American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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A lot of memories about Mikey came back as soon as I found out
he’d died. I hadn’t known him all that well, because he was in the other
platoon, but I was there for his hazing.
I remember us holding him down so his head could be shaved. He
didn’t like that at all; I may still have some bruises.
I drove a van to pick up some of the guys from the airport and helped
arrange Mikey’s wake.
SEAL funerals are kind of like Irish wakes, except there’s a lot
more drinking. Which begs the question, how much beer do you need
for a SEAL wake That is classified information, but rest assured it is
more than a metric ass-ton.
I stood on the tarmac in dress blues as the plane came in. My arm
went up in a stiff salute as the coffin came down the ramp, then, with
the other pallbearers, I carried it slowly to the waiting hearse.
We attracted a bit of a crowd at the airport. People nearby who
realized what was going on stopped and stared silently, paying their
respects. It was touching; they were honoring a fellow countryman
even though they didn’t know him. I was moved at the sight, a last
honor for our fallen comrade, a silent recognition of the importance of
his sacrifice.
The only thing that says we’re SEALs are the SEAL tridents we wear,
the metal insignia that show we’re members. If you don’t have that on
your chest, you’re just another Navy puke.
It’s become a sign of respect to take it off and hammer it onto the
coffin of your fallen brother at the funeral. You’re showing the guy that
you’ll never forget, that he remains part of you for the rest of your life.