Chapter 2

When I first got assigned to 1st Platoon, Detachment Bravo, it was a total shock. I had not expected to be sent there. These were probably some of the best operators within the community. There were six of us that went, Clint included and we all were amazed to be here. We wandered around the compound and found our barracks, a non-descript looking three story brick building in a shallow 'V' shape. I'd be sharing a room with Clint as we were both assigned to the same Det. Next morning, we stood to and filed out for chow. I got to meet some of the other members in line and sat at their table. A tall, slow talking, tobacco chewing petty officer took me aside after breakfast and introduced himself. I was to be his spotter. His name was Craig Ferrell. I hadn't noticed him in line and as we walked to the team house, he filled me in on the job. He was the primary sniper for Det-B, and he proceeded to brief me on what my role was. I had shown some aptitude in BUD/S and SQT for long range shooting and once we got to his office, he pulled my file. I noticed his red hair after he dropped his cover on the desk; he had it in a tight Mohawk. We sat and discussed the ins and outs of sniping, velocity, windage, what a weapon will print at over a mile, a feeling each other out conversation. Towards lunchtime, he pulled out a stack of forms, signed them and handed them to me. He told me to take them to the head shed and then meet him at chow. I left and curiosity got to me, I peeked at the forms. They were travel vouchers sending me to Fort Bragg and the U.S. Army Special Warfare Training Center's SOTIC program. Special Operations Target Interdiction Course, the Army's sniper school.

The course at SOTIC was very eye opening. I graduated within the top ten of my class and was able to place three rounds, at over 800 yards, into a circle that could be covered by a quarter. I returned to my command and found that I hadn't missed any deployments but they were gearing up for a big one. I checked in with PO Ferrell, had a nice welcome back talk and then he walked me over to the arms room where I was issued the M82A1 Barrett .50 caliber rifle. This rifle was to be mine for the duration of my stay with Group Two. In the weeks leading up to deployment, I re-qualified on the other weapon systems in the inventory, practiced my woodcraft skills and correct spacing for CQB operations. I had very little free time and when it arose, I found myself studying or sleeping.

My first real deployment would take me to Central America. We were assigned to drug interdiction operations along the Honduran/Nicaragua border. We had support from an AWACS plane that would tell us when a plane was coming in or leaving. The job on the ground was to patrol in suspected areas and mark the drug landing zones for the Honduran government troops to secure and take the credit. We didn't mind, the less publicity involving us, the better we could do our job.

I had brought the Barrett along but because this was primarily a jungle creep, I elected to leave it at base camp. I took a M4 with the two scopes available for it at the time. I wore my oldest set of jungle greens as they were worn in and wouldn't make noise in the bush. Our pattern was to patrol at night using NVG's and rest up during the day close to suspect areas. We were constantly pouring over maps and taking compass bearings to make sure we were right on course. The AWACS would send updates three times a day so we were remarkable well informed.

Once we deployed to our MSS, Mission Support Site, the new JG split us up into two separate elements briefed us on our objective. We were using SBT's this time, Special Boat Teams or SWCC as we were running up and down the rivers here. Pineapple took charge of our group and away we went in a two-boat formation, skipping along the river. Well into the second day of this and still no firm intelligence on anything, the JG decided to drop some of us off on this little pennisula of land and then leapfrog ahead with the boats. Pineapple moved us off the boat and into the jungle. He took point and made it very clear that if he bought the farm because of us newbies' he'd kill us himself. Pineapple was very stealthy for someone his size and carrying one of the squads M60E3's at that.

