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

back the most insubordinate reply anyone had ever given one of the instructors.
Never mind “Hooyah, Instructor Patstone!” (Because Terry Patstone was
normally a super guy, always harsh but fair.) That particular half-crazed paddler
bellowed, “Ass-h-o-o-ole!” It echoed across the moonlit water and was greeted
by a howl of laughter from the night-shift instructors. They understood, and
never mentioned it.
So we crashed over the side of the boat into the freezing water, flipped the
hull over and then back, climbed back in, soaking wet, of course, and kept
paddling. I locked one thought into my brain and kept it there: everyone else
who ever became a U.S. Navy SEAL completed this, and that’s what we’re
going to do.
We finally hauled up on our home beach at around 0500 on Friday. Instructor
Patstone knew we just wanted to hoist boats and get over to the chow hall. But
he was not having that. He made us lift and then lower. Then he had us push ’em
out, feet on the boat. He kept us on the beach for another half hour before we
were loosed to make the elephant walk to breakfast.
Breakfast was rushed. Just a few minutes, and then they had us right out of
there. And the morning was filled with long boat races and a series of terrible
workouts in the demo pits — that’s a scum-laden seawater slime, which we had
to traverse on a couple of ropes, invariably falling straight in. To make
everything worse, they kept telling us it was Thursday, not Friday, and the entire
exercise was conducted under battle conditions — explosions, smoke, barbed
wire — while we were crawling, falling into the slime.
Finally, Mr. Burns sent us into the surf, all the time telling us how slow we
were, how much more there was to accomplish this day, and how deeply he
regretted there was as yet no end in sight for Class 226. The water almost froze
us to death, but it cleaned us off from the slime pits, and after ten minutes, Chief
Taylor ordered us back to the beach.
We now didn’t know whether it was Thursday or Friday. Guys collapsed
onto the sand, others just stood there, betraying nothing but in dread of the next
few hours, too many of them wondering how they could possibly go on.
Including me. Knees were buckling, joints throbbing. I don’t think anyone could
stand up without hurting.
Mr. Burns stepped forward and shouted, “Okay, guys, let’s get right on to the
next evolution. A tough one, right? But I think you’re up for it.”
We gave out the world’s weakest hooyah. Hoarse voices, disembodied
sounds. I didn’t know who was speaking for me; it sure as hell sounded like