SEAL Team Six: Memoirs of an Elite Navy SEAL Sniper by Howard E. Wasdin, Stephen Templin Read Free Book Online Page B

birthday.” He didn’t give a crap. No one did. It was a bit of a reality check.
    The lack of discipline and respect among the recruits amazed me. So many got in trouble for forgetting to say “Yes, sir” or “No, sir.” I was raised to never forget my manners and never forget attention to detail. The guys doing extra duty—push-ups, stripping and waxing the floor—looked like morons. Making your bed and folding your underwear isn’t rocket science. I was raised to make my bed and fold my underwear.
    The company commander and I developed a bond—he’d had the same Search and Rescue job as an air crewman that I wanted. He put me in charge of half the barracks. After finishing almost four weeks of boot camp, a quarter of the recruits were still having problems. I couldn’t understand it.
    Anyone who got in serious trouble had to go to Intensive Training (IT). I told my company commander, “I want to go to IT to get in shape for my Search and Rescue physical screening test, sir.” I don’t remember what the exact SAR requirements were then, but today’s candidates must swim 500 yards in 13 minutes, run 1.5 miles in 12.5 minutes, do 35 push-ups in 2 minutes, perform 50 sit-ups in 2 minutes, and do 2 pull-ups. If I failed the test, I would miss my big reason for joining the navy—Search and Rescue.
    My company commander looked at me like I had a mushroom growing out of my head. “Wasdin, do you know what they do at IT?”
    “The guys that got in trouble told me they do a lot of exercise.”
    He laughed.
    After evening chow, I arrived at IT and found out why he was laughing. IT busted my rump. We did push-ups, sit-ups, drills holding rifles over our heads, and much more. I looked to the left and to the right—the men on either side of me were crying. This is tough, but why are you crying? I’d experienced much worse. Sweat and tears covered the gym floor. I sweat, but I didn’t cry. The people who ran IT didn’t know I had volunteered for it. After showing up there for an hour nearly every evening seven, eight, nine times, they wanted to break me of my evil ways. I never told them any different. When I left boot camp, they must’ve thought, Wasdin was the biggest screwup who ever came through here.
    I took the Search and Rescue screening test. At the pool, I saw a guy with an unfamiliar insignia on his chest. At the time, I didn’t know he was a Navy SEAL, and I didn’t know what a SEAL was. Most people didn’t. The IT may have helped me prepare for the Search and Rescue test—if not physically, mentally. I passed. Even so, I was only 70 percent confident that I would be accepted to aircrew school. My fate lies in the hands of the navy. What job will they make me do if I don’t pass this?
    Toward the end of the three-month navy boot camp, my air crewman company commander gave me a smile and orders to attend aircrew school. “I’ll see you in the fleet,” he said. I’d passed. That was the best day of my life. Laura came out to Florida to see me at boot camp graduation, staying the weekend. I had to remain in uniform even when we were off base. While we were eating dinner in a restaurant, a couple gave us tickets to Disney World—and picked up my check on the way out. The next day, we explored the Magic Kingdom.
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    There would be no married housing where Laura could stay with me while I attended aircrew school in Pensacola, Florida. At aircrew school, I got to wear flight suits, learned how to deploy the rescue raft out of an aircraft, ran the obstacle course, and boxed in the navy “smoker” matches. Toward the end of the six-week-long school, I attended a week of survival training. The instructors simulated our aircraft being shot down, and we had to survive: tie knots, cross a river, and build a tent out of a parachute, with only minimal food like broth and apples. During the last three days of the survival training, we only ate what we could find and were willing to put in