Lone Survivor_ The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 ( PDFDrive )

5
Like the Remnants
of a Ravaged Army
We helped one another back over the sand dunes, picking up
those who fell, supporting those who could barely walk...The
baptism of fire that had reduced Class 226 by more than half
was over...No one had ever dreamed it would be this bad.
We lined up outside the chow hall and hoisted the boats onto our heads. It was
now apparent we would go nowhere without them. As bankers carry their
briefcases, as fashion models walk around with their photograph portfolios, we
travel around with our boats on our heads. It’s a Hell Week thing.
I have to admit that after the first straight thirty hours, my memory of those
five days begins to grow a little hazy. Not of the actual events, but of the
sequence. When you’re moving on toward forty hours without sleep, the mind
starts playing tricks, causing fleeting thoughts suddenly to become reality. You
jerk yourself awake and wonder where the hell you are and why your mom,
holding a big, juicy New York sirloin, is not pulling the paddle right next to you.
It’s the forerunner to outright hallucination. Kind of semi-hallucinations.
They start slowly and get progressively worse. Mind you, the instructors do their
level best to keep you awake. We were given fifteen minutes of hard physical
training both when we reached the chow hall and when we left. We were sent
into the surf fast and often. The water was freezing, and every time we carried
out boat drills, racing through the breakers with the four remaining teams, we
were ordered to dump boat, pull that sucker over on top of us, then right it, get
back in, and carry on paddling to our destination.
The reward for the winners was always rest. That’s why we all kept trying so
hard. Same for the four-mile run, during which we got slower, times slipped