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

pipes sounded like someone was trying to strangle a steam engine.
Jesus. First time I heard it, I thought we were under attack.
But I knew the drill: get into my canvas UDT swim trunks and then get under
those ice-cold water jets. The shock was unbelievable, and to a man we hated it,
and we hated it for as long as we were forced through it. The damn thing was
actually designed to power wash our sand-covered gear when we returned from
the beach. The shock was reduced somewhat then because everyone had just
been in the Pacific Ocean. But right out of bed at four o’clock in the morning!
Wow! That was beyond reason, and I can still hear the sound of those screaming,
hissing water pipes.
Freezing cold and wet, we reported to the training pool to roll and stow the
covers. Then, shortly before 0500, in the pitch dark, we lined up on the grinder
and sat in rows, chest to back, very close, to conserve body heat. There were
supposed to be 180 of us, but for various reasons there were only 164 of us
assigned.
We had a class leader by now, Lieutenant David Ismay, a Naval Academy
man and former Rhodes Scholar who’d had two years at sea and was now a
qualified surface warfare officer. David was desperate to achieve his lifelong
dream of becoming a SEAL. He had to do this right. Officers only got one shot
at BUD/S. They were supposed to know better than to waste anyone’s time if
they weren’t up to it.
The man we all awaited was our proctor. That’s the instructor assigned to
guide us, teach us, torture us, observe us, and get rid of us, if necessary. He was
Instructor Reno Alberto, a five-foot-six man-mountain of fitness, discipline, and
intelligence. He was a ruthless, cruel, unrelenting taskmaster. And we all grew to
love him for two reasons. He was scrupulously fair, and he wanted the best for
us. You put out for Instructor Reno, he was just a super guy. You failed to give
him your absolute best, he’d have you out of there and back to the fleet before
you could say, “Aye, aye, sir.”
He arrived at 0500 sharp. And we’d have a ritual which was never broken.
This was how it went:
“Feet!” shouted the class leader.
“Feet!” An echoing roar ripped into the still night air as nearly 164 of us
responded and jumped to our feet, attempting to move into ranks.
“Instructor Ree-no!” called the class leader.
“Hooyah, Instructor Ree-no!” we bellowed as one voice.
Get used to that: hooyah. We don’t say yes, or right away, or thanks a lot, or