The War: Afghanistan

Written by USMC Lance

''**WARNING: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE, CRUDE HUMOR, AND BLOOD & GORE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED**''

''This is a Military/War story, that follows the character Lance, primarily in his service with the elite men of Blue Squadron, Naval Special Warfare Development Group or DEVGRU, the Navy's elite Tier 1 counter terrorism unit. It follows them in deployments to Afghanistan, training, and elsewhere. This story is also an indirect sequel to The War: Operation Phantom Fury. ''

''DISCLAIMER: As this story is about a highly secretive Tier 1 unit, it must be stressed enough that there is no "compromising" or revealing information in this story. All of the details and information are things already available to the public. Public resources such as television, websites, films, articles, books, (Including No Easy Day and No Hero by Mark Owen) were used for this, and much more. The plot in this story is also fictional and is not intended to represent any current or previous real life operations. ''

''Also a special thanks to Mark Owen for being a huge inspiration for this fanfic and also an inspiration to millions of people around the world, including me. It is also about the team, as Owen says, and hopefully this pays some sort of respect and honor to the sacrifices SEALs have made over many years, and continue to make today.''

''Please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated! :)''

Chapter One - Arriving in Afghanistan (Part I)
0600 Hours (6:00 AM)

August 2, 2012

Bagram Air Base, Parwin Province, Afghanistan

We're finally arriving in Afghanistan. We had taken a large C-130 transport plane from an airport near Virginia Beach, Virginia and have just landed here in Bagram.

The air was unpleasantly muggy and thick. It was the middle of the summer, and we had just finished some one month pre-deployment training in Nevada, now going to Afghanistan. They posed very similar environments, but one things for sure; This shit hole wasn't any better.

It's been approximately eight years since my first deployment to Iraq with the Marines operating in Fallujah. And god damn, shit has changed. A LOT has changed!

First off, after my first deployment. I received an honorable discharge due to me seriously breaking my ankle in a car accident on leave during early 2005 and of my own request to my upper commanders. I was already tired of the bullshit in the Corps, and I simply wanted more to do than the just Marines. Plus I was interested a lot in the SEALs, the Navy's famous special operations force that everyone knows about, that specializes in Sea, Air, Land.

"So you really wanna be a SEAL, huh?" Said Major Wellington, one of my favorite commanders who I'd known in the Corps. We were in Camp Lejeune and on this particular day in February 2005, I'd walk into his office on the side of the barracks we were stationed on.

Slim built, six feet tall with big blue eyes and a sharp high-and-tight haircut, Wellington was a well respected and a well liked Marine who'd spent years in the Corps, developing his status as an officer and also maintaining a proper personal life as well, having a wife and three children.

We'd developed a close bond, even during my deployment, and I used to mail him a lot and tell him about my combat deployment to Iraq. I'd mention the SEALs to him often, as I was having a growing interest for them. I also considered Wellington a really close friend, and we used to have a lot of good times at the barracks together. Till this day, I still keep in touch with him, even after he retired from the military.

"Yes sir," I said with a confident smile, while in his office. "I feel like I have more to offer to the military than just being an infantry Marine. I've always been appealed to the sensitivity and uniqueness of special operations, particularly with the SEALs." I'd been in the Marines for around three years, and like I said, I was tired. Real tired.

He'd ask me at the same time why I didn't consider Force or Battalion Recon, which was the Marine Corps "special operations capable" units or whatever they called them, but I still felt I could do something bigger. I wanted something unique, a true and well respected special operations force. And I felt the SEALs offered exactly that.

"So there's no way I can talk you out of this?" Wellington said with a smile.

"No sir, I'm set for it. It's a new chapter in my life." I answered.

We smiled at each other, then I came over to him, and we exchanged fives like friends and hugged each other.

"Good luck brother." He said, "Nothing is going to be easy, and you'll have to earn everything you desire. Remember man, all or nothing. All in, everyday, any day." He sat back down in his office chair and saluted me.

"You bet it sir, Semper Fi."

I turned on my heel, saluted him, and walked out his office. I always remembered that day even throughout BUD/S and Green Team. Always.

After that, literally a month later, I received my discharge papers and I was out. Now I had to wait six more months for my ankle to heel and to be eligible to enlist into another service. It was worth the wait, and I was very patient. There was no rush for the SEALs, and I had to be 100% for enlistment and BUD/S.

So basic training was a calm breeze and I finished that by November. Since I entered on a delayed entry program, which detailed as long as I could complete the PST (Physical Screening Test) for BUD/S, I was in BUD/S in around two months after. For about eight weeks, I went through a preparatory school that was essentially a precursor to BUD/S. It was intense, and it made my former Marine Corps boot camp look like a walk in the park.

It was a taste for what BUD/S had to come, and even in It's intensity, I still manage to complete it and move on to BUD/S.

BUD/S however, or Basic Underwater Demolitions - SEAL as they call it, was a whole different ball game. It's easy to say that it's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Without a doubt. BUD/S tested your mental and physical capabilities to places way beyond what they are. In fact, BUD/S was mind over matter. It was the mental aspect that was most crucial to finishing the training. Those mental capabilities often even allowed you to push yourself physically through the hardest of exercises.

The simple, "Let me just make it through this exercise and on to the next, one step at a time," thought was easy enough to even complete four miles for me. Not in the literal sense, this is still a very hard deed, but the point is, having a good mentality and keeping mind over a matter is crucial to completing BUD/S.

BUD/S is hell on Earth essentially. You're going to constantly go through constant grueling PT (physical training), obstacle courses, constant swimming, running miles daily, and etc. This is especially grueling during Hell Week, which is in the early to mid stages of BUD/S, where candidates do PT constantly for five days straight, with as much as four hours of sleep the entire five days.

Hell Week is a true test of everyone's capabilities, mentally and physically. It also typically weeds out many of the candidates, and is often an indication of who's going to finish BUD/S, and perhaps the entire SEAL pipeline as well. I think at least twenty five percent of my entire class was weeded out in just Hell Week. That says a lot, and it just goes to show why everyone calls it Hell Week in the first place.

"This is design to hurt, this is design to hurt!", was often repeated by our instructors. Some may consider BUD/S torture-like, but the instructors are very good and do everything in their best interests to find out who fits the right bill for the SEALs.

I believe in the end, after six months, about sixty out of our entire two hundred man class finished training. That's not even half of the class, nothing close to half. That's 30% of us who finished, with 70% of the people who started not making it. Not to mention our class had very good and able candidates, typical attrition rates could reach up to 85%. That's astonishing and it justs a reminder of how grueling the training exactly is.

It's crazy how much you sacrifice physically and mentally in BUD/S. There were many times where I asked myself, "Is it really worth it?" But then I remembered this something I really wanna do, a community I really want to represent. And all that sacrifice is going to be worth it once you complete BUD/S.

As soon as I finished it, I was so fucking happy. It gave me a new sense of pride and confidence, and I had no doubt in my mind I was going to finish the entire pipeline.

Another thing about BUD/S is that you establish close companions and relationships with fellow candidates. Especially with the guys you finished with, and been through hell and back with. In fact, till this day, two of the guys I finished BUD/S with still operate with me, which is amazing.

After BUD/S, I went to Airborne School, and then SEAL Qualification Training (SQT). SQT differed vastly from BUD/S as it wasn't necessarily about pushing mental and physical capabilities beyond normal limits, but more learning core skills, abilities, and the essential basics of being a Navy SEAL.

It also lasted about six months and I finished it with ease. I then finally earned my SEAL trident in January 2007. It was one of the greatest moments of my life, I don't think anything could top it. The feeling of knowing I'd finally made it, through all the doubt and everything that I'd sacrifice for, was priceless. There's nothing that feels better than that. Nothing.

As I received my trident, I then was assigned to SEAL Team Four, and serving four years with them, I went on two sixth month deployments to Afghanistan. It was around December 2010 towards the end of my second six month deployment, when I heard about DEVGRU.

The Naval Special Warfare Development Group or DEVGRU (or as It's popularly called, SEAL Team Six) was a Tier 1 special mission unit of the U.S. Navy specializing in counter terrorism. It's sister unit, CAG or Combat Applications Group (more popularly known as Delta Force) was the Army's premier counter terrorism unit and was also a Tier 1 special mission unit. There wasn't much difference between the two, except maybe culture and who got more limelight in the media, but that's a whole different ballgame needed to be discussed at other times.

What attracted me to DEVGRU was that only the best SEALs got to be selected. Plus I figured, I wanted to be as unique and special as possible, and I also remembered Wellington's words of, "All or nothing." I had to at least try for it, regardless of anything.

DEVGRU performs high-risk and often highly classified operations around the globe. They've had extremely important parts in the War on Terror, and after all, it was a team of DEVGRU guys who killed Osama Bin Laden last year.

Another thing that attracted me to DEVGRU was that it was all about being an asset to the team. It was all about being at the best of your ability, all day everyday. And I loved the way that sounded, and I was ready for that responsibility. I was most certainly ready.

So after my second deployment, my platoon went back home at around January 2011 and after a month of leave, we were out at our base in Virginia. I remember we were out doing PT and firing out on the range, when my 'swim buddy', which was basically the Navy's version of the Army's 'battle buddy', called me over and said DEVGRU were doing screenings at the time. It was weird because my swim buddy and I were the only ones in our whole platoon going for screenings, but it didn't bother me too much.

I had only four years however, and DEVGRU required five. Somehow my enlistment contract was done, and my platoon commander managed to get me a spot in screening, as long as I re-enlisted which was fine with me.

We then drove down to Virginia Beach where many other candidates and us were located at a remote part of DEVGRU's headquarters. The senior instructor explained to us some of the in's-and-outs of the screening process, and how we would be starting the very next morning.

I was nervous. Nervous in the sense that I had no idea of what kind of workouts or mental stress to expect the following morning, or how we would be selected for the training course entirely. Not to mention my buddy and I were already very tired and stressed out from doing PT that day, and we had been wearing the same Crye Precision combat uniforms the whole day, and we were starting to smell.

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind. It was shit I couldn't control. That's one thing about the SEALs; Only worry about what you can worry about. It's also another essential motto to go by. If you worry too much about intangible or impractical things, you could create problems for yourself and put a whole lot of stress onto yourself too. It was all about organizing what you needed to do, and what not to worry about.

For an example, at that moment I only had to worry about how I could do in the physical the next morning. I had no idea what to expect, and that was the only thing I should've been focused on. How I smelled, or whether my uniform was clean or not, or how I was tired, were things I couldn't control. So I pushed them out of my mind and only worried about the task at hand.

The very next morning, we were out on the beach preparing to do our workouts. It wasn't very hot thankfully, as it was mid-winter, so the calm breeze whistled through the air and the sun shined on our faces.

We began with a four-mile run. I got to tell you, I was pretty fucking tired, QUICKLY. I'm not in the best physical shape by no means, and I'd honestly been a lazy couch potato most of my life. I did improve on this when I enjoyed football often as a teen, but the Marine Corps really strengthened my physical capabilities, as well as BUD/S. My multiple combat deployments assisted too, but I still struggled significantly compared to the other candidates. I was just naturally not a very physical person, but that was okay because I had the perfect SEAL mentality, however.

I never quitted. Ever. I always thought of mind over matter. That's what got me through BUD/S and the whole pipeline, and I realized that was the thing that was going to get me through screening as well. It didn't matter if I wasn't the most fit guy in the teams or anything like that, I just had the mental capability to push through like no one else could.

I remember nearly drowning and losing consciousness in BUD/S because of not being able to swim well, but still pushing on and doing my best. That's what the instructors wanted to see; Literally pushing your mind and body until neither could tolerate any more punishment. And I'd prove that, time and time again.

However, at the moment, it still didn't mean the screening workouts didn't fucking hurt. It didn't help that I had eaten like a fat fuck the whole week before and continuing into the same week.

My swim buddy on the other hand, barely broke a sweat after the four mile run. During our break, I was gulping down bottles of Gatorade trying to catch my breath, while he looked at me laughing, sipping on a bottle of water.

"Hey bro, you tired yet? This is what you get for not listening to Chief in the platoon, and eating like a piece of shit for the whole week. Hope you can finish fat ass." My swim buddy said, giggling.

"Eat my dick motherfucker." I flipped him the bird and threw an empty Gatorade bottle at him, and by that point, we were both laughing, even though we had so much more to do.

My swim buddy was a very physical person. That was one of his strong points, and he'd always excelled at it, even at BUD/S. It was amazing to see how much he could push himself and he always seemed to have the perfect 'charm', the sort of charm where you'd just look at him and think, "Yeah, this guy definitely deserves to be here." It should also be noted he's one of my friends who I still operate and keep in touch with till this day.

After the run, we did much push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. During each break I was still struggling to catch my breath, but thankfully with a little determination, I met the minimum requirements. However, in DEVGRU, everything is about exceeding standards, and to the instructors, I probably failed miserably. And that was the way I was feeling too.

My buddy of course dominated all of the exercises and finished at the top of the class. Nothing unexpected. However, he didn't do as well in the final swim, which was neither of our strong points, but we still passed with relative ease.

Swimming had been hard at first, but it was something that I was starting to get accustomed to, so the final exercise wasn't very difficult. When this and all of the other exercises were finished however, the next day we had interviews. This was purely a mental thing, and I had a good feeling about it.

The only worry I had was about my physical scores. I was going to be interviewed by an oral board of senior DEVGRU operators, who were going to throw a barrage of questions at me, and I knew without a doubt they'd mention how I did during the PT the day before. However, I stopped thinking about it, and pushed it out of my mind. I focused on the task at hand and to just excel in the interview the best I could.

I arrived for my interview in my dress uniform, with a brand new haircut and shave. I looked like I belonged in a commercial, and that was sort of funny to me. This was one of the few times looking formal actually mattered in the SEALs, however.

And as I expected, the interview went well. The barrages of questions didn't bother me, I just took everything one question at a time, and gave logical answers. Well, answers that I FELT were logical; I had no idea if I was right or wrong to the instructors. Of course, they mentioned my PT scores and I simply told them I was better than that, and that I took full responsibility for it, and it would never occur again. Simple. At the end, they'd let me know in approximately sixth months whether I had been selected or not.

After screening, my swim buddy and I returned back to training with our platoon. Guys asked us how it went, and we just shrugged. We were just worried about being back at training now, there wasn't time to focus on it anymore. This was until the six months past, of course.

Then six months later during HALO/HAHO training at Fort Benning, my swim buddy and I found out we had made it. And it didn't mean we had made the squadrons of course, but I still couldn't fucking believe it. It amazed me. I was so glad I had done well in the interview, so glad.

We then went through the nine month Operators Training Course, starting in August 2011, which actually determined whether we would be in DEVGRU or not. It was a sad time for DEVGRU, as at least fifteen of their operators had gotten killed in a devasting helicopter crash, and it just increased the pressure during the whole course.

OTC was sort of like a combination of BUD/S and SQT, in the sense of pushing your capabilities and learning or refining skills and values, but at a whole other level of intensity.

It was all about managing stress. That was the key to the course. Managing stress, and literally exceeding standards significantly all the time. Another level of intensity is the fact that the instructors made us write peer reviews. If you were slacking during training or weren't being good with the guys socially, it was sure you'd be out of the course early. It was another level of stress added, and a whole other dimension added to the course as well.

I busted my ass on the course everyday. The instructors didn't wait for you to catch up, everything was fast. And if you didn't catch up quickly, it was also sure as hell your ass would be gone from the course early. Like I said, managing the stress and literally doing what you had to do at the best of your abilities was the key to finishing OTC. It wasn't as much as quitting or not quitting, it was all about your reactions to highly stressful situations and how you dealt with them; That's what the instructors looked for.

We had about a fourty man class, but only half of us made it. Nothing surprising as high attrition rates were expected, with only the best of the best making it through. I swear, my swim buddy and I were the proudest motherfuckers alive when we made it through. Nothing could top this.

We were now at the top of the food chain in the military, and special operations as well. It was a feeling of pride and honor like no other. My responsibilities now held even greater purpose than they'd ever had in my life. Ever.

When I graduated this April, I had become part of a team that made up less than 1% of the military. To be frank, I'd pretty much fulfilled my dream. And that was totally fine with me.

And something I'd cherish for the rest of my life.

Chapter Two - Arriving in Afghanistan. (Part II)
0800 Hours - 0900 Hours (8:00 AM - 9:00 AM)

August 2, 2012

FOB Goldberg, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

After we landed at Bagram, the plane refueled, and we flew all the way to the Kandahar Airport because we'd be operating in that province. The whole troop was going, and this was my first deployment with DEVGRU. I wasn't nervous as this was my third time in Afghanistan, but I was interested to see how things would turn out.

Then we got on a Chinook, a large transport helicopter that literally looked like a flying school bus, and flew to FOB Goldberg. It was a newly created forward operating base named after a SEAL killed in action a couple of months before. It was south of Kandahar City, and looked just like all of the other FOBs.

Barbwire, HESCO barriers, B-Huts, or "hooches" as we called them; Mess halls, helicopter pads, an operations center, and etc. It wasn't so bad, and I'll tell you what: It was way better than some of the shitty firebases I've been in earlier during my career. It was decent sized, housing my whole troop of about twenty five operators, and also a RECCE (recon)/Sniper troop of twenty three guys, with DEVGRU support and aviation personnel as well. All and all, there were about one hundred and fifty guys at the FOB in total, including other personnel like cooks, military police that guarded the base, and etc.

We were there in Kandahar to track down a high level Taliban commander who'd escape from the Helmand Province in 2010. This was after vicious fighting with the Marines during Operation Moshtarak, and he was now harvesting fighters from the east and building up his reputation in Kandahar. For the mean time, we were to track his henchmen, and do raids and operations on fighters, or anyone associated with him. It was a short deployment, like the majority of DEVGRU's deployments, and was only going to last three months. It meant we had a lot of work to do.

I'd arrived at the base with the troop, and had then walked into my hooch. The hooch, tent, B-Hut, (or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it) was a cheap, compact, pre-fabricated building used as living quarters for troops deployed. It had one big room, that was usually split into multiple small rooms divided by plywood walls, each with a bed and desk for each individual. It was very tight space, but at least you had some privacy. You could also put lining around your bed for some extra privacy or to block any bugs trying to get to you.

In the room, there was a common walkway down the center of the whole room, with a door in the front and back of the room, used as an entrance and exit. The guys usually went through the front into the opening space of the whole base, and the back opened up to the site of stacked HESCO barriers and barbed wire, with two porta potties to the near right, where we usually took a leak or shit in the morning when we awoke.

The hooch also had fluorescent lights and a decent air conditioner, which was really good for this hot summer we were going to operate in. Also, towards the right of the front entrance, there was a little space where we had assembled a lounge which was basically a decent sized couch and a nice, sixty-inch flatscreen TV, in 1080p HD. We could watch regular shows and movies on the American Forces Network, and it was pretty decent. We also had a Playstation 3 rigged to the TV with about five games, and guys could sometimes play during our free time.

There were six guys to come in the hooch and we were designated as Bravo Team. If extra guys arrived to our team, they'd take any remaining beds we hadn't touched.

Another hooch towards the right of ours (which was larger sized), housed the operations center, and was where the troop chief and troop commander lived, as well as the Alpha Team of the troop. It also had a coffee maker, and had another flatscreen TV that was actually rigged to show the UAV drone feed from the Air Force ISR (intelligence, surveillance, reconnaissance) guys.

The rest of the base had hooches for Charlie Team of the troop, the support and aviation personnel, plus the things I already mentioned such as a mess hall and helicopter pads, as well as a gym and much more. There was also even a mini kill-house at the far end of the base that we used for CQB training, and it was pretty damn decent. It was almost as advanced as the kill houses we used in OTC.

As I arrived in my mini-room and began unpacking my gear, I was approached by one of my friends, Petty Officer First Class Damien Brady, some Mulatto guy from New Jersey who I'd known since BUD/S.

Yes, this is the same physical beast who was my swim buddy at SEAL Team Four and had completed Green Team with me. He sort of looked like an older Corbin Bleu from High School Musical (Hahaha) and had a buzzcut with a scruffy beard (I looked pretty similar to be honest). He was about an inch shorter than me, and had a lean physique. He also had hazel eyes and looked like he belonged in an Ebony magazine. He was twenty nine with a decent college degree, and we had been in the SEALs for the same period of time.

Brady was funny as shit to look at, and he was practically my best friend. We had served in different platoons in ST4 after finishing BUD/S together, but after my last deployment with them, he transferred to my platoon and that's when we started to know each other even more. We then both completed Green Team and were miraculously assigned to the same squadron and troop.

I was glad to have him around and he always had an exciting personality, just like me. We bonded well together and were always cursing the fuck out of each other, literally for the fun of it. Plus we were the only black (or semi black, haha) guys in the troop, and we found that shit hilarious, which made our bond even tighter. It's not common for the SEALs to lack diversity but that's a whole other topic.

"Hey you fat fuck." He said, with a sarcastic smile, "What you been up to Marine?"

"Hi you cocksucking, dragon breath smelling faggot." I replied back. We then laughed and exchanged fives.

"What's up?" He said, throwing his gear in the mini-room next to me.

"Nothing much man, just started unpacking. You seen any of the guys yet?" I said.

"Nah man. Probably in the operations center or something, I don't know. I do know that fucker Spencer is taking the meanest shit of his life in the porta potty. I could smell it from outside the building, what the fuck." Brady made a grimace and then laughed hardly.

PO1 (Petty Officer First Class) Spencer Foust, to be exact, was one of the other guys I had finished BUD/S with and came to DEVGRU with. He was this guy from San Diego who seemed to know how to take care of himself, and was really tall, about six foot six. He made Brady and I look short, even if we were six-one and six-two.

He was the tallest motherfucker in the troop, and had played varsity basketball and football during high school. A bad knee injury in his senior year severely affected his chances of achieving a scholarship, so he decided to join the Navy and become a SEAL, which leads him to this point.

Spencer was twenty seven and we became separated after BUD/S when he was sent to SEAL Team Five, as he was from the west coast. We however, were reunited when I find out Spencer was in the same squadron as me.

To be honest, Spencer was the more serious and logical one out of the three of us, but he still had a really fun side to himself too.

I then laughed and told Brady to get Spencer the fuck out of the porta potty.

"You must be smoking crack, I'll report you to Chief." He smirked like an idiot and giggled.

"Hey what team are you part of?" I then asked him.

"Bravo, what the fuck? If I was part of Charlie or Alpha, I wouldn't be here, genius." He looked at me like I was the biggest dumb fuck in existence and I flipped him the bird with a grin. He did have a point though, there was no one else who should have been in the hooch except for those part of Bravo Team. It didn't help that I hadn't even noticed the word "BRAVO!" spray painted on the front door entrance of the hooch. I felt dumb.

"Haha, you're right bro." I said.

Then Spencer came in the hooch from the back entrance with this tired look on his face, and his gear in his hand. He threw his gear on a bed and mini room across from me, and then pulled up a folded steel chair to Brady and I.

"So how's your stomach bro?" Brady grinned.

"Fucking bullshit." Spencer said, "Porta potty smells worse than a dead hajji. Any of the other guys came in?"

"Hope so," I said. "We're still pretty new to the squadron and I still wanna learn a thing or two. Not to mention most of the senior guys are CPOs [Chief Petty Officers} and they all have double digit deployments." It was the truth.

The senior guys in the squadron had seen years of combat experience. They were grizzled veterans, and were usually at least thirty years old, with double-digit deployments and mostly senior enlisted ranks. They were the bulk of DEVGRU, and were the guys who knew it all. They were the guys we were trying to be like, and the guys our trio looked up to.

"Yeah you're right." Spencer said, "I just hope we don't get chewed up for still being the new guys."

Even though we'd been at DEVGRU for a couple of months by this point, we were still the newest guys at the team and that came with a little pressure and hardship, to be honest. The senior guys were on your ass a little bit, and you were expected to do your job perfectly. This wasn't a problem however, as this was exactly what I expected from DEVGRU. It wasn't going to be easy, as nothing came easy in the SEALs.

"I don't think we will." Brady chimed in. "Just as long as we do what we're told, we're good. It's nothing different from the vanilla teams, just do everything at our best."

"So when is breakfast?" I said, changing the topic because I was hungry as hell.

"I think Spencer here would know." Brady grinned villainously at him, and Spencer told him to suck his dick or something of that nature.

"Shits not funny man, fucking cooks at the mess hall gave me this half-assed bacon and semi rotten milk that's had my stomach feeling like crap for the past thirty minutes now." Spencer said, as Brady continued to laugh his ass off. I couldn't help but start laughing too, because they really violated him, haha.

"Really bro? There must be a personal problem or something for them to do such a thing." I said.

"Yeah Lance," Brady answered. "Spencer probably fucked the head cook's wife. He probably creampied her and busted into her eyeball."

I was fucking rolling on the floor laughing, as I'd never heard such a thing. Brady then added on to that with saying Spencer's presumed ejaculation into the cook's wife eyeball, somehow gave her pink eye that she was trying to hide from her husband in a family photo, and that's how the cook finded out about the 'apparent' situation.

That's Brady in a nutshell to be honest. You never knew what the fuck kind of weird shit he was going to say next.

"Fuck you guys," Spencer then said. "I really feel like shit, and you fuck faces are cracking jokes." Spencer shaked his head at us.

We laughed some more and then after awhile, Spencer couldn't keep his straight face and was bursting out laughing with us. It was a good moment, until we were interrupted by our team leader bursting through the door and asking us why we weren't unpacking our gear.

"Hey, I interrupted the party?" He said, with a sarcastic smile.

"Come on guys, what the hell? You're grown fucking men in DEVGRU, I shouldn't have to tell you anything. No reason why your gear shouldn't be out. This is your first deployment with us, get it right quick or get the fuck out." He said, with a disappointed look on his face.

"Roger that." We all said it on synch and we knew it wouldn't happen again.

Our team leader was a Chief Petty Officer Jonathan Griffin from Cincinatti, Ohio. He was one of the senior guys in the troop, and I believe he was on his tenth deployment this particular time. He sort of resembled Brad Pitt, but he had longer hair, a neat beard, average height and had a stocky frame. He was thirty five years old, and had a wife and two sons.

You could tell he was a very good guy and cared about his teammates. He had this sort of positive vibe and attitude he carried around, and had perfect leadership skills. It also didn't hurt that he had a good temper, and never seemed to be angry. However, he wasn't afraid to tell you how it is and what the fuck you were doing wrong at any given moment, which was another thing I liked about him.

But he was absolutely right. In DEVGRU, there was little to no management and it was required that you were mostly independent. You were required to know everything you needed for an operation, and how to take care of your gear and etc. There was no babysitting, these were "big-boy rules" as we called it. We operated as teams and this was most important however, but everyone still took care of themselves.

I didn't mention before, but there was a whole other hooch that had our gear lockers, large lockers used to hold all of our gear and equipment. We fuckin' called it the locker room, haha; No need to get technical about it.

The lockers sort of looked like decent sized closets, with eighteen of them, all lined up in two rows. When I tell you these things were badass, they were fucking BADASS! It also didn't help that the weapons and equipment I was putting in my gear locker, made the stuff I had used in Marines and even the vanilla SEALs look like toys compared to now.

So I walked to the lockers, and unpacked my gear. I had sets of Crye Precision NC (Navy-Custom) combat outfits in AOR 1, AOR 2, which were desert digital and woodland digital camouflages, and G3 (Generation 3) sets in Multicam, the very popular all-around camouflage used around the world and favored by units like us in the U.S. Special Operations Command. I had two pairs of outfits for each camouflage, respectively, and I had my AOR 1 and Multicam sets hanging off the top of the lockers to the sides. The other outfits were in the large luggage container at the bottom compartment of the locker, folded neatly and precisely. I'd take them out whenever they were needed for different kinds of ops.

What was unique about the Crye Precision outfits were both the trousers and combat shirt. The trousers had built-in removable Airflex knee pads, and many pockets around the sides that came in handy for holding anything you needed for an op. The combat shirts also had removable elbow pads, and were unique in the fact that they were nothing like the traditional combat jackets or blouses used by militaries in the world. They instead used a moisture wicking fabric for the entire torso area that came in handy for the hot summer. It was also much more comfortable to put on your body armor and you could keep cool much easier. It was also complemented by camouflaged sleeves, which meant your concealment in environments wasn't compromised by the shirt area of the torso.

Guys in the squadron sometimes even cut the sleeves above the elbow, which made the combat shirt look more like an actual t-shirt. This was usually done during the summer (like now) and exposed the forearms for more ventilation. With other units, this was a sure no-no, but as DEVGRU operators, we had the freedom and independence to operate almost any way we wanted.

Even though much of us wore Crye Precision apparel, some guys also wore Arc'Teryx LEAF apparel, which was hands down some of the best outdoor gear on the market. They were pretty fucking expensive though, with one of pair of FR (flame-resistant) Multicam trousers costing $700. Just ONE pair. But at the command, everything was free and was issued to us, so that was never a problem. I had Arc'Teryx jackets in varieties of colors and camos like AOR 1, AOR 2, Multicam, etc. I didn't bring the hard shell jackets on the deployment though, as they were made to be used during the winter when the punishing cold would require jackets of such type. Same with the Crye Precision hard shell jackets I also had.

I did however bring four soft shell Arc'Teryx jackets in AOR 1, AOR 2, Multicam, and crocodile brown that were also in my luggage container. These would be useful towards the end of the deployment where the temperatures would decrease significantly, and it wouldn't be too cold for any hard shell jackets.

Still, the main thing was, in DEVGRU you could basically wear whatever you wanted. As long as you wore the authorized camouflages and things like that, what gear you wore didn't matter. It was all about what was best for you and the mission. It just so happened that the Crye and Arc'Teryx gear was the best out there, so that was what the majority of us wore.

Back in my luggage container, there were other things that came out of it such as my two Crye Field Pants that were khaki-colored. I plan to wear these in garrison, when I was chilling around and not doing any operations, so I kept them back in a small container under my bed at my hooch.

My luggage container also had my utility uniform that I'd use rarely. It was in AOR 1 and was a blouse and trousers, with my name tape, rank, and branch tape on the blouse. I usually wore it when I was stateside, and was around high ranking commanders or such. I even had these old-school pair of Crye G1 combat pants in 3-color desert or "coffee stain" camouflage. I never wore them, but they were custom, and even still had the knee pads attached.

Griffin had given them to me, and he explained he had used them during raids in Iraq back around 2005-2006, and it was his favorite pair of trousers. Hehe, we had made some stupid bet during training about whether troop chief would stay with one of his new girlfriends or not, since he seemed to be complaining about females every other day. I said he wouldn't, but Griffin said he would. He offered his favorite pants, and I offered my brand new pair of sneakers that I'd bought before training, which were some Air Jordan's I'd paid $200 for.

I had no doubt in my mind I'd win, that's why I offered them up and he indeed loss. Two days after our bet, troop chief was complaining about faifthfulness and beating his dick again, which were the only signs we needed to know whether things had worked out, and they didn't.

Now, back in my gear locker, there were also Under Armour tactical t-shirts, compression shirts, and briefs that I wore under my outfits. The tactical shirts were also moisture wicking and had velcro patches on each sleeve in case we wanted to put other patches on the shirt. As expected, this clothing was also folded neatly in my big luggage container. I had others under my bed kept in the small container at my hooch.

I had my brown, Salomon Quest hiking boots that were handy for any environment, as well as these pair of tan Danner boots I usually used when I had my utility uniform on, which was rare. I kept this footwear in my hooch usually, as it'd be awkward walking outside the base with flip flops and to the locker room that way. I don't know, it just seemed weird to me. Bloused boots were also practically obsolete with our guys. We preferred hiking boots and trail running shoes, which weren't meant for blousing, and the trousers we wore were meant to be worn with the pants sitting on the shoe. Bloused boots were only for our utility uniform, and that was that.

