Honor and Betrayal : The Untold Story of the Navy Seals Who Captured the "Butcher of Fallujah"-and the Shameful Ordeal They Later Endured (9780306823091) by Patrick Robinson Page A
Authors: Patrick Robinson
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twenty-minute period. After that every member of the class must swim two hundred yards, still bound, wrists behind their backs, ankles roped together, writhing through the water like a school of angry porpoises.
And thatâs just the start, just the prelims, to make certain you are worthwhile to proceed. It does, without fail, decimate every class, but no more than the next discipline, which involves pool comp using the breathing apparatus. And right there the pressure builds.
The instructors try everything. They harass each candidate, ripping the airline out of his mouth, tying a knot in it, watching for the strict SEAL procedures to be broken. Thereâs nothing dangerousâthe instructors are in the water, swimming around like basking sharks, watching for a foul-up, escorting anyone in trouble to the surface.
Some get another shot. But most donât. Because the instructors are looking for that one in a thousand human beings who is as comfortable in the water or under it as he is on land. They seek men who have no fear of drowning, men who can hide, travel, and fight within its restrictions.
Theyâre looking for guys who can lead through the water, dive under when necessary, and move very, very quickly through it if crisis should arrive. Such a man was Jon Keefe.
The big, amiable, deceptively smart Virginian, suddenly weightless in the one element he could dominate, hit that pool, like a ... well, like a Navy SEAL.
When they finally sorted the class out, they staged the first of the 800-meter races in which students tried out the big SEAL flippers, what they called ârocket fins,â to give them even more power. Big Jon rocketed through the water, astounding everyone, including even the veteran pool instructors.
Jon had a theory that although the fins gave you extra kick and a little more speed, they also made you more tired toward the end of the race, which was when he prepared to pounce and steam past the opposition. It was just like old times when the Tabb High faithful were up and cheering. Except no one was cheering Big Jon here at Coronadoâthey were gaping.
Of course, the instructors were delighted to have a swim champion among their number, and they made careful notes of his technique and approach.
And as the days wore on, everyone got better. The mere question of panic in the water was outlawed, and slowly the men turned into the kind of underwater operators the instructors wanted. The ranks were thinned out, and a lot of good guys had left to return to the fleet or to civilian life. But the few tigers who were left were going to become US Navy SEALs.
For all of them this would be the fulfillment of a dream. For many of them it was a lifelong dream. But no one had dreamed it for longer than Jon Keefe had.
As the reformed college dropout from Virginia continued to perform his now-renowned imitation of Mark Spitz in the Coronado pool, Matt pressed on in his quest to join the most elite force in the US Navy.
Matt had passed BUD/S Phase III before Jon arrived in Coronado. So the instructors knew how tough Matt was. They immediately dispatched him to Jump School, the SEAL parachuting course in which each new BUD/S student learns precisely how to deal with the third letter of the SEAL acronym, air. Because a major part of a SEALâs combat skills may involve airborne insertionâparachuting into enemy territory, way behind the lines.
Matt attended freefall school close to San Diego. He was there for almost two months, having first mastered the proper techniques and protocols of the parachutist and then the basics of landing correctly and absorbing the impact. They get moving from high platforms and complete the course with dozens of fourteen thousand-foot night jumps in full gear. This is compulsory in order to progress. Matt McCabe knocked it out the first time.
Jump School includes combat parachuting, which teaches students how to drop directly into a battle zone, piloting
And thatâs just the start, just the prelims, to make certain you are worthwhile to proceed. It does, without fail, decimate every class, but no more than the next discipline, which involves pool comp using the breathing apparatus. And right there the pressure builds.
The instructors try everything. They harass each candidate, ripping the airline out of his mouth, tying a knot in it, watching for the strict SEAL procedures to be broken. Thereâs nothing dangerousâthe instructors are in the water, swimming around like basking sharks, watching for a foul-up, escorting anyone in trouble to the surface.
Some get another shot. But most donât. Because the instructors are looking for that one in a thousand human beings who is as comfortable in the water or under it as he is on land. They seek men who have no fear of drowning, men who can hide, travel, and fight within its restrictions.
Theyâre looking for guys who can lead through the water, dive under when necessary, and move very, very quickly through it if crisis should arrive. Such a man was Jon Keefe.
The big, amiable, deceptively smart Virginian, suddenly weightless in the one element he could dominate, hit that pool, like a ... well, like a Navy SEAL.
When they finally sorted the class out, they staged the first of the 800-meter races in which students tried out the big SEAL flippers, what they called ârocket fins,â to give them even more power. Big Jon rocketed through the water, astounding everyone, including even the veteran pool instructors.
Jon had a theory that although the fins gave you extra kick and a little more speed, they also made you more tired toward the end of the race, which was when he prepared to pounce and steam past the opposition. It was just like old times when the Tabb High faithful were up and cheering. Except no one was cheering Big Jon here at Coronadoâthey were gaping.
Of course, the instructors were delighted to have a swim champion among their number, and they made careful notes of his technique and approach.
And as the days wore on, everyone got better. The mere question of panic in the water was outlawed, and slowly the men turned into the kind of underwater operators the instructors wanted. The ranks were thinned out, and a lot of good guys had left to return to the fleet or to civilian life. But the few tigers who were left were going to become US Navy SEALs.
For all of them this would be the fulfillment of a dream. For many of them it was a lifelong dream. But no one had dreamed it for longer than Jon Keefe had.
As the reformed college dropout from Virginia continued to perform his now-renowned imitation of Mark Spitz in the Coronado pool, Matt pressed on in his quest to join the most elite force in the US Navy.
Matt had passed BUD/S Phase III before Jon arrived in Coronado. So the instructors knew how tough Matt was. They immediately dispatched him to Jump School, the SEAL parachuting course in which each new BUD/S student learns precisely how to deal with the third letter of the SEAL acronym, air. Because a major part of a SEALâs combat skills may involve airborne insertionâparachuting into enemy territory, way behind the lines.
Matt attended freefall school close to San Diego. He was there for almost two months, having first mastered the proper techniques and protocols of the parachutist and then the basics of landing correctly and absorbing the impact. They get moving from high platforms and complete the course with dozens of fourteen thousand-foot night jumps in full gear. This is compulsory in order to progress. Matt McCabe knocked it out the first time.
Jump School includes combat parachuting, which teaches students how to drop directly into a battle zone, piloting
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