We moved in patrol formation with flankers out and irregular cut backs on our own trail to see if we'd picked up any tails. We had just moved out from a quick lunch, Pineapple on point again, another experienced SEAL, Stacy McKeighan, moving on Chief's right flank when there was a single shot, a scream, and Pineapple yelling out CONTACT LEFT! Followed by the '60 barking out short bursts. Training took over and all of us put a serious amount of ordnance in that direction as well as charging into it. We pulled up short and took the moment to reload and secure the area. I looked around for Pineapple and couldn't find him. Doc had moved to McKeighan and was checking him out. We pulled back into a defensive perimeter and took stock of the situation. Pineapple quizzed us on what we saw and then suggested we move off at an angle and try to determine whom we were in contact with. Doc came over to check us out and told us that McKeighan had taken a single round through both his butt cheeks, not even clipping the bone, so he was lucky but would have a hard time walking. Chief told Doc he had been hit and we all looked at him in shock. Chief raised his arms and sure enough, there were two holes, one on each side of his stomach, right across the front. Doc plugged the holes and we got Chief on his feet. Two of us wandered over to get McKeighan on his feet and we moved off in a gaggle. Clint got on the radio and asked for extract. We were told that the area was too hot and given a set of grid coordinates. It would take us at least two hours to reach that spot with our wounded. Over the next two hours, we caught sporadic small arms fire that we returned with a vengeance until we came into sight of the river. As we traveled towards it, Clint had attempted to reestablish contact with the JG and no luck. Finally, after reaching the correct coordinates, we secured out flanks and called again. The JG came on the net and notified us that his ETA was 30mikes.

Clint had just set the handset down when another single shot came out of the jungle and punched right through the SATCOM case. Another yell of CONTACT FRONT! We put out more fire in that direction and the small arms died down.

Clint and I moved forward and did a sweep around the perimeter, not finding much of anything but shredded vegetation. Clint had the inside loop with me on the outside when I stumbled over a hostile. He popped up right in front of me and I just put him down with a short three round burst before Clint could even turn in my direction. We both dropped down into the same hole and took a look around. Different camo pattern, the guy had the look of a hired gun, and will wonders never cease, an AK47. I checked the pockets while Clint covered me and answered the questions that came over the inter-team comm net. Nothing of great importance, a small, crude hand drawn map, a couple extra magazines and a cheap knock off of the US M7 bayonet, the Russian bayonet issued with the AK, was taped to the forward gas cylinder of the weapon. I grabbed the rifle, slung it over my shoulder and the two of us stayed low and moved back to the team. I stripped the AK and tossed the bolt into the brush and rifle in the opposite direction. We crawled over to the Pineapple and gave him a quick brief. He had used the second SATCOM to contact a native artillery unit that was in the area and arranged for some arty support while waiting on the JG. I had just finished my brief when a shitstorm of small arms fire and the distinctive sound of an RPK spoke from our right flank.

We returned fire and punched a few 40mm grenades in that direction, I laid down a short burst and moved forward to assist Clint as he reloaded his 203. Doc had picked up the 249 from McKeighan and was laying down fire to the left. McKeighan was firing single shots from the prone position despite the pain he must have been in. Pineapple was sending all his love at the RPK position with his 60 as he scooted up the right flank keeping the river to his right. Over the firing, I began to hear the deep rumble of the boats coming in. From my right and further forward than I expected, Chief's voice yelled out to take cover. Artillery started dropping in front of us and it was danger close as we were picked up off the ground and tossed back down with each impact. The tree line in front of us was being pushed back as the HE rounds threw trees up, or just shredded them. The heavy weapons fire from the boats was almost drowned out. The big .50's started barking, sounding like a giant typewriter on backspace, followed by the whine of the 7.62 mini-guns, chopping trees around us. The second boat came in from our left and added its MK19 to the ensemble. With the second boat laying down suppressive and covering fire, we pulled back to the first boat and loaded our wounded. Three of us picking up Pineapple as he still fired off short bursts and hoisting him into the boat. Doc picked up McKeighan in a firemen's carry and moved to the boat with Stacy still firing single shots as they moved.

We pulled out and made haste to the MSS, the second boat pulling in trail behind us and still laying down suppressive fire before going out of range. The artillery was flat out laying waste to that section of the jungle. The MSS never looked so good as when we pulled in.

This was Pineapple's last mission with our platoon; he retired as the team chief almost the same day as when we got back to San Diego. James Webb came over from 1st group and stepped into Pineapple's position. McKeighan was medically retired and last I heard, works as a photographer for a magazine on the east coast.

