Stephen Templin's Blog, page 19

SEAL Training 5: Starting Over

Although my injury was serious enough to roll me back in training, it wasn’t debilitating enough to take me out of training. In addition, I trained harder than ever and entered Class 144 faster and stronger than I’d been in Class 143.

At 0500, wearing only our UDT swim shorts, we sat shivering on the cold concrete next to the pool, officially known as the Combat Training Tank. The sky was black, but lights illuminated the pool. This was the first day of Class 144’s Indoc. Training hadn’t officially started.

Instructor Stoneclam arrived. His eyes looked crazy in a scary way.

Ensign Mark was our class leader, a graduate from MIT. (Years later, as a SEAL officer, he would lead Howard Wasdin and their SEAL Team 2 platoon in Iraq.) “Feet!” he shouted.

We jumped to attention. “FEET!”

“Instructor Stoneclam!” Ensign Mark said.

“HOOYAH, INSTRUCTOR STONECLAM!”

Instructor Stoneclam greeted us. “Some of you guys are shivering. Let me warm you up a bit. Drop.”

“DROP!” We scrambled to find an empty place on the concrete to get in the pushup position.

“Push ‘em out.”

After three sets of twenty push-ups, we took the same PST as before: swim, pushups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and run. Only this time, I wasn’t the slowest during the swim. Martinez was. Martinez and Duquez were two of my new roommates. They’d come from L’ Infanteria De La Marina, Ecuador’s marine commandos. I’d heard people say that BUD/S training is the toughest in the world, but L’ Infanteria De La Marina training was so brutal that one of their classmates died.

One guy failed the PST. The instructors sent him to pack his sea bag.

SEAL Training 4: Good News, Bad News

I became friends with friend Howard Wasdin and others in Class 143 to begin BUD/S Indoctrination—Indoc. When I found out that we would take the physical screen test again and those who failed would be dropped on the spot, I nearly panicked. The anxiety must’ve motivated me because I passed. Others weren’t so fortunate.

Each day of Indoc, it took everything I had to get through the calisthenics without being targeted by the instructors for not keeping up. I came in last during the swims. Guys already started to ring the bell—quitting.

The beach runs hammered me. Soft sand sucked the energy out of my legs, but waves assaulted me on the hard pack. Some guys dropped way behind and others stayed in front with the pack. I ran with the guys strung out in the middle.

Instructor Jay ran alongside me, “Do you want to fall behind with the guys walking in the back or keep up with the guys running in front?”

I gasped, “Front.”

“Run with your thighs and not your lower legs. Just pick up your thighs and put them down. Keep your arms loose, so you don’t waste energy. And breathe.”

I followed his advice and somehow I managed to keep up with the pack. My former shipmate, Rudy, stayed strong like Clint Eastwood. Howard fell behind on one run with Clodges and others, so they received the personal attention from the instructors while the rest of us hit the showers to end for the day. Howard didn’t make that mistake again. In contrast, Clodges seemed to get further behind on every run. I couldn’t understand why—we had run together before SEAL training, and I thought he was stronger. He didn’t smile anymore. One day he rang the bell, and I never saw him again.

After another tough day of training, Howard walked around the barracks asking, “Who wants to go with me for a run on the beach?”

I thought he was nuts. “You’re in SEAL training. Isn’t that enough?” What seemed even nuttier to me was that guys actually went running with him.

Howard and I partied in Tijuana on Saturday. On most Sundays, Ensign Tom Gordon, a SEAL from Team One, and his wife picked up Howard and I in their old van and took us to church.

Howard set a positive example for me in SEAL training and was a great friend. But I injured a leg muscle trying to swim with my hands and feet tied while preparing for “drownproofing.” A doctor pulled me out of Class 143.

The bad news was that I had to start Indoc all the way over from the beginning. But the good news was that I was still in the game. I had a taste of SEAL training, and I was determined to hook up with Class 144 and kick some ass.

[Note: Years later in 1993, in Mogadishu, Somalia, Howard and three other snipers from SEAL Team Six, along with Delta and others, snatched some of warlord Mohamed Aidid’s top cadre. Aidid’s militia used rocket-propelled grenades to shoot down two Black Hawk helicopters. Howard and his buddies fought a hellish fight to get out of the city. The rest of his story appears in SEAL Team Six: Memoirs of an Elite Navy SEAL Sniper.]

