Combat Swimmer (26 page)

My feet, butt, and head seemed to hit the ground simultaneously. I pulled my canopy-release mechanism and did a somersault. The canopy took off in the wind, impaling itself on the next fence a hundred meters away. I took a quick inventory and found my body parts in the right places, with nothing broken.

Two other guys were being dragged in their harnesses at a good clip. I intercepted one and jumped on his canopy, collapsing it with my weight. The jumper was stunned, so I ran up and released the canopy for him.

We mustered once everyone was down. Incredibly, nobody'd been hurt. One man had been dragged through a fence before he was able to get rid of his canopy, but he appeared okay—SEALs are hard to hurt. We had all landed together in the space of a football field. Even Mike was impressed.

Back at the DZ, where we'd been driven by a friendly farmer, we figured we had landed about five miles short. It turned out that the DZ officer realized, just after he told us it was good to go on the ground, that the thunderstorm was approaching, not moving away. He stopped the second stick from jumping. They were now in the debriefing room, waiting to hear our stories. There were 30-knot winds on the DZ, gusting to 40 knots about the time we hit the ground. I told him to keep that information within the command. Some higher headquarters folks thought we were pushing the safety envelope as it was; I didn't want word getting out that we were doing night jumps in 40-knot winds, even if it wasn't on purpose.

Being back in the saddle, in command of a SEAL Team, was great; I hadn't enjoyed myself this much since Vietnam. As I look back on my Navy career I realize the time between my last combat tour in Vietnam and my next combat tour, at SEAL Team Six, was a period of hiatus, in which I did what I had to do to get by. I didn't plan it that way because I had no way of knowing the future. I once told my old friend and mentor, Dave Schaible, that there were only two good jobs in the Teams. As the commanding officer, he had one of them; and as a platoon commander, I had the other. The corollary is, it gets better when you have those jobs in combat.

 

After I left SEAL Team Two in November 1968 and before I assumed command of SEAL Team Six in July 1983, I had many less interesting assignments, but each made me a more proficient SEAL officer and prepared me for a senior leadership position in my community. I had three operational tours, three staff tours, and a stint at our institute of higher learning, the Naval War College.

Operational tours were always more pleasant than staff assignments. As executive officer of UDT-22 from 1968 to 1970, I had an opportunity to learn administration. I even got the chance to “command” a small joint task group during an exercise with Army Special Forces. I stayed busier than hell in my first “administrative” job. Despite what Ron Smith had told me in 1962, XOs didn't get to surf anymore. I never did understand how he managed to take so much time off; he must have been a lot more organized than me.

Commanding SEAL Team Two from 1972 to 1974 gave me my first real taste of service politics and also showed me I was right in my assessment of jobs: it was the next best thing to being a platoon commander. I was the first former SEAL platoon commander to command a SEAL Team, and the first CO to have commanded a platoon in combat. My counterpart at SEAL Team One at the time had not even been in a SEAL Team. He spent his “combat tour” on the staff of the Naval Special Warfare Group Vietnam, headquartered in Saigon. I was full of piss and vinegar when I took over SEAL Two. I knew we had to wean ourselves from our Vietnam missions and make ourselves invaluable to other commanders. We focused on the European theater, on keeping the Soviet bear in his cage. Language training and running escape-and-evasion (E & E) networks became a high priority, and we also conducted numerous mobile training teams in South America.

Commanding UDT-12 on the West Coast from 1979 to 1981 was an extra treat for me. In the midseventies we'd managed to get our organizational act together. Under the reconstituted Naval Special Warfare Groups, the Team commanding officer slots were upgraded to commander level to put us on a par with the rest of the Navy. I had the good fortune to have made commander and be available when it came time to change command of Team Twelve—which not only allowed me to be operational again for the first time in five years but also gave me a chance to work for Dave Schaible again. He took command of our group soon after I joined UDT-12. Together with Dave and my old swim buddy Chuck LeMoyne, who became his chief of staff, I had the pleasure of being able to turn around the malaise that had developed in the West Coast SEAL-UDTs. Dave gave me the go-ahead for realistic and demanding training, and my SEAL values were reborn under his expert leadership. We had a push-the-envelope training mentality, for which SEAL Team Six was later to become notorious. Our rationale was, if you didn't push hard and make mistakes in training, you'd make those mistakes on a real mission and pay a tremendous price. We made great progress in swimmer delivery vehicle operations and submerged reconnaissance. My guys became almost as good in the water as my old UDT-22 platoon had been back in 1966.

