Battle Ready: Memoir of a SEAL Warrior Medic by Mark L. Donald, Scott Mactavish

never met before.
    Turns out that once I passed the screening test for BUD/S they had to take another look at my orders. “Donald,” he said—which after weeks of boot camp sounded strange to hear without having “Seaman Recruit” before it—“it looks as if someone may have made a mistake.” Wow, I thought to myself, what a great way to start the conversation . Even so, I listened intently as he proceeded to tell me that although I qualified for OSVET and should have been placed into the program, somehow I foolishly waived the option and the processing command had cut my current set of orders. Unbeknownst to me, passing the screening test for BUD/S was akin to accepting orders, and BUD/S superseded everything else in the navy.
    He continued explaining my options. I could be pulled from training, have my rank and pay restored, and enter the next OSVET class, which started a couple of months out. I would then continue on to corpsman school. Or I could stay, graduate with my class, and have a guaranteed shot at BUD/S but not a specific job in the navy. If I took OSVET, I would lose the opportunity to attend BUD/S before having to go to the fleet for at least two years of service, which he assumed would be with Recon, although he couldn’t guarantee that either. If I stayed in boot camp, the navy couldn’t guarantee me Hospital Corps School, but more than likely I would end up as a corpsman because the job was undermanned, especially in the SEAL Teams. He also mentioned that he had spoken with the SEAL motivator, who said that he would make a couple of calls to help me get to Hospital Corps School before I started BUD/S. They gave me a couple of days to think about it, but it only took a few minutes. These men had no reason to help make things right other than being a good shipmate. Instantly it reminded me of how the marines came together to get me here in the first place. I knew medicine was my calling and God would get me there, so I was keeping my promise to Harry and going off to BUD/S even if it killed me.
    We graduated boot camp on Friday, and I can’t explain how good it felt putting a SCUBA badge and parachute wings back on my uniform the night before. I had grown close to the men in my company the same way I did at marine boot camp, but neither the fleet Marine Corps nor the navy offered the same level of camaraderie I felt within special operations. Up until that point I never recognized how important that degree of brotherhood was to me, but having been away from it for over two months, there was no use denying it.
    I looked forward to going home to visit my mom, my platoon, and a certain navy recruiter, but it would have to wait. I had one more stop before my triumphant return home.
    HOSPITAL CORPS SCHOOL
    United States Navy Corpsman “A” School, in those days, was a ninety-six-calendar-day course held at the Naval School of Health Sciences. The schoolhouse was built on the grounds of Naval Medical Center San Diego, but due to its location within the city the vast compound was more commonly known throughout the fleet as Balboa.
    I checked into corpsman school on a Monday morning, and the process was relatively smooth except for one small bump in the road. I arrived in my navy dress blues, known to the world as “Cracker Jacks,” which were meticulously pressed and, frankly, immaculate thanks to my marine training. While I was filling out paperwork, a navy nurse, rank of commander, walked through the reception area and did a double take when she saw the scuba bubble, jump wings, and marksman badge on my navy uniform. She immediately called me into her office and gave me the third degree about the “unauthorized” badges on my chest. I calmly explained my background, and she made a few phone calls to confirm it. Half an hour later, she gave me a red-faced apology and sent me back to processing.
    Academically the coursework was on par with the first semesters of an associate’s nursing degree, but the