I met the love of my life in San Diego. I was attending college using the distance-learning program and had a few classes with this outstanding knockout blonde girl. She seemed shy but she was hot. I arranged my schedule to get a few more classes with her. Of course the Navy thought this was great because they were paying for it all. They assumed, wrongly, that I was pursuing a degree with the intention of going to OCS. That wasn't the plan but it worked to get me off base more and around her as often as I could. One day, I casually mentioned that I could use a study partner for chemistry. I knew she had that course as I had sneaked a peek at her class schedule. We met at the cafeteria and began discussing the class. I became lost in her eyes several times and had to cover my lapses with some odd comments. Thus began a long and eventful courtship. We met regularly after that and when we both passed the class we celebrated with a nice dinner. I found out her dad was Army like mine and we had more in common then we thought. She had been born in Germany when they had been stationed there. I told her a little about what I do, leaving out all the good stuff. She didn't seem to care about what I did. One day, we were sitting in the courtyard just talking, I was going to ask her out on a real date, when my pager went off. She looked at me and I at her. I made an excuse for leaving, a weak one, and got out of there but couldn't help thinking that the impression I left her with was I was a drug dealer or something.

Before the team left for Africa, we had been doing a work up for a FID (Foreign Internal Defense) mission to Brazil. FID missions are usually enjoyable as you get a chance to visit another country through the front door. These missions involve working with the host nations military forces and cross training them on tactics, weapons, and methods. About halfway through this work up, Ell-Tee gave us a new tasking. We were to head down to Panama. This was to be a little three-week 'vacation' involving some field-testing of new equipment. Eight of us packed up and off we went.

Panama is quite a beautiful country along the Canal Zone. But, we would not be in that area. We were going to the jungle warfare-testing center, deep in the bush. Field-testing material is not the most an enjoyable time. Manufacturers send the military their products all the time. Some make it, most don't. When we get toys to play with, we don't share, and they usually end up broken. Our job was to literally beat the shit out what we got to see if it would withstand simulated combat. This time some new high-tech body armor that had its own heating/cooling system. They looked like a set of long underwear but short sleeves and shorts. The top and bottom mated up with a wide section of Velcro and then you connected the micro tubing to a small pump around the waist. Depending on the environment, you would place a hot or cold pack into the reservoir and wa-la; you stayed at an even 70 degrees regardless of the outside temperature. I put one of these things on and thought way cool. It went on under your BDU so that a layer of ballistic integrity is added. We wore these with full gear. Super-undies, BDU, Avenger Armor vest, tactical load bearing harness and K-pot. The really nice feature about what we dubbed 'super undies' was the plate pocket front and back that could accommodate a trauma plate right over your center of mass.

Not only did this mean you could have two plates, inside and outside, for a total of four, you could carry them without overheating. This was finally some good stuff. We suited up for a little exercise and away we went trudging through jungle. It was about half way through testing that we got the call to go to Africa. This evaluation would be put on hold.

The flight to Diego Garcia was not a pleasant one. We were stuffed in the back of an Air Force C141 amid all our gear, several air pallets of supplies for DG and some air containers. It appeared that we were on the milk run. Conversation was not really possible due to the constant high-pitched whine and lack of insulation that commercial jets have. Even through foam earplugs and the addition of headset ear protectors that I 'borrowed' from the range, it was difficult to hear anything. I realized that Hell Week was a preview of this type of deployment. I still went to sleep, with my head resting on my ruck and lying lengthwise on the jumpseat. DG is a small little island that is made up of large airfields. You can walk the island in a day. With little to no trees for shade, once I stepped off the ramp of the 141, I just about melted into the tarmac. Not to make our service look bad, the team moved as quickly as they could to the nearest shade, that being a hanger and welcomed the coolness. We sat and watched the ground crew unload our toys and drank a lot of water from the cooler. Ell-tee came and got us and took us to the pilot ready room where he laid down the mission. He was almost done when an army officer walked in. Ell-tee went over to talk to him and we looked at each other wondering what was next. The officer left and Ell-tee returned to the front of the room. The mission was canceled and we were to fly onto Hawaii. That made perfect sense; fly us halfway around the world then back again to a destination that was closer from our origination point. We piled back into the 141 and made the long uneventful flight back to Hawaii.

