat in anticipation. The mud from earlier cracks against my bent knuckles.
"Set." My feet dig into the sand. Exhaustion pulls at me but I force it away.
"We got this." Frank whispers. Yes, we do. I can already feel the adrenaline pumping through my body, my exhaustion becoming a distant thought.
"Go!"
My feet strain against the sand under my feet as I start running in unison with my team. Some of the teams around us are falling behind while a few race ahead.
My feet hit the water and in seconds we are treading our way through the thick, freezing ocean. Small waves hit us, threatening to push us back but we stand our ground and move on.
We finally get waist deep in the water and jump onto the boat and grab our oars. The next wave is still far out and we should have enough time to dodge it.
"Paddle!" Frank commands.
Water sprays against my face, causing the mud from earlier to drip into my eyes. I try to ignore it but my vision is becoming blurry and uncomfortable no matter how many times I blink. I pause paddling to wipe it away but those seconds cost us. The wave seems to be coming at us faster than before, rising higher and higher.
It's one of the larger waves, at least a seven footer.
I paddle harder. My arms strain against the fabric of my uniform, knocking against my life vest. My muscles burn and even though we are using all of our might, it doesn't seem to be working.
The adrenaline is still coursing through my body, I feel invincible. We can do this.
The wave begins to crest.
"We aren't going to make it! Brace yourselves for impact." Yells Frank.
Crap. We trained for this, we know what to do. This shouldn't scare us but my confidence from a second ago seems to have vanished and now I feel uneasy.
The boat begins to tip as the wave swallows us along with the morning light. I grip the side of the boat as it flips and we are thrown toward the water.
My stomach drops as if I'm on a roller coaster. I hit the water with such impact that it knocks the breath right out of me. I am so disoriented I can't tell which way is up.
Then a searing pain tears through my skull. I don't have any time to register what's happening. The wave pulls me under, taking me with it. I try to breath but can't and water fills my lungs.
I'm scared.
—
My head hurts. It really hurts.
My eyes crack open and the pain in my head is instantly amplified by a harsh light shining into my eyes. I feel soft fabric under me, a bed? How did I get here? What happened? It takes me a second but then I remember, the wave, falling, and then nothing.
"What the—" I say as my eyes finally adjust to my surroundings. I'm in a hospital room. White, sterile, with three empty beds next to mine.
"Andrew, welcome back. You gave us all a scare."
Instructor Jefferson is standing beside my bed, looking down at me with concern in his eyes.
"What..." My throat feels like it's coated in sandpaper. "What happened?"
The inside of my head feels foggy and my memories seem to move in slow motion.
"Your team got pummeled by a wave. You were in shallow enough water that you hit your head on a rock and gave yourself a nice concussion. Luckily Frank and Kevin got to you in time." There was a dense pause. He wasn't telling me something.
"Am I be cleared to continue training? I feel fine, just give me some painkillers and I'll be good to go."
"Son, I wish that could be the case but there are rules. I hate to do this to you, I really do, but we are going to have to postpone your training. You will be able to pick back up with the next class in the Spring."
My heart feels heavy as lead in my chest.
"No, this can't be happening." My hands bunch the sheets beneath me. I want to punch something. I've tried to do everything right just to fail.
"Andrew, this happens all the time. You are just on medical leave. I'm sorry this happened, I really am. You are a very promising soldier don't let this bring you down. Let it make you stronger."
"Does this mean in the spring I'll have to do hell week all over again?" I ask.
"You'll start again where you left off here. Day two of hell week, better than day one at least."
This, by no means, is an ideal situation. I was so motivated, so convinced that this was my time to become the man I want to be. Make my family proud and serve my country. I know this isn't my fault but I can't help but think, what if. Could I have stopped this from happening? Was there anything I could do?
No. I can't think like this. I don't want to live with "what if's". I want to be better and so I will.
"I'll see you in a few months, Sir."