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

The bow of our boat slammed into the rocks, and the bowline man, not me,
jumped forward and hung on, making the painter firm around his waist. His job
was to get secure and then act like a human capstan and stop the boat being
swept backward. Our man was pretty sharp; he jammed himself between a
couple of big boulders and yelled back to us, “Bowline man secure!”
We repeated his call just so everyone knew where they were. But the boat
was now jammed bow-on against the rocks. It had no rhythm with the waves and
was vulnerable to every swell that broke over the stern. In this static position, it
cannot ride with the waves.
Our crew leader’s cries of “Water!” were little help. The surf was crashing
straight at us and then through the boat and up and over the rocks. We had on our
life jackets, but the smallest man among us had to hop over the bow, carry out all
of the paddles, and get them safely onto dry ground.
Then we all had to disembark, one by one, clambering onto the rocks, with
the poor old bowline man hanging on for his life, jammed between the rocks
with the boat still lashed to his torso. By now we were all on the rope, trying to
grab the handles, but the bowline man had to move first, heading upward into a
new position, with us now taking the weight.
He set off. Bowline man moving! I hauled ass down in the engine room,
pulling with all my strength. A wave slammed into the boat and nearly took us
all into the water, but we hung tough.
Bowline man secure! And then we gave it everything, knowing our crewmate
could not come catapulting backward right into us. Somehow we heaved that
baby onward and upward, dragged it clean out of the Pacific, cheated the Grim
Reaper, and manhandled it right up there onto the rocks, high and dry.
“Too slow,” said our instructor. And then he went into a litany of details as to
what we’d done wrong. Too long in the opening stages, bowline man not quick
enough up the rocks, too long on the initial pulls, too long being battered by the
waves.
He ordered us onto the sand with the boat, gave us a set of twenty push-ups,
then ordered us straight back the way we’d come — up and over the rocks, boat
into the water, bowline man making us secure while we damn near drowned...get
in, get going, shut up and paddle. Simple really.
That first month ended much like it had begun, with a soaking wet, cold,
tired, and depleted class. At the conclusion of the four weeks, the instructors
made some harsh decisions, assessing the weakest among us, guys who had
failed the tests, perhaps one test, maybe two. They looked hard at very