Battle Ready: Memoir of a SEAL Warrior Medic by Mark L. Donald, Scott Mactavish Read Free Book Online Page B

the same fervor as the navy did its SEALs. Like everyone else in the Corps, we made do with what we had, but the SEALs had backing from the fleet, and even from a distance it showed. Marines had Quonset huts and old converted buildings; SEALs had a large compound that straddled the Coronado shoreline. Recon Marines did everything themselves with little personnel support. Thanks to the foresight of SEAL Commander Tom Hawkins, a veteran frogman from the Vietnam era, the teams had fleet sailors to help carry the load in support positions. I continued to think on the SEALs until we arrived at the pool the next day.
    The CCs marched us into a large classroom and introduced us to a first-class petty officer brandishing a gold Trident and impressive fruit salad above the left breast pocket of his uniform—military slang for the SEAL qualification badge and ribbons, respectively. He was incredibly fit with swimmer’s shoulders, a small waist, and forearms that would make Popeye jealous. BM1 O’Connor was a SEAL who spoke like a business executive as he moved around the room. There was no macho posturing or tough-guy talk; he didn’t need it. He carried a quiet authority that instantly captured the class’s attention. Even the company commanders treated him differently.
    Over a period of twenty minutes he told the class about the diving programs the navy had to offer, speaking well of each one of them but saving the SEAL Teams for last. I was completely impressed and immediately understood why the navy held them in such high regard. Then he showed something that I will never forget. During the last ten minutes, he played a short movie called “Be Someone Special.” Personally, I found it to be the cheesiest recruiting film I have ever seen, but apparently I was the only one.
    By the time it ended, everyone wanted to be a SEAL, just not me. However, as recruits eagerly signed up for the screening test the following week, I was summoned to the back of the room by one of the CCs. “Seaman Recruit Donald, this is Boatswain’s Mate First Class Harry O’Connor,” he said, introducing me to the SEAL who had just spoken to us.
    “Donald, they tell me you were a Recon Marine,” he said.
    “Yes, sir,” I answered crisply. Then came the typical string of questions special operations ask one another to verify the person they’re talking with is actually who he claims to be. I could see my company commander out of the corner of my eye as we spoke and couldn’t help but notice a sigh of relief when BM1 O’Connor had concluded I was who I claimed to be. I explained how I came to be there and how I just wanted to return to the Corps. However, it didn’t take long for an experienced SEAL to read this former lance corporal and react in a way that would psychologically control him.
    “I respect your decision, and I must say I’m impressed with your ability to accept your limitations,” he said in a way that both sounded professional and poked at my ego. Then he went on, “We’ve had quite a few marines wash out of training.”
    “Those weren’t Recon Marines,” I said in a questioning tone, nearly interrupting him.
    “No, I believe they all were,” he answered back. Needless to say, over the course of our conversation he successfully reverted me back to an egotistical Hispanic kid that had no choice but go to BUD/S to prove to the world he can make it.
    Nearly four weeks had passed since my arrival at Recruit Training Command, and everything was going along just fine. I had passed the BUD/S screening test, developed a friendship with Harry O’Connor, as much as the circumstances would allow, and given up on trying to explain what my recruiter had told me. Top was right; navy administration screws marines. I was a sailor now, though, and to be honest I was pleased with how things were panning out. That is, until I was called back into the company commander’s office to make a decision with a senior chief petty officer I had