Get Well Soon, Malcolm--Forever Young

SEAL Training 3: Firefight in Nha Trang

December 31, 1986, I arrived at the Naval Special Warfare Center in Coronado, California to begin BUD/S training. The place seemed mostly dead for the holidays, so I slipped in mostly unnoticed. I could've waited to report later, but I was too anxious to wait. On Friday, January 2, 1987, SEAL Master Chief Rick Knepper helped my classmates and I off to a proper start. He looked like an ordinary guy in his forties, calmly leading us in calisthenics on the beach late in the afternoon—we grunted and groaned, but he didn’t seem to break a sweat. Some guys knew about his combat experience and some didn’t.

Rick Knepper served in Vietnam with SEAL Team One, Delta Platoon, 2nd Squad. Knepper’s squad thought they knew about Hon Toi, a large island in Nha Trang Bay. From a distance, the island looked like a big rock sitting in the ocean for birds to take a crap on. But two Viet Cong (VC), tired of fighting and being away from family, defected from the island—leaving a VC camp behind.

Knepper’s squad of seven SEALs inserted into the island by boat under darkness—not even the moon shone. Never ones to take the easy way, 2nd Squad free-climbed a 350-foot cliff. After reaching the top, they lowered themselves into the VC camp. The seven-man squad split into two fire teams, taking off their boots and going barefoot to search for some high value targets (HVTs) to snatch. But the VC got the drop on Lieutenant (j.g.) Bob Kerrey’s fire team. A grenade landed at his feet and exploded, slamming him into the rocks and destroying the lower half of his leg. The lieutenant’s fire team fought back while he called in the other fire team, catching the VC in a deadly crossfire. One SEAL, a hospital corpsman, lost his eye. Four of the enemy tried to escape but the SEALs cut them down. Three VC stayed to fight—but didn’t live to fight again.

One of the SEALs put a tourniquet on Lieutenant Kerrey’s leg. The squad snatched several VIPs along with three large bags of documents (some including a list of VC in the city), weapons, and other equipment. Lieutenant Kerrey continued to lead Rick Knepper and the others in his squad until they were evacuated. The intel they got from the documents and HVTs gave critical information to the allied forces in Vietnam. Lieutenant Bob Kerrey received the Medal of Honor.

Although others still talk about that op, I never heard Master Chief Knepper talk about it or any other. He served as a mentor to my classmates and me. Without his taking us under his wing, we would’ve been left on our own until the rest of the guys arrived and our BUD/S class officially formed. And I was going to need all the help I could get.

SEAL Training 3: Vietnam SEAL Mentor

December 31, 1986, I arrived at the Naval Special Warfare Center in Coronado, California to begin BUD/S training. The place seemed mostly dead for the holidays, so I slipped in mostly unnoticed. I could've waited to report later, but I was too anxious to wait. On Friday, January 2, 1987, SEAL Master Chief Rick Knepper helped my classmates and I off to a proper start. He looked like an ordinary guy in his forties, calmly leading us in calisthenics on the beach late in the afternoon—we grunted and groaned, but he didn’t seem to break a sweat. Some guys knew about his combat experience and some didn’t.

Rick Knepper served in Vietnam with SEAL Team One, Delta Platoon, 2nd Squad. Knepper’s squad thought they knew about Hon Toi, a large island in Nha Trang Bay. From a distance, the island looked like a big rock sitting in the ocean for birds to take a crap on. But two Viet Cong (VC), tired of fighting and being away from family, defected from the island—leaving a VC camp behind.

Knepper’s squad of seven SEALs inserted into the island by boat under darkness—not even the moon shone. Never ones to take the easy way, 2nd Squad free-climbed a 350-foot cliff. After reaching the top, they lowered themselves into the VC camp. The seven-man squad split into two fire teams, taking off their boots and going barefoot to search for some high value targets (HVTs) to snatch. But the VC got the drop on Lieutenant (j.g.) Bob Kerrey’s fire team. A grenade landed at his feet and exploded, slamming him into the rocks and destroying the lower half of his leg. The lieutenant’s fire team fought back while he called in the other fire team, catching the VC in a deadly crossfire. One SEAL, a hospital corpsman, lost his eye. Four of the enemy tried to escape but the SEALs cut them down. Three VC stayed to fight—but didn’t live to fight again.