To protect my hands on operations, I wore flame-resistant assault gloves. They were Outdoor Research, Massif Overlord gloves that were tan and black. They came with a hefty price tag however, and were around $170. It was worth it, as they were light and very comfortable. I did everything with them.

On the top compartment of my locker, I housed my four Ops Core Maritime helmets that were in AOR 1, AOR 2, Multicam, and stock tan. They were stacked on top of each other, and on my AOR 1 helmet, were my attached high tech, four-tubed night vision goggles called GPNVG-18s. These things were state of the art and were at least $38,000.

That just goes to show that the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) we fell under did their best, and played no games when it came to giving us the best equipment in the world. No games.

As for weapons, I had three primary weapons and two sidearms, plus a grenade launcher. My rifles were two HK (Heckler and Koch) 416s with a fourteen inch and sixteen inch barrel. The fourteen inch 416 was my primary rifle I used daily. It had an EOTech holographic sight with a 3x zoom magnifier, suppressor, foregrip, and laser sight - flashlight combo on the front rails. It was also spray painted in AOR 1.

My other rifle was a HK416 with the sixteen inch barrel, and had a 8x zoom Nightforce scope, as well as a suppressor and laser sight. The gun also had a foregrip AND bipod, and there was also a clip on PVS-22 thermal sight I sometimes used on it. This was when illumination during our night ops was little to none which lessened the ability of our NVGs, and the black and white glow of the thermal sight would come in handy. These things were also expensive as fuck, costing at least $10,000.

However, my fourteen inch came in handy for most environments, so I rarely used the sixteen inch rifle. It was only important with no illumination and when we were shooting at long ranges. It should be noted that it was spray painted dark brown and beige.

We also had HK417s, which carried a more powerful cartridge and were usually used as a designated marksman rifles (DMRs). They were mostly used by the RECCE and sniper troop guys, so I rarely touched them.

My other primary weapon was a HK MP7, a sub machine gun that I used sometimes. It was usually important when we needed to be extremely quiet on ops, or when weight and size needed to be limited, particularly on jungle or ship-boarding training and missions. It didn't have the power of the 416s, obviously due to the smaller cartridges it used, but the 416s didn't compare to the MP7s when we needed extreme quietness.

I remember times on the range during our pre deployment training when Brady would be letting off round after round with his suppressed MP7, close to my ear, and sometimes I could literally hear nothing. I could be having a whole conversation with the troop chief about improving my shooting, and he could be letting off round after round, literally fifteen feet from me. It amazed me and that's why the MP7s were well liked by us.

My MP7 had a holographic sight, laser sight, suppressor, and the built-in foregrip that came with the weapon. I also left the stock painting on the weapon, as I liked the way the matte dark gray looked.

My two sidearms were a Sig Saeur P226 (standard issue Navy SEAL sidearm) and a HK45C. I preferred the P226 because of it's light weight, but I liked the 45C when I felt like I wanted more stopping power in the field. They were both suppressed, and I attached laser sights to them.

No, I didn't paint them. Haha, we didn't give a fuck that much as there were rare chances we would actually ever use our pistols during operations. The holsters that we held them in, however, were spray painted.

I also carried a customized M79 grenade launcher or 'pirate gun", as we called it. It had a shortened barrel and the stock was modified into a pistol grip, literally looking like a blunderbuss a pirate in the 17th Century would use. It was a fun little weapon, and it was usually used when we needed a combination of firepower and range during a training or an operation. I painted it AOR 1.

There were machine guns too. But Spencer carried them. They were the Mark. 46 and Mark. 48 (MK.46, MK.48). They were special operations versions of the infantry M249, and usually the assaulter with the best shot or who could handle the weapons the best carried them. There was usually one or two machine gunners for each team, but it was depending on what the commander wanted and if he wanted the .46 and .48 divided between two assaulters.

Spencer was a big guy, and those big ass guns did indeed fit him. He carried the MK.46 when we were trying to be light, and carried the .48 for longer ranges and more firepower. He still did however, have a MP7 and M79 like the rest of us.

What was weird about all of my weapons however, was that I'd never used them in combat, only during training environments and operations. It'd be interesting to see their stopping power against real fighters and insurgents.

I also kept the weapons in stand up positions in the center of my locker, with my M79 and sidearms laid out on the top compartment next to my helmets.

As for body armor, the standard plate carrier I wore on most missions was a LBT (London Bridge Tactical) 6094. Guys had lots of varieties for what they wanted to wear, but that was indeed my go-to plate carrier. It was just perfect for me on most missions. I had it in AOR 1, AOR 2, Multicam, and coyote brown. I also had a Crye CPC (CAGE Plate Carrier) which I liked to use sometimes as well. I was always a fan of Crye, everything Crye was good to me, so I had to get one of their plate carriers. It just wasn't as comfortable as the 6094 but I still liked to use it. I had it in AOR 1, AOR 2, and Multicam.

Griffin had also told me during training that some of the guys didn't even carry their ballistic plates on missions. That made me think they were fucking crazy, carrying empty plate carriers on high-risk operations that could easily cost them their lives. He then explained however, that they did this on high-enduring missions where they'd become fatigued quickly, and that they were trying to stay light as possible.

I understood this logic. There was a saying in DEVGRU called light is right. The lighter it is, the righter it is. And that's what we went by. We stripped every part of our kits and gear to the most basic essentials, making sure we were as light and comfortable as possible during each operation. Not to mention, ballistic plates weren't really practical in let's say, an operation in the mountains of the country where long distance climbing and hiking would bring severe fatigue to the guys. Of course, the plates were always practical to have; they'd protect you from all kinds of rounds and shrapnel, but sometimes, they weren't practical enough to be on a mission, and I understood that.

I had two plate carriers in the center next to my rifles, and another two stacked on top of my luggage container. I kept the rest of the plate carriers in my gear bags at the hooch.

I also had miscellaneous stuff in my luggage container like my boonie hats in different camos, chest rigs, headsets, radios, tactical glasses, holsters, belts, extra pouches, my Gerber knives, and etc. My luggage container was pretty fuckin' big, so it could hold a lot of gear and equipment. Everything was switchable and went hand in hand with my other gear, so if I needed something from my container for a mission, I'd definitely take it out.

My entire in garrison outfit was probably the khaki field pants, Salomon boots, an Under Armour tactical shirt, and this baseball cap I wore backwards that said "FDNY" on the back of it. I wore it in remembrance to the firefighters and EMTs who died on 9/11, and cause I was from New York and I understood the sacrifices they made everyday, much the same we make overseas. I had a NYPD cap that I wore sometimes too.

After fixing our gear up in the lockers, my team and I went to breakfast at around 0900 hours, except Spencer of course, because he was feeling like shit. I kept it in mind not to take any bacon or milk.

There were about fifty guys at the mess hall, mostly our team, and support personnel. There was also aviation personnel there too.

Our aviation personnel, were the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment from the Army, or 160th SOAR. They were nicknamed the Night Stalkers because of most of their missions being done at night and were some of the best pilots in the world, without a doubt. They also had four MH-47 Chinooks, four MH-60 Blackhawks, and four MH-6/AH-6 Little Bird helicopters at the base with two being attack, and the other two being transport choppers. The pilots seemed really cool, and they had some sort of bounce whenever they walked. I don't know if it was just me, but they walked with this sort of confidence like they knew they were the shit, and they were; They'd proven it countless times.

I sat at a table with Brady, two other SEALs who completed our team called Styles and Prigioni, and this SOAR pilot called Anderson.

To start off, Styles and Prigioni (We called him "Prig") were the other two senior guys of the team and were both Chief Petty Officers. They weren't team leaders because of rank and it didn't mean they weren't fantastic operators, but it was simply because Griffin had better leadership skills by far, and he was always next in line before them.

Prigioni or 'Prig', was an Italian guy who had by far the strongest Boston accent I've ever fucking heard in my life. I swear this motherfucker could have been straight out of a mafia movie or some shit. He even had the look too, and was from the heart of Boston. He was tan, had jelled jet black hair, and piercing dark brown eyes. He was also average height as well, and had a lean physique. Unlike the rest of us, he kept a clean shave, which made him look even more like a greaser.

He was however, very laid back and chill. He liked to play guitar and crack a couple of jokes, but he was mostly a chill person and kept himself away from the big discussions. But when it mattered however, he always knew the right thing to say at the crucial moments, and that's what we appreciated from him. He was also thirty two, and a divorced father of one.

Styles, however, was exactly like his name sounded. He was this college dropout from Seattle who seemed all about partying. He had even been in a fraternity, and he'd tell us a lot of stories about being drunk and high as shit, even admitting that he faked his drug test in basic by getting his friend to urine in a container.

He was something else, and seemed a lot like Brady, which was cool. He was also short, in fact the shortest out of all of us, at five foot seven. Plus he was stocky as fuck, and had thick arms, and a wide chest. He topped it off with a stubble, and a medium length buzzcut. Styles was thirty four, and was single and unmarried. He seemed like the player type, probably.

It's crazy how many different personalities were in the SEALs. You saw guys who came all over the place and had all kinds of different upbringings. From Brady and I's urban upbringing from the hoods and streets of New York and Jersey, to Styles' upper-middle class childhood and college experiences in wealthy Seattle, we were all still the same and motivated by the same purposes.

To be an asset to team, and to always give all or nothing. That's what it was about. Our brotherhood and doing our best 24/7.

It was funny because our team was only six guys, and Alpha and Charlie had eight and nine guys each. It didn't matter if we were undermanned, we still had a great bond and could get the job done just as good.

"So how's the party?" Styles said at the table, with a huge grin on his face. He had a stack of sausage patties that was disappearing quickly.

"Shit man, it started?" Brady said.

"Haha fuck that. How you guys liking the base so far?" I asked. I was sipping on a cup of coffee.

"It's good, needs more girls in the atmosphere, ya know?" Styles said, shrugging.

"WHERE DA' HOES AT?" Brady yelled, and we all bursted out laughing. The other people in the mess hall, weren't laughing however, and some support guy muttered behind me, "Fuckin' SEAL dickheads, man." Brady looked at him, laughed, and flipped him the bird. The support guy shook his head and turned away.

"Nah but seriously, it's pretty decent. The hooches are somewhat okay, and I'm pretty content with the gear lockers." Brady said, crunching his toast.

"Yeah bro, there's a decent gym with a bench press and dumb bells, and even a kill house at a far section of the base." I added.

"Fuckin' A man," Styles said, slapping me a five. "Can't wait to get on the range though, I want to destroy Spencer with the machine guns and actually use them on the team."

We all knew Styles was somewhat sarcastic, cause there was literally no one with a better shot than Spencer. Our troop commander had even recommended him to attend a sniper school so he could be assigned to the RECCE troop, but he declined. He liked being an assaulter.

Still, we laughed at Styles.

"Yeah, maybe if somewhere in his skull he wants to join the RECCE troop you'll get the machine guns bro." Brady said, grinning.

"Hey you guys know when's our first op?" Anderson, the SOAR guy said, chiming in.

He sort of looked like a therapist, and had a calm demeanor in my eyes. He flew the Blackhawk helicopters, and was one of the senior pilots of the SOAR company. Anderson also wore a standard issue Army Combat Uniform in Multicam, minus the name tapes, branch tapes, and shoulder sleeve insignia as he was a special operations aviator. His boots were unbloused, however.

He was old, at least fourty years old, and you could see the stress in his eyes. He had at least double digit deployments under his belt, and he looked like he needed to retire soon.

"I don't know, man." Styles said, "Griffin, our team leader, said he doesn't know when operations were going to start but we should remain on a standby. The way the war works nowadays is weird anyways."

Styles was right. As the war waned down and combat lessened, there was starting to become a lot of sitting around and doing nothing, hoping for the next big operation. Not to mention we could barely do operations without unnecessary approval from commanders we barely trusted, which I started noticing on my last deployment with ST4. It was becoming more "pacification" and "winning the hearts and minds" of the Afghani people, who honestly didn't seem to like us very much ironically.

The RoE or Rules of Engagement was getting even tighter too. There was absolutely no way to take risks on collateral damage without some sort of backfire, and we could only engage fighters with full clearance from our commanders as well. Also, certain times on my ST4 deployments, we'd capture fighters and keep them at our bases for about a couple days, and if there was any mention of 'abuse' by the fighters to upper commanders, there was going to be instant investigations, which further complicated things.

It was literally fighting a war with our hands tied behind our backs. It was stressful and didn't make anything easier, but we still had a job to do, and we were gonna be our best at it.

"Yeah bro," Brady said. "I'm just hoping our first op is good, and it somehow doesn't get canceled or some shit."

"Eh don't worry about it." Prig chimed in and I hadn't even noticed he was scarfing down his plate the whole time.

"What makes you say that?" Brady asked.

"Cause bro, Griffin and I had a whole talk about what the heck was going to happen to say. Apparently the troop chief and commander is going to have us doing a raid with the Blackhawks at around 2300 hours. Some shit about killing or capturing this well-known opium dealer who might have ties with our Taliban commander."

It sounded nice. I was itching to get into combat and how the planning would go.

"Sounds decent," Anderson said. "Ask your troop chief and commander how he wants to us be inserted and what kind of speed and altitude I'll be traveling in."

"Roger that brother," Prig said, grinning.

"Hey Lance, know what a greaser likes more than his hair?" Prig asked me.

"His baked ziti?" Styles said, chuckling.

"No, a black chick with some huge ass cheeks, man." Prig laughed and we all started laughing.

"I never knew you guys liked the ebony queens, what the fuck?" Brady said.

"Right, where'd this come from?" I said.

"Nah, I need me some chocolate. I want a nice chocolate girl who can make parmigiana with me man, just like my ex-wife." Prig said.

We laughed some more and finished our breakfast.

Sooner or later, we returned back to our hooch, and Griffin told us we had an op, as we expected, and that we had to get some sleep.

In DEVGRU, we had vampire hours, meaning we operated at night and slept during the day. So really, it was like 2100 hours (9:00 PM) at this time, and we needed to get some sleep.

"You boys better be ready to roll," Styles said, looking at us new guys.

"Hell yeah, man." Spencer answered, as we were back in the hooch with him.

Griffin was already sound asleep.

I then laid down, and took some sleeping pills. I then started re-lacing my boots for some while, before falling asleep, with my first operation to be done later.

I was gonna be ready to roll.

Chapter Three - First Operation
''2100 Hours - 2400 Hours (9:00 PM - 12:00 AM)

August 2 - August 3, 2012

Panjwayi District, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

I had awoken at around 7:00 PM and two hours had passed since then.

It was now night time at the base, where everyone was most active, waiting for the call for an operation or fixing their gear and weapons. We were in our hooches at this moment, chilling around and were about to prepare for our operation in any moments notice. The plan hadn't been exactly detailed yet to all of us, but we heard from Griffin that the troop chief was suppose to deliver the crucial details in the operations center at around 2200 hours.

"Hey guys, what do you think about Obama?" Styles asked, curiously.

It was a random question, and he meant nothing by it, but it still had our heads turning. We always tried to limit politics during our discussions and part of the job as it didn't help us with anything to be honest. But right now, I felt like Styles presented it not the best way, but decent enough for us to answer.

"I like him," I said. "I don't like the way he's handling the war, however."

And that was essentially what everyone basically agreed with through the whole discussion. We respected him as a president and what he did for the country entirely, but we most certainly didn't respect his foreign policy. Like I said, nowadays during Afghan deployments, we felt like we were operating with our hands tied behind our backs, and it was largely in part due to the policies he'd recommended for the commanders and all U.S. forces to follow.

We then started discussing impractical matters (in the sense, they weren't relevant to our missions) like sports, television, and some of our family lives. Griffin was discussing how his fifteen year old son was already taller than him in his Freshman year of high school.

"Guys it's really crazy," He said. "I'm 5'10 and this bastard is already six feet. I'm feeding him too much, I need to start giving him less food and more PT." Griffin giggled and smiled.

That was another thing Griffin loved; His family. Hell, he probably loved his family just as much as the SEALs.

"You think the wife would be okay with that?" I asked.

"Why not?" He asserted, "She's okay with buying jewelry that can't even fit her fat ass fuckin' fingers and cost more than our night vision goggles, she better be okay with it. Besides, I don't want him to become spoiled and lazy."

We all laughed and agreed with him.

"Right on Griff'," Brady said. "It's crazy cause by that age I was already the man of the house, man."

He was serious. Brady had had a rough upbringing living on the streets of Newark, New Jersey. He had a white mother and black father, he said, and that his father was gone from his life at an early age, due to being incarcerated for crack and heroin possession, which he was also addicted to.

"I could remember going to the rehab facilities he was in after prison," Brady said, shaking his head. "Those were the hardest times. You never wanted to see your mother or anyone you care about cry that much. It broke my heart."

Him and his mother had a special bond that they hold till this day, and endured many struggles during his childhood. He somehow managed to do well in school, and went to college and got his degree.

His father however, passed away in 2007 after a long battle with cancer. It really hurt Brady, as he said him and his father were finally starting to get things right and his father had been out of rehab for five years by then.

"I still miss and love him with all my heart, man." He said, almost emotional just by the thought of it. "He made a lot of mistakes but he did his best to patch them up."

"I'm sorry brother," Griffin said. "It's part of the life, man. Things are gonna happen, and you always have to bring back your thoughts together, and keep things on track."

Brady was strong without a doubt. Everyone was strong, we were Tier 1 operators. We weren't better than anyone else, everyone is equal in our eyes; But we had the type of strength and resiliency for our specific jobs that no one else had. Family was however, one of the things that was hard for Brady to talk about, regardless of anything.

"Roger that," Styles said.

"Got you Griff." Brady replied, nodding. Spencer walked over to Brady and patted his shoulder.

We then switched the topics into funny bullshit, including how someone pranked the troop chief with a dildo during training one time, and how Spencer somehow had a dick the size of someone's forearm.

"I couldn't believe it," And of course it was Brady who said this bullshit, as always.

We were laughing our asses off and Styles made a public service announcement to start calling Spencer horse cock man.

Spencer was laughing as much as us, but then he made Styles shut up when he mentioned his shooting, and also made Brady KIND OF shut up when he mentioned how he caught Brady searching up BBW porn on his phone one time.

Then Prig mentioned baked zitis again, and we started talking about whether it sounded better as baked titties or baked zitis.

We must have spent literally half an hour talking about pure bullshit, until our troop chief called us up to the briefing room near the operations center to discuss the plan, and for us to begin preparation.

There were about twenty five seats in the briefing room, and I took a seat next to Styles.

"Aight so guys, you all got good sleep?" He said.

"Roger," Our troop said.

"Good because my fucking mattress is killing me," He said, chuckling.

There wasn't much to say about troop chief. His name was Marcus, or 'Marc' as we called him. He was a Senior Chief Petty Officer, and had immigrated to the U.S. from Sweden when he was three.

He was pretty old, fourty-one to be exact, and most of his hair was already grey, as was his beard. He was also divorced, and seemed to have a new relationship problem every other day as I mentioned before.

"But anyways," Senior Chief Marc continued, changing the slide on the Microsoft PowerPoint that was on a projector.

"We're on a kill or capture operation for a well-known opium dealer in the province." He said, pointing to the PowerPoint. "His name is Ahmed al-Vermani and he's been harvesting the opium [heroin] and trafficking it around the province for months now."

"Our intelligence analysts have given us some key information through out the day that Vermani is possibly in a hide out south-west of Kandahar City, and he's on the verge of possibly beginning to traffick weapons and arms from an unknown source in Pakistan to Kandahar, to ramp up the insurgency and give them back some of their previous fighting power."

He changed the slide.

"We've also gotten tips and information that Vermani has close ties with our high level Taliban commander [Abu Zawahiri] and the two have apparently known each other for years now. It's not one hundred percent fact, however, but there's been speculation that Zawahiri is going to be one of the key individuals who ramps up the insurgency, and that he could possibly be near Vermani as of this moment."

"We're supposed to hit the target at around 2300 to 2330 hours and I'll let Peter lead the way." Marc handed over the little remote for the projector to Peter, our troop commander, and took a seat.

"Okay, you guys will be flown in a Chinook to a landing zone around four kilometers from the target, and will patrol all the way there. You need to keep your element of surprise because our first priority is capture Vermani, so I want you guys to be as silent as possible. Adjust your mission load out accordingly, you know what to do."

"The whole troop is going, including Senior Chief. I'll remain here however, and coordinate the operation, and remain on the radio. Marc will split you guys into your usual three teams and you'll patrol in multiple formations. As you also know by the rules of engagement, don't fire unless you see a CLEAR threat. Simple as that, we've done this countless times before."

"There's a also a team from the RECCE troop going with you guys who'll be providing covering fire if things get a little shaky. Don't worry, their commander has already briefed them, so everything is set."

"The area is also very flat and contains mostly plains and fields, but there is some high and mountainous topography around too, so watch your step."

Peter then skipped to the last slide on the projector.

"So as soon as Vermani is killed or captured, the Chinook will come back from base and exfil you out accordingly. We don't know exactly how many fighters are there, but the ISR (drones) has tracked about five to ten fighters moving in and out of the target compound, with Vermani pacing around the compound often as well. So stock up on gear, and keep your loadouts exactly essential to the mission."

"Copy? Any questions?" He finished after about ten minutes. It was 2140 hours.

Griffin and other guys asked questions about how we wanted to prioritize the kill or capture, but Peter said it was valuable we tried to capture him first because he'd probably solve a big piece in the missing puzzle about Zawahiri's whereabouts and current actions.

It was a decent op. I had done much missions similar to this with ST4, and this seemed textbook. I had no doubt things would go decent.

So we went to our gear lockers, and started dressing up. Most of us were gonna wear AOR 1 sets since the area was mostly full of dirt and arid from what we heard, but guys liked to mismatch their gear considerably. No two operators looked the same.

I was gonna take a shot and wear my Crye Multicam sets this time, since it blended in with any environment and Peter had said there were some mountainous areas. I did however, wear an AOR 1 Crye CPC as my body armor. I topped it off with my Multicam Ops Core.

Only Styles and Brady mismatched with me. Styles had an AOR 1 top, and Multicam trousers with a Multicam Crye Jumpable Plate Carrier (JPC). Brady on the other hand, only wore a brown, Ironclad t-shirt that was very similar to the Under Armour t-shirts I had, having Velcro on each sleeve as well. He topped it with his AOR 1 6094 plate carrier and Multicam trousers.

He sort of looked liked a contractor or a SAD (CIA's Special Activities Division) guy. No one cared either. You get to wear pretty much whatever you want in DEVGRU, just as long as It's practical.

The rest of the team wore matching AOR 1 gear, and that was that.

For weapons, since we needed to be extremely quiet, I carried my MP7 and HK 45C. I liked carrying my P226, but the suppressor made a weird noise, and the 45C had better knock down power anyways. Some other guys still carried their rifles, but I was point man, and was gonna be the first one in the compound, meaning absolute silence was valuable.

We finished prepping up, and then we walked to other side of the base where the Chinook was. On the way there, Anderson saw us and told us good luck.

He didn't go cause he was a Blackhawk pilot unfortunately but I knew he wanted us to do our best, and get the job done.

We all stepped into the large transport helicopter, that had room for around fifty five occupants, but almost thirty five of us were going on the operation. It was our troop of about twenty four operators since Peter wasn't going, and a team of about seven guys from the RECCE troop, with three support personnel (A dog handler with a K-9 named 'Bruno', an EOD tech, and an intelligence specialist).

It was pitch black inside the helicopters as it was 2215 hours and I looked through the green hue of my four tubed night vision goggles. Thankfully, tonight had good illumination as it was almost a full moon, meaning we could see almost as clear as day. Griffin said it was also a plus for the fighters however, because it meant they could see better too, and we had to be even more quiet.

We were going to the Panjwayi District, an area that has been tensely contested between coalition forces and the Taliban for years. The Canadians had fought in the district time and time again, including the Battle of Panjwayi in 2006, killing estimates of up to a thousand fighters. It's also known as the birth of the Taliban movement, and saw a large military surge in 2010, where night raids, operations, and special operations forces had increased in drastic numbers. It didn't help that a U.S. Army Staff Sergeant killed sixteen civilians in March of this year, increasing the tension of the civilians in the district against American and other coalition forces.

It was crazy because that Staff Sergeant was working with Green Berets and SEALs at Camp Belambai. This meant us as SEALs, were vulnerable in the area. We all knew the risks and where we were going to, but it didn't make us break a sweat, because we still knew what we were going to do.

Spencer sat next to me in the chopper, and smiled and gave me a thumbs up. His big, six foot six frame could barely even fit in the fucking seats, and I almost laughed, but I returned the thumbs up.

"Brady looks like a fuckin' stiff erection sitting there. He hasn't moved around in like five minutes." He said.

I laughed and I looked at Brady, who was across from me, having a nap with his head back against the chopper. He was drooling, and I could see it clearly through my night vision goggles.

"He looks the way a girl looks after she gets some good dick." I said. We chuckled and I slapped Spencer a five.

Everyone else was also mostly resting. We always tried to get a little bit more 'beauty' sleep before going in the field all the time.

I wasn't nervous. This was my first real operation with DEVGRU, but I was calm. I knew what to do, and I knew how to react. I wasn't very comfortable though. I was still one of the new guys and I had gotten some of the heavier extra equipment like the extendable ladder and bolt cutters, and put them into a large AOR 1 colored backpack. It wasn't too bad, as I was only carrying my MP7 and a sidearm, but it was still a burden.

Spencer didn't get shit because he was already holding a MK.46 and had to carry belts of ammo. Not to mention he had a MP7 in his holster. Brady didn't get any "new meat" gear either, but I was gonna give him the extendable ladder. I needed my bolt cutters in case the compound door was locked.

It was a short trip, and we landed in the LZ at around 2240 hours. The chopper then flew back to base, and we established a perimeter, and did another check on our gear.

"Okay, so this is what is gonna happen," Marc said. "We're gonna have four teams, in four formations. My teams, Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie will patrol in three formations towards the target. The RECCE team and the support guys will stay together towards the righter and rear flank, and when we reach the target, the support personnel will come back to the AO (area of operations), and keep outer security around the compound."

"Roger that," The RECCE team leader said. "We'll provide overwatch and fire support from a hidden crest some meters from the compound in case things get a little hot."

"Copy. Let's move out!" Marc said, and we began patrolling. The near-full moon was bright in the night sky, and a calm breeze blew through the fields and vegetation. Like I said, through my night vision goggles, it was as clear as day and we could see hundreds of meters in front of us.

I passed Brady the extendable ladder and he took it without hesitation. He said he wanted to be first in the compound anyways, and I didn't budge. I was still gonna be the first man up to the compound door regardless.

As point man, I led the team through the patrol. We were in an upside down V-formation, with me at the top of the it. On the left slope or angle of the V, was Griffin behind me, Spencer, and Brady. On the other angle, was Prigioni behind me, Styles, and two guys from Charlie Team.

There was another V-formation behind us with eight operators from the rest of Charlie Team, and troop chief. The last formation was on our far left flank, with Alpha Team patrolling in a simple, vertical line formation. The RECCE guys and support personnel were also patrolling in a line formation on our farthest and rearest flanks. A predator drone around the compound was giving feed to Griffin and Marc. It had been watching the movement of our HVT (high-value target, Vermani) and the other fighters in and out of the compound through out the day.

"Drone pilot says there's no movement. The fighters and Vermani have stayed inside the compound, presumably." Griffin said to me, from behind.

"We're still assaulting the same way right?" I asked.

"Hope so, but that's up to Senior Chief and Peter." Griffin said.

I hoped they were sleeping. That meant we could catch them off guard and hopefully result in the simple capture of Vermani, and also sparing any casualties. It would make things easier, and we could get some valuable intelligence about Zawahiri, the high level Taliban commander. However, nothing was certain and we still had to keep open eyes.

There was also no clue if there were innocent civilians in the compound. However, we presumed not due to the fact the compound was in the middle of an abandoned village that'd seen hard fighting over many years. You could rightfully assume anyone still living in an abandoned village was up to something sketchy.

Our dog on the patrol, Bruno, was so fucking annoying. He barked uncontrollably, and it was like he worked for the Taliban. He was giving me an uneasy feeling, and I almost felt like cursing at the K-9 handler to make Bruno be quiet. The handler was trying his best though, and I could tell he was starting to get annoyed as well.

"This dog is fucking killing me." I heard Brady mutter from behind.

"No shit." Styles added on.

We finally reached the area of the compound after walking the four kilometers in fourty minutes. It was 2320 hours. I had a good feeling the targets were now asleep, and we had good ground on them.

Senior Chief Marc was getting information from the troop commander on his headset and was relaying it back to us. I couldn't hear what Peter was saying as he was on the command net talking to Senior Chief, was was only used by team leaders and upper commanders. Everyone else used the troop net.

"Okay we're gonna set up the extendable ladders to go over the compound walls, and now the RECCE guys need to get into position." He said, over the internal radio net that talked to everyone on the ground.

"Support personnel, I'll go with you guys, and we'll stay behind the walls and provide security. Copy that?"

"Copy." Griffin said over the troop net, as well as a few other guys.

The troop waited as the RECCE and support guys moved into position. We were directly in front of the compound, kneeling down on one knee and keeping a low profile. We regrouped, and now each assaulter was back with their respective teams.

As Marc and the support guys moved to the compound and stood on the far left side of the compound walls, the seven man RECCE team moved to the far east of the compound, and set up their positions on the small elevated hill crest, about a hundred meters or so from the compound.

They were armed with suppressed HK417's and suppressed MP7's. I heard the RECCE team leader say he carried only one ballistic plate in his plate carrier because the climb to the hill crest would be a little tough.

I wasn't surprised.

The troop then moved into position. There were multiple extendable ladders, with Alpha Team using ladders on the left side of the walls, my team using ladders on the center of the walls which had the front entrance behind it, and Charlie Team with ladders on the right side of the walls.

I was the point man, but like I said before, Brady wanted to climb first. I whistled Brady to set up the ladder, and he firmly placed it against the compound wall. He slowly began to climb the large mud wall, and Griffin passed him another ladder so when he reached the top of the wall, he'd use the second ladder to climb down safely.

We did this one by one, person by person, each of us climbing up and down the ladder until we surrounded the entrances of the compounds. We had no clue of the insides of the house, but we knew there were three doors that entered into the house, hence the assault from three different sides.

All of our teams got into positions, moving as quietly as possible through the courtyard and animal pens reaching the doors, and waiting for the go from Marc. A couple of minutes passed and then he finally got on the troop net and said, "Proceed assault."

I was first man up, followed by Griffin, Styles, Brady, Spencer, and Prigioni. Griffin tapped me on my shoulder, which was the signal to move in. I flicked the safety of my MP7 on, and I tried the door. It was unlocked. We slowly and smoothly moved into the main room, simultaneously as the rest of the troop moved through the two other sides. We also had special laser sights that could only be seen through our night vision goggles, and I scanned through the large living room. There was another floor in the compound, where Charlie Team moved up to.

As we moved through the living room, we split into two fire teams of three guys each, and Alpha Team did the same, but with four guys each. Alpha stayed in the living room and searched around for any sort of intel, while we moved to the end of the living room that led to a horizontal hallway with a door on each far side, leading into rooms. Even though they had the bigger team, it was sort of a quick split second decision I made to keep proceeding down the living room, and I think Alpha Team knew we had it under control.

