Read Unbreakable: A Navy SEAL’s Way of Life Online
Authors: Thom Shea
Unbreakable: A Navy SEAL’s Way of Life (18 page)
We grabbed all our gear and rushed to the other platoon to help the walking poopers. I was in the lead element of seven guys, and we pushed 100 yards ahead of the main body. When I looked back, I had to laugh. Ten guys were walking with pants down, spraying what looked like brown water all over the ground, but carrying their rifles like nothing was the matter.
When the Aussies arrived, the crew was laughing so hard it made us all laugh again, harder. Only in combat. Only between friends, only between brothers, could this be funny.
An 11-mile hike just to pick a fight.
Silver Star.
Kandahar.
Do not get in front of this thing. Trust me.
A relaxing smoke.
A 1,100-yard shot to rescue an SF Army team.
The “Hell Hole.”
A day at the desk in my office.
No M4 for me. The 5.56 mm doesn’t kill anyone.
120 degrees at 11,000 feet. You have got to be kidding me.
Too exhausted to duck.
I
NSATIABLE
“When the student is ready, the Master appears.”
—Buddhist Proverb
“H
oney, we survived another brutal operation,” I told Stacy over the webcam chat. She was sitting in our kitchen, preparing lunch for our kids. She looked gorgeous, inviting, and completely hot.
“I cannot believe how many times you have gone out and all come back unbroken. I keep worrying your deployment will be like that Ramadi deployment with all those dead SEALs,” Stacy said. I could tell she had more than just the words, but she couldn’t muster up enough courage to say them. I truly think she was a Spartan woman in a past life: committed, deeply in love with her husband and family, and unwilling to waiver and say anything that would show fear.
“No deployment is the same. We all face different circumstances and have different men and leaders. I didn’t come here to fuck around, nor did I come here to make rank. I came here because I want to be here, and the men want me here. Maybe that makes all the difference. I don’t know … maybe,” I replied, knowing my reply sounded odd.
“Well, whatever the reason, we love you and need you to do what you need to, to make it back to us. I can’t wait to feel you next to me, to feel your skin again. I dream of us every night,” Stacy said with that certain brightness in her eyes. “Thom, I have been talking a lot to Jerry about what you are going through with our men and combat. He tells me stories about how what you all are doing is so uniquely tied to both your genes and your need to endure. I am going to send you some of the emails where he talks about how some men have developed over the past 10,000 years to be able to thrive in the hell you are going through. I know you need this in your bones, and I like that about you. Please read it, and maybe that knowledge will make you stronger.”
“Wow, sounds like this guy has some experience with crazy times, having grown up running carnivals. I never knew anyone could make millions in that line of work. Wonder why he and Tammy have connected so easily to you?” I said, sort of not understanding why Stacy had brought this up. Part of me was jealous some other man was talking to my wife. Actually, most of me was. The other small part wondered what point anyone could make that would affect our performance here in hell.
“His understanding of what makes men tick comes from fifty years of making things work at a carnival, as well as making other businesses work across the globe. Apparently, he was the sole distributor of shotguns to Russia, but I think having a mentor who was separate from the military who could give you insight to what makes men who they are would be wise, don’t you think?” Stacy stood still, looking into the camera, her hands on her hips like a Spartan Wife.
“Damn, OK. How can I refuse that?” I said. “Send whatever correspondence he has had with you, and I’ll read it after chow.”
I talked a little longer with Stacy about things I will not write here. The Internet is a great way to connect, to be sure. A great woman makes a great man, and vice versa, a great man makes a great woman. Pay close attention to that. Intimacy, connection, encouragement, fun, and ultimately, words from a great woman are priceless.
“A great woman makes a great man.
A great man makes a great woman.”
I was late to chow, and no one in my platoon was around. Several Special Forces shooters were sitting around watching TV and talking amongst themselves. After getting my plate, I sat alone and thought about the boys of Bravo platoon. I thought about how they had come through the various training programs back in the States. I thought about how quickly we adapted from thinking we were going to deploy to one place, then a month before deployment, were shifted to this hellhole. I thought about all the patriotic Americans living a life of liberty and wanting so desperately to help in any way they could.