The three staff tours were less exciting. These tours are to be avoided at all costs, even though they play an important part in officer development. I was lucky in that two of my assignments were on the Pacific Naval Special Warfare Group staffs. As a young operations officer from 1970 to 1972, I commanded a small task group during an exercise in Korea. Here I learned that tact and diplomacy (heretofore not two of my more renowned skills) are crucial to working with allied troops.

On the staff of the commander-in-chief of the Atlantic command (CINCLANT) from 1976 to 1979, I gained an appreciation for life near the top of the military food chain. Then, after a year at the Naval War College learning the theory about how the services run, at CINCLANT I learned the practicalities of war planning, programming, and funding—all of which were invaluable to me later on.

My second stint on the Pacific Naval Special Warfare staff came just after my tour as CO of UDT-12. As the chief staff officer I had the opportunity to learn how to manage a large organization and how to deal with female subordinates (carefully). The job also put me in the right place at the right time to become the second commanding officer of SEAL Team Six.

 

SEAL Team Six, formed in 1980, was the Navy component of a permanent joint operational headquarters (with Army, Navy, and Air Force), which enabled the U.S. military to react quickly to various contingencies. Other SEAL Teams still worked near the bottom of the food chain, but SEAL Team Six was in a very short chain of command; the commander of the Joint Headquarters reported directly to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. And all units under the Joint Headquarters were required to deploy, ready to fight, within a few hours of notification—the highest alert status in the defense structure of the entire conventional force.

Toward the end of my assignment as chief staff officer, Captain Maynard Weyers, the administrative commander of Six, asked if I wanted to command Six after Dick Marcinko.

Dick and I were old friends. We went way back; he was an enlisted man in UDT-22 when I checked in after basic training. We made a recruiting trip to the Great Lakes Naval Training Center shortly after I arrived and did a demonstration parachute jump to impress the young recruits. The plane we borrowed wasn't equipped with an anchor cable (needed to attach my parachute static line to begin the opening sequence). So, I jumped out with my static line wrapped around Dick's arm as he braced himself against the side of the plane to take the eighty-pound pull that would open my canopy. As soon as I had full deployment, he jumped using a free-fall rig. It's not as dangerous as it sounds but it illustrates the great confidence we had in each other. I was young—what the hell.

After Dick was posted on the staff of the Chief of Naval Operations—the right place at the right time—he became the first commanding officer of SEAL Team Six. He did a good job getting Six off the ground. But, over the three years he'd been in command, he'd pissed off both his administrative and operational commanders so much that they wanted him to go do something else.

It took me about a millisecond to tell Maynard yes. I was going back to command for an unprecedented third time—and to a command that would be the first to go to war. Nothing could have been better except a chance to turn back my personal clock and be a platoon commander at Six.

Getting back in the saddle proved to be very interesting. On May 2, 1983, Master Chief Petty Officer “Johnny” Johnson, the senior enlisted man at SEAL Team Six, paid a call on me. He got right to the point: I shouldn't relieve Dick. Why? Because Dick had a lot of initiatives about to come to fruition. Johnny, as the voice of the enlisted men at Six, felt that no one coming in could finish what Dick had started. He told me Dick needed another year; after that, it would be okay if I relieved him. I listened, but Johnny was pissing me off and he sensed it, so he quickly added that as far as he was concerned, if anyone had to relieve Dick now it should be me. I told him I had no qualms about coming in and continuing what Dick had started. We parted amicably, him saying he'd support me fully “if” I showed up—Dick, he intimated, would probably use his pull in Washington to get the turnover quashed. Johnny was a “stalking horse,” sent by Dick to see how committed I was. But I had a lot of respect for Johnny. He was a super operator in Vietnam, was well thought of by all who knew him, and he helped me considerably when I got to Six. Sadly, he died of a heart attack during my tour.