But once I reached the hallway, there was not a doubt in my mind, there were people in those rooms. No doubt.

We paused at the end of the living room and looked through both sides of the hallway to the doors. We then looked at each other for a second, and I knew by then that we all knew that there were fighters in the rooms.

Griffin then tapped my shoulder, and we seeminglessly veered off to both sides, with Brady and Spencer following me to the far right door, and Styles and Prigioni following Griffin to the far left door. We moved silently towards the front of the doors. Everything was going perfectly, swift and smooth the way it was supposed to be.

That was, until I heard a sporadic burst from up-stairs and suddenly the pit of my stomach twisted into a hard knot.

"Shit," Brady muttered.

"Keep going," Griffin said on the radio net.

We reached the door, and as soon as I opened it, I saw at least ten fighters starting to jump up from their sleeping positions, and attempting to grab their weapons.

It took me a couple of seconds to visualize each fighter, before I moved in quickly, firing bursts on them, with Brady and Spencer simultaneously moving in and doing the same. The fighters all flopped back, and twisted in weird angles as the rounds impacted their bodies with rapid accuracy. I believe I shot at least two fighters with direct headshots to the forehead.

In a matter of five seconds, every fighter was dead. We moved up a couple more feet to see if they were all neutralized.

"Clear!" I muttered. We moved out the room, and then we checked on Griffin's team. They too, had shot and killed fighters. Around five of them. However, some of the fighters had managed to grab their weapons amazingly, and Styles got hit in the arm with a round. Everything was over in just five minutes.

"Shit man, you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, just fucking stings though. FUCK!" He muttered. Prigioni had already wrapped a torniquet on his arm. We then proceeded back into the living room, where the other teams were coming back down the stairs.

"What the fuck happened?" Griffin asked.

"Fuckin' assholes knew we were here the whole time," Charlie's team leader, Schultz, said. "They must've heard us coming up the stairs, but my pointman saw a barrel and part of a hand stuck through one of the door openings and once that dude poked his head out, my guy lit him up."

"You guys okay?" Griffin then asked.

"Yeah brother," Schultz said. "We didn't see the HVT [Vermani], but we got three fighters."

"Shit man, my team got at least fifteen of them. Fuckin' place was crawling with fighters, we're gonna bring in the support guys to ID these guys." Griffin said.

"Roger that, move out!" Schultz said to his team.

Griffin got on the radio net and told senior everything that happened. Surprisingly as well, Senior Chief Marc and the support guys also engaged two squirters who had literally jumped out of the third floor windows with their weapons into the courtyard because they didn't wanna be shot.

Senior and his team heard the gunfire and voices of the wounded squirters. Apparently, Marc fucking took an extendable ladder and climbed to the top of the compound wall and he engaged both fighters with his HK416, sitting upright and nearly falling into the compound. The RECCE guys apparently had eyes on the fighters, and were about to shoot them until suddenly Marc opened up on them.

Shit sounded like a fucking action movie. You couldn't get more badass than that!

It was 2340 hours now. We were now all out of the compound, laughing and cracking jokes about how senior's balls were stronger than steel, and waiting for exfil. The RECCE guys had just arriven and were laughing and joking about how senior had taken their kills.

"Shit is crazy, fucking Senior Chief took the kill that was gonna make me hit my quota of a hundred hajjis I've killed." The RECCE team leader said, half joking, half serious, haha.

"I vote Senior Chief should do porn for having such strong balls!" Styles said, and we were laughing our asses off.

"Spencer how does it feel to know someone has a bigger dick and balls than you, bro?" Brady said and we were dying with laughter.

"Shit he actually uses his balls, so it's okay." Spencer said, happily shrugging.

"Okay okay, enough," Marc said, giggling. "We did good today, and one of the dead fighters on the second floor has been positively identified as Vermani. Although things didn't go perfectly, and one of us were hit, it was nothing major and we still got the job done. We were swift and precise. Good job boys."

And we all smiled and said "Hooyah." Sooner or later, the exfil arrived and we were on our way back to base. It was 2400 hours, midnight. I was tired as shit and I was so glad my first operation had gone well.

"Jesus, my fucking balls itch! MY FUCKING BALLS MAN!" A guy from the RECCE team at the far end of the chopper shouted, with his hand in his crotch.

We all looked at each other for a bit and started bursting out laughing, on the middle of a Chinook, thousands of feet in the air, under the hue of our night vision goggles. It was the funniest thing we heard all night, besides Chief's balls of steel.

The laughs ended after a while, and then it was quiet again. I let my head rest on the seat, reflecting my first day, and I quietly fell asleep.

Chapter Four - Recon
0100 Hours - 0200 Hours (1:00 AM - 2:00 AM)

August 18, 2012

Daman District, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

The operation on Vermani had gone well, two weeks ago. Everything was quick and precise. Although we had hoped for a capture, we eliminated one of the key pieces of Kandahar's opium distribution and opium trade. We still however, were working hard to find Zawahiri, the high level Taliban commander.

There were surprises during that operation too. The ISR had designated about five to ten fighters in the compound, but instead we were met with around twenty. Also the fact we were heard moving into compound, was another surprise.

We had an AAR, short for After Action Review, after that operation. The AAR was essentially a meeting we had after every mission or operation, reviewing what we did right or wrong. I found them quite tedious and often boring, but they were absolutely vital to the way we did missions, and how we developed as teammates and operators.

Guys were asking questions about how were there so many fighters and how they'd had their position compromised during the op, and how things could've turned out differently. It went well, and we'd find out based on some intel that'd we knacked a whole insurgent stronghold that was gonna be used as the staging for Taliban operations in that particular area.

As far as Senior Chief with his crazy super hero-like antics during the op, he got a Bronze Star with a V for valor in combat. It was well deserved, and he had earned it. What was even more interesting was that it was his seventh Bronze Star and third one with a V for valor. Styles on the other hand got a Purple Heart, his third of his career.

It wasn't surprising to see DEVGRU guys highly decorated. We most certainly didn't do it for the medals and awards obviously, but in the high-risk and highly sensitive missions we did, common acts of valor and gallantry happened all the time.

After that operation, things were slow, very slow. We raided a couple more compounds but they mostly contained civilians, and suspected fighters who posed no threat to us. The past two weeks have been a long drag, made up of hours of boredom and seconds of terror. We've only been in two firefights since then and are still waiting for another good operation. In the meantime, I was on a reconnaissance mission with two guys from the RECCE team on our previous op, and Spencer tagged along with me.

Spencer and I had missed a day from work, because I'd sprained my ankle during one of our raids and Spencer had gotten the shits again. I think he was done with the food in the mess hall altogether by then. Therefore, we had to go on a mission with the RECCE guys.

We were tasked with traveling to the Daman District, which was immediately south of our base, to do recon on a suspected Taliban patrol moving into a compound near a small village. The drones had followed them harassing other villages throughout the day, abusing civilians and wrecking havoc among tribal areas. It was pretty late, the fighters had been walking in the same direction towards the compound for awhile, and we figured the fighters were gonna settle down eventually in the particular compound.

For this operation, we needed to be light and quick, so we travelled in dirt bikes, modified Honda CRF-450s painted in AOR 1. The bikes were great quality, as good as the motocross dirt bikes you saw in the 'States. They were fitted with gun brackets for our rifles, infrared headlights, and quiet mufflers to avoid any attention. The bikes also could get us to our AO in about an hour, and reach speeds up to eighty miles per hour (80 MPH).

On the mission, I didn't carry a plate carrier because of the need to be light, only carrying my LBT 1961 chest rig.

After getting to our AO however, we'd set up positions deep in a nearby hillside about three hundred meters from the compound, and wait until the patrol arrived near the compound. Once we spotted the patrol, we'd radio Alpha and Charlie teams from our troop, who were also patrolling to the area, to raid the compound once the fighters were settled inside. The drones would be out of range when we spotted the patrol, so that's why we were given the task. When the raid was finished however, we'd rendezvous with them all, and wait for exfil. We'd left the base at midnight, and it was pitch black. Riding the dirt bikes already posed some difficulty on any other day, but it was a whole different ball game in the dark. We had to ride over multiple dirt roads, rocks, hills, and etc. Spencer nearly fell over a hill when his bike slipped over a rock when we were riding up.

On this op, I carried my sixteen inch HK416, and M79. There was little to no illumination, and we'd be operating at long ranges from the compound. I also wore all my gear color-coded in AOR 1 this time, and I carried my backpack again which had my binoculars, bolt cutters, extra mags, grenades, boonie hat, and a couple rations. We didn't know how long we'd be there, so that's why I brought extra rations.

We reached the hillside at 0100 hours. It was hot as shit, even in the night, and I had cut the sleeves off of my combat shirt. I pulled out my equipment and began setting up into position. Spencer was nearby taking a leak. The RECCE team leader, Benson, was on the radio and a RECCE sniper named Kane to the right of him was taking position with a HK417. He was looking through the scope with his night vision goggles, aiming towards the open desert and the compound it led to.

"Alpha One, Alpha One; this is Echo One. Proceeding with reconnaissance on target compound two hundred meters away, 2 o'clock, over." Benson said, to Alpha Team's team leader.

"Alpha and Charlie should arrive around 0130," Benson stated to us, off the radio. "The Predator drone pilot said the fighters should be here any minute now, and your troop commander said to assault once our teams are here and the fighters are inside the compound"

"Roger that," I said. I took off my helmet and tied it to my backpack, and then placed my headset next to me. I was trying to get a little comfortable then, so I threw on my boonie hat in AOR 1 and took out my special night vision binoculars. They essentially functioned the same as my NVGs but had much better range and could zoom in and out. I then set up my sixteen inch barrel '416, and had the clip-on thermal sight attached due to the low illumnation, and I wanted more precise shooting.

Spencer came over from his leak and got into position next to me. He had the larger MK.48 Mod 1 for today's op, which had a longer barrel than the MK.46 for longer ranges. It'd be very effective with it's 7.62 rounds against the thick house and compound walls our teammates were gonna assault into. His boonie hat sagged a little over his forehead, as he looked through his binoculars at the compound.

"I don't know about this." Spencer said, with a tone of doubt.

"How so?" I asked.

"Say there's already fighters in the compound? The drone only made an estimate as to how many fighters they've seen patrolling in the area, which is about twenty. No no one knows whether the entire compound could be littered with fighters who've just never came out. This could be just like last time." He said.

"Well, that's a chance we're willing to take, isn't it? Besides, I don't think multiple fighters could stay in one household without coming out to do SOMETHING." I answered him. Things went silent for a little while.

I stared at the compound, looking at the relatively short compound walls. They looked climable, even through the binoculars, and nothing else about the compound seemed difficult. There were multiple windows around each side, and the perimeter of the compound was made up of a small courtyard. I figured the fighters were in a rush, and were simply using the compound as temporary living quarters. We needed to hit them now and get them quick. The mission couldn't be quiet because as soon as the assault began the fighters would probably still be wide awake, but they wouldn't be expecting it, so that was our element of surprise.

"Hey Marine, how's your relationship status?" Spencer said to me, changing the subject. I laughed.

The guys occasionally called me "marine" as a hint to my previous service and to fuck around with me a little, but it wasn't anything serious.

For the past seven years however, I'd been in on and off relationships with several women. I remember after my first deployment with the Marines, I'd fallen for a fellow Marine named Casey Kennedy, but things went wrong after a while when she realized I wanted to stay in the military and to pursue a career. Till this day however, she's still a very close friend of mine and she's been married for three years.

The rest were just names, and no connections. Laura, Crystal, Alima, Kiara, Amber, etc. They were made up of different cultures and nationalities, but none could tolerate me. They couldn't understand the sacrifices I made for my military career, and in a way I understood that, but some didn't even try. Once my deployments became a problem for certain women, I'd become the problem. And we were done.

There was however one person, who ALMOST made it with me. Someone I could picture spending the rest of my life with. And that was Crystal. It was sad to see how it went but I saw faith in her, definitely. I'm twenty eight years old however, so I think I'll keep my faith.

"Same old shit, man." I answered Spencer. "You try to do your part the best you can, but shit still doesn't turn out how you would like it."

"I feel you bro," Spencer said. "I try not to worry about it though. I don't stress about people in my personal life. At the end of the day, we rarely see them, and I wouldn't want the burden of a relationship constantly in my mind while I'm trying to shoot bad guys in the face." We laughed but I knew exactly what Spencer meant.

"Copy that bro. Like I don't NEED a girl or some shit like that, but it'd be nice to have, you know?" I told him and he smiled.

"You guys talking about relationships and I'm ready to get my dick hard by getting a couple of insurgents, what the fuck man?" Kane said, the RECCE sniper. I looked at him and he had a frown. His helmet seemed too big for his head, and Spencer and I laughed at him and said he looked like an ugly cartoon character.

"Yeah yeah yeah," Kane said, "We'll see who's laughing when your fat asses fall off your bikes." That was a good comeback, cause neither me or Spencer could ride them shits well, but we still laughed. Meanwhile, Benson was still on the radio, looking through his binoculars for any sign of the Taliban patrol. About another ten minutes or so passed, and I started eating an MRE, our rations.

I was chewing on ravioli when Benson said he'd spot the patrol. We all quickly got into position and began looking at the compound. Through my binoculars, I could see the twenty fighters walking towards the compound in a line formation. It was 0120 hours, and our assaulters were supposed to arrive in ten minutes or so.

"Bingo," Benson said. "I'll radio the assault teams that the fighters have arrived. You guys just keep a watch on them."

"Roger." Spencer answered.

The fighters walked for about five more minutes or so, until they reached compound, hopping the compound walls, and forcefully going into the house. Suddenly, they began forcing civilians out and I could a see a lot of commotion as well.

"What the fuck," Kane said. "They better not doing anything fucking stupid."

"Right, as soon as they shoot a civilian I'm lighting those motherfuckers up." Spencer said.

"Guys, shut up! We need clearance, and the assault teams are gonna be here any minute now."

The civilians began running out of the compound as they were forced out, heading into the direction of the nearby village east of the compound. Some children ran wildly, with their mothers and fathers picking them up and holding them as they all ran together.

"Shit man. They're helpless." Spencer looked pissed off.

"Hold your fire, keep your weapons tight. I want to get those fuckers too. But we need to wait for the assaulters and clearance." Benson said.

Rules of Engagement was in our way, as usual. Like I said, it was basically fighting with our hands tied behind our backs.

Some time passed, and then the fighters settled into the compound. The civilians had long gone ran out of sight, and we could see our assaulters now patrolling towards the compound from the north. They moved slowly and silently. In DEVGRU, there was always a saying about not running to your death. Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.

As the teams finally reached the compound, we began gripping our weapons. We were all prone, and the bipod of my HK416 was deployed, and I gripped the gun by the foregrip behind it. I looked through the FLIR thermal sight, and saw the black and white heat signatures of the assault teams hopping the compound walls.

"You motherfuckers ready to roll? I know I am, I'm trying to reach my quota." Benson said, with a huge grin. We chuckled and said "Roger that."

The assault teams eventually reached the front door, and there were about eighteen operators, including Senior Chief Marc, and two dog handlers with Bruno and another dog named Karl. All in all, there were about twenty guys and two dogs. It was weird that the compound only had one front door, which meant everyone would have to go through it and it was sure the fighters would know that the assaulters were in the house, but it'd be too late for them. Without a doubt.

"Alpha Team, Charlie Team; this is Echo One, proceed with assault, over." Benson said, and I heard a copy that.

I immediately looked through my sight, scanning the windows and looking at the white hue of fighters moving around a room on the top floor. My heart began racing and I was ready for a firefight. We were all lined up beside each other, and I saw Spencer looking through the scope on his machine gun, and Kane on the left of him with his finger on the trigger of his HK417. Benson was to my right, holding another HK417.

Through my thermal sight, the assaulters busted the door and began moving through the house. The fighters on the top floor heard the opening of the door, and as they began rushing down the stairs, I fired multiple shots from my rifle, killing two fighters and then everyone began opening up on the top floor of compound. The assaulters on the main floor held their fire, as they didn't wanna get hit from our rapid fire hitting the compound and the house. Spencer pumped round after round on the MK.48, and with all four of our guns firing at once literally right next to each other, I thought I was going deaf.

Fighters who were laying down on couches began to flip up and down, as the rounds crashed through the windows and into their bodies. We literally sent barrages of gunfire, until each fighter couldn't even move. I used two full magazines on the compound, and spent shells were around us everywhere.

"It's clear!" Benson said on the radio. I looked through my binoculars and I saw literally the whole top section of the house and compound was riddled with bullets. The windows were all gone, and a part of the concrete roof had been shot off.

The assaulters then split up into four teams of five and moved through the house. Two teams went up into the top floor to see the fighters we had shot up, and another two teams stayed downstairs to look for remaining fighters. We had killed around ten fighters, but there were twenty apart of the patrol.

"Marc just radioed me asking what the fuck did we do to the insurgents." Benson said smiling, and we all laughed.

"We blew them to shits, that's what the fuck we did." Kane said and Spencer slapped him a five.

I put down my binoculars and began looking through my scope and thermal sight again. As I scanned the bottom floor of the compound and the assaulters moving around, I saw the white hue of about five fighters hopping the compound walls and running to the direction of the nearby village. Another five were huddled into the kitchen of the compound, and were waiting to ambush the assaulters.

"Guys, we've got five fucking squirters, three o'clock to the compound!" I shouted and then everyone turned their guns. I told Benson about the huddled fighters in the kitchen and he radioed the assaulters. A team then moved near the kitchen, and tossed multiple grenades, exploding and killing the huddled fighters. To the farther right out of the compound, a dog handler with Bruno or Karl was chasing the squirters with two other assaulters, and we were starting to lose vision of the fighters.

"Fuck bro I can't see them from here." Spencer said. A huge boulder to our right was blocking the view of a large section of the open desert where the fighters wee running.

"Get up! We got to start moving on this hillside!" Benson shouted, and we turned right, and began moving through the hillside, to where the fighters were running. We ran a couple of meters on the hillside, until we found a position where we could clearly see the fighters being chased. The dogs and assaulters were starting to catch up with them, but the fighters were closing in toward the nearby village and we didn't wanna fire on the fighters when they reached the village, at risk of collateral damage. We then threw ourselves into prone positions, and began firing on the squirters.

Through my thermal sight, their white hues began flopping into the dirt as we cut them down with our gun fire. We shot them up to shits as well, and they were all down within thirty seconds or so. The assaulters and dogs caught up with them, and then it was over. The whole firefight had lasted around twenty minutes and now it was 0150 hours. I hadn't used my M79, FUCK. It never crossed my mind and we could have gotten the insurgents quicker, but then I realized I was out of range. The shortened barrel of the custom M79 would've shortened significantly how far the rounds would go, so it was pointless to even fire it. The operation was over anyways.

"We're done, good job guys." Benson said.

We walked back to our original positions where our other gear, backpacks, and dirt bikes were. I took off my boonie hat, and put back on my helmet, headset, and night vision goggles. We packed everything up, and got on our dirt bikes. I led the motorcycle convoy, down the hillside and into the open desert. Once we were out of the hills with our bikes, we rode into the open desert at nearly sixty miles per hour, reaching the compound in about ten minutes.

To be honest, it was thrilling. Riding through the dirt with the wind blowing past my face looking through the green hue of my night vision goggles, it was a relaxing and releasing feeling of tension. I felt like riding all night through the desert.

Once we reached the compound, we were met with high fives and faces with awe.

"You guys really teared them a new asshole," A guy named Hamilton from Charlie Team said. "We walked up the stairs and the first thing we saw was this dead hajji with his entire face blown off. Good fucking shit!"

He slapped us fives and we moved toward a group of assaulters in front of the compound, as we waited for exfil. Senior Chief then saw us and shook our hands.

"You guys couldn't wait until we got up the stairs, holy shit!?" Marc said, and we laughed. It felt good to know we'd gotten the fighters and had gotten the job done. We'd did it rather grimly, firing hundreds of rounds into the compound and another guy told me we had shot a fighter's arm off, but all of those extra rounds were to make sure they were neutralized, and to make sure our guys were surely gonna be safe. That's all that mattered; The safety of the guys, our brothers. And we were willing to do whatever it took to assure that happened.

It was a little after 0200 hours when the exfil arrived, a large Chinook picking us up. We attached our bikes on the sides of the helicopter, and stepped in the chopper, taking our seats.

I was next to Spencer again and he had his MK.48 in his lap, his head rested against the seat. I tapped him on the shoulder, and nodded at him, and he returned the favor. His sleeves were cut and I could see the sweat dripping down his arms from my night vision goggles. He was tired, we were all tired, but we had gotten the job done.

"Good job bro." I said, and we knuckle touched. Some time passed, and he dove off into sleep, which I also did some time later.

Chapter Five - Endless Time
1900 Hours (7:00 PM)

''September 3, 2012"

FOB Goldberg, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

We're in September now. Two weeks and a half has passed. Same old shit. We've went on countless more raids on compounds like the ones before, but to no new leads or anymore information about the Taliban commander, Zawahiri. It was constantly hitting the same type of targets, over and over again, only to gain nothing. Guys were getting frustrated and were on the edge.

It didn't help that a tragic incident had happened a week before. We were on a raid to a village far north of Kandahar City, in the Arghandab District, looking for a suspected bomb maker who could've possibly had ties with Zawahiri. Due to our RoE and the fact that there were many civilians in the area, we had to do "call outs." This meant we had to call out to civilians and people living in houses to come out with their hands up so they wouldn't get hurt. But often times this was the exact opposite of what would happen. On this particular mission, we did our call outs and suddenly in one of the houses, two civilians came out with a fighter firing rounds over their heads, using them as shields. Of course, we had to make quick and split second decisions, so I believe a dude from Alpha Team fired on all of them and it resulted in two innocent civilians dead. For nothing. And I mean, FOR FUCKING NOTHING.

We didn't even find the suspected bomb maker, or anymore other Taliban. As soon as those civilians were dead, we quickly left the area, in fear of more civilian casualties and collateral damage. The RoE made things constantly difficult and I was getting tired of it. We couldn't do our jobs the way we were supposed to do, meanwhile, fighters and insurgents could do whatever the fuck they wanted with zero moral grounds, and with us receiving the backlash for the mistakes we made that were never intentional. Like I always say, it's literally fighting the war with our hands tied behind our backs, we're severely restricted.

We've just returned from the kill house. Today has been quiet. ISR has no new leads on suspected fighters or anything. It's just been sleep, training, and more training. Guys were at the hooch playing video games or doing nothing. I was thinking about my parents.

My father, Rob, was a Vietnam Vet who had served with the Marines in 1967 and 1968. He was a squad leader, and he served during the major Battle of Hue City in 1968 and also served in Da Nang, Chu Lai, and much more. He lost a lot of good friends during the war and I remember he used to tell me stories about combat and those particular friends. He's pretty old now, around sixty-three, and he works at a sports gym in New York. My father however, was always a big inspiration for me when I joined the military.

My mother on the other hand, Martha, had met my father during the 1980s and I was born in December 1985. My mother is still around, and I love her very much, and she's sixty years old. She's retired, and she's a stay at home mom, probably reading newspapers or some shit, or using her phone or laptop.

I used to mail my father a lot of letters during my Marine deployments, but nowadays, things have just gotten slow and my relationships have strained with my family. Constant deployments took a toll on them, and me of course, and I receive letters sometimes, if I'm lucky. I also Skyped' them, but neither of my parents use computers very well, so that was rare.

My childhood was okay, but periods of struggles weren't uncommon. For the first seven years of my life, I'd had to deal with numerous homeless shelters and moving from place to place, while my parents tried to get their shit together. They managed to get decent jobs after a while and we all lived together in an apartment in Flatbush, Brooklyn, but the hood and the streets never escaped me. Smoking weed, seeing fights, your bros getting shot and killed, it was nothing new and it was part of your identity when you lived in the hood.

I had done well in school from about elementary to the end of middle school, and things began to fall apart. I began to not care in high school, and took on this attitude of letting things float by. I had friends and knew a lot of people, but I didn't care about school at all, and it was crazy to see the certain individuals who switched up on you quickly. I didn't do good, and I barely even graduated high school. However, once school was finished, I had my mind set on the Marines. I wanted to be just like my father and wanted to get the fuck out of the hood, and it's struggles. I also hated school and I knew getting to a good college was slim for me, so all in all, the Marine Corps was my only option. I enlisted in August 2001, a month after high school and a month before 9/11. 9/11 tragically happened in the middle of training, and I had a crazy feeling I was going to be sent to combat. I eventually finished basic training and everything else in early 2002, getting assigned as a infantryman to the 1st Battalion, 6th Marines in Camp Lejeune.

The War in Afghanistan was in it's early beginnings and I wanted to be in combat, to be in the shit. However, my battalion was never in the shit, not until some uneventul deployment to Afghanistan in 2004 that I didn't care about, nor was I involved in.

In fact it took me two fucking years for my first deployment. I got transferred to the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines at Camp Pendleton in California during the summer of 2003. The battalion had been in the Invasion of Iraq that had recently happened, and had seen much fighting. Months past with my new unit, and I found out we were deploying to the violent Al-Anbar Province of Iraq in mid-2004. We were stationed near Fallujah, a city that had suffered heavy fighting early that year, killing several Marines, and was housing many insurgents from Al-Qaeda in Iraq. An offensive was launched in November 2004 to eliminate the whole insurgency in Fallujah, with thousands of coalition troops and the U.S. Marines spearheading the assault.

Until this day, that was some of the bloodiest and most vicious fighting I've ever been in. It was my first deployment, and quite frankly, it was my worst deployment. And it was my worst because of all of the carnage and gore I saw. Guys were getting killed in brutal house to house fighting and IED blasts on a daily basis. Death was constantly all around you, especially because of the very urban area. It really taught me a lesson for the realities of combat and what war really is. Until this day too, I still can't comprehend everything that happened at that time. And I don't want to either. I know it'll fuck me up. I don't wanna understand it. I don't indulge in the memories, I just keep things going.

After Fallujah, I got out of the Marines in early 2005, joined the Navy SEALs in 2007, and did two six month deployments to Afghanistan with SEAL Team Four, and I'm of course now with DEVGRU.

My ST4 deployments were from April 2009 until October 2009, and from July 2010 until January 2011. These deployments were also vicious, with constant raids and reconnaissance on targets all the time. We fought at valleys and mountains with infantry soldiers in Kunar during 2009, and with a Marine infantry platoon from 2010 to 2011 in the Sangin District of Helmand Province, patrolling through opium fields and being weary of IEDs everywhere.

Both deployments were hell, sustaining significant casualties, but we also drove out much of the Taliban in the areas. I also learned more valuable lessons during these deployments, that I'd remember for the rest of my career. I formed tight brotherhoods with the marines and soldiers I fought with, and it also taught me regardless of service, training, or rank, we were all troops fighting to protect our brothers to the left and right of us, and to make sure we all got home in one piece. Politics or what the fuck we were fighting for didn't matter, it was all about making sure your brothers got home alive to be able to see their families and friends. That's what we really fought for.

I still to this day keep the SCAR-H I used on those deployments, which is even on this deployment with me currently. I keep it as a reminder for the things I've been through, the lessons I've learned, and the sacrifices of the guys around me made on both of those deployments. I use it for fun, sometimes on the range and kill house, and it's one my favorite weapons. Not only because of how good of a weapon it actually is, but because of the memories and lessons it had gave me on those deployments.

For the rest of my family however, my father's cousins named Jerry and Steve, also were in the military. Steve served with the 101st Airborne Division with the Army in Vietnam, during 1970. He was severely wounded multiple times, and just like my dad, lost a lot of friends. He suffered a lot of PTSD, post-traumatic stess disorder, and had a hard time dealing with coming back home, especially because there was no homecoming due to the turbulent times of the 60s and 70s. Sadly, he recently passed last year due to kidney failure at fifty nine years old.

Jerry served with the SEALs in SEAL Team Four, just like me, and was a big inspiration as to why I even joined the SEALs to begin with. He served in Panama and the Gulf War, and enjoyed his service thoroughly. He's fifty six years old now, and he works as an accountant. His son, Jonathan, who I keep in touch with, served with the Green Berets during the height of the War in Iraq and served with the 173rd Airborne Brigade from 2007-2008, also during the tragic Battle of Wanat, where he received a Silver Star. We were also born in the same year, and he's still in the military. He serves with the 75th Ranger Regiment as a Staff Sergeant, and he might possibly even be on deployment currently.

It was crazy how much loss all of us have had to deal with. After my very first deployment, I was petrified. I'd never experienced so much death and carnage around me at one point of time. It was hard to understand, and hard to decompress back home. But what got me through was my mentality. I've realized that has what got me through my entire life. Through the streets of New York, to finishing school, the PT in BUD/S, Green Team selection, and my multiple combat deployments, I've always kept the same attitude. Never quit and always stay positive. I always had this sort of feeling that things would get better.

Sure, sometimes it wouldn't be easy at all, but knowing that the bad and toughest things wouldn't last, is what got me through everything. Also, taking everything a step at time, and only effecting what you can effect. One by one, step at a time. Doing things all at once and trying to comprehend things all at once, never worked. It was all about taking things one at a time, and only worrying about the things you could change. And staying positive and never quitting were things that helped that a lot too.

Nevertheless, at times, the killing really did bother you. Not only of the guys around you, but often about the enemy you shot and killed. Certain things would linger in my head as to who was this bomb maker, Taliban commander, or so and so. Did he have a family? Did he have children? Why were we really doing this, was the biggest question. Your moral and ethical grounds tend to kick in, and you never try to forget your sanity. I vowed to never forget it, and to be vocal about whenever I felt something was wrong. I also never forgot however, that this so and so Taliban bomb maker could have killed one of my friends during a patrol, or could've possibly threatened an innocent family to do crazy things like suicide bombing. Knowing that, especially, kept me going.

That's one of the reasons I joined SEAL Team Six. I never took any sides, I was never pro-war or anti-war, but I always felt I had a duty to fulfill. And DEVGRU would allow me to do that. Things went wrong, it was part of the job, but knowing maybe somewhere I eliminated a Taliban fighter who was bringing havoc onto innocent people in villages, or who could've killed one of my teammates, helped me do my job.

In my hooch right now, I was on my ASUS laptop. Recent history showed I had viewed porn, pre-season football scores, the Crye Precision website, Skype, YouTube, and of course, Facebook. Everyone used Facebook, but as DEVGRU operators, we kept our profiles on the low. Numerous privacy settings that only allowed friends and family to view our posts were required, as well as not stating the exact nature of our military service, and being able to post photos while only being in garrison back at the 'States or strictly personal photos. Some guys didn't even use their real names.

We took OPSEC and PERSEC (operational and personal security) very seriously, so we had to do whatever it took to limit our profile online or anywhere else. Another example was how my neighbors in New York had no idea what the heck I did for a living. I had bought a decent home in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn during my time with ST4 and had lived alone. I'd say hi to my next door neighbors, such as a woman named Carina (who I had sex with multiple times and she never knew the nature of my job. She also gave the best blowjobs), a lawyer named Sam, and a cool upper middle class white kid named Adam, who sort of looked like a mix of Eminem and Macklemore.

They simply knew me as the young guy who mowed his lawn, liked to have a good time, and loved red velvet cheesecake. I also shaved my beard and kept my hair short during leave, and I blended in with the neighborhood well. The funny part is, little did they know that I was a Navy SEAL in process of Green Team selection, and that in a week or two I'd be in a cargo plane thousands of feet into the air, performing HAHO jumps into the Arizona desert. It was something that was interesting, but I also found it exhilarating, covert; Knowing that you were something no one expected you to be.