As I ate, I thought about my sons growing up free from this massive Islamic surge. Their anger toward us surely seems almost genetically bred. I truly felt sorry for the poor children who are raised with such a complete lie about how white Americans are so different from them. I will be able to visualize the hatred they have for us in their eyes for the rest of my life. Negotiating is not possible with a hatred so patient and so extreme. I laughed to myself, and the SF guys looked at me like I was crazy. I smiled back and said, “I think I need a beer.” They cackled and agreed.
When I lifted the lid to the trashcan, a hundred flies rose up, reinforcing my opinion of how backward this whole land and people are. Nothing like flies in your grill to ensure a passion to survive. “This fucking place,” I said with disgust.
I walked across the road back into the SEAL compound and the planning center. In planning another dance with the devil, it was time for me to call on everything I knew about my men—and everything I
didn’t want
to know about the enemy.
Our intel shop had matured so fast, they had found ways to get us into the battle. We decided to coordinate our efforts with a Special Forces Team who needed our bullets and training to move into an area clearly used as an enemy training camp; no Americans were allowed to move through the area. A lot of coordination would have to take place, including a flight up to their base to talk through issues, and some mortar training on our part so we could effectively support their offensive.
Discussing our options, I said, “Shit, yes. I would be happy to fly in to 10,000 feet to set up an overwatch and shoot mortars and rifles while
they do all the walking. Who would ever have thought SEALs would be mortar men for SF?”
After completing our initial talk-through, I headed back to my combat room eager to read the emails Stacy had, no doubt, sent by now to read what a successful, patriotic man wanted to say to a SEAL chief in combat. I was truly excited to have a committed ear to talk to about performance. SEALs learn quickly to seek out other professionals to help us overcome anything not clear to us. As a sniper, I constantly seek out the top long-range shooters, and even big game hunters, to ask the questions only the best know the answers to.
An old saying I read as a young boy is, “If you want to learn how to go up the mountain, ask the man who goes up there every day. Don’t read a book about it.”
I pondered what questions I really did have about teamwork, human performance, dealing with overwhelming situations, etc. I also wondered if anyone not involved would have any understanding of what we faced … of what I faced. Could anyone truly understand this shit—this hell? I surely didn’t, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to delve any deeper.
Yet, since I was a child, I’ve been driven to seek every advantage to win. I have taken responsibility to make sure we win every tactical task the bosses give us and to also find a way to bring my men home alive and well. Tactically and technically, this platoon could go up against any enemy the world has ever had in the history of war. Nothing any outsider would offer could impact us in this arena.
In my time teaching boys to grow into SEALs, I’ve learned there’s something inside a man far more in need of training, far more valuable for him to learn, than any tactic or new fitness technique. After teaching young men in training to overcome impossible conditions, and watching them endure terrible pain, I noticed the key wasn’t how hard the man was, but how malleable his mind was—how he harnessed his thoughts before, during, and after these times of hell.
A hard mind is breakable.
A malleable mind is Unbreakable.
Much effort has been spent by our SEAL community chasing, very successfully, better technology for improving our ability to find and kill
enemies. We have spent years using physical performance and toughness to make our SEALs the best in the world. We arrived at a solution of mental mastery by breaking down a man’s physical abilities. Throughout history, most nation’s warriors achieved this same mastery of mental state by crushing or breaking the body. Hell, some religions even push minimizing the physical body in order to get to heaven—or whatever state of awareness that discipline deems great.
In training these men, I chose to train their minds directly by teaching them to use their Internal Dialogue to bridge the gap between failing, on the one hand, or toward powerful performance when the body fails or when the odds of success aren’t in their favor. During hard training days, I saw how the quitters lost control of their own Internal Dialogue, and would quit the task for one or every reason they heard in their thoughts. Yet, what the non-quitters were saying to themselves wasn’t clear at first because we didn’t interview the winners! So I started interviewing the winners—those who would not quit no matter what.