One of the SEALs put a tourniquet on Lieutenant Kerrey’s leg. The squad snatched several VIPs along with three large bags of documents (some including a list of VC in the city), weapons, and other equipment. Lieutenant Kerrey continued to lead Rick Knepper and the others in his squad until they were evacuated. The intel they got from the documents and HVTs gave critical information to the allied forces in Vietnam. Lieutenant Bob Kerrey received the Medal of Honor.

Although others still talk about that op, I never heard Master Chief Knepper talk about it or any other. He served as a mentor to my classmates and me. Without his taking us under his wing, we would’ve been left on our own until the rest of the guys arrived and our BUD/S class officially formed. And I was going to need all the help I could get.

Extreme Chess

SEAL Training 2: Inspected, Injected and Selected

In order to be accepted to SEAL training, I had to take my dental, medical, and psychological exam at the Naval Medical Center in Long Beach. The dentist poked around in my mouth, took x-rays, and even cleaned my teeth—not even a cavity.

The medical exam wasn’t so different from civilian medical exams I’d taken: weight, height, blood, urine, eyes, ears, heart and chest. “Turn your head and cough.” The medical staff made sure my immunizations were up-to-date: Typhoid, Tetanus, Yellow Fever, Hepatitis A, Flu, and PPD.

My vision checked out better than 20/40 in one eye and 20/70 in the other. They tested my color vision with the FALANT (Farnsworth Lantern) Test, a test using colored lights. I failed. Fortunately, there was a mix-up with the paperwork and I got a pass mark. (Although I couldn’t pass the FALANT, I’ve never had a problem properly identifying colored lights, flares, tracer rounds, etc. Also, I’m more sensitive to shapes than colors, so sometimes I can more easily spot camouflaged personnel and objects.)

I had been inspected, injected, and selected. A doctor looked over my paperwork and gave me his stamp of approval. About seven other guys weren’t as fortunate as me.

Later, I took the psychology questionnaire. It asked the same questions over and over. I wasn’t sure if they were checking the reliability of the test or my patience to answer the same questions over and over. One question asked, “Do you want to be a fashion designer?” I didn’t know if fashion designers are crazy or if I was crazy for not wanting to be one. It also asked, “Do you have thoughts about suicide?” I didn’t have thoughts about it before the test, but after answering so many questions about suicide, I started to consider killing myself. “Do you like Alice and Wonderland?” How should I know; I never read it? The prophet Moses would have failed the test questions: “Have you had visions?” “Do you have special abilities?” After the paper test, I met with the psychiatrist and told her what she wanted to hear. I passed.

Next, I went in for my hypobaric pressure testing. The chamber was a large torpedo looking thing. I was fortunate to see the candidate before me, so I knew what to expect. While I was filling out my paperwork, a candidate stepped into the hyperbaric chamber and sat down. He started sweating before the pressure dropped. Inside the chamber, the pressure went down, simulating ten feet underwater. The candidate’s face turned red.

At twenty feet, the dive officer asked the candidate via telecom, “Everything OK?”

“Of course, it’s not OK, let me out!”

I don’t know if it was the claustrophobia, the air pressure, or both, but the candidate didn’t stick around—fail.

Then it was my turn. I stepped inside, sat down, and relaxed. I’d practiced meditation before, so I slowed my breathing and heartbeat to calm myself. The dive officer sealed my door shut. I went down ten feet, twenty feet. I could feel the air pressure increasing. At thirty feet, I was already yawning and swallowing in order to relieve some of the pressure on my ears. The pressure inside the chamber simulated going down sixty feet underwater and stayed there. No problem.

After ten minutes at sixty feet, the dive officer slowly relieved the pressure inside my chamber until the pressure was gone.

“Good job,” he said.

I was told that usually only one out of about a hundred guys reach the stage I was at (they fail the physical screen test, medical, etc.). It felt good to make it this far. But I really didn’t know what was around the corner for me at BUD/S training. Ignorance was happiness, and I was ecstatic!

Navy Leap Frogs

U.S. Navy SEALs' parachute team, the Leap Frogs, jump into the San Diego Padres' home opener.

Fort Hood Shooting

I’m saddened that our military men and women who have sacrificed so much have sacrificed again, and it’s bitterly ironic that those who were so selfless died for someone who was so selfish. Cutting straight to the point, I wish Ivan Lopez would have put a bullet through his own head before he killed three and wounded sixteen of our nation’s finest. After the 2009 shooting, how could this happen again—on the same base?