I was watching a YouTube video of the HodgeTwins, these fit light-skinned dudes from Virginia who made great workout and comedy videos, when Prig said something from his bed.

"Things have been so fucking slow, man. I'm still trying to get over last week." He said, reminding us of the incident with the dead civilians.

"I know brother. We have to just relax, and stay focus, stay sharp." Griffin said. That's what I loved about him, and that's why he was team leader. He always knew how to keep the team together no matter what situation.

"Yeah, definitely. We need to just stay in the game, man. The targets are fucking lame, but sooner or later, we'll get something good." Styles said, reading an edition of TIME magazine from his bed and mini-room to the right of me. He was frustrated too, but he knew it wouldn't last.

"The Rules of Engagement sucks," I chimed in. "We can't do what we have to do efficiently. They bring out this 'call out' routine crap which is supposed to prevent less civilian casualties, and we end up getting more, what the hell."

"I understand, but you have to do everything under the book." Griffin said, "We can't risk getting backlash for not going under RoE, cause one mistake, and our careers could be gone in weeks. We have to be smooth and fast, but also safe and causing no collateral damage as well." It was a good thing the call out routine was optional. Our troop commander decided not to use it as much after that op, only employing it when a large number of civilians were in a dense area.

"Yeah I understand." I said.

"You fellas think I should get back with my ex-wife?" Prig said, changing the topic.

"Yeah, and I also think we won the Vietnam War." Styles said, and we laughed.

"Nah but seriously, we haven't seen each other in a year. My kid is turning nine in about a month, he wants his old man to bring his ma' back. I miss her too, she had this sorta charm and she was thick and brown skinned." Prig giggled, and started to play around with the strings of his acoustic guitar next to him.

"Yeah I feel you brother, you like the thick black girls. Might as well just find a Nicki Minaj, and tell your kid here's his new mother with the fat ass!" Styles grabbed his thick chest.

"And extra large tits!" He said, and we laughed some more.

"Haha, fuckin' idiot." Prig said. "She's really nice though, my kid misses her. I started texting her and stuff before the deployment or whatever, and we starting to get close again. We were married for ten years, ten fuckin' years, bro. We been through hell and back, but she sorta got tired of the deployments and shit. She sorta just gave up, feel me? Gave up on everything, even my little man. He hasn't seen her in months and when I'm not deployed, he stays with my old lady [mother]. He always asks me where she be at ya know? Shit breaks my heart. It's like he has no parents at all. I'm always deployed and she's no where to be around. I wanna get out of the Navy after my contract ends in November. "

There was a sort of silence until Chief Griffin spoke up.

"Sorry to hear that man. Just keep your head up. Make the best decisions for yourself. I get you have to get off the speeding train, all of these deployments and shit. Do what's best for you and your family, and to try to keep it together. Hell, I honestly don't even know how my wife still loves me the same every time I come home."

"Right, one of the reasons I never started a family." Styles said, "I knew the Navy would take a toll not only on me, but on my family as well, so I never decided to actually get married and have kids. I'm really glad I have nieces and nephews though. They make me feel like a father all of the time, and it's something I'm proud of." Styles smiled, with a hopeful look on his face.

A family was on my mind, and suddenly I realized I wasn't sure about how long this career would last. The "speeding train," as Griffin called our deployments and careers, would last awhile and a lot of guys would get "blowed out" after decades of deployments and training. I didn't want that, and I also wanted a family, but I was only twenty-eight and I still had a lot of time.

"Thanks fellas, I appreciate it. You guys are my brothers for life, man. The brotherhood never ends." Prig said, and then all four of us huddled to his bed, and patted each other on the backs.

Spencer and Brady were at the front entrance of hooch playing NBA 2K12 and hadn't notice our conversation. They came and saw us huddled together, and started laughing their asses off.

"Guys is there something I need to know?" Brady said, sarcastically. "Is it true Lance's vagina has a large clitoris?" We all laughed and I flipped Brady the bird.

Bonding times like these was what strengthened our mission capabilities, but also strengthened our brotherhood and personal relationships as well. It brought us closer together, and to constantly reassure we had each others backs, not only in the field, but also in the real world, when we really needed someone to talk to. It made us the perfect set of guys who were ready and capable for anything, and also had each others' backs without a doubt in our mind.

The rest of the night was quiet, and we ended up sleeping early. It did fuck up our operational schedule, but we were already to be up at three o'clock in the morning if we had to.

Chapter Six - Big News
0500 Hours - 0630 Hours (5:00 AM - 6:30 AM)

September 13, 2012

Jamame, Lower Juba, Somalia

There's something important to know about the SEALs, especially ST6 operators. We're literally regular guys. We all have senses of humor; We get mad, we're happy, we're excited, we're sad, and sometimes, we might even cry. We have families, friends, spouses; We watch television and go on the internet. We like sports and other hobbies, and love to enjoy ourselves. We're not indestructible, we can get hurt, both physically and mentally just like anyone else, and we sometimes pay the ultimate sacrifice.

What set us apart however, was our mindset. It was unique. We all had the same general mindset. To be tenacious, to never quit, to be an asset to the team, to look after the guy to your left and right, and to do everything to the best of your ability. And most importantly, to get the job done.

Crazy shit has happened recently. The U.S. Embassy in Bengazi, Libya was attacked by Al-Qaeda fighters on 9/11, killing the U.S. Ambassador J. Christopher Stevens and a U.S. Foreign Service officer named Sean Smith. Another assault on a CIA annex nearby killed two CIA GRS (Global Response Staff) officers names Tyrone S. Woods and Glen Doherty. What made it worse was that they were both former SEALs, one of our brothers.

Some guys in the troop knew them too, and it was devastating. Styles had did raids with him while in Ramadi during 2006, when the Iraq War was at It's height. Griffin saw him during a deployment to Afghanistan. It was so sad to see. They took it hard, really hard and it didn't help the morale of any of us at all.

The last ten days have been quick and steady, with decent operations and fast training. This news still didn't help anything or anyone, however. We needed to keep our morale consistent, but I had to remember there would be good times and really bad times.

There was also even more pressure on us because we're on a big op currently. Really big operation. We had finally gotten the big break we needed.

Eight days ago, Al-Shabaab fighters had captured an American doctor named Matt Edgerton, a physician's assistant and a former Special Forces Medic doing humanitarian work in Somalia due to It's current civil war. He was captured in his house while working in Kismayo, as Somali troops began to recapture the city from Al-Shabaab who were desperately trying to retreat. Sadly, the fighters killed a another worker he was with it from Switzerland named Sebastien and took him hostage.

Our ISA guys had tracked the fighters down. Intelligence Support Activity or the ISA as we called it, was an extremely secretive Army special operations unit that was even lesser known than DEVGRU or Delta Force. It's main task was to collect intelligence before many of the operations we did, in forms of SIGINT (signal intelligence) and HUMINT (human intelligence). They even have a combat element, called "shooters", made up of guys who've served in previous special operations forces and have went through the Operators' Training Course (OTC). They were trained as much as DEVGRU and Delta, and we sometimes cross-trained with them.

We had a unit like this, which was Black Squadron, but they were deployed all over the world, and the ISA was the only thing available now.

Anyways though, the ISA guys had continuously tracked the movement of Matt and his captors by tapping their radio and cell phone receptions. Matt had already been moved about three times and we were fearing he was in imminent danger. He had stopped at a house with the fighters a day or two ago, a couple miles east of Jamame, a town in the Lower Juba region, and suddenly our intelligence guys lost reception.

What made things complicated was that Matt worked for a refugee organization based IN Somalia. They were called SHADO and apparently he had fled to Somalia last year when he finished some medical training and his last deployment with the Green Berets in Afghanistan. He sounded like one of the guys who genuinely wanted to make a difference in the world, and I guess he wanted to expand his work out of the service. The problem was though, the organization couldn't risk talking to the kidnappers as that would put their lives in danger due to them being in Somalia as well, and most of the them couldn't even speak English or Arabic.

Senior U.S. officials tried to communicate with the captors and their insane $10 million dollar demand the first couple of days. That was until however, the captors revealed they'd killed the Swiss worker and had no problems killing Matt if their demands weren't met. With a lost of communication and feeling that Matt's life was in imminent danger, the officials gave the green light to our JSOC commander, Lieutenant General Votel, to make us launch a raid at the captors suspected location, rescuing Matt.

We were in the middle of a deployment obviously, but they allowed our troop to go to Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti so we could spearhead the operation. Meanwhile, a Ranger platoon would be taking our place for a couple of days, until we came back and they went back to their base.

At around 0200 hours this early morning, we launched the operation. It was two teams on the mission, us and Alpha Team, plus Senior Chief Marc, totalling at about sixteen operators. Hamilton from Charlie Team had been moved to our team because our troop commander wanted to even things out, so we now have seven guys. I didn't think too much of it, Hamilton was cool as shit and one of the first guys I'd met at the command. Besides our two teams, we had Charlie Team in a RHIB, rigid-huled inflatable boat, patrolling near the Somalian border in the Indian Ocean.

The RHIB was a high speed, assault boat fitted with two weapons and two diesel engines. The weapons could be either .50 caliber machine guns, M240 machine guns, or MK.19 grenade launchers. Charlie Team would be in the ocean in case things got a little hot during our extraction. There were also three Grey Squadron guys; DEVGRU operators who specialized in using assault boats and transportation, who were driving the RHIB and using it's weapons.

Another boat team, made up of Special Warfare Combatant-Craft crewmen (SWCC or 'swick'), were in a heavily armed MK.5 special ops boat that could fit up to sixteen SEALs and a five man crew. They were patrolling the Jubba River, and we'd rendezvous with them after rescuing Matt, and then we'd drive down into the Indian Ocean. After that, we'd rendezvous with Charlie Team and the Gray Squadron guys in the RHIB, and would attach their boat to ours, finally extracting out of the area.

All and all, there were about thirty two personnel participating in the operation.

For this op, I had a jungle loadout. I carried my MP7, with my M79 on my right leg in a holster, and my suppressed P226 holstered onto the left side of my belt. I wore all AOR 2, with a Crye CPC as my body armor. I also wore a boonie hat, and green and black face paint which allowed me to blend into my surroundings a little better. I had an AOR 2 backpack, which had my bolt cutters, a couple of breaching charges, extra pair of headsets, and ammo. I had around sixty to seventy pounds of gear.

As of course, loadouts varied. Some guys carried 416s, with sawed off 870 shotguns as secondary weapons in case things got spicy in close quarters engagements. This was weight however, and they'd possibly forgo a plate carrier. Other guys wore Multicam, and mixes of AOR 2 AND Multicam. It was all preference, and no one looked the same.

Everything started with a HAHO jump at 0200. We were in a C-130 Hercules, thousands of feet into the air, and were preparing to jump into the dense vegetation of the Jubbaland region. The jumpmaster had put the green light on, and then he counted down. We all walked up to the end of the ramp, nodding at each other and giving thumbs up, and the jumpmaster finished counting.

We then jumped, one by one, into the land, wearing our helmets, oxygen masks, and night vision googles. We all landed at a designated field with grass and vegetation, and regrouped. Charlie Team and the Gray Squadron guys had jumped with their boats a half hour before, into the middle of ocean, and were now probably driving to their AO around the Somalian border. What sucked today, was that out of all fucking days, it was raining. As soon as we landed, minutes later it starting pouring and we were forced to put our helmets and night vision goggles in our backpacks, and threw on our boonie hats.

I also took off my Peltor Comtac 3 headset that I wore regularly, and threw on my "bone phones." Bone phones as they called it, were headsets that used bone conduction technology from your facial bones to hear sounds through your ears. They were very useful, as you placed them in front of your ears, allowing you to hear ambient and background noise as well.

The Peltor with it's large ear cups wasn't really practical with wearing a boonie hat, so that's where my bone phones came into place currently.

I still dreaded the rain. I had heard that the monsoon season in Somalia was around April to July, but I had never expected this shit. It was the middle of September and the monsoon rains were long gone. It was surprising, and the rain added another element of difficulty. We couldn't use our NVGs because they couldn't see through heavy rain, so there was literally little to no visibility. The illumination of the moon light was a life saver, and the only reason we could patrol and stick together.

Despite all the bullshit, we didn't have an option however. We had to launch the mission around this time, or it was sure Matt was gonna be executed. I didn't wanna see him on a graphic Live Leak video getting his head chopped off. It was our job, our duty, and we had to suck it up.

Our teams patroled through the pouring rain and dense vegetation. My face paint dripped from my face due to the rain, and Brady looked at me, and grinned.

"Tough fucking luck, huh?" He said. His face was soaked, and there was mud under his eyes. He looked psychotic, and his boonie hat almost slipped from his head.

"Yeah, you look like a fucking pedophile." I answered, and he laughed.

Most of us had shaven our beards for the face paint and had buzzcuts. We actually sort of looked like real soldiers, and not the way we'd look like vikings and rednecks when we were Afghanistan. I looked like I was in high school again, and Griffin actually sort of looked like Brad Pitt. Styles had been asking him why he wasn't with Angelina Jolie and then he'd get Griff's hilarious comebacks about how he was a leprechaun with a gun.

We patroled for what seemed like three hours, with the rain stopping at around 0330 hours, and us reaching the area of the target houses at 0500 hours. It was the beginning of dawn, and sunrise would be around in another hour or so, meaning we had to be fast. We needed to assault the two houses, and rescue Matt before daylight came and villagers from nearby villages woke up and saw the commotion.

There were two houses that we were going to raid. They were in a compound surrounded by what looked like a prison-type fence and were made out of thick mud and bricks. They sat about fifty meters from each other with a large dirt road or pavement in the center. They weren't very large, and had wooden doors with thick metal hinges. If breaching the doors was going to be required, we of course had breaching charges and shotguns. Some guys also had tomahawks made from Winkler, that could break door knobs. The hope however was that the doors were unlocked, so we could quietly sneak in and catch the captors slipping, but nothing was certain. I still had a good feeling that even though we might had to breach, we'd have good enough ground on them anyways.

There was also a water tower in the far inside of the compound, that mostly likely had a guard or something. I could look through the trees and vegetation, and tell we were about a hundred meters from the compound entrance.

Senior Chief told us what was going to happen.

"Alright here's what we're gonna do," Marc said. "Alpha Team has the house on the far right side and Bravo has the house on the far left. We're going to assault in approximately fifteen minutes. Me, and Garcia from Alpha Team are going to set up over watch positions deep into the vegetation fifty meters back into the forest, and provide covering sniper fire. Meanwhile, you guys are going to get in line with your teams, and we're going to move into each of our positions now. Griffin, Kaczmarek, get your teams together and move out. Let's go!"

Kaczmarek, or Kaz as we called him, was Alpha's team leader. He was a Polish-American thirty two year old with too many dimples for his age, and a healthy dose of almond-shaped head syndrome. He had a stubble, dark brown hair, and an undercut with a side part that almost made him look like a Nazi. He had broad shoulders, and sort of walked with a look of confidence and determination on his face.

He came over to us.

"You guys ready to roll?" He said, holding his HK416.

"Roger that, we got this shit, brother. Keep your guys tight and take things smoothly." Griffin answered.

"Copy bro, stay sharp." Kaz nodded and gave Griffin a knuckle touch.

We moved out to our positions. Garcia was this trained sniper who had just gotten out of a RECCE troop and back to a troop of assaulters. Him and Senior Chief got into these ghillie suits, concealment apparel that was made to look like heavy foliage. It was a whole suit, and the duo literally looked like walking vegetation.

Garcia had this AOR 2-painted, MK.13 Mod 5 sniper rifle that shot a .300 Win Mag round. It had a suppressor, and was made for medium range engagements, making it excellent for today's mission. Marc would be Garcia's spotter and would be on the radio telling us information about the combatants as the mission progressed. We got to our positions in a little over five minutes. My Salomon boots were covered with mud, and I was still sort of soaked by the rain. It was uncomfortable as shit but I would still get the job done.

I took a knee down in the mud, which fucking sucked, and Griffin began to speak up.

"Once Senior Chief and Alpha Team is in position, we'll assault. I need you guys to get your breaching charges ready and to make sure your shotguns are loaded in case things get tense quickly. We're trying to be quiet but nothing's certain, the doors could be locked."

"Prig's got the point, followed by me, Lance, Spencer, Brady, Styles, and Hamilton. Soon as the sniper takes care of the guards in the tower and around the houses, that's when we go in. Copy?" He said.

"Roger." We said on synch.

By now, we were about thirty meters from the entrance, with the trees as our only cover. I could see things pretty clearly now. The fence had a gate opening with a lock on it, which wasn't really good because it meant I had to use my bolt cutters. The houses were one story shacks that didn't even look like they could stand a grenade blast. I now saw the guard with an AK-47 on the water tower. He wore a three-holed balaclava, or ski mask, with a cheap, knock off plate carrier with grey pants and bloused black boots. He looked menacing, even to me, and I couldn't imagine the sort of fear Matt had when he was captured.

We stood in the ankle-deep mud for what seemed like ten more minutes before Griffin got a call on the radio that everyone was finally in position.

"Get ready boys." Griffin said.

I checked the safety of my MP7 and made sure it was off. I adjusted my boonie hat and my backpack, and I was good to go.

The first thing that had to happen was the elimination of the guards, by Garcia. As we began to proceed down towards the entrance, I heard a small pop and saw the guard in the tower fall over. He had gotten shot in the head, and he fell out of the tower, into the woods below. Another shot seconds later got another guard to the far left outside of the compound, who was shot in the neck. About a thirty second wait later, apparently one more shot rang out, which caught a guard to the far right of the compound, coming out of a porta potty.

Marc radioed us that there were no more guards around and that we could proceed.

We moved to the front of the compound, and reached the entrance. The lock on the gate was decent size, about twice the size of a locker combination lock, and Griffin called me over to cut it loose. I pulled my bolt cutters out and went to work, with the lock cutting loose about thirty seconds after.

"Good job bro." Prig said, patting my shoulder.

We proceeded into the compound, moving through dirt and vegetation towards the shack that was twenty meters in front of us. To my far right, I could see Alpha Team moving through the compound towards the other house, at about the same rate as us. Sooner or later, we reached our target.

Prig was the point and we all got into position. I was tense and Spencer who was behind me gripped my shoulder.

"Relax bro." He whispered. I followed his words and let out a couple of breathes, and let my heart get back to it's normal rate. This was my first hostage rescue mission, and I didn't want to cause any mistake that could cost someone's life. Any.

As we got into position, Marc told us to then assault after about a minute of waiting. We were ready, and shit was about to hit the fan. Griffin tapped Prig's shoulder which was the signal to move in. No fancy hand signals or none of that, just simply moving swiftly and silently with gentle touches here and there. Prig tried the door, and it was locked. It was around 0540 hours and it was almost the end of dawn, and I could see the sun rising in the horizon.

"Shit," He muttered.

"Tough luck for a fucking quiet infiltration..." Hamilton said, from the rear of the team on the troop net.

We decided to use our shotguns. Breaching charges would be too collateral, and the tomahawks we had couldn't break hinges. The shotguns were the most viable option, and the only way we were getting inside. We alerted Marc, and he agreed.

Alpha Team had encountered the same shit.

"Bravo Team, this is Alpha One over. We've encountered locked doors, ballistic breaching is now in place." I could hear Kaz say it over the troop net through my headset.

Spencer then pulled out his 870, a twelve-gauge pump action shotgun. It wasn't a traditional 870, in the fact the buttstock had been shortened into a pistol grip and it had a sawed-off barrel. We wanted to keep it as light as possible, and we also carried mini reflex sights and holographic sights on it as well. It was only around five pounds, and some guys had actually painted their shotguns in AOR 2 before the mission.

Spencer then got in front of door with the shotgun, racking it and placing at a forty five degree angle on the door. Prig nodded at him, which was the signal to go, and he shot each hinge on the door. He then turned and kicked the door through, with Prig and the rest of us proceeding into the house. Simultaneously, Alpha Team at other house did the exact same thing.

There were about three rooms in the shack besides the main room we entered, and guys began to split off into teams. One in the far center of the shack, followed by two on the far left and right as well. The laser sight of my MP7 scanned through the main room, which smelled like pure shit, and had a couch and an old school television set. This place didn't even have a damn kitchen or a bathroom, and it reminded me of how some of the abandoned houses in Brooklyn looked like.

Hamilton and Brady stayed in the living room, and started looking for intel or any sort of information in house. The rest of us proceeded into the rooms, with Griffin and I getting into position in front of the room at the center. We looked at each other, and nodded. I tried the door, and it was unlocked, and I pulled it open. Griffin then proceeded inside the room, and literally as soon as I began to enter, shots rang out.

Suddenly, as I turned my eyes towards the room, I saw Griffin going down. His body sort of collapsed onto the floor, and a horrible feeling of anxiety and fear creeped into my stomach as I realized Griffin had been shot. I quickly walked into the room, turning to my left and saw a fighter huddled in a corner with an AK-47 in his hand, with a white head garb. I could only see his eyes, and as soon as he looked at me, trying to accurately point his rifle, I simultaneously fired a large burst into his face, killing him instantly. The garb began to fill up with blood and it went from white to a thick red in a matter of twenty seconds. I could see from about ten feet where I shot him that the whole top of his head was shot off. It was a grim scene, but I still had to worry about Griffin.

"Holy shit, man down! Man down!" I shouted through the door. Seconds later, more shots rang out from the other rooms, and it was immediately silent again ten seconds later.

Griffin was on the floor, face down, and his boonie hat hung off his head. I flipped him over, and I assessed his wounds.

It was bad. Really bad. What made matters worse was that he didn't have a plate carrier.

He had gotten shot around five times. One round struck his abdomen, which I hopefully thought didn't touch his spine. Another round entered from the side and into his chest. Two other rounds entered the side of his left leg, where his trousers were now getting drenched with blood. A final round entered the top of his left shoulder.

He was heaving and he was struggling to breath.

"Aww man, you're a hard motherfucker, man. You're going to get through this trust me!" I said, trying to be encouraging.

"Damn, brother." He said, quivering. "I never thought..... It'd happen like this. Hey....." He began to choke up blood and I pulled out my knife and slit through his combat shirt to see the bad chest wound.

"What brother, what brother?? Stay in the game man!" I said urgently, tapping his face. He looked at me, and he didn't even look alive. In fact I don't even know how we was still alive.

I lifted his chest rig off of him, and I ripped open his shirt. Around the bottom of his left nipple, was a thick hole, probably half the size of my palm, where the round had struck his chest. Blood gurgled out in bubbles, and began to leak out of the hole all over his chest.

"Fuck man, it's bad!" I cried out. I took my hand and tried to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, and my Massif gloves began to get soaked with blood. I took out the last bandage I had in my backpack and dressed the wound, trying to put pressure, but I knew it wouldn't do much.

"Aww man," Griffin said, in fear. "Jesus..... It hurts so much. Lance..... I want you to know brother. I love you okay? You're..... One of the best new guys I've ever knew. I see something in you." He said, still heaving and quivering.

"Love you too brother. Just stay in the game, stay in it!" I cried out again.

A couple seconds later Brady and Hamilton bursted into the room and the horror on their faces is something I'll never forget.

"Holy shit, oh my god. Lance what the fuck happened?!" Brady screamed out.

Hamilton scooted over to me and asked me how bad was it. I looked at him and shook my head.

"He's done man." I said. I was fighting it back, I really felt like crying and my eyes were glistening with tears. However, it just couldn't come out. Hamilton then looked back and sighed.

"You're going to be in a better place brother..." I said, sighing.

Griffin was now heaving uncontrollably, and Brady came over, and held him with me. His neck was sweating considerably, and his body felt limp as I held him. It already felt like the life was out of him.

"Tell..... My wife.... I love her.... And the kids. Give this to her." Griffin slowly put his hand into his pocket, pulling out a white envelope, presumably with a letter inside.

"I didn't think... It-it-it'd happen this time..... But make sure... To-to get this to her...." He said, heaving wildly. His eyes began to roll in the back of his head, and we pulled him closer in our arms.

"Just take it easy Griff, we love you brother. We'll make sure to get it to her." Brady said, slowly taking the envelope from his limp hand.

Hamilton looked at us, with a face of pure sadness. He then got up, and moved to the end of the room, where he found the hostage. Matt was tied to a side of a large bed, handcuffed and severely injured. Griffin's heaving only lasted for a little more time, before it was over, and he didn't have to suffer anymore. Brady looked at me, and looked like he had lost his own brother. That's how we all felt at this moment, that's we'd lost our own blood brother. Brady continued to hold him, even after he stopped breathing, and I walked over to Hamilton.

"Shit man, we need to get him out of here." Hamilton told me.

"Roger, I'll cut the cuffs loose with my bolt cutters. Get the rest of the guys in here." I told him.

I cut the cuffs loose, and I looked at Matt. He looked like he'd been through hell. His whole face was mashed up, with his lips swollen, and with blood all over his face. His right leg was also broken, and he'd also been shot a couple of times in the arms. He was non-ambulatory, meaning he couldn't walk on his own, and we needed to get him on a stretcher. Sooner or later, the rest of the guys arrived in the room.

"Fuck man, I can't believe he's gone." Styles said.

"Me neither, it was too quick....." Spencer was petrified.

Prig took control. "Guys we need to get out of here. Stay in the game, stay focused. That's what Griff would always want us to do anyways." He sighed. "I can't believe it either..... Jesus..... But we have a hostage to extract and we need to stick together. Always look after the guy to your left and right, and never lose focus. Let's move out!" He said.

I asked Matt a couple of questions in order to verify if it was indeed him, such as his mother's first name and the Special Forces Group he served in. It took a little while since he could barely speak, but sooner or later, we put him on the stretcher, and we were ready to extract.

We put Griffin in a body bag. Jesus, the sound of the body bag zipping was horrible. Not that it made things any better, but the bag was in case Matt had gotten killed already, which was bad in itself; But no one thought Griffin was going to pay the ultimate sacrifice. No one. No no no, not Griff! Not fucking Jonathan Griffin!! Numerous commendation medals, five Bronze Stars, two with Valor, and a Silver Star in the Battle of Ramadi; Two sons and a loving wife in Cincinatti. Not the guy who always kept us together. Not the guy who loved us just as much as his own family. Not the guy who mentored me through DEVGRU. Not that guy.

God no one thought it'd end like this.....

We continued to move. It was around 0600 hours and sunrise would be around in half an hour or so. The sky was a powder blue, with the sun continuing to rise in the horizon. Alpha Team had cleared the other house, and now they were with us. Kaz asked what happened and Brady told him.

"Griffin's gone man....." He said, shaking his head.

Kaz almost broke down. They'd known each other longer than I had been in the Navy. They'd become team leaders in the same squadron. They'd both given their all for their country. But Griffin paid the ultimate sacrifice.

There was a moment of silence for around thirty seconds or so. I was exhausted. I was tired, just tired of everything. I just wanted to get the hostage out alive. I wanted to keep Matt alive. Matt was a fighter, maybe even more of a fighter I'd ever be, but I had to keep him alive. We had to keep him alive. We started moving out again.

Marc radioed us to regroup with him and Garcia, and we waited some more time in the forest. After around a minute or so of waiting, we could hear the sound of vehicles moving into the compound.

"Oh shit!!" A guy from Alpha Team muttered.

There was screaming, the sounds of people in anger. From the trees I could see Al-Shabaab fighters going mad because they'd lost some of their own in the assault. Suddenly, I heard another scream and bullets began to kick up the dirt where we were waiting.

"Let's fucking go!" Kaz shouted.

"We need to get the fuck out of here!" Spencer screamed.

It was bad. We began to run for our lives through the forest. I was holding Matt on the stretcher with Hamilton, and my back and shoulders were fucking killing me. Two other guys from Alpha Team held Griffin's body bag as we ran and tried to traverse through the forest and vegetation. Spencer, Brady, and Styles were returning fire towards the advancing Al-Shabaab fighters trying to get to us. Other guys from Alpha Team did the same, as Prig and Kaz led the way.

"Reaper One, Reaper One! This is Alpha One, over! Alpha and Bravo are proceeding to a secondary extract by another side of the river, we're under heavy fire! Get the fuck out of there!" Kaz said on his radio, screaming to Senior Chief Marc.

We ran and ran, with some guys tripping over branches and vegetation. Spencer picked Styles back up as he continuously tripped, and we kept moving. Matt began to moan as he rocked on the stretcher during our running, and I told him to stay in the game.

"Bro, just stay in the game, man. We'll get you out of here, I promise. You're one of our own brothers, coming from special operations; We'll keep you safe, you heard?" I said, trying to be encouraging.

"Roger.... Thanks." He said, moaning.

Some guys got wounded by stray bullets from the fighters. Styles took another to the arm, and a round grazed his ear. His boonie hat was gone, and his face was muddy, with blood behind his ear and on his shoulder as he tried to return fire, and run for his life. Spencer took a round to the calf, and Brady got hit by a little shrapnel from an RPG that landed around him. Other guys from Alpha Team decided to stay in the rear, since they didn't have any wounded, and the guys on my team were injured to shits.

"Bro, don't let him fall!" Hamilton shouted to me, as we traversed rocks and rough terrain.

"Copy!" I said.

We finally caught up with Marc and Garcia, who had removed their ghillie suits and were trying to keep up with the pace. I saw the look on Marc's face when he saw the body bag.

"Hey, what happened!?" He shouted at me, as we ran.

"Griffin's gone, Senior Chief...." I said.

"Wow," were the only words he could find. He turned his face away and didn't say much after that.

The fighters had long ditched their vehicles and were proceeding on foot towards us. A dirt road that was on the far right flank of us had a technical, a civilian vehicle with mounted weapons such as machine guns and AA (anti-aircraft) guns, driving at a quick speed to catch up with us. However, thick trees and vegetation blocked their view of us, so we had a little more time before they knew our position.

"Fuck, when we lose our cover from the trees and vegetation, Brady! I want you to shoot the fuck out of that technical, understood?!" Senior Chief Marc shouted.

"Roger!" Brady said. His boonie hat was gone also, and he was struggling to run due to the shrapnel on his legs. Spencer still held him up, even though he'd gotten shot in the leg himself, as we continued to retreat from the fighters.

As we reached toward the end of the forest, which was going to enter the Jubba River, our cover of trees and vegetation was gone.

"Get that fucking thing!" Kaz screamed.

The technical saw our position and the fighter on the mounted machine gun began to turn so he could fire at us. It was too late however. Brady had already pulled out his M72 LAW. It was the 66 millimeter, portable one-shot, anti-tank rocket launcher he had. It was light, only about five and a half pounds, and even though it was much older than the standard issue AT4, it could still get the job done and it was way lighter. Like we always say, light is right.

He shot the round, about thirty meters from the technical, and on impact, the vehicle exploded into a massive fireball. The vehicle was on fire, and it began burning considerably, as smoke billowed into the air. We started to cheer a little and started slapping backs and giving fives to Brady, before the fighters still chasing us began to shooting again.

"Let's go let's go!" Marc screamed.

We reached the end of the jungle, which now laid the huge Jubba River. Marc got on the phone and called the SWCC guys, who were thankfully right around the secondary extract. I turned back towards the jungle and began popping rounds out of my M79. It sounded like a bottle of champagne being opened, as I shot round after round towards the approximate twenty fighters sixty meters away. I know I caught at least two of them who were trying to set up a PKM machine gun, who then flew into the air like rag dolls, as their positions and trees around them were destroyed in the blast.

After about a minute or so of shooting back at the fighters and keeping cover, the large MK.5 boat arrived with the SWCC guys, stopping in the river in front of our positions.

"Guys we're gonna have to swim, keep Matt and Griff afloat!" Marc said.