Hawaii is a tropical paradise compared to other places we had been. With the mission canceled, command left us in Hawaii to wait on a fleet heading back to California instead of flying us all the way back. We would replace another detachment that had been on float and give them some down time. Clint and I were walking around trying to stay out of trouble when Connors came roaring up in a Hummer and skidded to a stop. He yelled for us to get in and off we went, tires chirping. We slid up to our temporary quarters, tires squealing, bailed out and ran inside. Ell-tee yelled out to grab our jump and swim gear we had a mission. We piled out into the Hummers and zipped over to the airfield where a Coast Guard C130 was waiting on us. We ran onboard and just barely got seated when it started taxing for takeoff, the rear ramp slowly closing. Ell-tee got us together and briefed us quickly. Apparently, a wealthy individual and his 'life companion' had sailed from San Francisco for a round the world trip and about 400miles from Hawaii, had done some fishing where a fish had stuck a spine into his foot.

His 'life companion' was freaking out because now his mate was sick, his foot and ankle swollen and he was fading in and out of consciousness. He had called the Coast Guard and they didn't have anything with the endurance to get to them quickly. They called the Navy and here we were just sitting there and available with a trauma corpsman and all. The C130 would take us to a small atoll some 150miles, where we would jump. Hopefully the yacht was there or it would be a really short trip. We suited up and checked our gear while Hannaberry acted as jumpmaster standing on the ramp and checking with the crew chief.

The Coasties circled over the yacht and Hannaberry dropped four smoke grenades to get wind direction. We climbed to 10,000 and out we went. A beautiful day, no clouds, dark blue water, what more could you ask for? The C130 flew onto the next island that could accommodate the aircraft where we would meet it and transfer the wounded man and then sail his yacht onto Hawaii. We splashed down in a rough circle, ditched the chutes and swam over. His partner was almost wetting himself as we climbed on board and Doc moved inside to tend to his patient. We secured the yacht and treated the wounded then made preparations to get under way. This was a work of art. I walked around this boat and just stared. It was over 110feet in length, had a small helipad over the aft deck, a complete galley, at least four separate staterooms, crews quarters, a computerized engine room, this entire ship could be run by one person unless you wanted someone to cook and clean for you. Webb took the con, Connors went to the engine room, Ell-tee and Rogers went to the commo room, and I just sat in a plush chair on the bridge.

We made good time to the island, once we moored and motored over to shore, they didn't have a slip large enough to dock, Ell-tee turned to Webb and told him to take the rest of us back to Hawaii, he'd meet us there. Hannaberry, Doc and Ell-tee boarded the C130 and off they went. Webb led us back to the yacht and away we went. About an hour later, Clint came up to the bridge and asked if we wanted a barbecued hamburger or steak. We both looked at him like he was crazy, and then he told us he had some going on the lower aft deck. We just about stampeded down the ladders and passageways to the aft deck. Sure enough, he wasn't kidding. Built right into the deck was a large multi-burner gas barbecue, and grilling on one of the many grates were hamburgers and steaks. We ate like kings that day and finished up the meal with some nice cold Corona that somehow made its way to aft deck from cold storage. Somewhere in the course of heading back to the big island, navigation seemed to go out several times and we ended up getting 'lost' and having to circle some of the smaller islands to get a bearing and of course meals had to be prepared from the ships stores, and liquid refreshments had to be partaken due to the strong sun so dehydration wouldn't occur. We pulled into port about three days late and a few pounds heavier. It was night, just after 2100, and we decided to have a final celebration on board to police up all our equipment and make sure the ship was in good, sound mechanical shape. This was a good time to verify that the contents of the food storage lockers and the wine cellar, where we had found some single malt aged scotch, hadn't spoiled on the long journey. At some time during this exercise, Ell-tee, Doc and Hannaberry came onboard to 'assist and supervise'.