On May 9, Dick called to say he'd “heard” what Maynard had in mind. Normally, at least in the SEAL community, the prospective CO contacts the man he is to relieve to coordinate the turnover. I'd planned to do so as soon as Maynard gave me the go-ahead. (In fact, I had called Maynard as soon as Johnny had left my office to tell him that someone had penetrated his cloak of silence, but Maynard had asked me to not contact Dick yet anyway. I hadn't been comfortable with the subterfuge, but out of respect for Maynard and his position I'd complied.) Dick seemed resigned to my relieving him that summer; he told me he wanted to leave about July 9, to give himself some time off before he reported to his next assignment at the National War College. Two weeks, he thought, would be plenty for the turnover; I should also spend about three days at Joint Headquarters meeting people. I said all that was fine with me, and I'd be there when he wanted.

I still hadn't received orders, though I'd been told they were “in the mail”; then, on May 25, the SEAL officer assignment office called to tell me that my orders were on hold. The civilian assistant who made the call thought there was “flag” interest in the situation. I learned why from her boss, a hot-running young SEAL lieutenant commander named Tom Moser. Dick knew Vice Admiral “Ace” Lyons—who was commanding Second Fleet in Norfolk and was rumored to be the next Deputy Chief of Naval Operations for Plans, Policy and Operations (OP-06)—because they had both worked together in OP-06. Before Dick left the Pentagon to form Six, he made OP-06 the OPNAV guardian for Six, and now he'd asked Lyons to use his influence to keep Dick in his job. Moser said he'd let me know as soon as he heard something.

The next day, Maynard called saying that Lyons had met with Vice Admiral Briggs, Maynard's boss, who was Commander, Naval Surface Forces Atlantic. Marcinko had apparently told Lyons I hadn't been interviewed like everyone else who went to that command. Lyons asked Briggs about my “quals,” Maynard said, and then Briggs called
him
and said he wanted to talk to me ASAP but that I had to go to the Pentagon first, for an OP-06 interview. Maynard asked if I could be in Washington the next day to start the process. I said no sweat.

Captain Irish Flynn, my boss and Commander, Naval Special Warfare Group One, told me to do whatever it took but please be back in time for the farewell party he was giving me on May 27, since a lot of out-of-town folks were coming. It would be nice if the guest of honor were present. I figured there'd be no problem, since we were three hours behind East Coast time.

I grabbed the red-eye to Washington that night and was in the OP-06 office at 0800 the next morning, May 26. Lieutenant Commander Joe Quincannon, the resident SEAL in OP-06, took me to meet with Rear Admiral Dudley Carlson, whom I'd first met when he commanded U.S.S.
Grayback,
an old Regulus missile submarine that had been reconfigured to conduct swimmer support operations. Carlson apologized for the situation; he knew I'd have no problem handling the job, he said, but the face-to-face interview had to be done for the sake of form. He said he'd recently visited Six, finding a group of very dedicated and capable men in need of some discipline; Dick had done well establishing the command but had run his string and was becoming counterproductive in his ability to influence the chain of command. It was time for new blood, and I was the best man for the job. I took all these platitudes for what they were and said, “Thanks, I'm looking forward to the challenge,” or something appropriate to that effect.

Next Joe took me to meet Rear Admiral Packer, who reiterated what Carlson said. I thanked Joe for the hospitality and left the Pentagon for Washington National Airport to catch an afternoon flight to Norfolk. I'd kissed the OP-06 ring and been sprinkled with holy water. It was time to repeat the process.

I arrived in Norfolk about 1800, got a room at the airport motel, and called Maynard to let him know I was there. He said he'd be by to get me around nine the next morning, and then we'd go see Vice Admiral Briggs. He asked that I not let anyone know I was in town. Things were really getting mysterious.

On the way to see Briggs the next morning, Maynard told me all he knew about Dick's machinations. Apparently, Lyons had vehemently insisted that Dick remain in place until he, Lyons, took over OP-06. Then Lyons would decide who would relieve Dick. Maynard and I agreed that the whole process was bizarre; he said it only served to illustrate that Dick had gone off the deep end.