We slowly moved into the brown water of the river. My whole body began to get soaked in the surprisingly warm water, as Hamilton and I tried to keep the stretcher with Matt above our heads. I was so exhausted, and I used literally the rest of my upper body strength trying to keep Matt afloat. Alpha Team guys did the same with Griffin's body, as water began to splash onto the bag. The remaining fighters caught up with us, and they were about fifteen meters behind us, when the SWCC guys opened up with massive firepower from the Gatling guns. I could hear the rounds literally cutting their body's in half, and after around twenty seconds, all ten of the remaining fighters lay desecrated behind us.

Three SWCC guys then jumped out of the huge boat, and began to assistance us with getting everyone onto the boat. They still had their helmets, face paint, and headsets on but that didn't matter. I stepped into the boat, and I took a seat. The rest of the guys finally got in, and did the same. After around five minutes, we were out and moving again.

It was 0630 hours. Sunrise had began. The drive was silent. No one said anything. I held Matt in my arms, wiping blood off of his face. Prig bandaged his left leg and his arms from bullet wounds. I looked up at Spencer, who's hair was wet and his calf had finally gotten bandaged. His face was full of mud, grit, and washed off face paint, and the only thing that could tell him apart was his piercing blue eyes, that looked out into the river.

"We really made it through....." I said, quietly. Other guys were next to me, fully asleep and exhausted from the long mission we had completed.

Spencer didn't say anything. Neither did Brady who was next to him, and Styles, who's ear was bandaged. Hamilton was next to me on my right, also looking into the distance. His face paint was still mostly on, and his blonde hair was now dark with mud and grit. He didn't say anything, either.

That's how the rest of the ride went. Silence. We finally reached the ocean, and linked up with Charlie Team and the Gray Squadron guys. They'd known what had happened, and there was nothing to be said. Nothing. They looked at us with sadness and faces of tragedy. But there was nothing to do or say. Absolutely nothing.

I looked into the horizon, which had the sun beaming through the light blue sky, shining towards the large ocean. I was covered in mud and grit, and my whole body was drenched with water. I could barely feel my shoulders, and I felt like the life was sucked out of me. Sooner or later, as the speed of the boat began to calm down, I fell asleep, peacefully and quietly.

We had gotten the job done, but Griffin was gone. Gone forever.

Chapter Seven - Dealing with stress.
0900 Hours (9:00 AM)

September 25, 2012

FOB Goldberg, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

It was all over the news. It was everywhere. We couldn't keep it away from us.

"U.S. special operations forces launch daring, successful hostage rescue mission in Somalia; Results in one killed."

"SEAL Team Six commit raids in Somalia rescuing former-Green Beret and resulting in one killed on Thursday."

"Family and friends remember highly decorated Navy SEAL Chief Petty Officer killed in Thursday's raid in Somalia."

Everything happened too fast. It was hard to comprehend all at once. It was strange seeing Griffin's face all over the news in his service uniform. It was awful. It was horrible. We never thought this day would come, and the media attention didn't help anything for our sake, or his family's sake. There was even a Wikipedia page made for him. It was all chaotic.

There was of course controversy over nothing, and why a SEAL had to be killed, and blah blah blah, this and that. It was mostly from lousy politicians who didn't have a single clue about what happened on the ground, and from our own civilians back in the 'States, arguing on the New York Times website about U.S. foreign policy and shit that really didn't matter. It was all about Griffin and that the ultimate sacrifice that he paid. That was it.

All of us on both assault teams received Bronze Stars with a V for valor. This is was my third Bronze Star with valor, with my first two during my first deployment to Fallujah and my second deployment with SEAL Team Four, and it was my fourth Bronze Star overall. Spencer, Brady, and Styles all received Purple Hearts; Their second, fifth, and fourth respectively. Their wounds weren't anything too major, and they were up and ready by a couple of days. It surprised me that Brady got his fifth Purple Heart, I never had any clue he'd been wounded so much.

The awards still didn't matter. Griffin was still gone, and that would never change. Ever.

His funeral was held on the 17th. There were about fifty people there. It was awful, so awful. We were all in our service dress uniforms, with me, Brady, Spencer, Styles, Prig, and Hamilton carrying his casket. His family was there, and I saw his fifteen year old son Jonathan Jr. and his ten year old son Christian. His wife was also there, named Olivia. She was pretty: She was short and had long blonde hair, with crystal blue eyes. However, her face was full of stress and grief. Tears streamed down her face and you could see the overwhelming dark circles under her eyes, indicating the stress and anxiety she'd been through due to his multiple deployments over the years.

Styles gave her the folded flag which was part of the ceremony, and we all put our SEAL tridents on his casket, which was constant SEAL tradition whenever one of our brothers had fallen. The shots of the rifles were haunting. I kept shaking whenever one went off, and it so was awful.

There was a lot of grief at the funeral, and it eventually ended. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I had a chance to talk to his fifteen year old son afterwards.

"Hey bro," I walked all over to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Hey." He said. His face was still red and his eyes were still glistening from the tears that had been shed from his face.

"Your father loved you very much." I said, "He always mentioned you during our deployments and how you were taller than him."

We chuckled together, as I tried to lift his spirits up a little. The look on his face was too much, and tears began streaming from my face.

"Bud, I want you to know your father was a good man. He did everything he could to keep us together. In fact, he was like a father to us. When times got hard and things got stressful, he was always there. He was always there for us, the same way he was probably there for you when you needed him." I said, as tears streamed from my face.

"Thank you. I appreciate that so much." He answered, and he began crying again.

"He'd always say that he wanted you to live a life bigger than yourself, the same way he did. To look after the people who mean dearly to you, and to live with a great sense of purpose. It's something I'll never forget, and it's something I'll like to tell you from him to you." I said, quivering.

"He has a place dearly in our hearts and he'll never be forgotten, okay? Never. He was such a great man and I'm so proud you had a father like him." I began sobbing, and then Junior hugged me. He actually hugged me. We cried together for a little while, and I said goodbye to him afterwards.

Brady gave me the letter he took from Griff, probably a death note, and I gave it to Olivia. She cried and held me tight, as I gave it to her, and thanked us for all of the sacrifices we made on a daily basis. Then the funeral was really over. Down and done.

The command gave us five days of leave afterwards. Just to decompress what the heck we'd experience. I said goodbye to the guys, and I went back to New York. I saw a couple of friends I'd known since high school the first couple of days, and we had fun in the city [Manhattan].

Typical 'fun' in the city, was drinks, parties, and prostitutes. Or maybe just hooking up, it didn't matter. It was me, and my two friends Brian and Dave. Brian was this white dude from Staten Island who looked like he belonged in an American Pie movie. I'd known him for around eleven years now, and he always managed to be the same, happy go-lucky guy I've always knew. Unlike me, who went to the military, he went to college and got a degree in business. He works for a business firm around Wall Street and lives in a condo somewhere near the East Village.

Dave on the other hand, I'd known for fifteen years. We were best friends throughout middle school and high school, and we smoked a shit ton of weed back in the day. We both lived in Flatbush, and had very similar childhoods. He was a tall dark-skinned dude, the lady's man sort of type, and he owned a restaurant in Brooklyn that he had been working in for seven years.

We were in this bar in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, having drinks and talking about old times. It was the second day of leave.

"So Lance, how you doing bro?" Brian asked.

"I'm good, just got off deployment. How about you guys?" I said, sipping my bottle of Budweiser.

"I'm okay," Dave said. "Trying to settle down you know? I'm tired of being a slut." We laughed, and Brian slapped him a five.

"Yes to that bro. This bitch I fucked a couple of days ago, man she was crazy." Brian said, which signaled he was going to tell one of his hilarious stories that were sometimes completely false. We still laughed and decided to listen.

"So I'm at her house right? We'd just met at some bar in Staten and she'd taken me to her crib. Things get hot really quickly, and I mean, really FUCKING quickly!" He said and we giggled.

"Sooner or later, I'm eating her out, and things are going great. After that, I ask her to return the favor, and she happily complied which surprised the shit out of me." Brian said, grinning. Girls in New York were keen to have their vaginas licked out but not to suck the soul of us. Or at least, that was the stereotype we made.

"So she's going down on me, and it's really nice. She starts going down the shaft and starts licking my sack and I'm here thinking, 'Holy shit, she's a fucking freak!'" Brian said and we giggled some more.

Just before he could finish the story, someone walked into the bar. And it was Crystal. Fucking Crystal. The girl I'd almost married, but who made me the problem. Out-fucking-standing.

Long story short, Brian's story ended up with him getting his ass eaten by that girl and him running out of her house, and I started to conversate with Crystal again. Sooner or later, I'm back in Brooklyn a couple of hours afterwards, and we're having sex in my bed room. It's really funny how things work.

Things quickly turned upside down when Crystal had found another pair of pink underwear somewhere in my room the next morning, from a girl I'd slept with months before. This particular female somehow left her stink-ass underwear in my room and because of my constant deployments, it'd slip my mind that the underwear was even there.

I pleaded with her to stay with me but nothing worked.

"This is why you're the fucking problem!" She shouted, crying. "Even if I try to put up with your life and the shit you do for a living, you always manage to fuck it up! ALWAYS!" Crystal looked like Jordan Sparks, except with a bigger butt, much darker skin, and had long curly hair. She was pretty, but also smart as well. Crystal was West Indian, and her parents were Guyanese immigrants. She worked as a nurse in a hospital in Brooklyn, and lived in the suburbs of Williamsburg.

It was sad to see her upset, but there was nothing I could do. She quickly took her things and stormed out of my house at 8 AM in the morning.

The rest of my leave went on mostly quiet. On my last day however, I received a surprising Skype call from my parents. I didn't expect it at all.

"Hey son, how you doing?" My father said. He was in the living room watching television on this particular night, and in the background I could see my mother making dinner.

"I'm doing okay pop, how are you?" I said. I was so glad to be hearing from them. I hadn't Skyped him since the second day of my deployment. My father then started to talk about work, and how he'd just had a barbecue with Jerry, and they had a good time with the whole family. He also mentioned cousin Jonathan, who ironically had the same first name as Griffin, got deployed to Afghanistan two weeks ago. He's also working in Kandahar with Delta Company, 3rd Ranger Battalion apparently.

My mother got in the Skype call and she began talking.

"We miss you." She said, smiling.

"I know mom, I miss y'all too." I said. I felt a rush of emotion building up in me.

"How's work?" She simply asked, and tears began streaming down my face. She saw me crying and asked what's wrong.

"It's nothing ma..... It's just things have been tough lately....." I said, trying to keep my composure.

"Lance we love you. Whenever you need us we're here. Whenever you can reach us, we're here. I know things can get hard and you can't say much about work, but whenever you need someone to talk to when you have time, come to us. We love you very much. We don't want you under so much stress, we want you okay." She said. The conversation went on for another ten minutes and we had a couple of laughs, and that was it. I said goodbye to them, and I went to sleep that night.

I simply lost my composure. Griffin's death was really hard on us. Hard on everyone in the squadron. And thinking about how much I missed my parents, I couldn't handle it and that's why I began crying. I was never afraid to express emotion, never. Combat and being in the command could get really difficult, but you had to stay resilient. You had to stay in the game as I always said. Or else, you'd lose it. You'd lose your sanity. And I wasn't going to let that happen.

The very next day I was in uniform on a plane back to Virginia Beach. I saw the guys and it was back to work. Hours later, I was on another plane back to Afghanistan. Simple as that. In less than twenty four hours, I was back in the field. It was really crazy how that worked, but we had jobs to do. It was our duty and we fully accepted it. We got back into Afghanistan yesterday, the 24th, and now it was the 25th.

Most of the guys were still sleeping as we had traditional vampire hours, meaning operations during the night and rest during the day. But I couldn't sleep. Griffin was still fresh on my mind. I put on my flip flops, and I walked into a makeshift shower around the hooch. I brushed my teeth, and cleaned myself. The water was warm, not too cold and not too hot, and I washed up. I then walked into the hooch to get dressed, and afterwards, I walked into the operations center. As expected everyone was sleeping, except Kaz, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was wearing a Nike dri-fit shirt and cargo shorts, with flip flops.

I looked at him and he looked stressed. His beard had began to grow back, and it was very uneven and scruffy. His eyes were also red, and dark rings were under them too. The command took a toll on everyone; It didn't discriminate.

He saw me and asked if I wanted a cup of coffee. I said yes and he poured me a cup. We walked over to the couch towards the front of the hooch and he turned on the television. The predator drone feed was gone as no operations were going on, and he turned the TV to the American Forces Network. We watched CNN for a little and started to talk.

"Hey man, you been sleeping?" I asked, sipping on my cup.

"Not really. How about you?" He said.

"Not at all. I haven't felt the same since the last op." I answered. Things went silent for a couple of minutes. Then the CNN analysts mentioned our raid in Somalia and Kaz closed the TV.

"I'm going back to sleep bro. Take care." He patted me on the shoulder and walked to his bed.

That was literally the biggest convo I had about combat stress. Guys had this sort of gung-ho, tough guy mentality that if you were feeling stressed and uneasy, that you were being weak. We never talked about it directly. Sure, we had a lot of operations that went wrong and made us upset, but we never directly mentioned anything like lack of sleep, anxiety, or PTSD, which was post-traumatic stress disorder.

After that, I went to the mess hall. I ate somewhat, and tried to keep my mind together. Tried to think positively. It was the only way I was going to get through anything. I ate and then went back outside, and stood around my hooch. The morning sunrise beamed on my face as I looked into the distance. The sounds of helicopters echoed through the air, and a couple other guys were walking around the base.

I went back inside the hooch, and laid down on my bed. I thought about Crystal, and how much I missed her, and how much I should've made things right with her.

Crystal and I met after my first deployment with the SEALs in 2009. I had just gotten back home, and I was on thirty day leave. The first couple of days, I had been fucking my next door neighbor Carina who I mentioned before that had the best blowjobs. She was this Italian woman with red hair and green eyes, and probably put more cigarettes in her mouth than dicks in her mouth. She was kind of old, she was thirty seven and was a single mom with a thirteen year old son she kept home often. She was very beautiful though. I don't know how, but she was gorgeous. She looked like she belonged in a Playboy magazine. I remember bringing her over to my house, and literally having sex with her for hours at a time. It was stressful.

Carina had issues however. She was twice divorced and suffered from anxiety and depression. Sex seemed to be a gateway from her issues, and she seemed infatuated with me. I let go of her quickly; She seemed to be getting too infatuated and I didn't want to lead her on and seem like an asshole, when really; I only wanted to have sex with her. I still say hi to her whenever I'm in the neighborhood. Her son is getting old.

About a week into my leave when I was done with Carina, I was in Downtown Brooklyn at a Starbucks around Atlantic Avenue. I was ordering a coffee when Crystal first caught my eye.

In the general sense, she wasn't anything special. She had a lot of acne, which I'd suffered with considerably as a teen, and was kind of tall. She was twenty one years old in med school, didn't dress incredibly special, and she didn't look like a supermodel. But something about her caught my eye. I don't know, but she just made me feel some type of way. It was weird feeling. I wouldn't say love at first sight exists, but it truly felt that way.

I was nothing amazing either. I had a large head, a shitty buzzcut I'd received after my deployment, and my acne hadn't completely gone away. I also wasn't in perfect physical shape; My abs weren't defined, and I still look the same until this day. I'm nothing special, I'm a decent looking person and I still somehow attract a lot of females, so that's all I cared about.

Anyways, Crystal was alone on her phone, talking to someone, probably one of her female friends or something. I was on the line waiting for the coffee and I couldn't stop looking back at her. It was so weird. Then she caught me staring at her, and smiled. I was surprised, I thought she'd felt creeped out already. She had a nice smile though, a great smile. Her teeth were nice and straight, and her smile was filled with happiness. Her long curly hair went all the way past her shoulders, and her eyes were beautiful to look at.

I took my coffee and took a seat in the shop. I kept looking at her, and kept turning away when she looked back. I'd never felt nervous with females, but she sure as hell made me feel that way. After about a couple minutes or so of awkward eyeballing and looking away, she finally walked over to me, and sat in front of me.

"You okay?" She asked smiling. God, she looked even more beautiful to me now.

"Yeah haha. You just make me feel a way, that's all." I said.

She giggled. "What kind of way?"

"I don't know but you made me feel happy as soon as I laid eyes on you." I said, and her face began to blush.

We then introduced ourselves, and the rest is history. We exchanged numbers and began seeing each other heavily during my leave. We got really close and attached to each other quickly, and after about a week, we already had sex. We had great times together, seeing football games and going out on dates on the reg. It was all wonderful, and I was truly happy during that period. Truly happy.

We vowed to keep communication after I went back to the teams, and we did. We continued this for awhile, with us mailing letters and Skyping each other, until I came home and we got to see each other again. Things began to fall apart after I came home from my second deployment in January 2011. I had seen a lot of shit with the Marines, and I was having a hard time dealing with it, and communicating with her. She was already tired of the constant away time and constant deployments, and I began being distant and keeping to myself, which didn't help anything. After a while, she sort of just gave up and I did, and by the time my leave ended, she was out of my house and gone.

It sucked, it really sucked. After that, I figured fuck it; I had lost the woman I cared about and I didn't really have anyone else, so I decided I'd do whatever it took to screen for Green Team and pass selection which I did. And here I am now, in Afghanistan lying in my bed, thinking about how shit went wrong so fast and how shit turned out this way.

I'd say "in love" are strong words. You can have love for anyone you care about, but being in love with someone is totally different. You accept and want every part of who and what they are. Their imperfections, their past, their mistakes, their good qualities, their talents, their passions; You just love and accept every part of it. And that's exactly how I felt for Crystal. I also wanted so much, to get that back.

After some time, the thinking slipped my mind. I let everything go, and I fell asleep in the hooch, quietly.

Chapter Eight - The Rangers
2400 Hours (12:00 AM) - 0130 Hours (1:30 AM)

October 2, 2012

Daman District, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

We were on a decent op. This time with two squads from an Army Ranger rifle platoon. This was going to be interesting.

The past week or so had been pretty damn good. We'd captured multiple Taliban bomb makers and facilitators through multiple raids all over the province. We'd also captured tens of weapons and explosives, and had eliminated around thirty fighters in just one week, with zero casualties of our own. Things were going good and we were finally getting the big break we needed.

For tonight's op, ISR drones had tracked a cluster of fighters moving through poppy fields in a village deep in the Daman District. As they moved from field to field, the fighters eventually got into a bed-down location three hundred meters from the village. Bed down locations were usually places where fighters would catch rest in after a day's worth of patrols or whatever they did. They were huddled in a field towards the far right of the village, that was blocked by mud and brick walls all around it, providing them cover for the night.

We'd first simply thought of just bombing the fuck out of the field, but we didn't want to risk collateral damage to the nearby village.

We decided to launch a raid to the target. We were in a Chinook helicopter with our whole troop, and the two Ranger squads. Around forty five total personnel were in the helicopter, with Marc, two EOD techs, and a dog handler with Bruno complementing the troop and Ranger squads.

Marc had gotten promoted to Master Chief, the highest enlisted rank and held even more responsibility than he had before. It was well deserved though, as he was a fantastic troop chief. We also got a new team leader, a guy who had just recently finished Green Team instructing named Luke. He was a thirty seven year old Senior Chief from Idaho, and had been in the Navy for seventeen years. He seemed pretty decent, and I was already starting to get used to him. He looked a lot like John Frusciante from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, with a beard and a buzzcut.

What was also very interesting about this mission was I met Jonathan. My fucking cousin! My own cousin was going on an op with me!

He was a squad leader of one of the two squads, in the 3rd Platoon of their Delta Company, and had arrived to our base a day before. It really felt crazy to see him, we were ecstatic as soon as we saw each other a couple of hours ago.

"Holy fucking shit, look who it is!" I said.

"You bet your ass!" He said, and we hugged tightly. It was great to see him again. Me and Jonathan had always been pretty close, and we'd play football together as children. Now look at us serving as highly trained special operations troops in basically the fucking middle of nowhere. It was crazy where life brought you to.

Jonathan or Jono as I called him, was a couple inches shorter than me, he was around five foot ten and was a little browner than me as well. He had a big bright smile, with a clean medium Caesar haircut, and sort of looked like the singer Miguel. Jonathan was twenty seven years old, and had been married for four years to a Puerto Rican girl, and also had a child with her.

"How you doing bro? I thought your dumbass had gotten forced out of the Green Berets!" I said and we laughed. It was actually true though. Jonathan had gotten forced out of the 5th Special Forces Group after an eventful deployment to Iraq in 2007. He played a prank on his ODA commander, with his best friend (who sadly got killed soon after), lacing his coffee with vodka, driving his commander wild through meetings with tribal leaders. It was really some childish shit, and Jonathan now regrets it, even though he still felt the commander had deserved some sort of punishment for putting the ODA in such overwhelming danger regularly. Jonathan received a forfeit of pay and almost a bad conduct discharge.

After that, he was transferred to the 173rd Airborne Brigade and went on a major and very eventful deployment to Nuristan Province, Afghanistan. It lasted a whole year, and many of the guys in his platoon were killed and wounded, particularly during the notable Battle of Wanat in July 2008. Jonathan received a Silver Star for his actions during the battle, and eventually after a re-enlistment and a couple more years, the Army allowed him to try out for RASP, which was the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program. He graduated in June 2010, and went on a six month deployment to Afghanistan from October 2010 to April 2011. He was now on his second deployment with the Ranger Regiment, and the fourth overall deployment of his career, as a Staff Sergeant leading a squad of Rangers in Kandahar.

"Nah man, you know how the shit goes. They let me try out RASP after awhile and now here I am, back in fucking Afghanistan with you motherfuckers!" He said and we laughed some more.

For the operation, I carried my fourteen-inch HK416, and my P226, essentially my basic loadout. I also wore all AOR 1 with a LBT 6094. This was as basic as a loadout or kit I carried, and suited the mission well enough. We didn't need anything else, we just used our stripped-down loadouts with only essentials.

Everyone else also wore all AOR 1, and that was that. The Rangers on the other hand, carried very similar weapons and gear compared us, with slight but significant differences here and there. They had dual tubed PVS-15 and PVS-23 night vision goggles, and had much tighter restrictions as to how they carried their loadouts. There was none of the mismatching gear or "light is right" ethos we had, and most of the way they operated was up to their commanders.

After all, even though they were a special operations force, at the heart; They were light infantrymen.

They used literally three different versions of the M4 (M4 Block II, M4 Block I, and the MK18 Mod 1) which were basically the same weapon, but with different length receivers and barrels. They also carried SCARs, which I was very familiar with back in SEAL Team Four, that some of the higher enlisted men like Jonathan carried, and had standard issue regular army, Beretta M9 pistols. Their automatic rifleman carried the same MK.46s that our machine gunners like Spencer carried, and that was pretty dope.

Their gear was pretty good too. They didn't have as much of it compared to us, but they wore Crye Precision AC combat shirts and pants in Multicam, only. And although they mostly had older MICH 2000s with camo covers, there were guys here and there with Ops Core helmets. Their body armor was nice too, with a standard issue LV-MBAV (Modular Body Armor Vest) in coyote brown, and a lot of the other Rangers had Crye JPCs and Crye AVS' (Adaptive Vest System, a kind of plate carrier you could literally configure from the bottom up).

For the mission, we landed about five kilometers from the target, and patrolled the whole way through to the area. On the far left side of the enemy's location there was a long dirt road that led all the way to the nearby village, and could cut through into the field. On the far right side, there were more poppy fields and irrigated land that led to the huge field that the fighters had placed themselves, blocked off by large mud walls and fortifications.

The drones noted that there were IEDs, improvised explosive devices, that the fighters had placed on both sides around the field. This meant we had to watch our asses, and take every step with an extra bit of care.

The two Ranger squads took the long dirt road leading up to the village, and our dog handler and EOD techs went with them as well since we figured that that whole road would have the blunt of the planted mines. Our troop with Master Chief Marc took the poppy fields and irrigated land to the large field, and we would both assault from both sides as soon as we reached the large field, hitting the fighters from multiple flanks and catching them off guard.

I really fucking hoped no one stepped on an IED. If one of the Rangers got hit, it would force us to turn all the way around and run through a large poppy field all the way back to the long dirt road. Everyone needed to stay in the game, and to keep their heads together.

"Stay sharp, man. Watch every step." I had told Jono before his teams took the long road.

"Got you bro, of course. And you too, be careful." He told me, and we knuckled touched, and went on with our patrolling.

At this moment, it was 2430 hours, half an hour after midnight. We were about half way through the large poppy field that led back to the road, and we were moving smooth and decisively. The illumination was pretty good this night, and I could see up to three hundred meters in front of me with my night vision goggles. The climate was perfect, it was about 60-degrees Fahrenheit, and the air was moderately humid. Not too hot, not too cold. Just the way I liked it.

Our assault teams patrolled in three line formations, with us on the left flank and Charlie Team on the right flank. I was point man again, and Luke was behind me, followed by Brady, Master Chief Marc, Prig, Styles, Hamilton and Spencer. Alpha Team took the center, and I could see Kaz leading his team through the darkness.

After about five more minutes of patrolling, we reached the last irrigated field that led to the first pair of walls that blocked us from the larger field the fighters were resting in. As we began to move through the irrigated field, suddenly a large "BOOM!" echoed through the air, and the whole ground shook. I looked behind the patrol and saw no one had gotten hit, and after a couple of seconds, I realized the Rangers had stepped on an IED.

It was bad, shit went out south quickly.

"Bravo and Alpha, stay here, stay here!" Marc shouted out to us. "Charlie Team and I will traverse all the way back to the road, stay sharp and be careful in case a fuckin' ambush starts!"

"Shit man, what the fuck is going on?!" Brady said.

"Fuck, we need to stay together!" Kaz screamed on the troop net.

Shit. It met we were the only ones in the the field, and there were IEDs fucking everywhere. I was nervous. I was actually fucking nervous.

Marc took Charlie Team and smoothly traversed back to the larger field, being careful of staying in the right path and not stepping on any bombs. We stayed and Luke told me to push on. Alpha Team began to do the same, but literally as soon as we started to move however, we started taking heavy fire from fighters huddled near the walls a hundred meters in front of us. I threw my myself backward onto the soft soil, and laid in a supine position with my head against the dirt as the fighters shot barrages of automatic fire towards us. Through my night vision goggles I could see tracers flying all over the place.

"Guys stay down, stay the fuck down!" Luke yelled on the troop net, screaming to our team and Alpha.

"Spence, set the '46, set the '46!" Hamilton shouted to Spencer, telling him to get his machine gun going. Kaz got one of his own machine gunners into position, who had a MK.48 today.

After about ten seconds of straight enemy fire smacking the dirt in front of us, we started returning fire. I rolled over and got into a prone position and started shooting my HK416. I put the fire mode on automatic and I was shooting bursts of five rounds at a time towards the walls. Spencer lay prone, shooting his MK.46 in a bipod position in a large, continuous burst towards the fighters, as we began to advance and move smoothly through the field under his covering fire. The gunner on Alpha did the exact same, providing cover for Kaz and his team, as they moved slowly through the center of the field as well.

"Watch your step guys!" Kaz yelled on the troop net, reminding us that there could be IEDs anywhere. I saw Brady popping grenades out of his M79 towards the walls, and Styles crawling through the dirt, popping rounds in and out of crawling. He looked calm, really calm. Both of our teams moved in rhythm, being slow and causcious, while firing rounds out of our weapons. The Alpha gunner with the MK.48 reloaded, as assaulters on his team covered him with their own fire towards the fighters.

The rest of my team moved forward in front of me a bit and after about five minutes or so of ongoing gunfire, the fighters had finally stopped firing. We stayed prone and Luke asked for a sit rep.

"I'm up!" We all said. Alpha Team had calmed their fire as well, and Kaz was asking his team for sit reps.

Marc alerted us to hold our positions while he would be back with the Rangers in a couple of minutes. We weren't excited. Both of our teams were on open ground, and the fighters could start another firefight whenever they pleased, pinning us down.

"Fuck man, we're out in the open!" Hamilton said, looking pissed off.

"Exactly." Prig added on.

"I know, but we can't risk the IEDs and the possibility of the fighters firing again. If we start moving up and they start shooting, we'll be right in the cross fire and we'll sure as hell sustain casualties, bro." Luke said, calming us down. I liked that, he already seemed to have some of the characteristics Griffin had and I really liked that.

"We're okay, no casualties sustained. Keep your eyes moving guys." Kaz said, on the troop net.

We waited silently in our prone positions. Spencer tapped me on the shoulder, the large stock of his machine gun on his shoulder as he aimed towards the walls. He passed me a Snickers bar and grinned.

"You're not you when you're HUNGRY!" He said the Snickers slogan, and we giggled our asses off.

"Tough luck for a fuckin' chocolate bar, aye?" I said. Styles and Brady saw what we were laughing about and they snickered (no pun intended) in the darkness.

We waited for what seemed like a whole hour but was really five minutes, and Charlie Team arrived with the rest of the Rangers and support personnel. I checked to see if Jono was okay, and thankfully, he was.

"Two guys got hit in my squad," He said, pointing to two stretchers his other squad mates were holding. Two Rangers had gotten some of their limbs blown off and it was gruesome. One guy lost both of his legs, and another guy got his arm blown off. Jono's squad mates were encouraging their wounded comrades, and I smiled.

"Yeah, we were patrolling through the first section of the road," The other Ranger squad leader named Watson said. He had a thick neck and a thick chest, and had an undercut with a side part that looked a lot like Kaz's haircut. His helmet was off and in the moonlight shining on his face, he looked tired as shit. He was built like a football player and I could picture him playing linebacker for the New York Giants.

"The dog was barking like a motherfucker and two guys in Jono's squad got distracted by it, and didn't follow the path. They ended up getting hit by a well placed fifty pound explosive. Shit was crazy, man." Watson said, putting back on his Ops Core helmet and headset.

"Yeah, we were lucky you guys came quick to help or what we would've been in deep shit." A young looking kid from their squad said. I swear this dude looked no older than nineteen.

"Your guys are going to make it," Marc chimed in. "You guys honestly think we can still get those fighters?" He said this to everybody. By this point, no one wanted to risk anyone else's life over getting a bunch of low-level insurgents trying to score some kills on our guys on this particular night. It wasn't the worth the IEDs, the guys who had already been wounded, and the fighters who were hiding behind mud walls in a field. We all calmly said no, and it was decided we would launch some CAS (close air support). Two large, A-10 Thunderbolt attack jets would drop two 500-pound AGM-65 missiles onto the field the fighters were hiding and resting in, after about ten minutes or so.

In the meantime, we'd stay alert and establish a perimeter in the large irrigated field. Marc got the EOD techs, plus the Bruno the dog and his handler to disable any remaining IEDs in the area. Spencer, a gunner from Charlie Team, the gunner from Alpha, and an automatic rifleman from Watson's squad would be providing them cover from two ditches around the perimeter. Meanwhile, the rest of us would all relax and wait for the CAS.

I spotted Jono laying against a tree, and I took off my helmet, and sat near him. The moonlight shined gently onto his face. His NVGs were flipped up on his Ops Core and he looked with his normal vision. He had his SCAR-H cradled in his lap, and was looking into the distance.

"Reminds me of a shitty day at the park in Queens." He said. He pulled out some Skittles candy and offered me some, which I took. I had already long eaten my Snickers bar.

"How's it going with Monica?" I said, mentioning his wife.

"It's okay. My kid is getting old and she's about to start daycare which I'm really happy about." He smiled. I loved his daughter. Her name was Melissa and she was four years old. She was one of my favorite nieces (even if Jono was technically my second cousin) and she was so nice and cute. Melissa meant a lot to Jono, because he'd name her after his late mother who had passed away when he was a child. It was important to him to be just as good as his father was when he was a child, and to treat his kid the same way.