Some time after that, the Port Police came onboard due to complaints of noise, after they left, some of the neighbors came over to complain and ending up staying. Maybe two hours later, a group of female crewmembers from the neighboring yachts came onboard and joined us. Just after 4am, the Port Police came back and told us we had to 'cease and desist' or they would fine and cite us. Ell-tee, in his command authority voice told them to politely go fuck themselves, as this was a Naval function and they weren't invited. He took them aside by the gangway and had a short heated conversation and they left.

Just after 6am, as events were winding down, two Hummers full of Shore Patrol pulled up to the dock entrance. Webb gathered us together, sorted out the gear and as quietly as possible, disembarked the yacht and made our way as professionally as we could, with a little staggering, to our Hummer which was parked in visitor parking. The Lieutenant in charge of the SP detachment nodded to us as we left the gate. He walked over and took Webb aside; Clint and I loitered behind to hear what was said.

The SP Ell-tee was asking Webb if he had seen or heard anything about an unauthorized party involving drunken fleet sailors and civilians. Webb nodded his head and pointed to the yacht we had just left, saying something like 'Hell yes, Ell-tee and the son of bitches are still there.' He thanked us and went back to his men. I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw hurt to keep from busting out laughing. We quickly made out way to our Hummer and got the hell out of there. Later that same morning, we boarded a LPH to head back to San Diego. To this day, I have no idea what the SP did about those rowdy, drunken fleet sailors.

LPH 11, the New Orleans, is a smaller version of an aircraft carrier. Its about the size of a WWII carrier but has only helicopters as its air wing. This was our ride home. Not difficult to wander around, and with nothing to do but just that, someone can get into trouble without even knowing they had. After the team left Hawaii, we were berthed across the passageway from a Marine detachment. We hardly saw them as they were constantly out doing 'make work' assignments. Two days of wandering around, waiting in chow lines and generally making ourselves scarce, a Marine gunnery sergeant stopped us mid passage and told us that his men were doing a field day in their berthing spaces and if we wanted them to, they would do our side as well. Say no more, we pulled all our stuff out and stored it in a hanger bay conex and just flat out left the area. Later that day, we were standing around the hanger bay watching an un-rep exercise when Ell-tee came over and told us that the captain wanted us to provide airborne security for the un-rep. I tried to contain my excitement but it beats just sitting around. We suited up and made our way to the flight deck where a helo was standing by. Over the next few hours we flew in patrol patterns over the fleet and then did a few fast ropes onto various ships just to keep in practice. Once the un-rep was complete, we were given preferential treatment and allowed to go the head of the line for evening chow. Not bad for a few hours of fun.

