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 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, film, 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. ''

''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, during my second deployment with Marines to Afghanistan, I received an honorable discharge due to me seriously breaking my ankle in early 2006 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 2006, 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 deployments, and I used to mail him a lot and tell him about my combat experiences. 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."

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 2008. 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 three 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 February 2011 and 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.

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 MultiCam 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 and Green Team 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 staring 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 barrages 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.

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 fourth 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 also pretty small, housing my whole troop of about eighteen operators, and also a RECCE (recon)/Sniper troop of fifteen guys, with DEVGRU support and aviation personnel as well. All and all, there were about hundred guys at the FOB in total, including other personnel like cooks and the military police that guarded the base.

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 fit in the hooch and we were designated as Bravo Team.

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 Predator drone feed from the Air Force ISR (intelligence, surveillance, reconnaissance) guys.

The rest of the base had hooches for Charlie Team, the support and aviation personnel, plus the things I already mentioned such as a mess hall and six 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.

"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 G2 combat outfits in AOR 1, AOR 2, which were desert digital and woodland digital camouflages, and sets also 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 sets hanging off the top of the lockers to the side. The other outfits were in the large luggage container at the bottom compartment of the locker, folded neatly and precisely.

What was unique about the Crye Precision outfits were both the trousers and combat shirt. The trousers had built-in removable 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, even with the vanilla SEALs, but as DEVGRU operators, we had the freedom and independence to operate almost any way we wanted.

There were other clothes that came out my luggage container, 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 Armor tactical shirts and briefs that I wore under my outfits. As expected, these were 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 Salomon 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.

The top compartment of my locker also 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. 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 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 4x Trijicon ACOG sight with another magnifier, as well as a suppressor and laser sight. The gun also had a foregrip AND bipod, and there was also a thermal sight I sometimes used on it instead of the magnifier. This was when illumination during our night ops was little to none which lessened the ability of our NVGs, and the green glow of the thermal sight would come in handy.

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 make 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 is it, the righter is it. 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, 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.

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 two Chinooks, two Blackhawks, and two Little Bird helicopters at the base. 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.