"That's good bro. Shit is really crazy, who would've ever fuckin' thought we would see each other like this!?" I said and we chuckled.

"Right, man. I remember seeing you on leave when you were back SEAL Team Four during family reunions and shit, and we used to play beer pong together. Good times."

"Yeah bro." I said, "Remember the first time you got high and you were scared as shit?" We giggled in the darkness.

"Right I was like fifteen in the middle of my Sophomore year, and you were a senior turning seventeen in December. Motherfucker really took the R train all the way to Queens just to spark me up a couple of blunts in the middle of November. Shit, man I can't believe that was twelve fucking years ago!" We laughed some more. It was crazy how fast time went by.

"Yeah man, haha. I remember when we used to play football together a lot when I'd come over to your house often. I remember when we used to listen to Eminem and Tupac together. Also remember when you got drunk as fuck at a party I brought you to when you were a Freshman and I drew two dicks on your face."

We giggled some more. We were reflecting memories in one of the most precarious situations, in a field in war-torn Afghanistan at one o'clock in the morning. Not as regular soldiers, but as special operators serving together and trying to make it out alive. Oh, the irony of life.

"Shit man, I remember when we heard that song Yellow by that rock band Coldplay. We thought it was corny as shit that we found a rock band that was great cause everyone in the hood loved hip hop and R&B, and shit like that." Jonathan said, smiling. "Funny cause we still listen to that shit until this day!" He said grinning.

"Yeah man, I remember 9/11 bro. I was in the middle of basic training with the Marines and we heard about it coming back from a shit ton of PT. Haha, how ironic..." Things went a little silent for a little and Jono chimed in.

"Damn bro. I remember being on my way to school that day. I was late as shit, I got to Manhattan off of the train at around 9 AM when the first tower had been strucked minutes before. People were going crazy and were calling their friends and family, and I heard their had been a big tragedy, and a plane had struck a tower. I thought it just was an accident, but after about five minutes, I heard another plane struck the other tower and then I had no doubt in my mind we were being attacked."

"I got to school and there were announcements all over the speaker about the attacks and all of the hallways were clear. It was like that for about another month or so. Silence. No one wanted to talk. No one wanted to deal with it. It was horrible, man. I'd never seen the city so lost of it's heart and soul, never. It motivated me man, really did. One of the big reasons I joined the army and the Special Forces."

Things went silent for a little while again until I speaked up.

"I feel you man. It's crazy how much sacrifices we've made since then. It's crazy, because no one in the real world would understand the shit we've been through and the shit we still do. But you know, I live with it. At the end of the day, you realize it's your job as a special operator. It's your duty and that's the only thing keeping you going." I said and he finally nodded.

Then we found out that the CAS was coming, and we packed up, and moved. All of us ran all the way back towards the large poppy field, trying to get as far away as possible from the impact of the bombs. I got into a ditch with Brady and Styles as we waited for the bombs to hit the target.

"Shit is going to be insane, you two better hold on to your asses!" Styles said, with a face of excitement and we giggled.

"Everyone stand by for CAS!" Marc said on the radio, which I heard through my headset. A JTAC (joint-terminal attack controller) from Alpha Team had called in the positions of the fighters a couple of minutes ago to the fast-moving planes.

About thirty seconds after I heard Marc's message on the radio, I heard the sounds of planes flying overhead and seconds later, I poked my head out of the ditch and saw the bombs hitting the wall around the field together. They exploded on impact into a fireball, going up into the sky in large, billowing clouds. The bright explosion completely lit up my field of view on my NVGs, sort of like a flashbang explosion, before slowly calming down after ten seconds.

I could feel the shock wave impacting the terrain, even in the ditch. It felt astounding, and the three of us started to cheer in the ditch.

"Fucking A man, fucking A!" Brady said, smiling and giving us fives.

We crawled out of the ditch, and regrouped. The Rangers were cheering as well and slapping each other fives. Marc and Charlie Team walked over with the other support personnel, and told us and Alpha that the drone feeds from above had confirmed every fighter was dead. It was good news, and it meant we didn't have to go all the way towards the field they were in to eliminate the rest of them.

We waited for exfil. I got to Jono again and we sparked up a conversation. He was with one of the two wounded guys, and a medic and the young guy from his squad was looking over him.

"He's going to be fine right?" I asked the medic.

"Yeah, he just loss a lot of blood quickly but he's stabilized." The medic was a Specialist and sort of looked like a current day Zac Efron. His MK18 was beside him, as he fixed the bandages on the leg stumps of the wounded guy.

"Shit I can't believe it." The wounded Ranger actually started talking. He seemed uncomfortable as shit in the stretcher, and the medic loosened the strap so he could turn his head and talk to us.

"Believe what?" Jono asked, "Can't believe your legs are fucking gone?" We all giggled.

"Yeah bro," He shook his head. "Everything is different now. Everything." We were quiet for a little after that.

"Not really man, you're still the same guy. Maybe with no legs," Jonathan said, chuckling, trying to keep the spirits up. "But you're the same, bro. You're the same father of your kid, the same guy who rescued three pinned down guys last deployment, the same guy with a perfect PT score, and most importantly, you're still one of our brothers. That's something no one could take away from you."

And Jono basically sealed the deal. We all smiled, and the wounded Ranger sighed in relief, knowing he was fully accepted as the same person to his fellow squad mates. Sooner or later, the Chinook arrived at around 0120 hours to extract us. A Blackhawk helicopter also arrived as a MEDEVAC (medical evacuation) for the wounded Rangers and we were out of the area by 0130 hours.

I looked at Jono on the helicopter ride back to base, and smiled at him.

"Love you bro, we did okay today." I said.

"Copy that and love you too bro." He said, smiling as well. We knuckle touched, and the rest of the ride was nice and peaceful.

Chapter Nine - Quick Action
0300 Hours - 0420 Hours (3:00 AM - 4:20 AM)

October 7, 2012

Kandahar City, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

Another five days had passed, and the Rangers were on their last operation with us, before they went back to a remote fire base near the Arghandab Valley. They had been valuable to the missions during the week, and had been with us to assist in finding leads to Zawahiri, the high level Taliban commander. It was sad to see them go, especially Jonathan, and I'd miss the shit out of him. This week was one of the rare times I actually got to see him because work and our deployments were always in the way, but we had jobs to do and I accepted it. We made sure to make the most out of the last operation we were having with each other.

The constant pace of operations never ended. It was target after target, raid after raid, everyday. We've already done at least forty combat missions in only two months or so. Everything is continuous. That's exactly why we called it the 'speeding train.'

For this morning, we were on a mission to capture Zawahiri's right hand man, Mahud Mohammed, another senior Taliban leader who had led numerous anti-coalition attacks for years in the Helmand Province, before disappearing sometime in 2010, around the same time as Zawahiri, and possibly with him as well. The capturing of Mahud had been a cold case, before our intelligence analysts earlier last month figured out he had gotten a fake identity and had changed his name to Abu Mabad, and was living literally right in Kandahar City with his family of four.

We had four Black Squadron operatives operating out of Kandahar Airport driving in Toyota trucks through out the city in late September. They were doing covert surveillance and recon on Mahud's home with binoculars and cameras, and also planted listening devices around his home during the night as well. Their photos were confirmed to be Mahud, and their listening devices had shown that Mahud had told one of his cousin's that he was going to leave Kandahar City in a couple of weeks, in fear of being under suspicion and investigation by the Afghan National Police. It meant around this point of time currently, it was now or never, and we had to get him.

If we were able to pull this off and actually capture him, he would be extremely vital to providing the possible whereabouts of Zawahiri, and if Zawahiri was still conducting operations in the Kandahar Province.

We'd left the base at around 3 AM in the morning, 0300 hours. The plan was for us to assault the house in two Blackhawk helicopters, with my team fast-roping onto the roof of the house and and assaulting downward. Jonathan's squad of Rangers would fast-rope in front of the house, and assault into the structure. We'd breach the roof door, and clear downward. The Rangers would then do the same after about thirty seconds, breaching the front door and clearing up into the building, creating a diversion. After that, we'd probably be together clearing rooms and then sneak into Mahud's room, quickly and decisively capturing him. Everything was rapid and simple, but that was only on paper. Anything could happen on the mission, anything.

That's the thing about the SEALs; We're always lucky.

We had a saying that it was better to be lucky than good. Basically meaning straight skill and discipline could only get you so far. It wasn't going effect the possibility of getting shot down, or not getting ambushed. Sometimes it was better to be lucky and to be proud of your good fortune that got you out of sticky situations.

Kit for this mission was generally light. We were going to be extremely rapid and we weren't planning on any engagements, so we didn't armor down as much. I had my fourteen inch '416, and my HK45C attached to my belt. I only wore a tan, moisture-wicking Under Armour tactical t-shirt with my 6094 plate carrier, this time in coyote brown. It had a backwards American flag patch on the right sleeve, and a Blue Squadron logo patch, which was a pirate skull and bones, on the left sleeve. I threw on my stock colored Ops Core and for this particular mission, I decided to wear the three-color desert, old-school Crye combat pants.

Yes, in honor of Griffin. No doubt. These pants had been through so much, and I felt like it was my duty to wear them one more time in his honor. They were tight, and much of the fabric had been wrinkled and worn out over time, but they were wearable. That was all that mattered. I just wanted to do it in memory of him.

Other guys carried mostly MP7s and my team was saturated with everyone wearing all AOR 1, except me, making me stick out somewhat. They didn't care of course. They cared about Griffin just as much as me, I wasn't special. We all cared and loved him as our leader and as our brother, and we'd forever remember the ultimate sacrifice he paid. That's what we cared about.

It was 0315 now. We were on the choppers on our way to the target. The helicopter was crowded and I felt cramped as fuck. I looked out through the open door at the deserted streets and dark horizon through the green hue of my night vision goggles. It was a little chilly, around sixty degrees, as the air was dry; There wasn't any humidity and it was quite windy. I cursed myself in my head for not putting on one of my full-sleeved combat shirts, as I sat next to Luke who was on my right. His night vision goggles were flipped, and he was looking out of the chopper at the city we were passing through below. His face was completely straight, and he had the eyes of someone who wanted to win. He looked like an athlete before a championship game.

The fading trees and cityscape reminded me about Iraq, literally eight years before. It looked like a night raid in Fallujah. Except Fallujah's buildings and areas weren't so nice, and were mostly completely destroyed during my time there.

Only fourteen guys were on the op. Master Chief, our troop commander, and the rest of the troop was at base watching everything occur on a drone feed. Jonathan's squad was undermanned because of the two guys who'd gotten hit by the IED a week before, making them a team of seven Rangers. His squad had to go on the operation however, as the other squad had already conducted an op with us the day before and It was Jono's time up.

He didn't mind at all. As long as he got to do an op with me for the last time, he was happy about that, and so was I.

"Tough luck for a fuckin' handjob," He'd said before the mission. As we got on the choppers too, he flipped a random middle finger at me, and I calmly smiled and returned the favor. Typical shit we did.

To my left was Brady, reading an instruction manual about maintaining the helicopter, and on his left was Styles resting his head against the side of his helicopter. The two door gunners, who were also the crew chiefs, scanned through the cityscape. They looked bad ass, wearing large flight helmets with night vision goggles and skull-printed face shields.

"Five minutes!" One of them said to us.

We were about to land. It was a quick ride, about twenty minutes or so as we were about thirty miles south of Kandahar City, almost at the border of the Daman District. Behind me were the rest of the guys in the team, also riding in the chopper with the door open. Anderson was our pilot for this mission and I was glad to see him. He was calm and flew the helicopter with ease.

"Shits going to be fun," He had said before the chopper ride. "First mission I've had with you guys in three days, I'm really excited for it."

It was really chilly. The wind was starting to pick up considerably and it didn't help anything. It was starting to get colder as well. Usually around this time of the year Kandahar was still pretty warm. The cold climate was to begin around mid-November, but the October nights were already starting to get cold as time went by. I didn't have my gloves on, either, and I rubbed my hands together, trying to get some circulation through my fingers. I looked at my caramel skin, and the muscle in my thick forearms; Flexing my bicep, as I then looked at my rifle cradled in my arms. I shifted my eyes towards my legs, looking at the brown stretch panels above my knee pads, and the pocket on the top of each thigh. My legs hung out the door, wobbling as the helicopter continued to sore through the air.

"Two minutes!" The door gunner said. I turned my head to the left, peaking it out to the cockpit as the co-pilot cracked a joke to Anderson.

"This freakin' guy we're getting looks like the motherfucker from Slum Dog Millionaire, what the fuck." He said, and Anderson snickered. The co-pilot's name was O'Conner.

Luke flipped down his night vision goggles. He was ready for the target. Brady put down the instruction manual and also flipped down his NVGs. Guys began flipping the safeties off of their weapons and performing a last check on their gear as well. I also wasn't nervous about anything. I'd done missions like this numerous times, and it was nothing new.

I was hungry. I wanted scrambled eggs with turkey bacon and pancakes. Blueberry pancakes. I promised myself I'd get that when I went to the mess hall in a couple hours for breakfast. My mind started to shift to the thought of Crystal before I heard the door gunner speak again.

"One minute! Get ready!" He said. It was go time. I shifted my mind to the task at hand and how things were going to occur. As I gripped my rifle closer to my chest, Anderson began to radio the other chopper with the Rangers, call signed 'Dagger Two', that we were beginning to get into position above the roof of the target. Anderson put the chopper into hover mode, as it positioned aboved the roof of the three story, squat building.

The target we were hitting was in a poor, low-income neighborhood deep inside Kandahar City. The area was mostly paved roads and large clusters of squat buildings everywhere, with alleyways here and there. They were usually flushed out with garbage, and the area looked pretty desecrated with poverty. It was nothing compared to the rich and wealthy areas in the northern part of the city. As it was early morning, the area was also pretty much deserted, thankfully limiting our profile considerably. I looked at my watch and It was about 0320 hours.

Luke began setting up the fast rope bar, moving it into place and tugging at it to make sure it was stable. He leaned out and took a good look at the roof. After a little while, he leaned back in and gave a nod to the crew chief on the door gun.

"We're set, let's do it!" He said.

The helicopter hovered even closer to the roof and the guys behind me began to turn into the direction we were fast-roping. I could feel Prig's knees digging into my back, as he manuevered in the cramped up chopper, being directly behind me, facing my direction.

"Sorry bro," He whispered in my ear, as he tried to keep his knees off me the best he could. After about twenty more seconds or so, Luke finally threw down the rope out of the chopper and onto the roof.

"Go go GO!" The door gunner yelled and we were on our way. Luke went down first, followed by Brady, and Styles. I stayed behind, fitting on my fast rope gloves that were thick and heat resistant against the friction of sliding down the rope. Prig was impatient and after I fitted on my gloves, he shouted at me.

"Get your fucking ass out!" He said, nudging me with his knee. I quickly gripped the rope with my hands, and then feet, beginning to slide down the thick braided rope until I finally reached the roof. The rest of the guys began to slide down, and I saw the other chopper to the left of ours at a much lower position, with the Rangers fast roping onto the pavement below. After about fifteen seconds, everyone was on the roof and the chopper was gone. The Rangers were also in front of the house, and the other chopper was gone with ours too. They needed to refuel, so they went to the Kandahar Airport and for now, we were on our own.

I took off my gloves and shoved them into one of my pouches, as they weren't practical for shooting. My hands were now exposed again, as I didn't have my assault gloves, and I rubbed them together, continuing to get circulation. I saw Hamilton give me a thumbs up through my night vision goggles, as we regrouped and did our final checks on gear.

After that, we began racing to the roof door. I was point man as usual, and Spencer was going to breach the door with a thick battering ram. He'd ditch his machine gun for a MP7 and the battering ram during today's mission, as we needed to be quick and light. I moved to the side, as he got into position with the large tool. He swung it considerably, hitting the door with a large thud, and it swung open with a large amount of force.

"Okay, we're good. Let's go." Luke quietly said, and then I advanced through the door, into the building. I started down the stairs, as the rest of the guys began to follow me, moving steady and slow. Luke radioed the Rangers we had moved through the roof door and it was time for them to assault. I turned my laser sight on, scanning corners as I reached the end of the stairs and moving into an anteroom, hearing a thud echo below as the Rangers began to breach the front door.

"Keep moving," Styles whispered to me, who was second in line.

The anteroom had paintings on the walls, and folded chairs on both sides of the walls, with a table to the right of the walkway that had cups of what smelled like Afghan chai. It looked sort of like a lounge or get together place that Mahud and his family probably ventured in often. At the end of it, lay a wooden door leading into the main room, or what I thought was the main room. I continued to move through the anteroom, passing by the chairs and the table, reaching the near end that led to another flight of stairs leading to the second floor.

I then continued and got into position by the door leading into the room, with the rest of the team. I gripped my rifle a little bit more, as Styles gripped my shoulder, giving me the signal to move in. I tried the door, and it was unlocked. I then slowly and smoothly pushed the door open inward, with the barrel of my gun continuing to point into the room through the creak of the door, growing larger as the door continued to open. I eventually opened the door and it was revealed to be a storage room. It also opened up to two other storage rooms with wooden doors that were both on the far left side of the room.

The room had everything you'd expect in a storage room such as extra tools, containers, cardboard boxes, and the place even had canned food. Everything was cramped up, and much of the canned goods had spilled all over the place and it was a large mess. It made me wonder what was behind the two other doors.

I veered off to the left, as Styles, Luke, and Brady followed me. The rest of the team also veered off to the left, but to the other wooden door leading into one of the rooms. As I reached the door, I heard shouting from the floors below and ruckus going on.

"Fuckin' Rangers man," Styles muttered.

"Don't worry, they have it under control." Luke said.

I got the signal to proceed in, and again, the door was unlocked. I figured no one had been in the storage room for quite some time, as there was a mess everywhere and the two other doors we were entering were opened. However, literally as soon as I peeked through the opening of the door, I saw a line of AK-47s stacked next to each other. An entire line of at least ten rifles. It was astonishing.

Chest rigs and hand grenades paraded the corners of the room, as rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs) stood up against walls all over the room as well. It was ridiculous how much firepower was here. The whole room could fully arm at least twenty fighters at a time. It was crazy, I wasn't even sure Mahud's family knew of this huge weapons cache.

"Holy fucking shit, fucking jackpot!" Brady said, with a face of amazement.

"I can't believe it either," Styles said curiously.

The other guys had also found more material in the other room, which was filled with bomb making materials such as pressure cookers, containers, wires, and plastic explosives everywhere. No one could believe it, we did not expect such a huge find. No one even knew Mahud was bomb making too. It was always interesting to see how things could drastically unravel during each of our ops. There was always surprises, some good, some bad. But like I said, it's better to be lucky than good.

"Okay guys, we need to get downstairs and clear through with the Rangers. Let's fucking move out!" Luke said. We regrouped and then Luke put Prig on the point this time. I was third in line. Luke radioed Jono, who said they were finished clearing the first floor and were now approaching the second floor just like us. The Rangers had used plastic handcuffs and had detained a group of men sleeping in one of the rooms on the bottom floor, most likely staying in the house as guests. It was more than likely these guys were probably working with Mahud, and he had allowed them to stay in his residence while he worked plans out to leave the province.

We began to move down the stairs, quietly, as we reached the second floor of the house. My hands were sweaty and I was losing tight grip of my rifle, so I wiped my hands on my pant leg. The major lack of humidity was hell, and breathing in the air was a little difficult.

"Keep your eyes sharp guys." I could hear Prig say on the troop net, whispering. Luke was in front of me, and Spencer was behind me, followed by Brady, Hamilton, and Styles. We took each step with extreme carefulness, being mindful of not tripping and keeping our steps quiet along the way. I looked at my watch as I walked down the steps and It was 0340. Fuck, about twenty minutes had already passed. Shit had literally felt like five minutes the whole time, but things had flown by quickly and we needed to get Mahud ASAP.

After about a whole minute of very slowly traversing the long flight of stairs, we were on the second floor. We moved through the main walkway, before finally regrouping with the Rangers by one of the bathrooms.

"We found an entire weapons and bombs cache up there," Luke whispered to Jono. "They were probably planning on something big perhaps. Maybe to re-establish operations somewhere else, I don't know."

"Fuck," Jono muttered, and he looked at me, thinking. "That's crazy as shit. What are we gonna do now?" Jono whispered, and he told one of his guys to pass him a bottle of water.

"We still haven't gotten this dude. The whole first floor was filled with adult guys sleeping together, huddled in the guest room around the living room. We cuffed them and bagged them, and I don't got a doubt that they're working for him. I'm just trying to figure out if he could possibly be armed. We don't know if his crazy ass has weapons in his bedroom." Jonathan exclaimed.

"Well we're just going to have to find out. Let's move." Luke said. Jonathan looked at him confused for a second before he shook his head and agreed to it. We didn't have an option. Mahud could well know we were in the house, he probably did by now. He could've gotten enough time to set up a potential ambush or a suicide vest, or anything of that nature. But it was the fate we accepted. If we got killed or wounded, we accepted it. And that was a risk we were going to take.

"Stay safe bro!" Jonathan whispered to me, as we moved down the walkway. I nodded at him in return.

The end of the walkway lay the last flight of stairs leading to the first floor, with the guest room and living room. On the near left side of the walkway towards where we came from the third floor, lay a wooden door, leading into another room. On the far right side that was more towards the stairs leading to the first floor, lay another door. We continued to super slowly move, being weary of not making any sort of noise on the tile floor.

Prig then led us to the first door on the left, as the Rangers veered off to the door at the far right side. We were quiet. We had realized that we were sure Mahud and his family were in these rooms without a doubt. We stayed calm and we kept our heads together. Don't get too excited, cause things could change very quickly.

After about ten seconds or so, Luke said something on the troop net and the command net which could reach the Rangers.

"Proceed assault!" He whispered and it was go time. He gripped Prig's shoulder, and Prig began to push the door open inward, very slowly. Nervousness began to consume the pit of my stomach, but it was only because we were getting a HVT and I didn't know what the hell was going to happen next.

Prig could speak Arabic and Pashto, which was the main language of the Kandahar Province. As he continued to open the door, he finally advanced in, followed by Luke, me, and the rest of the guys. Prig began to shout, and I could see Mahud's wife screaming in fear as she laid in her bedroom. An AK-47 lay against one of the mirrors to the far left, as Mahud suddenly arose from under his bed and began to dash for the weapon.

"Stop it, stop it right there!" Prig yelled in Pashto, and miraculously, Mahud stopped dead in his tracks. He was literally seconds away from Prig shooting him dead, and he changed his own destiny in a fucking split second decision. Prig moved his rifle around, and quickly ran to the woman, pinning her against the bed with his hands as she began to go wild and scream all over the place.

"Relax, calm down, relax." He said this in both English and Pashto, and after a little while she finally regain control of herself.

Meanwhile, Luke and I quickly subdued Mahud, pinning him to the floor, and placing a bag over his head. Luke handcuffed him with plastic cuffs, and then Prig came back over to him, and read him his rights and how he was under U.S. custody now. The wife silently weeped, laying down on her bed, as the other guys tried to comfort her and cleared the rest of the room. After a little more time, Luke radioed the choppers.

"Dagger One, Dagger Two; this is Alpha One, over. Mission success and HVT has been seized." He said. I checked my watch and it was 0350 hours. We had successfully completed the mission in a little under thirty minutes, and I was glad. Really glad. Luke got Hamilton and Brady to lift him up and hold him as we walked, meanwhile the Rangers were coming out of the other room. We saw them through the walkway, and from my night vision goggles, they were grinning.

"That's fucking A1 guys!" One of the Rangers said, smiling.

"What happened in the other room?" Luke asked Jono.

"Nothing, it was his two children. A ten year old son and seven year old daughter sleeping in two beds. They were scared as shit as expected, but everything's under control now." Jono said nodding.

"Alright great job done." Luke said, finally smiling. He slapped fives with Jono, and all of us on both teams started congratulating each other. Missions like this were routine, but it felt really good to get a HVT who was crucial to the enemy. Really good.

"Let's move out." Luke said, popping a chemlight on the walkway, signifying we had cleared this floor. We rounded the kids and the wife up, and began to move out. The Rangers would take the kids, the wife, and Mahud, and move back down to the first floor placing them all in the guest room with the group of five men. Our team would go back up the third floor, and round up the weapons and explosives cache.

"Good fucking job bro." Hamilton slapped me a five, as we started up the stairs back to the third floor.

We reached the third floor after a little while and began consolidating the weapons together. We would have to call a Chinook, for Mahud and the other five men in the guest room since our Blackhawks wouldn't provide space for them. The Chinooks would also hold the large assortment of weapons and explosives we'd captured, that we would then turn over to the Afghan National Police later during the day, along with the captives.

After we rounded up the weapons, we went back up on the roof and began to wait for the choppers. It was about a half moon this night, and the wind began to blow considerably again. I had a large mesh sack filled with ammo and two AK-47s, which was at least twenty pounds, and I tried to keep my balance with the heavy sack. The Rangers were on the net, talking about how residents from other houses were coming out to see the commotion. I raced with Styles to the edge of roof, and I looked down at the street below. Civilians were shouting, as another Ranger who could speak Pashto began to tell them to calm down and that a security operation was under way. I could see Jono, standing in front of the front door, just shaking his head with an annoyed look on his face, watching his teammates try to get the situation together. Styles and I laughed.

"Haha, those motherfuckers don't look too pleased with those stupid bitches screaming." He said.

"No shit," was my answer.

We regrouped with the team and Luke asked us what was going on.

"Civilians heard the helicopters, came out and started shouting. Rangers trying to keep them back in." Styles said, summing everything up.

"I don't know what we're gonna do with them," Luke said, talking about Mahud's family. "Gotta let those Rangers know to make the residents keep them until the police arrives. We're running out of time."

"Right," Prig added on. "We have the cover of darkness for about an hour or so, before dawn begins." I looked at my watch and it was 0400 hours, 4 AM. He was right. We had already long lost our element of surprise and our profile was being raised by the shouting residents. We needed to get out and get out quickly.

The residents eventually got the deal, and the Rangers brought out Mahud's family to the other residents. On the net, I could hear Mahud and the men screaming and shouting as Mahud's family left, with the Rangers telling them to shut the fuck up constantly. Sooner or later, at around 0410 hours, the choppers finally arrived. The Chinook, which had Alpha Team inside, made a spectacular move, landing with only it's tail end on the roof and unloading it's ramp. The Rangers had reached the roof with us by this point with Mahud and the five other captives.

Kaz and his team quickly took the captives from the Rangers as the Chinook, call signed Buffalo Three, hung onto the roof. The rotar wash was ridiculous, with dirt and grit flying all over the place, smacking into my night vision goggles.

"Fuck man this sucks!" Spencer yelled.

"You guys need to fucking extract now!" Luke shouted to Kaz and Alpha Team, as the captives went into the chopper and the team began to take the weapons we had consolidated. I handed Garcia, the sniper from last time, my large mesh sack and he raced back to the chopper, piling it with other sacks filled with weapons and explosives.

"Aww fuck, this is bad!" Jono shouted.

After a little more time, Luke radioed the pilot that the rotor wash was intense, and that we didn't have a lot of time. He decided to forget about the Blackhawks and for everyone to extract in the Chinook, citing a need for time and our profile continuously being raised by the noise of helicopter.

"Hold your position, hold your position!" He shouted on the radio to Dagger One and Dagger Two. The Chinook was beginning to wobble as it hung off the edge of the roof, and we began sprinting towards it. Spencer tripped multiple times due to the large battering ram he carried and the large rotar wash. He cursed at himself, as I helped him up and he kept moving again. We eventually reached the chopper, hopping and stumbling onto the ramp quickly. One of the Rangers nearly fell out, as the chopper began to lift off and the ramp was beginning to close, with Jono and I quickly pulling him back him. He thanked us, and after we all got seated down, we were on our way back to base.

The captives were silent. Everyone was silent. I was just so glad we were finally extracting. It was a good mission, and everyone had done what they had to do. I sat down, and felt a burning sensation on my left arm. I didn't see any noticeable wound or anything, but then I turned it over, and saw a large scrape, literally five inches long and two inches wide. Much of the skin was gone, it wasn't very deep, but it began to bleed. I figured it had happened as I stumbled into the chopper, scraping my arm hard against a sharp piece of the metal ramp. The Ranger medic who looked like Zac Efron happened to sit next to me, and he saw the wound.

"Damn bro, need any help? That looks pretty bad." He asked.

"Sure do!" I said and he bandaged it up, putting alcohol on the wound. It burned horribly but it would keep it from getting infected. I looked at my watch and it was 0420 hours. I thought of Crystal again.

She loved football just as much as me. We always bonded over it, watching football games all of the time. Her favorite team was the Giants, which was well anyone from New York's favorite team, but we still had great times together. She also had a wide variety of music she liked, such as modern R&B stars like Rihanna and Beyoncé, to old school musicians from the 60s such as The Temptations, Stevie Wonder, The Doors, The Beatles, and The Rolling Stones.

As I slowly licked my lips and the dry corners of my mouth, I could just taste the way she used to kiss me. I just could feel it, and I could just think it. Her soft, thick, pink lips and her bright smile was the only thing I could feel and think while in the chopper. Then the thought of me fucking things up, and not being there for her when she really needed me, and her always trying to comfort me when I came back home from deployments raced through my mind like a pack of NASCARs on a speedway.

I didn't wanna stay awake, I didn't wanna indulge on the thoughts any more. But I couldn't sleep. A lot of the guys used Ambien, a sedative pill, because our sleeping schedules were usually fucked up due to the vampire hours we operated in. I took out a little bottle of Ambien, and got a bottle of water from one of the Rangers, as I drunk a couple of pills. A minute or so later, I began to doze off and then I was fast asleep, as the chopper continued to move through the dark sky, heading to our base.

Chapter Ten - Consistency
1500 Hours (3:00 PM) - 1600 Hours (4:00 PM)

October 16, 2012

FOB Goldberg, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

We just came back from PT and the range. I was sweating profusely, with my chest rig and my AOR 1 Cryes' on. This last week has been slow, and we've been trying to keep up the pace with constant training on the range and kill house. Guys have also been constantly using the gym, and keeping their bodies into shape. The relatively slow pace of operations has limited the amount of vampire hours we got, so most of us were awake training at this point.

But like I said, everything is constant. It's the speeding train. If you're not operating, you're training. If you're not training, you're operating. If you're doing neither, then you're probably preparing for both. Consistency is key.

Mahud was taken by the CIA, which was surprising. The police ended up turning him over after a couple of days, and now he's in CIA custody. It's crazy cause he's probably getting tortured or interrogated on an aircraft carrier or something. Maybe he's even getting sent to Guantanamo Bay. I don't know. We just haven't gotten any word from the agency yet, so we don't necessarily know whether he's been talking or not.

The police kept the other five captives however. They're probably in a prison somewhere in Kabul, also suffering similar fates.

It wasn't our problem though. It was our job to do the dirty work and capture them, that was all. We didn't do the other side of the bargain. Interrogation and torture were things not under our control, and were ways you expected them to be treat anyways. After all, Mahud has committed mass atrocities in Helmand, with numerous suicide bombings and mass shootings being linked to him and Zawahiri's chain of fighters. I didn't know about the five other captives, but you could presume they were probably doing the exact same things.

I hoped Mahud's family was okay. I didn't think they chose that way of life, but their careless father had put them in such danger and such high-risk situations. I hope they'd be alright.

