Chapter 1

It all started in the average size town of Auburn. I was born on a spring day in the morning. My parents were normal, middle class people. My father was career Army and my mother had started out as an executive secretary for Aerojet General in California where they met at an USO function and eventually married before dad was shipped to Vietnam.

I remember my father in his old style olive drab 'fatigues', his class A dress uniform, and the newer style battle dress utilities. He kept his hair short and wanting to emulate him, so did I. One day, when he was home for a change and not deployed, he and I sat down and discussed what my future was going to be. I was about seven years old.

From the time I had learned to walk, it was ramrod straight and I often stood at attention without knowledge of it. We lived on an Army post in the cookie cutter housing that often permeates such installations. After a nice game of catch, we sat on the back steps and had that father son talk. He asked me what I wanted most out of life and what my goals were. Of course having been around him and put on his helmet numerous times, his boots and his field gear, my answer was I wanted to be like him.

For the first time in my young life, I saw his eyes get watery. He reached out and hugged me tight and we went inside to dinner. I can't remember what we talked about over dinner; I was too full of pride. At the end of summer, my dad and I had grown close and mom was really happy that he had been able to spend more time with us. About two weeks before school started, dad came to me in his uniform, beret in hand, and showed me some paperwork. It was enrollment forms to the Randolph Macon Academy in Front Royal Virginia. He sat me down and explained to me that I going to attend this academy because he had taken what the army likes to call a 'hardship tour' and he wouldn't be home for over a year. Mom was going to go to Washington and stay with her parents, my grandparents. He explained to me how it would work and that I could come home for the Christmas holidays. I jumped at the chance to do this.

My first year at Randolph Macon, was incredible. I took to it like a fish to water. Formations, marching, and everything that goes along with that made me feel like I had finally found my place in the great scheme of things.

On my second Christmas holiday break; I was at my grandparent's house for the holidays. My grandfather, a tall, thin man, had served proudly in the Marines during World War II. He had been drafted at age 32. My grandmother, a shorter woman of mixed European descent, was an excellent cook. I had flown home in my cadet dress uniform and had received many comments during the flight. Dad was supposed to be home soon as he was currently involved in a field training exercise or FTX. I had asked my grandfather on numerous occasions about the war as he had been in the Pacific Theater and seen some heavy action. All I could ever get him to say about it was that it was a nightmare and he was glad it was over. Dad finally showed up Christmas day after dinner. He looked tired and worn out from the FTX and still wearing his field uniform. We sat and talked by the fireplace after everyone else had gone to bed. We talked about the sacrifices you had to make, the split second decisions, the camaraderie, the mind numbing tasks. This talk made me more determined to be a professional soldier. He left again just before the New Year and I went back to the academy on the 3rd.

When dad got transferred to Fort Lewis, Washington, mom was ecstatic because her parents didn't live that far from there. During the summer break of my sixth year in the academy, I was able to spend the entire summer home because I had become a mid classman and as they say, rank has its privileges. Dad was finally going to be home more often and not take long deployments. It was during this summer that dad told me that I would no longer be able to attend Randolph Macon. I was crestfallen. This was my chance to become what I had thought of as the best of the best and now it was being taken away. I didn't know how to react. I wanted to scream, cry, hit him, I really didn't know what to do. He calmed me down and explained that because this was his last duty station. He planned to retire here and we wouldn't be moving from post to post anymore. It was best for me to get some roots here and enter the public school system. So the family bought a moderate sized piece of acreage and we moved out into the country.

The summer flew by, as we were all busy moving in and setting up. My grandparents would be on the other half of the property as they were getting on in years and I think maybe mom and dad wanted them there for when I got home from school. Mom had decided to go back to work as she felt I was old enough to take care of myself, and of course grandpa was there to keep me in line.

My first day at public school was a nightmare. I was starting what was called junior high and showed up wearing dress shoes, slacks, dress shirt, tie and carrying a briefcase containing my school supplies. The looks I got walking in said enough. This was a small farming/logging town and I was the outsider. These kids were wearing jeans, tee shirts, tennis shoes, very casual compared to me. In class, when attendance was called, I popped tall next to my desk and answered in a loud, precise voice, "Sir, yes, Sir!" and then sat back down. Of course, the giggling started.

I realized right then that it would be best to refrain from such activity. This was the first time that I would be having female teachers as the academy hadn't had any when I left with exception to the elderly librarian. When answering questions I would have to make sure what sex the person was so as not to offend them with a 'sir' response. From the first day on until my junior year, I was the brunt of every conceivable joke and prank.

For those first years, fights after school with the bullies were a matter of course. I was still the outsider and had to prove myself on a weekly basis. In my eighth grade year, I decided to join the Boy Scouts. It was a kind of relief to be wearing a uniform again. This made my time in school more bearable and I eventually achieved the rank of Eagle Scout.

I enlisted in the Navy to see the world. Later, I volunteered for the SEALs without ever really hearing about Naval Special Forces. It was purely by accident or design that I got in. I was just finishing up my A school in Damnet Virginia when I first saw the position listed on the 'Dream Board'.

The board was just outside the in-service detailer, basically a military recruiter for those already in the service. I watched as fellow sailors looked at the board, grabbed the postings or just read them and walked off. This particular posting was read a lot and left behind. I had read it until I could almost recite it verbatim. This posting was for an Intelligence Specialist at Special Warfare Group Two, San Diego, California. With two weeks to go until the school was finished, this was one of the few listings left on the board. I walked to the board and yanked it loose and strode determinedly into the detailers office. At the first empty desk I sat down and thrust the paper at the petty officer sitting there. He read it, looked at me and then read it again. He asked over and over if this is what I wanted.

Of course, I said yes. He then went on to explain to me that no one ever volunteered for this position and the command normally 'voluntarily assigned' someone for it. I had my mind set for that job and told him so in no uncertain words. He nodded, shrugged, stood and got coffee, offered me some, smoked a cigarette and then finally started typing my request. He told me he was going to add a waiver so if I got there and didn't like it I could come back and try for another listing.

I was wary of that waiver. Never had I heard of someone getting something like that and I immediately thought bullshit but accepted it anyway as he tucked it into my transfer file.

My first experience meeting Chief Petty Officer Kanaka, known as Pineapple to his friends, was when I reported for duty at Group 2. I rolled up to the quarterdeck in an airport cab, skipped up the stairs to the front door and there he was at the desk. Kanaka was Samoan and quite the imposing figure. I doffed my cover and presented him with my file. He slowly put down his Navy Times and flipped through my transfer paperwork. He dropped the file back on his desk and told me to give him fifty.