The next day, we were sitting around the compartment when the 1-MC toned us out and off we went, full assault gear and briefed that we were to conduct a VBSS (MIO) on a potential hostile just over the horizon. Apparently it was an intermittent contact and fleet ops wanted to verify that it wasn't a Russian trawler ghosting us. Here it was just after lunch, bright sunny day, and a great day for a cruise. We boarded the SeaHawk, the Navy's version of the Army Blackhawk, and off we went. Because this was a potential hostile, Connors had a 249, as did Webb, I had just an M4 because it most likely would be shipboard and I wouldn't be needing the big bore. We even had the addition of door gunners this time. To provide overhead security, two Marine Sea Cobras would escort us. The Hawk is much faster than the Cobras and left them behind was we screamed in low and fast to come around behind the target and hit them from the sun. I was casually looking out the side door, shades on, chewing gum; Clint was checking the action on his M4, as we flew in at almost wave top level. The pilot radioed that he was banking over for the flyby and that the gunships were less than a minute out. Ell-tee turned from behind the crew chief, raised his finger and yelled out 'one minute'. We all replied back and then cocked and locked our weapons. The helo dropped lower if that was possible and we did some last minute positioning within the cabin to put Hannaberry in the door with the camera. The pilot did a radical pop up maneuver and we caught site of our target. Either the Russian government was paying their sailors way too much, or it was definitely not a Russian trawler. What came into view was an immense catamaran just floating on the glass like still water. We came in extremely low, lower than the mast height and made a tight orbit over the ship. It was breathtaking, leaning out with the lifeline on, weapon trained down, looking for hostile targets. We moved over the aft section and there was a youngish couple, horizontal and superimposed, lying there, not a stitch on looking up at us like a couple of frightened deer. Hannaberry snapped away with the camera as we all stared at them over our weapons. They made no effort to move, as I'm sure the surprise intrusion from us scared them shitless. The pilot cut one more tight orbit then pulled pitch and got out of there. We passed the Cobras on the way back to the ship and radioed them to RTB. Tensions relaxed as we all looked at each other and burst out laughing. We landed without incident and were hustled off to be debriefed. We started laughing at that as well, we had just witnessed a 'de-briefing' and that set us off again. The fleet Intel officer was flown over and we each had to give a statement of our actions over the 'hostile' vessel. After numerous mentions of the witnessed 'hostile' actions and 'de-briefing' as well as improper procedure with a weapon comments, the disgusted officer excused us. Hannaberry gave him the pictures he had taken in a large envelope as he left the ship. I'm sure the photo lab sailors had a lot of fun developing those pictures.

The rest of the cruise back to San Diego was uneventful. We docked at 32nd street where a hummer and a five-ton were waiting to take our gear.

No sooner had we walked into the team house than we were called into another briefing and told to pack for the PI. Two hours later, we flew out on an Air Force C141, again, for the trip to the Philippines. In flight, we were briefed some more as to the nature of the mission. This was just a show of force and we were to make our presence know by conducting numerous operations, most of them extremely public. Word was that some the extreme communist factions on the islands were staging protests and threats had been called in to some military locations as well as civilian targets including the embassy. We didn't even have time enough to de-compress from the float operation and now this. We were briefed that this was big and all the teams were being sent to locations around the world to be ready in case this was precursor to some global terrorist event. Once we landed at Clark AFB, we were shuttled over to the secure section of the field and de-planed. We hustled over to our barracks and got our gear set. Two flight crews from the Air Force special operations wing came over and briefed us on their part as well as set us up for the upcoming ops. I sat there and thought about how I hadn't had a chance to call Karen since getting in. Oh well, that's the life. We shuffled out to the airfield where two MH53J Pave Low helos were waiting for us. We split up and boarded the birds and off we went. It was just getting dusk as we cleared the perimeter and headed over the jungle. With just four of us in each bird, made for a lot of space. Counting the flight crew, there were ten total inside a helo that could carry 35. The helo was loaded for bear, as each of the spotters, one per side and the one on the rear ramp, were sitting behind a 7.62 minigun and they had a lot of cases of ammo next to them. I was again carrying only an M4 but configured as the 203 and the accompanying SOMAV vest configured for grenadier.

Clint was outfitted the same and of course Webb had his ever present 249. Rogers was with us this time and he had a plain vanilla M4, he was also carrying one of the two SATCOM radios, a few Claymores, some of the team C4, extra batteries, and assorted pyro so he was loaded down with quite a bit of weight.

The patrol pattern took us over several smaller cities and out into the jungle where it starts to meet the hills. This went on for several days and nights with us being called out to fly over a suspected camp to moving around some of the smaller villages in hummers and on foot. The people were very friendly to us and the kids came out to run alongside us and touch us. Who knows what they thought about us moving through them with live rounds in our magazines. Two weeks into this routine and we were called out after midnight to do an airborne insertion into a suspected communist training camp. Our Air Force taxi drivers were warmed up and ready when we hit the field. This time we would be in one helo with the other configured strictly for support. We flew in a roundabout course to the target drop zone and about what I figured to be the half waypoint, we had to set down due to mechanical problems. We transferred to the other helo and off we went again. Clint had struck his wrist altimeter against the external fuel pod as we disembarked the first helo so I gave him mine and told him we'd buddy jump.