The Rangers left later that day when we captured Mahud. I said goodbye to Jono, and I told him to keep his head together and always remember that was he was like a brother to me. We gave each other big hugs and promised we'd see each other sometime during our leaves. And that was it. We were back to our own respective works, and we still had jobs to do.

Another thing I should mention is the hostage we rescued back in Somalia, Matt Edgerton, has just been released from the hospital about a week ago. He left it with his wife who was by his side, and he received a standing ovation. What made me happy however, was that in an interview conducted right after he left the hospital, he said he would like to thank the brave and courageous men of the U.S. special operations forces who rescued him and gave him a second chance at life. He also thanked Griffin, for sacrificing his own life just to save his.

It really put a smile on my face. It was really emotional. You felt like you were really making a difference and saying lives, and it was good feeling. Every dude on the teams felt that way. We all felt good. But at the end of the day, we knew it was just another day at work when we rescued him.

Like the Navy SEAL motto says, The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday.

Now, I just finished using a shotgun on the range, as training today was mostly close quarters and presenting lethality, with Charlie Team using the kill house to do CQB. The shotgun was never in my gear locker, because well I rarely went out on ops with it, but I loved to use it during breaching in CQB training or just shooting it on the range. It was a heavily modified Remington 870, like the one I mentioned before with a ten-inch sawed off barrel and the stock cut down into a pistol grip. There was a mini-holographic sight on it, a laser sight, and the entire gun was spray painted AOR 1. It was totally beefed up and held little to no resemblance with the original 870s.

DEVGRU armorers were the best in the business, no doubt. They took pride in providing us with such great weapons, which was nothing standard issue. They could put whatever we wanted or almost any individual modification we wanted on our weapons, and it allowed us so much flexibility with the guns we used. No one's weapon looked exactly the same, everyone had their own preferences and the armorers loved to demonstrate that.

After all, the armory at Virginia Beach has a sign that says, "You dream. We build."

I went to the mess hall afterwards, trying to get a nice meal after my long period of training. Currently, they were serving lunch. Or, what were the remains of lunch.

The mess hall was old and rusty, filled with wrinkled pictures of the food groups that had been around for decades, and the stench of the greasy food surrounded you everywhere. The food was served in long stainless steel-buffets, like the ones you'd see in the 'States, and most of it didn't look good, as I expected. The cooks who provided us the food seemed bored and agitated, like they hated their jobs.

The french fries were thick and soggy, saturated with oil and fat. Grill cheese sandwiches dripped from grease, as the processed cheese melted in awkward angles. Clumpy mash potatoes splattered as they were scooped onto plates. It didn't matter though, I didn't care. I was hungry and it provided the energy we needed to constantly train and do the missions we needed. I didn't expect restaurant quality food.

I took some fries, and some clumpy mash potatoes. There was a little table around the buffets that had extra seasonings and sauces, such as salt, pepper, gravy, mayonnaise, ketchup, and etc. I poured the thick gravy and sprinkled pepper on my potatoes, and took two ketchup packets for my fries. I then went over to the grill, where another cook was cooking up steaks and hot dogs. He had an apron and a hat like the other cooks, but what caught my eye was the large number of tattoos on both of his arms. He was also tall and stocky, and had crystal blue eyes and blonde hair.

This dude looked like a heavyweight UFC fighter, I thought. What the fuck was he doing behind a grill cooking greasy slabs of meat for guys in the field? In fact, he looked like he should be IN the field himself.

I went over to the short line of guys, and waited before it was my turn to order. Lunch was mostly over, but the mess hall was still open for guys like us who were training before.

"Sirloin steak," I said, as I reached the cook. "Medium-well done please." He looked at me and nodded his head.

"Gotcha," He said. I was the last one on the line and everyone else was eating, so I decided to spark up some conversation.

"Bro, you ever thought about BUD/S? I mean you look like a heavyweight fighter to me, but..." I said with a grin, and he laughed.

"Haha, yeah you're a SEAL right? Team Six too?" He asked, as he flipped my steak and a couple of hot dogs.

"Sure am," I said smiling. "You just got the look, man. You shouldn't be behind a grill and shit, you look like you'd fit good in the teams. What's your name by the way?"

He giggled and said, "Weiss."

"Nice to meet you Weiss, just call me Lance." I reached my hand out and he shook it, with a firm grip, a really firm grip.

"Shit man, that's a strong grip!" I said, and he laughed. "But seriously, you should really consider it. It's hard, It's really hard, but it taught me a lot."

He flipped my steak one more time.

"Man I would," He said. "I love challenges. I've heard about BUD/S before. But the thing is, I kinda got a felony for drugs, man. I grew up in Cleveland and shit was bad there. I kinda went on the wrong track, and the military was the only thing that got me out. Because of the felony, being a cook is the only thing I can do." He shook his head.

"Damn bro, try to get a waiver. There was a SEAL Team Six guy named Adam Brown who suffered through drug addiction and crime, and was KIA two years ago. He was happy and had a whole family before he passed, and his story is of crazy strength and resiliency." I said, and we kind of went silent for a little.

"My point is, you have to stay resilient. Be hopeful and never quit. Trust me, try your hardest and you'll eventually get a waiver. Make the most of it, okay?" I said and patted his shoulder.

"Thanks bro," He said, placing my steak on my plate. "I'll be sure to remember that. Seriously. Now, sit your ass somewhere and eat that slob of shit!" We laughed and I said goodbye to him.

Adam Brown was a Gold Squadron guy killed in action on deployment to Afghanistan two years ago. He was well liked by everyone, literally everyone, in the teams and he was extremely well respected. Griffin had told me all about him before the deployment, and how he'd died covering his team during an assault on a compound, and how he'd met Adam during training a couple of times. He also told me how he had overcomed all odds, fighting his drug addiction and criminal record, then joining the Navy and starting a family, serving for twelve years until his death in 2010.

His story was as resilient and courageous as you could get and it weighed on my mind sometimes. It also still weighed on my mind heavily, that him and Griffin's names were on the second deck. The second deck is a place at Virginia Beach where only DEVGRU operators work and are allowed, and the entrance is paraded with pictures and memories of our fallen brothers. Tens of names; Of guys we knew, had drinks with, laughed with, deployed with, trained with, and sacrificed so much with. It reminded you so much of the sacrifices team guys made everyday and of the luck you truly had.

I took my plate, and then walked back to the stainless steel buffets. I took another plate, and on top of the counters that held the buffets, were lines of cakes and pies. I took two slices of red-velvet cake, which was my favorite. The desserts were always good. You could never go bad with cake. I also took a pint-sized carton of orange juice.

I looked at the long rows of tables in the dining area. They were mostly empty, with team guys here and there murmuring about things and munching on food. I spotted Brady and Spencer sitting at a table in the far back by a couple of trash cans, and I walked over and took a seat next to them.

I told them hello and they returned the favor. They both looked at me and grinned sheepishly.

"Joke?" I asked, "Besides, why the fuck did you guys decide to sit in the worst seats here? I don't wanna smell garbage, and I can't even see the flatscreen from here."

There was a large, fifty inch TV attached to a corner of one of the walls, high up in the mess hall so we could watch television and have a little entertainment. The television was giving a well-known war movie called Full Metal Jacket. It was old school, and was made in the late 1980s. It was about a squad of Marines through boot camp and through the Battle of Hue City in the Vietnam War. I had watched it numerous times, and it was one of my favorite war films. It wasn't the most realistic war film out there, but it was very entertaining.

"Hey asshole," Brady said grinning, bringing back his popular shit talking. "Have you noticed you're still wearing your plate carrier and headset?" Spencer snickered while chewing on pieces of fruit.

I grinned and flipped him the bird.

"You were in such a rush for shitty chow you forgot to take it off? God-damn Lance, you're taking L's everywhere!" Spencer said and we laughed. We called losing or losses, "L's." Whenever you looked dumb in a situation, been proven wrong considerably, or have just actually loss in something, then you've taken an L.

"Yeah yeah, suck my dick you ugly fucks." I said, "Brady don't bring up the time we caught you jacking off in the hooch with a tub of Vaseline." Spencer burst out laughing, spitting the fruit out of his mouth, as Brady giggled and nodded, aware that my comeback was too good for him to go against. The funny part is, it was actually true.

"Alright alright, you got it bitch." Brady said, and we laughed some more. I finally took off my headset and armor, and laid it down on my side of table, as Spencer grinned at me.

"So how's the food guys?" Brady sarcastically asked.

"Eh, better than usual. I don't think I'm gonna be fucking shitting bricks in the porta potty this time." Spencer said, referring to his first day on base. We chuckled, and I stuffed some fries in my mouth.

"Yeah it's okay, hope my steak is good." I said, as they began looking at my plate.

"Right, it looks good bro." Brady said, smiling, and I returned the smile.

"Food is okay, but I'm wondering when we'll be back in the shit again." Spencer said, changing the topic to our operations.

"I don't know bro." Brady said, "Things have been slow but Master Chief has been keeping up the pace with this training. I checked the weight scale today at the gym, and I've already lost five pounds."

"Yeah man. I finished a whole box of 5.56 ammo for my rifle yesterday, just shooting." I added on.

"Exactly, we're training our asses off but things are getting slow again. I'm waiting for something good. This deployment ends in two and a half weeks, we need to get things heated up." Spencer said, sighing. He had grown his beard out, and his hair. He had a jew fro like Jonah Hill in Superbad, and a large, viking beard. I laughed as he took a sip of his milk, dripping all over his beard.

Brady looked at me and saw what I was laughing at, and began laughing too.

"Joke, guys?" Spencer asked, staring at us.

"Milk is dripping on your beard, you look like a crackhead from New York." I said and we bursted out laughing. Spencer flipped us the bird, and shook his head.

"You guys could suck the farts out of a hajji's ass. That's why my dick is big and I got the best shot on team, fuck outta here!" He said with excitement, and we laughed some more.

"I'll suck the farts out of a hajji's ass once they stop playing these damn 'Nam films we've seen countless times." Brady said, shaking his head, staring at the television far away.

"Right I've seen that three times, it gets old. Like seriously, Joker and Gunnery Sergeant Hartman can eat a bag of dicks!" I said, and Spencer snickered.

"You guys heard about Zero Dark Thirty?" Spencer mentioned.

"Yeah," Brady said. "I know it's about the Bin Laden op, but I can't wait till those motherfuckers get everything so wrong, man."

"I don't know bro," Spencer said. "I saw a couple of trailers and the guys playing the SEALs were wearing AOR 1 Cryes and the night vision goggles we used. It was fascinating."

"Eh who cares," Brady answered. "Can't get the way we operate right."

"I honestly don't care too." I chimed in, "Just as long as most of it is accurate and they don't make us look like robots or some shit, I'll watch it." We settled on that.

We also talked and laughed some more in the mess hall, but then sooner or later, we were back at the hooch. I scarfed down my food, and my stomach was full by the time I got back. I had also actually enjoyed the clumpy mash potatoes, and I didn't know when I was gonna eat again. Much of the guys were knocked out when we got back, and the three of us, plus Styles, were awake. They started talking about irrelevant things, like who was gonna win the NBA championship during the upcoming season or whether Jennifer Lopez had a better ass than the infamous Kim Kardashian.

I didn't care. I took out my cell phone, an iPhone 4S, and started bumping music. My iTunes playlists were mostly filled with hip hop artists, such as Eminem, Drake, Kendrick Lamar, and Tyler The Creator. Gangsta' rap artists such as Chief Keef and Lil' Durk from cities like Chicago also had places in my playlist. The rest was mostly a lot of alternative rock, from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Linkin Park, Maroon 5, The Black Keys, and of course, Coldplay. All and all, I had spent at least $150 on just songs and albums itself.

Yes, I could just download apps to listen to music for free. But being constantly deployed and being all over the world, cell phone service and wireless internet wasn't always guaranteed. It was better to just put the music directly on my phone.

Coldplay was my favorite band. They were four dudes from the U.K. who had sold millions of albums, had won and been nominated for multiple Grammy Awards, and were one of the best bands in the world. I had been listening to them for about twelve years, since their debut album, and I had all of their albums on my phone, with multiple B-sides as well. Currently, I listened to the B-side, 'I Ran Away,' from their second album in 2002, called A Rush of Blood to the Head.

I always liked the more melodic and emotional style of rock, so they fitted what I liked perfectly. I could listen to them over and over again, and never get tired of them.

I bumped, and the guys continued to talk about pointless things. I switched my song to 'Otherside' by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I wanted to eat more even if I was full, but I didn't feel like going back to the mess hall. Besides, it was probably off limits since we were the last ones in there anyways. My mind began to wonder as I finally took off my headphones, and I started to think about the first time I took another life.

I remember the date. November 17, 2004 at around 0900 hours. I was a young Marine back then, only twenty years old, and I was ranked a Lance Corporal. We were doing door kicking and room clearing ops early in the morning, deep in the streets of Fallujah during the big offensive we'd launched to drive the insurgents out. My squad leader had split us into fireteams, and I was with my team of four guys, lead by our team leader, Corporal Ross.

We were walking up a flight of stairs in a large apartment complex, going up to the third floor, after the rest of the squad had cleared the first two floors. I was point man, as I usually am now, and we reached an apartment. Most of the place was clear and deserted, but we were just making sure no insurgents were in any apartments or rooms secretly hiding to ambush us on sight. I reached the apartment, and yelled if anyone was inside. No one wasn't, so Ross made me kick the door in, and we all proceeded in. We peered off to different directions, and literally as soon as I reached one of the bedrooms, a hidden insurgent began sporadically firing his AK-47, under the cover of the bed he'd flipped over. I was scared, fucking scared out my mind, cause he was literally ten feet away from me.

The rest of my team got to cover, and the only thing that protected me was the wall a couple of feet away from the bedroom door. I was scared shitless, and my team leader kept screaming at me to fire back. After about thirty seconds of sporadic firing, there was finally silence. I realized the insurgent was going to pin us down and we needed to get the fuck out, and eliminate him.

So I did some crazy shit, I don't even know what I was thinking, but I rushed him. I ran into the bedroom, popping off rounds from my M16 into the flipped mattress he was hiding behind, hearing him aching and moaning as the bullets went through the mattress. I just kept shooting and shooting, and even after he stopped moaning, I flipped the bed back down, and shot him at point blank range.

I lost my cool, I just went on a rampage. I wasn't even clearly thinking, the only thing on my mind was that I had to neutralize him in whatever way it took. That was all.

He was dead for sure, hell he was desecrated. I had shot his whole body all over the place. Bullets riddled his chest and legs, and the top part of his face was just blown away. It was horrific to look at, and a river of blood began to soak up my boots. Ross ran over to me and saw what I had done, looking at me with a huge face of awe.

"Holy shit, bro! Look at his motherfucker!" He said, smiling with surprise. "You finally popped your cherry, good fucking work!"

We cleared the rest of the apartment, and Ross told the rest of my squad. Guys began to congratulate me on my first kill, and how I'd done such a good job, and this and that. One part of me felt happy, happy that I'd made my squad proud and I had gotten my first enemy and my first kill. The other part however, tried to fully make sense of what I had done. My morals and sanity kicked in. My mind raced in patterns all over for the rest of that day, thinking how I'd really taken another human life and how I'd really shot him to death. How this was an actual person, who could've had a family, friends, a life before the war, and much more.

It weighed on my mind heavily, until I realized that it was all about survival. I had killed him to keep my own self alive and the rest of my squad alive. He was putting our lives in danger and I was going to stop that. That was how it always reasoned in my mind. ''Better him, than me. My life over his life.'' And after awhile, it started to wear off. It started to be routine. Going into a housing complex and killing a couple of insurgents, it just started to be routine and the killing doesn't really worrying you anymore.

But until this day, I vowed to never lose my sanity. Never. I would always do what was right, and I'd only kill if I had to protect myself and my brothers around me. That was that. Anything else, it was just bullshit. I didn't join the military just to take human lives; Yes, without a doubt that's still a very difficult and horrible thing to do, taking another human life. But then you realized, your life, and your teammates lives depended on it. It was your job, and you had to do it to stay alive.

Back in the hooch, the guys started playing video games. They were playing Battlefield 3, a well known first-person shooter with very realistic graphics and fun mechanics. Styles played, while Brady and Spencer encouraged him and peppered him with insults whenever he fucked up during the gameplay. It was 0340 hours now. I went outside the hooch, wearing my tactical shades and my FDNY cap flipped backwards, drinking a bottle of Gatorade.

A Chinook helicopter began to land at the HLZ (helicopter landing zone). A truck that cleaned the shit out of our porta-potties passed by. I could smell the chemicals it contained from far away as it went by. Support personnel walked around in kit, most likely back from the range. I took out a pack of cigarettes and had a light. I rarely ever smoked, but right now I just felt like I needed to. I don't know why.

I inhaled, taking in all of the toxic and thick smoke of the cigarette, then exhaling. I took another strong inhale, and I almost started coughing heavily. Fuck this shit, I thought. I don't even really smoke, fuck it.

I threw the cigarette on the ground, and took another sip of my Gatorade. Spencer came out of the hooch and saw me standing by the wall, looking like one of the dudes from Duck Dynasty with his thick beard.

"You okay bro?" He asked.

"Yeah sure, I'm just a little tired. Want to be back in the shit again." I answered.

"Righttt. Wanna come back inside? We can play 2K or Madden if you like." He said, trying to bring up my spirits and hopefully entertain me.

"Nah I'm fine bro, go enjoy yourself." I answered. For a second we were silent.

"Alright..... Hey you sure you're okay?" He asked again.

"Yeah haha, don't worry about it!" I chuckled, and then he smiled and went back inside.

I was okay. There wasn't anything really wrong. But things were starting to become a drag again. I honestly just wanted the deployment to end already. I hated the pace. One minute we're in the shit, next minute we're at our hooches playing video games and doing nothing. And if we're doing none of that, we're training our asses off for operations that might not even come around. But at the end of the day, it was all for the right reasons; The training of course. You just sucked it up and kept going.

You can never slow down the speeding train, I thought.

As I stood by the hooch, my mind began to spin with different thoughts again. Whenever I'm bored, this usual course of indulging in thinking happens over and over again. I started thinking about my biggest fears in the SEALs and how I overcame them.

Let me start off by saying I'm not a big fan of heights, and my first HALO/HAHO jump was not that great. It also wasn't easy learning how to rock climb and rappel out of helicopters high up in the air. Swimming wasn't also so fun at first either. But my biggest fear, without a doubt, was IEDs. Improvised Explosive Devices that insurgents absolutely loved to use in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I had seen what an IED could do to someone all the way back to my deployment to Iraq with the Marines. And as you know, I definitely saw what it could do to the Rangers on the op couple of weeks ago. It wasn't necessarily the fear of the bomb itself actually, but it was more of the aftermath. Losing limbs. Possibly getting disfigured from severe burns. Losing my SEAL career. It was all things that scared me to death, and I wouldn't know how I'd deal with it.

But after a while, once I realized that SEALs had a lot of luck and it was better to be lucky than good, it stopped weighing on my mind so much. And once better technologies started arriving to defeat IEDs, It just wasn't something I could worry about so much anymore. Yes they're still around considerably, but it's the risk I take; Hell not only me, but it's the risk the TEAM takes every time we go on operations. So I push it away and only affect what I can affect.

I continued to look at the rest of the base from my position around my hooch. I spotted a dog handler and his K-9 walking back to their hooch in full kit back from the range. The dog handler looked at me and smiled, flashing me the middle finger. I happy smiled back and returned the favor. My mind flashed to Carina's blowjobs and then I realized I should probably stop indulging on the thoughts by this point, walking back into the hooch.

The guys stopped playing video games, after Luke and Hamilton awoke and told them to shut the fuck up. Everyone was at their mini rooms now and I was tired. I was still hungry. I popped open an MRE from one of my backpacks, which were the shitty individual rations we were given to eat when we were in the field. I fixed up my food, and ate a really bad Sloppy Joe. I didn't care, it filled my stomach up and that was all that mattered. I also had some fruit which were pineapples, some trail mix, and the MRE came with a drink mix that tasted a lot like Gatorade. The dessert were some typical ass, strawberry Pop-Tarts.

I finished my food, and I popped a couple of Ambien, going into deep sleep at around 1600 hours.

Chapter Eleven - Uncertainty.
1700 Hours (5:00 PM) - 2435 Hours (12:35 AM)

November 1, 2012

FOB Goldberg - Arghandab District, Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

Another two weeks have passed. The days just fly by like nothing. Our deployment ends in two days, and we still haven't captured Zawahiri or gotten any new leads to him. Guys were tired, and most of us had a careless attitude about a lot of things by this point. We just wanted the deployment to be done and over with.

Mahud had finally started talking, and he gave us a lead on a compound all the way up in the Ghorak District, just south of the Oruzgan Province. It was a decent sized op, and a team of Afghan National Army Special Forces (ANA SF) accompanied us as well. They were much better than the regular army, and they had been trained, equipped, and taught skills by our own Army Special Forces.

Our troop raided the compound three days ago, which was in a dense village, only to be confronted by angry villagers who had no idea who we were after. After a lot of screaming and hostility from the villagers, we finally aborted the op. It wasn't worth it. Not to mention one of the ANA SF guys fucking beat the shit out of a man in the village who was trying to force him out of his house, and things got really hot real quick.

The villagers complained to a local ANP commander about the raid and the guy who'd gotten beaten up, who then told a high-ranking Army Ranger Captain, which almost started an investigation. We almost got in real deep shit, because of some faulty intelligence from a fucking guy who refused to talk and to instead endure torture and ruthless interrogation from CIA officers. None of it was worth it, none of it.

The past two weeks have also picked up a little, but the pace was relatively still slow. All in all, our troop alone has conducted nearly sixty combat operations in just three months. Fucking three months! And the deployment still wasn't over either. Anything could happen in these last couple of days. I also grew out my beard, and my hair. I looked crazy. I had a mini, curly Afro, and a thick beard that reached my Adam's apple. I rarely ever grew out my hair in such length unlike everyone else, but now I looked just as much as a cavemen or viking just like the rest of the guys. We would probably have to shave after we returned from the deployment, however, and that was fine with me.

What was also interesting was that we went on an op with the elite British Special Boat Service (SBS) a week ago. They were one of the UK's elite Tier 1 special operations forces, besides the famous SAS (Special Air Service), and specialized in maritime counter terrorism, just like us. They were essentially the UK's SEAL Team Six, the same way the SAS was basically the UK's Delta Force. In fact, Delta Force was created based off of the SAS and it's history. They were part of the British Navy and the majority of the guys in the SBS came from the British Royal Marines.

We did basically the same things, and they were fun guys to be around. They carried P226 pistols just like us, and had L119A1 carbines; Which was their designation for the C8 carbine (Canada's version of the M4). They also had L96 sniper rifles, 870 shotguns for breaching, and MP5 sub machine guns for CQB. Their designated marksmen even had the HK417s that we also used. Their gear was also very similar; They wore Crye's AC combat shirt and pants (which they mismatched often like us), Crye Precision Airframe and Ops Core helmets (few of them had older MICH 2000/2001s), and various types of plate carriers and body armor.

They even did the body armor over t-shirt style that we loved to do as well.

The SBS guys' C Squadron were on a deployment to Afghanistan, and had a troop in the far west of the Panwayi District, near the border of the Helmand Province. They had finally found leads on a HVT they'd been after for months, and they decided to launch a night raid on his compound, with assistance from us. The operation had their whole assault troop of sixteen operators going, plus my team and Charlie Team going as well, totalling at around thirty one assaulters for the mission. The compound was guarded my multiple Taliban fighters all around, and we would have to be quick and decisive to get the job done.

It went pretty fucking well actually and we ended up eliminating both the HVT and all of the fighters in a matter of ten minutes, with no casualties sustained of our own.

"Great fucking job!" Their troop leader had said, some guy we called Shanahan. He was old and ugly, and was like five foot five, with a thick English accent and great sense of humor. He was the kind of guy you felt comfortable with as soon as you met him.

"Since you've helped us out, you blokes want some fish n' chips and free pornography? No rubbish mate, we have the highest quality sluts for offering!" Shanahan had said to us after the mission, looking more ugly as he grinned, and we all bursted out laughing, waiting for the Chinook in the middle of the night.

Currently at this moment, we were at our hooches. Most of us had just awoken from a long period of sleep because we were on vampire hours again, and I had awoken an hour and a half ago. I was on my bed, listening to music again. This time, bumping a couple of songs from Eminem, particularly The Real Slim Shady and The Way I Am, my personal favorite. I was bumping until one of the guys started to speak up.

"Fuck man, it's brick dick and hard nipples right now!" Styles said, and some of us snickered at his hilarious choice of words.

He was right though. It was the beginning of November, and it was starting to get really cold, especially during the evening. It was the start of sunset now and it was about forty degrees. The winter was incoming, with the temperature expected to decrease steadily in the next days and nights. Thankfully, Kandahar has a very dry climate, so we don't expect much precipitation. Guys were already wearing their Arc'Teryx jackets and hooded sweaters in the hooch, trying to stay warm. I was wearing my crocodile brown soft-shell jacket and nothing on my legs expect some briefs and field pants, laying on my bed.

"It won't get any better bro," Hamilton chimed in. "It's only gonna get colder. You're fucked either way."

Styles sighed, "I know but it just sucks right now. I'll suck it up though."

"I mean it isn't that bad," Luke said across the hooch. He was chewing gummy worms. "Back in Idaho, we liked this time of year as it wasn't too cold, and it was way better than the shitty tornado season we suffered in the spring."

"It always sucked in Jersey. I only appreciated the winter when it snowed and I had no school that's it! Fuck the cold!" Brady said with a grin.

"Cold or not, it didn't matter." Spencer chimed in himself, "In San Diego, I'd just go to the beach and go surfing any time of the year, fuck that. Winter didn't existence in Cali."

"We know and we don't care." Brady said with a sarcastic grin, and Spencer flashed him a middle finger.

"Wait aren't you a little too big to be surfing?" Styles asked, trying to be smart, and we started giggling.

"Aren't you a little too small to be in the SEALs? I thought jacked up leprechauns weren't allowed?" Spencer snapped back, and we started laughing heavily, including Styles. The jokes were all part of the fun.

"ANYWAYS," Luke said, giggling. "Guys, let's go get chow. The mess hall closes in thirty minutes."

"Sounds like a plan." Prig said, smirking. His guitar was beside him on his bed.

"Those cheap motherfuckers better not fucking have roast beef and mash potatoes as one of the entrees again or I'm super kicking a cook, fuck outta here!" Brady said defiantly, and we laughed some more.

"I heard they have it again, good luck doing wrestling moves on a cook who probably spits in your food." Hamilton said, and we snickered at Brady.

Eric Hamilton, his full name, was from a small town in Massachusetts (I don't remember the name). He was thirty one years old, and had been in the SEALs for eleven years. He earned his SEAL trident a little after 9/11, and has been on over ten total deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan since. He finished Green Team in early 2007, and he's a Chief Petty Officer. Like I said, Hamilton is a pretty cool guy, and he used to drive go-karts and dirt bikes as a kid, with original plans to become a race car driver before the military came his way.

He's average height and pretty average built. He looks ordinary and you'd never think this guy was part of one of America's premier counter terrorism teams, and has gotten a lot of bad guys in war torn countries. He's going to be a team leader eventually, and probably has a deployment or two left before he gets the bill.

Back in the hooch, Brady answered Hamilton.

"Fuck that I'll eat a salad. I don't know what SEAL eats a salad, but fuck it." Brady shrugged.

We went to the mess hall at around 1730 hours and as expected, one of the entrees was indeed roast beef and mash potatoes again. I skipped the entrees, and went to the snack bar. It was moslty junk food, but it'd provide the energy I needed. I took two cheeseburgers, and threw on lots of fries and got a nice can of Diet Pepsi. We all ate up quickly and I was pretty full by the time we got back to the hooch around 1800 hours. We talked some more and wasted some more time in the hooch before around 1830 hours, we went out on the range and some guys peered off to the gym.

Alpha Team had the kill house today, cause we'd use it yesterday. It sucked, but it was okay. The kill house was so fun because it simulated CQB so accurately. Made up of hallways, rooms, and corridors, the kill house was a purpose-built small building used as a realistic test for CQB. Many times we'd do PT right before going into the kill house to make ourselves tired, and to simulate the stress of a real mission. It was so accurate because everything was a split-second decision, the same way there were split-second decisions in the way we assaulted compounds. It heightened your nerves and stress, and you had to always stay calm and alert, or else you'd fuck up and miss a call or a target.

The one on our base was nothing compared to the ones at our training sites back home, but it was still fun to have.

The range was okay. I did a little long range shooting with my sixteen inch '416, and shot a couple grenades from my M79. Our targets today were from three hundred to six hundred meters out. It was fun as hell not only firing off rounds off your weapon, but watching the other guys as well. Spencer was just desecrating targets with his MK.48, shooting it with powerful, continuous bursts of fire. The thick 7.62 rounds kicked up the dirt in rhythm, and absolutely shredded the wooden targets we had set up. Kane, the RECCE sniper from before, was hitting targets with almost perfect accuracy from his HK417. Other guys like me were shooting our HK416s with our own modifications for long range firing, and we finished thousands of rounds of ammunition quickly.

We finished our training in about an hour and it was 1930 hours. Then around 2000 hours, Peter alerted us to get set for a mission, and that we'd go after a target in a couple of hours. He led us into the briefing room, and turned on the PowerPoint. Apparently, we were after an Al-Qaeda facilitator, who had traversed into Kandahar from Pakistan, mixing in with Taliban fighters, and was now leading a column of fighters in the Arghandab District. ISR drones had tracked them down the last couple of hours, and had figured they were going to reach a bed-down location any time soon now. It was our job to find them quickly, presumably before reaching their location, and eliminating them with no hassle. It was going to be one of our last good missions during the deployment, and everyone was excited and kept their heads together.

As of course, Peter was staying behind at the hooch. That's the thing about the officers at the command. They're rarely going anywhere. Officers are usually at base commanding what's going on the field, and doing pre-mission planning and debriefing. If you wanted to be kicking doors in DEVGRU, you had to be enlisted. You wanted to be sipping cups of coffee and switching PowerPoint slides, you became an officer. That was the way it was. Officers usually went out on the big ops, or when we really needed that kind of guidance or leadership down in the field, which was rare.

Peter was cool though. He was in his late thirties and has been a SEAL for around fourteen years. He saw most of his combat as a platoon leader in SEAL Team Five, going on multiple combat deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan after 9/11, and trying out for Green Team in 2007, getting selected in 2008. He's been a troop commander ever since, and he's expected to become the squadron commander after some Green Team instructing and a little more time as a troop commander.

He's a lean guy, and he's pretty tall, reaching my height. He grew up in Nevada, and was a wrestler in high school and college, eventually earning his degree and joining the Navy as an officer. He's also a family man, and has been married as long as he's been in the Navy, and has four kids. Peter is really a well rounded guy.

After the briefing, It was 2030 hours, and we got our gear ready. Then, we waited in our hooches for the green light, in what seemed like endless time. Pure endless fucking time. It wasn't until 2200 hours, literally an hour and a half after the end of the debriefing, that we began the operation. The drones had spotted the fighters finally stopping their positions, around a farm in front of a village, and we finally got the go ahead.

We went out in two Blackhawks, our team and Alpha Team. Marc had also tagged along, and he rode in the chopper with us. A dog handler and Bruno the dog also went on the chopper with Alpha Team. All and all, there were about seventeen guys and the combat assault dog. There were only about ten fighters, so we didn't need to be large in numbers today. Anderson was with us again, and my team was in his chopper. Another chopper, callsigned Dagger Three, flew with us and had Alpha Team and the dog handler.

