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“You can’t keep up? We will cycle you until you wish you’d listened.” His fellow instructor, Johnson, had an even harsher tone than Mark, threatening them with extra exercises. He gestured at the bell that had been carried down to the beach with them. “You see that bell over there? Some of you are going to ring that bell today. You don’t like this? You don’t want it enough? You ring that bell.”
Mark was going to be in even better shape by the end of this first phase of BUD/S because the instructors did most of the PT right along with their recruits. He didn’t have to carry a boat, but he and the other instructors for this group did have to run back and forth down the line of boats, shouting orders as they ran on the wet sand. Because it was the first time the teams had worked together, there were a lot of jostling and wobbly boats as the groups struggled to keep their boats aloft. Later after the run, he’d have them roll in the surf and sand, get covered, then do it all again.
“Get that boat up!” he yelled at a team that was flagging. “Lift it higher. Run faster. Pick up the pace!” Jogging back to the front of the line, he called. “Do you want this? You want to be a SEAL? Show me you’re giving your all.”
The front teams sped up, which meant the back groups struggled more to find their rhythm. It was all part of training. Mark had been both the guys in front and the ones lagging behind before, and his candidates would learn over the course of BUD/S how to cope with both scenarios. As they reached the turn-around point, a guy on the flagging team tripped, causing a spectacular wipeout of his whole group, toppling the boat to the sand. They would be cycled for sure. The guy was slow to get up, though, so Mark ran over.
“Ow. Ow.” The guy was clutching his shoulder with one hand and his ankle with the other.
“All right. Let me take a look. I’m a medic.” Mark went into assessment mode, checking him out. The shoulder wasn’t dislocated, but he probably had a pretty good sprain. Ditto the ankle.
“Man. First day and I wipe out.” The kid, who had to be all of eighteen or nineteen, shook his head. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“It’s part of it.” Fully eighty percent of SEAL candidates would get injured at some point during training. They knew heading in that it was going to be tough, both mentally and physically. The key wasn’t necessarily avoiding injury, but how a given candidate responded to the adversity. “Let’s get you to medical.”
He assigned another man from the group to help him there since the guy couldn’t put weight on the leg.
“Back to it,” he said to the remaining group. “Sometimes your team will be down a man. Or even three. Gotta get that boat up. Let’s see what you’ve got!”
Part of him wanted to take the injured guy’s place, help the team complete the drill. Out in the field, he was always quick to help. It was part of the bond he shared with his team—he’d never stand back and let his teammates flounder. But this was different. His role was to let the candidates figure out their own paths forward, gain the skills and self-sufficiency necessary to be a SEAL. Kind of like you figuring your path post-Danielle and Cal. He tried not to think about that too much while on duty, but it was true. He was figuring out how to navigate this new landscape, one without a map, and the only way through was to get in there and try, same as his recruits.
They kept up the boat drills mixed with the surf torture most of the day. Finally, Mark’s shift was done. SEAL training was a twenty-four hour a day, seven days a week thing for the recruits, but unlike the candidates, he’d get to go home, have more regular duty shifts, although all bets were off in a few weeks for Hell Week, when it would be all hands on deck.
Sweaty, sandy, and exhausted, he headed to the showers in the locker room. He was ready to be home.
“Wizard!” Johnson, the instructor who seemed to live for doling out punishments, greeted him as he emerged from the shower. “Not a bad first day, huh?”
“I see a few who might make it.” Mark had never been one for making much conversation when he was half-dressed but Johnson seemed the chatty type who didn’t care that they were only in towels.
“You’ve got to be a bit stricter. Remember, we’re not doing them any favors if we let them cut corners or go soft on them.” Johnson nodded. “You’ll get it though.”