Perpetrator
I think the biggest reason that this happened is because of Ivan Lopez’s own anger, selfishness and craziness. Now there are angry, selfish people in the world who aren’t so crazy, and there are crazy people who aren’t so angry and selfish, but when combined, the result can be lethal.

Location
Another contributing factor to this tragedy seems to be location. At 214,000 acres (over 45,000 soldiers, nearly 10,000 civilians and their dependents), Fort Hood is the largest military base in the U.S. and probably in the world. Given that our military personnel currently endure long and repeated deployments, Fort Hood appears to be a giant pressure cooker for stress. In such an environment, it seems someone like Lopez is more likely to snap.

Security
Some people might wonder about the security of Fort Hood, but for those who have served in the military, they know that security isn’t always a high priority for base commanders. In the commanders’ defense, subordinates can feel restricted by what they view as too much security. Also, in the United States, unless military personnel have a current security function, they generally aren’t allowed to carry weapons around on base. Whether such security will be/needs to be changed or not remains to be seen.

Conclusion
I’m saddened by the deaths and injuries of these fine men and women. My prayers go out to their families and friends, and I pray that those injured, especially those in critical condition, will recover soon.

SEAL Training 1: The Journey of a Thousand Miles

The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. In 1985, I went into the Navy to become a SEAL because I wanted to fight terrorism and insurgents with the best. At that time, most Americans knew little about SEALs or terrorism, but I’d been doing some research. During boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois, I got my chance to take the Physical Screen Test (PST).

We started out with the swim.

And I failed.

Do not go to BUD/S Training, do not pass Go, and do not collect $200.

I was devastated, but I picked myself up and recommitted to accomplishing my goal while trying to make the best of the situation.

I ended up stationed at Long Beach, California. The Navy had good pools, and I trained in them often. I often did ocean swims with fins. Runs, pushups, sit-ups, chin-ups–I tried to get in shape.

Months later, two other guys on my ship, Rudy and Clodges, wanted to be SEALs, too, so we trained together. Then one day they told me, “The PST is tomorrow. Let’s do it.”

“I’m not ready yet,” I said. “I’m going to Hospital Corpsman School then get assigned to a Marine unit for a while. Then I’ll be in shape and try again.”

They pushed me. ”What’ve you got to lose? The worst thing that could happen is you fail.”

So the next day I went with them to take the PST on base. After showing our ID’s and paperwork, we stripped down to our swim shorts. A Navy SEAL reminded us, “All you have to do now is swim five hundred yards in eight-and-a-half minutes using the sidestroke or breaststroke.” (The requirements have changed since then—see the official Navy SEALs’ website for the latest information.)

I was nervous. At the sound of the whistle, we swam. I used the breaststroke, but after about two hundred and fifty yards I got tired and switched to the sidestroke. I had no technique whatsoever—just go as fast as I could from beginning to end.

As I neared the end of the swim, the clock neared the eight minute, thirty second deadline: eight minutes and twenty-seven seconds, twenty-eight, twenty-nine… I finished with only one second remaining.

I was both excited and shocked that I’d passed the first hurdle.

For those of us who remained, including Rudy and Clodges, we got dressed into t-shirts, long pants, and boots. “You have to do thirty-five pushups in two minutes and thirty-five sit-ups in two minutes,” the SEAL said. I did more than forty of each. One—Muscleman—did a lot more. But three of the candidates were sent walking.

“Next, you have to do six pull-ups from a dead hang—the time limit is over when you fall from the bar.” After exerting myself on the swim, push-ups, and sit-ups, I only had enough energy to do eight pull-ups. Muscleman did twelve. My buddies were still with me, but two more candidates failed.

The last part of the test was the run, wearing pants and boots. “You will run a mile-and-a-half in eight-and-a-half minutes. Good luck.”

At the sound of the whistle, Muscleman took off like a horse. I knew I couldn’t keep up with him, and I ran at my own pace. At about halfway, I passed Muscleman and some others. I crossed the finish line in under seven minutes. Two candidates were too slow—Muscleman was one of them. Out of the sixteen of us who started, eight of us passed the physical screening test, including Rudy and Clodges. I was so proud of myself—especially on the swim. But I still had to pass the dental, medical and hyperbaric chamber.