Charlie Team stayed at base as a QRF (quick-reaction force), in case things got hot.

We landed four miles from the target in a little over twenty minutes, and it was about 2225 hours. The plan was to patrol all the way to the farm near the village and hopefully catch the fighters off guard, who seemed to be hiding near or in a barn situated in the farm. There was a cluster of squat houses around the farm that probably housed the farmers, and we didn't want to alert them and possibly compromise our positions. We had to be quick and deadly.

Currently, it was 2310 hours, about ten minutes after eleven o'clock. It was cold, really cold. It was around forty degrees during sunset, but the temperature had further dipped around ten degrees as the hours passed, and it was pretty cold now. For this op, I was wearing my Arc'Teryx soft shell jacket, the same crocodile brown one I was wearing all day. I had my regular assault gloves, and nothing extra on my legs. Everything else was just all AOR 1, including my trousers, plate carrier, and helmet. The plate carrier I carried tonight, my '6094, wasn't as comfortable on top of my jacket, and it was a little harder to get used to.

Other guys had worn Multicam and had mismatched with that, as some of the fields we patrolled through were thick with different types of vegetation. A couple of guys also wore Arc'Teryx's Gore-Tex pants, which kept your legs very warm and insulated against rugged weather, but could be very uncomfortable if not used in the proper environment. Personally, I never wore them. I always got too hot in them.

Now, we were patrolling through a river bed, and Prig was on the point, with me fourth in line behind Luke. My feet sunk in the thick water, and it felt weird as shit looking at the water through my night vision goggles. It was cold, and the bottom of my trousers and boots began to get soaked up. I nearly tripped over a rock under the water, with the sling of my HK416 hooking a thick tree branch behind me, pulling myself backward and keeping me on my balance. Brady snickered behind me, and unhooked my sling from the branch.

"Watch out before you end up getting hurt by a tree first instead of a hajji." He said, grinning.

We finally reached the end of the river bed, after about ten minutes. We walked onto an irrigated field, that was about a whole mile long. As we patrolled the large field, to my four o'clock, was a large cluster of squat houses and compounds in the distance, which were probably the village nearby. Eleven o'clock in front of me, was another cluster of squat houses which was probably where the farmers lived, and to the far right of them, was a thick timbered house. We had no doubt that was probably the barn. The farmers had been putting in work during the summer and early fall, irrigating the whole field leading up to their farm. There was little to no precipitation, but with the river bed, the farmers could farm with relative ease. Surrounding the squat houses and almost near the barn, was a tree line.

We patrolled in two formations, with Marc leading our team being second in line, and Alpha Team patrolling on our right flank. The wind chill was starting to suck, it made it feel much colder than it actually was. We were silent, and kept our movement very slow and quiet. It was all one step at a time in the field. Don't run to your death. I had my fourteen inch '416 today, with about five magazines, and my suppressed HK45C, with about three magazines. I could hear Spencer grunt all the way in the rear while carrying the MK.46, and large belts of ammo.

As expected, his MK.46 Mod 0 was heavily modified like the rest of our weapons. It was painted all AOR 1, but sometimes he painted it other colors depending on the environment we were in. The carrying handle, magazine insertion well, and vehicle mounting lugs had been removed to save weight. Picatinny rails were fitted, where Spencer had put a laser sight, a flash light, a foregrip/bipod combo, and he had put an EOTech holographic sight with a 3x zoom magnifier. There were Mod 1s, which were MK.46s with the carrying handle back, smaller Picatinny rails, and a heat shield, but Spencer preferred the Mod 0.

He also replaced the fixed buttstock for a collapsible stock, and had a sixteen inch barrel on it. All in all it was around fifteen pounds, which was light for a machine gun, but the belts of ammo added weight and could make it a hassle.

Ten more minutes passed, and we finally reached the perimeter of the barn. The plan was for Alpha Team to assault directly into the barn from it's entrance, and for our team to assault from the rear exit at about the same time, seizing our element of surprise. The plan was as simple as it could get and we had no issue having to execute it. Marc had me, Brady, Garcia from Alpha Team, and one of the dog handlers with Bruno provide outer security around the barn. I was kind of disappointed that I wasn't going to be directly assaulting with everyone else, but I had to keep my eyes and ears open, and to make sure our position wasn't compromised.

We began to move to our positions. My security team moved to the left side of the barn towards the front entrance, facing the cluster of houses where the farmers lived.

"Security team set." Garcia said on the net.

I didn't know much about him. He was a Hispanic dude from LA who had fiery tattoos on his arms. He looked like he could fit in the Bronx working at a bodega or some shit. All I knew was that he was a sniper and had been in DEVGRU for four years.

The other teams got into position, as I watched my team with Marc move to the rear of the barn and Alpha Team move to the entrance to the right of us. The barn was fairly large, and I'd assumed the guys would throughly search for the fighters hiding inside.

Kaz and his team got in front of the entrance, and we watched them. One of his breachers pulled out a large sledgehammer, and got in front of the door leading into the barn. Kaz said something on the net, and after about thirty seconds or so, I believed he received the affirmative to proceed the assault. The breacher took the hammer by it's extendable handle, and wacked the strong metal knob of the wooden door, snapping it out of place after a few blows. As he moved out of place, Kaz gave his point man the signal to proceed, and the team proceeded in the barn, simultaneously as my own team entered from the rear door on the other side.

I held my gun tight, taking a knee down, as I aimed at the cluster of houses we were facing. I had my magnifier on, and I couldn't see much or anything that was threat through my night vision goggles. After about a minute or so of complete silence, suddenly we heard suppressed shots in the barn. The dog began barking and the dog handler shouted at Bruno to shut the fuck up. Me and Brady were quiet, and Garcia looked back at the barn. After a few more suppressed shots and the muffled sounds of fighters aching due to the impact of the bullets, it was silent again.

"Everything's clear!" I heard Kaz say on the troop net, and after another minute, both of our teams arrived out of barn, unscathed. One of the Alpha Team guys said we had gotten the Al-Qaeda dude, and we cheered up a little.

"Shit that was quick." Garcia said. as they came out of the barn.

"Fuck, we're not done yet!" Marc shouted when he was out of the barn, ending the cheering. "I'm getting info from the ISR that we've got movers coming from the cluster of houses, and they're armed. Let's fucking go!"

Shit!, I thought. It could've been just a bunch of farmers who had somehow heard or seen the commotion, or a bunch of other Taliban fighters who had just managed to bed down at another location near by. Either way, since they were armed, we weren't going to take the risk. We were going to defend ourselves as necessary.

As we all began facing the cluster of houses, I started to see little figures through my night vision goggles, running towards us. Marc got Alpha Team to maneuver just in front of us towards the cluster of houses, as we all began getting into position. The thick soil of the field felt cold against my jacket, as I went prone and surveyed the area and distance in front of me. Literally ten seconds after I threw myself into a prone position, an RPG round discharged and landed right in front of us, sending dirt and shrapnel everywhere. Then simultaneously, the fighters began to open up on us, and then all hell broke loose. It became two firefights, with Alpha Team proceeding closer to the squat houses and engaging a dozen of fighters hopping out of windows and hiding behind the cover of one of the houses, about one hundred meters away. In the second firefight, my team decided to stay behind in the field, engaging another dozen of fighters from another squat house to the right, running right towards us and trying to flank our position, about two hundred meters away.

I picked off two fighters trying fo flank our position from the cover of the tree line on the far right, killing them with rapid accuracy. Spencer was spraying bursts from his MK.46 towards the fighters, hitting the guy with the RPG. He tumbled onto the ground, falling near the tree line, and the RPG fell off his backpack. I thought he was down, until suddenly he started crawling towards the RPG, and slowly cocked it back with the little force he had left, trying to aim it at us. Spencer was about twenty meters away now firing at another position, and I didn't think he'd hear me through the loud gunfire, so I got on one knee, and began popping rounds towards the fighter's position. The rounds impacted his throat and chest, as he flopped backward and the RPG fell out of his hands for the final time.

Luke saw what I did and yelled, "Good job!" which was masked by the barrages of gunfire around us. Tracers flew all over the place, and Marc finally told Hamilton, who was a JTAC, to call for air support. Alpha Team continued to advance forward towards the cluster of houses on our far left flank, firing at the remaining fighters hiding in the houses, as we stayed back and fired at the fighters headed toward the tree line. As I began getting up and moving a little closer towards the tree line, suddenly I heard a small, POP! I turned my head around, and felt a burning sensation on my hand and realized I had been grazed by a round, thick enough to penetrate my gloves and put a thick gash on the top of my hand.

"Fuck I need a medic!" I yelled on the troop net, and Prig ran over to me through a hail of fire with a bandage. He was basically the medic of our team as he was qualified, and he threw himself into a prone position after reaching me, rapping a thick bandage around my hand and telling me to keep pressure on it.

Marc yelled on the net for Alpha Team to hold their positions, as the hail of fire finally began to calm down. Alpha Team was about one hundred meters away from us, fifty meters from the cluster of houses. My team had moved up and we were about one hundred and fifty meters from the tree line. It was an L-shaped formation or assault we had. On the vertical part of the L was Alpha Team all the way towards the houses, and the horizontal part had my team facing towards the squat house to the right of the cluster, and the tree line.

"Shit bro you okay?" Brady crawled over to me.

"Yeah man, it just grazed and it cut open a little deep. It'll be fine, even if it burns a little." I said, showing him my hand.

"Good, stay sharp out here, man." He said and I knuckle touched him.

I looked at my watch and it was 2400 hours. Half an hour had already passed, fuck. It was midnight already. After five more minutes, the remaining couple of fighters somehow opened up again. We fired back rapidly, and thankfully, our air support had arrived just in time. We all ran back towards the barn, as two AH-64 Apache attack helicopters from an army aviation unit in the district provided CAS, and fired multiple Hydra 70 missiles from their rocket pods onto the fighters. It wasn't over, and they also shot two Hellfire missiles with thermobaric warheads at the cluster of houses, completing destroying them. The sound was incredible, fucking incredible, and the shockwave and impact hit the floor like a giant fist from the sky. A large fireball billowed with smoke into the air from the now destroyed houses, and the tree line and field near the houses was scorched with fire.

Witnessing the explosions was surreal. It was like witnessing the atom bomb explosions you saw on TV in person. It reminded us of how powerful our military could really be, and the shit and type of damage we could do when necessary.

Marc decided to take our team and head to the tree line and destroyed houses. Alpha Team stayed in position, providing security in case there were more incoming fighters around. As we got to perimeter of the tree line and houses, I could already feel the intense heat from the fire consume my body. Even if it was cold and the wind chills were bad, the fire didn't discriminate. I started to sweat considerably as I reached the tree line, as Prig, Hamilton, Styles, and Luke checked out the smoke billowing into the air from the remains of the squat houses. Marc, Brady, Spencer, and I would stay around the tree line.

The tree line looked like one of the huge forest fires that tended to happen in the west coast in the U.S. Large craters were everywhere where the missiles had landed. Charred trees teared apart by the fire and impact laid everywhere. The fire burned intensely throughout the whole tree line, creating a large green blur in my night vision goggles, making it nearly impossible to look at anything. I flipped them up, and flicked on the flashlight attached to my helmet, staring at the huge fire burning through the rest of the tree line, along with the other guys.

If I had a mental picture of what hell looked like, the scorching tree line would probably fit perfectly.

"Look for bodies!" Marc said on the troop net.

We started to look around the tree line, and I saw Brady stop dead in his tracks. The illumination of the thick fire had made our vision pretty decent and I could see his face staring at some sort of figure. I jogged over to him and saw what he was looking at. It was the charred remains of a dead fighter, the one with the RPG. His body twisted awkwardly on the schorched ground, as his whole body was burned and charred, being completely black. I could see the definition and shape of his skull, as I looked at the skin that was burned off his face. Beside him, was the empty tube of the RPG, with smoke steaming from the red hot steel, and the entire wooden area of the tube charred and burnt.

"This mothefucker is toasted...." Brady said, sighing, almost sort of petrified by the dead fighter.

I was disgusted. The smell of the body was horrible. The smoke was starting to engulf the tree line, and the heat was making me sweat intensely, and I was having difficulty breathing.

"Fuck man, let's get out of here. This guy is fucking done, let's look around for others and get away from this shit." I told Brady, and we walked some more around the tree line. There were no other bodies. Just charred limbs and whatever looked like identifiable remains. I caught Spencer vomiting after seeing a pile of limbs. It was a grim scene. After a couple of minutes, Marc couldn't take it anymore either and we put a couple explosives on whatever weapons we found and blew them into place. Then we walked away from the tree line, closer to the barn.

I flipped my NVGs back down and looked back towards the rest of guys near the rubble of the destroyed houses. The fire there had finally calmed down, and the guys were just looking through the debris for whatever remains or weapons they could find, and blowing them into place, creating further debris. After about ten minutes, all of us were back around the barn with Alpha Team. Then we piled up the weapons in there, and blew those up too.

It was about 2430 hours now and the guys were silent. There was nothing to be said. We weren't necessarily traumatized, but we had seen some horrific shit and there was no easy way to just act like it was nothing. We realized it was part of the job and you would see a lot of crazy things over deployments, but they didn't just go away quickly.

I was cold again. The fire had warmed me up but now the wind chill started to pick up, and most of the heat I had gotten from the fire was gone. The choppers were gonna be here in five minutes, and we waited in our perimeter around the barn.

"You okay bro?" I asked Spencer.

"Yeah, I just couldn't take it anymore. The heat and the smell was overwhelming, and I just puked all over the place. Plus it reminded me of this one deployment man...." He said, shaking his head.

"Damn man, feel better. Don't dwell on it bro. It's all part of the job, the shit we see and go through. Always keep your head together." I said to him, patting his back, and he nodded.

A couple of more minutes later, the choppers arrived. We all hopped and stumbled inside the Blackhawks, and we were on our way. The crew chiefs slid the doors closed, and I sat with my head against the door, cramped up with the rest of the guys. I was tired, all of us were tired, and I flipped my NVGs up, and closed my eyes.

I fell asleep in the pitch black inside of the helicopter, as it continued to race towards our base, and this was probably our last good operation of the deployment.

Chapter Twelve - Cross Training
0800 Hours (8:00 AM)

December 12, 2012

Satory, France

It was about a month and ten days after our deployment ended. As expected, we didn't get Zawahiri, and hopefully the squadron that replaced us would get him. I sure hoped so. We had busted our ass that entire deployment and there was no way Zawahiri could get away from us another time. No way.

We received two weeks off before returning back to Virginia Beach and beginning the whole cycle of training and deployments again. The command had a policy of having to meet with a psychologist for thirty minutes after the end of each deployment to determine our psychological state of mind and how we were dealing with combat stress. Before, the Navy had began trying to address combat stress in previous years by allowing us to spend extra days off duty in Germany after our deployments, due to the alarming news of PTSD among returning veterans. It was for us to decompress the shit we'd done and been through, and get back into the rhythm of civilian life when we went on leave.

It eventually back-fired because our families were getting pissed off because it made our deployments three days longer than they should have, and the Navy brought in the policy of psychiatric meetings.

This particular meeting, I had went alone. The thirty minute session was to address any issues we were having, and most of the time, we didn't take the sessions seriously. It just became another thing to get done and over with for us after a deployment, but it was still very important.

It went well. Really well. The psychiatrist was a middle aged woman who looked tired and as stressed as I did, and did not look pretty. She seemed like she was a good look in her younger days, but her job and things she'd been through shaped her appearance. I cracked jokes with her and she thoroughly enjoyed my sense of humor. The session went quick, and didn't feel like a drag or anything. It actually felt refreshing to tell about some of things I indulged about and cracking jokes with her.

Honestly, humor is the only thing that really got me through the stuff I've been through. I've been like this my entire life, cracking jokes and just having a laugh had always helped me getting through tough times. I remember my platoon chief at SEAL Team Four had put I had a "larger than life" personality on his recommendation for me to screen Green Team, and the instructors had mentioned that during my interview.

I'm not special; I'm not better than anyone else or cooler than anyone else because of the things I did or what I did for a living. I just like living a happy life, and enjoying myself. Humor allowed me to do that. Being funny and positive certaintly allowed me to do that.

We prided in the SEALs, especially DEVGRU, as being humble guys about who we are and the things we did, and it being all about the team. The command was no place for being self-centered. We liked to use analogies, that we were no better than a doctor who performed surgeries that saved lives. Both professions saved lives and both professions were very respected. Yes they're different, but none is better than the other. This is just our job, and we really fucking enjoy it. That is all.

After the meeting, I finally got the opportunity to go on leave and I went to New York, receiving a decent welcome home from my parents and my friends, Dave and Brian. I started to go on the usual rotation of partying, drinking, and sex, but I quickly stopped because Crystal was the only thing on my mind. I missed her so much. My friends completely respected it as the good friends they were, and allowed me to be alone and do the things that I wanted to do.

I called her the first couple of days, to be rejected constantly. It wasn't until I miraculously ran into her while in Manhattan, and she looked completely different. She had chopped off her long curly hair, making it short into a hairstyle that was very similar to the singer Rihanna's hair earlier in her career. She also looked severely stressed, with dark bags forming under her eyes, and her face fully red as if she had been crying. She also had a septum piercing, and two small hoop earrings.

I didn't even recognize her at first. It was remarkable to see how different she looked after only a month and a half of not seeing her. It appeared as if all of the happiness she had was sucked out of her. I began to greet her, but she simply looked at me and literally walked away as if I was a stranger. No emotion, no talking, no arguing, no facial expression; Just shaking her head as I tried to say hello, and walking away without saying a word. And then at that point, I knew I had fucked up. I had caused insurmountable damage and pain to her. I stopped trying to call her. I stopped texting her, and inboxing her on Facebook. I stopped looking at her social media pages. I just stopped everything.

In a way, you could say she was selfish. In the fact I had just returned from a deployment, and she could completely ignore me like I was a stranger and worried only about her own feelings. That she didn't necessarily understand what I did and what I had gone through, and tended to blame it on me even if I tried to not fuck up. But those things didn't matter. Regardless, it was over.

The rest of the leave was boring. I played video games and went to a Planet Fitness gym in the city. Regular society seemed so uninteresting to me, especially with the fact I didn't have a nice family or any real relationship, unlike many of the guys at the command. I was just itching to get back with the guys, and begin our deployment and training cycle again. We eventually returned to Virginia Beach, and spent a couple of weeks there before starting our training rotation, which was a month deployment around the globe, particularly to Europe. We were there to cross train with a number of special operations units, as training for yet another deployment to Afghanistan right afterwards.

Like I always say, the pace never ends. The speeding train never runs out of fuel. Training, deployment, decompress, repeat. It was a non-stop cycle. We spent eight to ten months every year far from home, in locations all over the globe. We couldn't tell the command no, but we could always tell our families and friends no. They would eventually have to understand the things we did and the things we went through, so they could deal with having us absent all of the time. But some couldn't quite get a hold of it, however. Some couldn't quite understand the things we did and the sacrifices we had to make, and couldn't deal with us being absent all of the time.

Instead, they distanced themselves from us when we returned home and ended relationships with us because they couldn't deal with it. And Crystal was a perfect example.

The last day at Virginia Beach was extremely tough, December 9. It was early in the morning and I had been looking at Griffin's photo in the small memorial on the wall, at the entrance of the second deck, and the words of respect we had written next to it to honor him. His photo was a throwback picture of him and his wife on their wedding day, and they just looked so happy smiling, and were in love. Then my mind flashed to his wife now crying, and grieving over his lost, and her being a widow with his two sons. It was very emotional, and Kaz had saw me staring at the wall.

"You okay, brother?" He asked me, patting my shoulder. I stared at him, my eyes beginning to water, and began shaking my head.

"Not at all. It's hard man, it's really tough. I can just remember him being with us like it was yesterday, and now he's gone forever." I answered.

"I totally understand bro. But don't ever think you're in this alone. Don't ever think you're grieving alone, because we all feel it. I knew Griff for ten, long years. We sacrificed so much for our families and our country. And sadly, Griff paid the most ultimate sacrifice." His eyes began to glisten with tears, and he started to choke up, before telling me a Red Squadron operator had just been killed yesterday. He walked away without saying another word.

The operator was a Petty Officer First Class from Pennsylvania named Nicolas Checque. He was twenty eight years old, and was on a hostage rescue mission to get an American doctor kidnapped by the Taliban in Afghanistan, when he was shot and killed. I didn't know him, but many guys in the troop knew him, including Kaz, and we were devastated. What made things worse was that Checque was already the third SEAL killed in the month. For the rest of the day until we boarded the plane to Europe, we grieved and mourned over our fallen brothers. It didn't help morale, and the atmosphere of the troop was absolutely at It's lowest point I had ever seen it. We usually were cracking jokes and saying stupid shit before boarding flights to deployments and rotations, but it was absolutely silent this time. Silent.

Nothing was said until we reached Europe, which is where we are currently. His death reminded me that even the toughest aren't invisible, and death doesn't discriminate. It was the same when Griffin died. You just had keep in mind to not be scared of it however. It was part of the job. Of course no one wanted it to happen, but when you're an operator, you're giving it all in and all out, and sometimes you may just give your entire life. We weren't afraid of death, and we accepted the fact it could happen at any moment; Whether during our high-risk training or missions, it was something that became part of us. An ultimate sacrifice that we were all willing to pay for our brothers besides us. That's all it is.

As of now, we're in France, training with the GIGN. After a week, we'd go to Belgium to train with their Special Forces Group, then Germany to do maritime training with the commando frogmen, and finally Poland to train with the elite GROM, afterwards deploying to Afghanistan. The GIGN, which was the National Gendarmerie Intervention Group (or in French, Group d'Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale), was France's well known, elite counter terrorism unit. The GIGN has been around for almost forty years, and was started after the 1972 Munich massacre at the Summer Olympics, as France needed a unit that would respond rapidly to terror attacks and hostage situations. Since it's creation, the GIGN has been part of over a thousand missions and has saved over five hundred hostages, which is honestly remarkable.

The GIGN is trained basically at the same level as DEVGRU, with a demanding selection course that has over a 90% washout rate. They also have police capabilities as well, as they came from the National Gendarmerie. Gendarmeries are essentially military forces charged with police duties among the population, and basically, the GIGN was the special operations unit of France's Gendarmerie, making them a paramilitary unit as well. The GIGN was split into three groups for different purposes, with it's intervention group being the combat element filled with operators. They were the guys we were training with of course.

The GIGN is also very small, with it's total size being about four hundred and twenty personnel, and the intervention group having less than a hundred operators. It made sense however. The French military is of course much, much smaller than ours, and not to mention only the best guys got into the GIGN, making it's small size understandable.

The gendarmeries were all clad in balaclavas of different types, masking their face, as the French government has a policy of protecting their identities for operational and personal security. They took it even more seriously than us and liked to stay in the shadows, the same way we did. I really digged it though, and I thought it made them look even more badass and menacing. They were dressed in navy blue coveralls, with black plate carriers (many had shoulder pads), black boots, and wore black Kevlar helmets with thick visors to protect their face against bullets and shrapnel. This was their basic and most used loadout, so of course this varied. Some operators wore combat shirts and trousers in the French CCE camo, with olive green balaclavas and plate carriers, and MICH 2000s. This loadout was primarily for deployments overseas however (such as in Africa or Afghanistan), so you didn't see much around their base.

They didn't have any of the special night vision goggles or expensive Crye Precision or Arc'Teryx gear we had, but their weapons were mostly up to par with us and they made the most of what they had.

The operators had an extensive arsenal of weapons. Their primary rifle was a HK416, just like us, with some operators using SG 550 and 551 rifles, and others with G36Cs. These rifles also had extensive individual modifications, just like us as well, and many were spray painted different colors. They also had sub machine guns primarily for CQB, preferring the older MP5 and the newer P90 which was a direct competitor to our own MP7s. They had shotguns for breaching, preferring the 870, SPAS-12, and M3 shotguns.

These guys also had the most biggest variety of sidearms I've ever seen. At DEVGRU, we were issued primarily the HK45C and P226 with a few other pistols for other purposes, but the GIGN had so much variety I lost track. They primarily used the MR-73 revolver, which was possibly the best revolver in the world, and also had Glocks, Five-Sevens, with P226s and '228s just like us. The gendarmeries had a variety of snipers as well, preferring the HK417 and Accuracy International's Artic Warfare rifles in different calibers.

We were with an entire troop of twenty operators, literally a whole fourth of their intervention group at their headquarters in Satory. We had awoken early in the morning at the barracks at around 0600 hours, and had eaten breakfast in one of their dining halls. The base also had much of the regular Gendarmerie and French Marines, with the GIGN's headquarters secluded from everyone else and the dining halls being top par. Spencer, Brady, and I were with three operators named Sebastien, Marcel, and Philippe. It had only three days since we were in France and two days since being at Satory, and we had already gotten to know them pretty well.

It was funny to look at them without their menacing balaclavas in the dining hall. They just looked like regular guys who liked to have a good time, which they were, but were capable of so much and had a unique mindset. That's basically what sets all special operations units apart from regular units. We all have the same sense of purpose and mindset. All in, and all out. All or nothing. Being above the norm, even when we're just regular people ourselves. Willing to do remarkable and high risk things for the right purposes, and doing the tough jobs that no one else was willing to do. And most importantly, being all about the team. One team, one fight. That's what made us who we are.

The GIGN guys all spoke English pretty well, as part of the language training they received, with thick French accents. We were munching on the food, which was top notch and much better than the shit we received in our own military. I had a bunch of fruit (grapes, strawberries, and pineapple slices) on one plate, and my breakfast on another. There wasn't any of the heavy food saturated with carbs and fats the way we ate breakfast back home, and there was no meat either, which we found hard to get accustom to. I had three large slices of toasted wheat bread on my plate, covered with butter that was melting into the bread, and a croissant with strawberry jam. I also had a large cup of coffee with milk and sugar as a drink.

Even if we didn't have the bacon, ham, sausage and eggs that we loved, the food was at much better quality than the food we received in our own military. None of it was greasy and fried, and it all felt light and healthy to eat. Still, we weren't used to it, so it was weird for us and wasn't as good as it should've been.

"Man, where's the damn bacon? How don't you guys have bacon??!" Spencer said, staring at his bowl of whole grain cereal.

The GIGN guys laughed, as they thoroughly enjoyed their food.

"You Americans love all of the greasy and big plates of food, all at one time. That's why most of you are very big and fat, and walk around like big animals wherever you go." Sebastien said, as we all laughed.

Sebastien was one of the team leaders in the troop, and was thirty three years old. He was from a working class neighborhood in Paris, and had been in the GIGN for five years. He had a ten year old son, and a girlfriend back home, and had been in hundreds of combat operations over the years. Hell, his troop had just returned from Afghanistan two months ago.

He had a brown faux hawk with a stubble beard and was a little under average height.

"Haha, eat shit, bro. I just want some bacon that's all. A damn bowl of cereal won't full me up. This shit isn't even sweet." Spencer said, sighing. Sebastien grinned, and pulled out sugar packets out of his pocket, and tossed them to Spencer.

"This isn't even enough, how y'all operate without collapsing during one training routine? This shit isn't gonna give enough energy." Brady asked, as the operators grinned at each other.

"It does, you're just used to the greasy bullshit that makes us want to vormir {French word for 'vomit']. Like seriously, you Americans are the only ones I know who eat so much fucking eggs in the morning!" Sebastien said and we laughed with him.

"Man fuck y'all," Brady said. "Don't you guys eat snails? What the fuck?"

"Yes we do," Philippe said, snickering. "We call it, escargots. It's very good." He made a fingertip kiss gesture and directed it to Brady, which was a gesture that meant something was good or beautiful. Brady frowned and shrugged.

Philippe was twenty nine years old and had been in the GIGN for four years. He was tall, around six foot three, and had grown up pretty poor in southern France. He eventually joined the Gendarmerie and excelled for five years, before trying out for the GIGN and successfully completing the training. He had piercing dark brown eyes, like Prig, and a medium length Caesar haircut. Him and Sebastien got along well, and he seemed to be his right hand man.

"You guys are gross." Spencer said, shrugging.

"Least we're not fat fuckers!" Philippe said, and we snickered.

"Philippe is right. Besides the lunch is good, and the people here give us wine." Sebastien said. I hope he wasn't fucking lying. Wine sounded nice.

"I like the sound of that." I grinned at him.

"Guys, just keep eating," Sebastien said. "It may be hard to get used to, but it's really high in nutrients and it's good for you."

"You sound like my mother telling me to finish my vegetables, shut the fuck up." Brady said smirking, and we all burst out laughing. It had only been two days and the jokes were already getting started. I knew I was gonna like these guys.

After a little bit more laughter, we changed the topic.

"So who is the best shooter on your team?" Marcel asked. He was sipping his coffee and crunching on a piece of toast.

"Probably Spence," I said, pointing to Spencer, and Brady nodded his head in agreement with me. Marcel smiled at Spencer.

"Yeah, Spencer has got the best shot and carries the big machine guns. We always tell him to get some additional training and become a sniper, but he likes staying deep in the shit as an assaulter." I added.

"I see," Marcel said. "How accurate can you shoot at around five hundred meters?"

"I don't know, but almost 98% percent of my rounds hit the targets, as far as my instructors used to tell me. The thing is though, back in San Diego, my father was a police officer and we used to go out on ranges when I was a kid. He taught me a lot about firearms and all that, and by seventeen, I could shoot a fully automatic rifle with relative ease." Spencer said, sipping on his coffee.

"Fuck man, I knew you were good, but I didn't think you were that good??!" Brady was in disbelieve, and we giggled.

"That's great, maybe even good enough for the GIGN." Sebastien said, trying to be smart.

"Yeah okay." Was Spencer's answer, sarcastically.

"We will settle it on the range." Marcel smiled, and winked at Philippe who was beside him.

Marcel was one of the newest guys in the troop, having arriven to the GIGN just four months ago. He looked young as hell, and was only twenty five. He had grown up in an upper middle class section of Lyon, France, and had a relatively decent childhood, according to him. Apparently he joined the Gendarmerie because he wanted to be more than just a college kid drinking wine and partying around, and wanted to serve his country. He then joined the GIGN because he also felt the need to be unique and found the special forces as what was right for him, eventually going through the crazy selection process and training course, leading him until now.

Behind the menacing three hole balaclava he wore typically, he was just a youth-looking motherfucker with spiky blonde hair, and crystal blue eyes, with average height. I thought he could fit well in a surfing magazine; He belonged in California or some shit.

What made him more interesting was that he spoke the best English out of all three of them. Like his accent was so small, many times he even sounded like us Americans. He told us it was because his father, who was an American businessman who immigrated to France and married a French woman, taught him English from an early age, almost just as much as French.

"We're kicking your asses." Brady said to them.

"We will see. If you can shoot just as much as you eat, maybe you can beat us." Philippe grinned, as we laughed.

"Watch out bro, I'm going to have you shitting snails after the range." Brady said.

That was breakfast with the GIGN in a nutshell. Having a good time, and enjoying some good ol' shit talking. After breakfast finished at 0700, the GIGN troop leader and Peter alerted us we were going to start training in about an hour or so. I got dressed in full kit, wearing all Multicam. I took out my HK416, and my P226, and got ready with the guys in the barracks. The GIGN operators threw on their body armor, balaclavas, and helmets, and got their loadouts ready. It was going to be fun, as we were also training with their own different weapons, and they'd be training with our own different weapons as well.

After all, that's what cross training is all about. Learning different tactics, skills, and lessons from your other counterparts around the world to be a better operator, hopefully using them in a combat zone.