My task was made more difficult because the winners didn’t pay any attention to thoughts that might make them quit. Often, they would not even let themselves say out loud what they were thinking. This simple act of not being comfortable speaking about quitting—or even acknowledging such thoughts of quitting at all—struck me as a far more important discovery.
So, on that day, I sat down to share that very point with Jerry to see if he had any insights.
Reading the introductory email from a man and woman I didn’t know, from a place so far away and so far removed from hell, I was immediately shocked by his first paragraph. I have copied and pasted it here, directly quoted:
Thom, I will not waste your time with unproven, useless words. The work you have to do needs every ounce of your attention and experience. Your family is safe, I personally assure you if they need anything, we will move heaven and earth to help them.
Tammy and I simply offer all of our years of experience in business, with honest conversation about losses and victories, and what we have learned from both. The nation is behind you, and we in particular, will help where we can.
Stacy has shared some of the emails you have sent your family. We are ready to listen and engage on one particular subject where we know we can assist. We know what it takes to get a group of people to excel.
Very fine
, I thought, reading the last word. But in hell, something always pulls you back to reality. A distant explosion triggered the base alarm system, so off I went to the bomb bunker to wait thirty minutes for the base to confirm what the rest of us already knew—the bomb missed, and the enemy was long gone.
I had much to ponder after Jerry’s email, but we were off to planning and training. Our next mission matured to the point of having a day and time set. The men always seemed to get electrified when those were set. We had clearance to send a small team up to the SF base to meet and coordinate the entire plan.
Before leaving base, I hastily dashed off an email to Stacy.
Honey, I will be gone for a couple days. My email and phone silence is nothing critical—unless the helo crashes! Just kidding.
My trip away was solid. The men of my platoon are operating beyond the need for my control. I have to admit I am proud of them, and now know I only play a management role, holding the reins. The analogy is fitting, because they are no longer acting like a herd of cats, but as a team of horses, all pulling together in one direction. Sometimes, I ultimately feel I am holding them back. I suppose leading warriors is just that way—holding aggression in check.
We finally met a SF officer who wants to go after the enemy and doesn’t care if it is dangerous. The SF battalion we operated with in Helmand was that way, but they are gone now. Now we’re smiling openly, knowing we are going to get into some good fights over the next few operations. Time to get a good grip on the reins.
Now that I am back at camp, I have time to get back into working out and talking with Stacy and the kids on the computer or phone. I find myself needing this routine to stay rooted in family and to be fit and available for combat. Mostly, I selfishly need the connection with Stacy.
The men have already completed organization and initial tactics required for loading us up and getting us back home after the operation.
This one has moving parts and logistical delays to this operation, but the tactics, once on the ground, are simple … at least at this stage of our combat lifestyle.
Tomorrow night we leave, and I predict we will be back within thirty-six hours. I decided to see what my new, wise mentor may have to add to my experience leading men and to making sure we get back alive.
My short email to Jerry:
Jerry, without going into detail, let us talk about what you have learned regarding leading men and making them capable. I just want to know what you think about or talk about with your companies’ employees to make them perform.
Jerry’s response:
Thom, I will admit I have never led men in combat, nor have I encountered any situation where I have killed or asked a man to kill. I will, however, tell you what I have learned about how we have developed over the millions of years of evolution, and maybe, just maybe, some bit of information will fit in with what you face.
Over the millions of years of evolution, some breeds of men have evolved a need to endure hellish things, as you stated. I suggest you don’t fight that need; give in to it and give it to your men and embrace it. Don’t worry that many people back here don’t understand it or want you to be that way. Be that way because you need to be that way.
I see that you called your wife Spartan Wife. Keep calling her that—it makes you embrace who you are and who you need to be, and your men will see that. I also think Stacy needs you to be a Spartan.
Well, that was all he wrote. Don’t fight who I am; embrace it. The men will see it and thrive, and the wife needs you to be that way, too. Sometimes I wish wise people would just tell the young “how to,” instead of this Yoda shit.
Standing in line for chow, I thought about the mission, about the men, and about my new-found knowledge. I needed to be here, and so did my men. I knew I needed to be here. I had spent twenty years in one war or
another and felt at home, even though it sucked, and I would often rather be in bed with Stacy.