by Thom Shea
Yet, as he worked his magic, they had eyes on, and although, the enemy was now 2,000 meters away, I said, “Don’t engage …
LT, let’s let this play out. I assume they are going to get reinforcements, and have no idea we have birds up above. At the risk of getting those SF bubbas hit harder, I suggest we let them bring their extended family,” I said, imagining they would feel safe and bring all sorts of bigger long-range weapons.
“Too easy, Chief. We have a B1 and two Apaches, and this is what we are here to do, isn’t it?” he retorted rather matter-of-factly, as if he had already designed this to play out his way.
“Snowman, I don’t think this will be fast, though. How much fuel time do they have?” I asked, wanting to make sure if this did play out, we didn’t find ourselves with no support at all.
“Around an hour and a half, give or take,” Snowman replied.
The temperature now was 120 degrees, and we were feeling the effects. The wait would completely suck. I did what any good leader would do. I laid down under the small bit of shade we had and closed my eyes. Normally, I only dreamed of Stacy and the kids while I was in the middle of combat, but now no dreams came—just sleep. I was thankful.
After an hour, the birds called in they were going to return to base and refuel. We were alone, yet the heat of the day may have served us, because no enemy returned. So we waited and waited. Periodically, from Echo platoon’s direction, we heard firing, and the occasional update across the radio told the story of random enemy with AKs trying to get close to the SF bubbas. And we waited.
An hour before twilight, the family of enemy, with much better firepower, crossed a stream in a nice, pretty, single file line about 3,000 meters away. Well out of our range to engage with our weapons. But, the poor bastards were immediately spotted by the two Apaches we now had back on station. Snowman worked his magic like a snake slowly coiling around his prey. He talked the helos on, seductively allowing the enemy to feel secure. Yet, the enemy had decided to take a position in a hut with women. So we waited. I suggested we hit the ground in front of the hut with rockets, well out of any collateral damage range, and make the enemy run out to a place where there were no women and children. LT agreed, and we flushed them out.
The next thirty minutes were like a wild-goose chase. The eight new enemy guys ran out and split up. We decided to follow the ones carrying the PKMs and RPGs. They were fast, but ultimately, made a mistake. The four of them went into an underground hole, or cave of some kind. Once they were locked down in one spot, Snowman and the Apache pilots worked out a surprise for them. Right at last light one of them stepped out of the opening holding his RPG and a set of binos, and for a minute, we were looking at him and he was looking at us. Then, a big, bright light and massive explosion engulfed the cave entrance and the poor guy. Since there was no wind, the cloud lasted fifteen minutes. Finally, the Apache pilot confirmed a positive hit and no collateral damage, well, at least not to anything other than the front and back of the cave.
The rest of the night was spent on the methodical extraction of the SF Team. We waited our turn for pickup and joked and chatted about what had happened and what we were going to do the next few days. The strain of combat had either made us all completely crazy, or the men had literally decided if it was time to die, so be it. In the meantime, we all took advantage of each opportunity to enjoy what we had.
As I was waiting for the helo that night, I wondered if I would be able to keep the ease and zest for life once I was back home. Part of me wished I could continue to be and feel this way forever, yet another part wanted to simply leave it and get back to a life where I could raise my children. As the helo landed, and dust and rocks flew in my face, I wanted to never leave, because I felt life with family and a boring job would be a more ruthless hell.
ADAMANTINE LESSON TEN
The Crossroad of Language
At some point in your life, early or very late, you may come to a place where the constant pounding of stress and the continued effort to succeed dramatically changes something in you. A crossroads of sorts. On one hand, you will use your Internal Dialogue to reshape your composure and help adjust to the never-ending in-your-face events of life. If you are on this Internal Dialogue success path, suddenly the dialogue will become your actions, so it will not be so loud in your head.
On the other hand, if you are not mastering your Internal Dialogue, if you are allowing the environment to shape your words, then your own weak Internal Dialogue will be so loud you will have to succumb to what it says to you. Either way, the Internal Dialogue you have runs the show. Maybe this is when and why so many soldiers in war, and so many posttrauma people, fall apart.
I want you to know the difference between the two paths. The latter path is one where you have no idea you even have an Internal Dialogue shaping your actions. Here the environment, rather than you, shapes your Internal Dialogue. That becomes overwhelming and you do what it tells you to. Environmental relationship pressures may shape you to truly believe this person is not the right one for you. Or, since this person you are in a relationship with cheats, your unmastered Internal Dialogue tells you that is the final straw, and you listen and quit.
The other path is quite different altogether. This mastered path of Internal Dialogue is truly what reshapes battles from complete loss to victory in a split second. On this path, and when you are using Internal Dialogue to shape your actions and the actions of others, the environment around you, or maybe it is the perspective you then have of the environment around you, gets transformed. I suggest this is where true peace is. Not in the absence of pain, or strife, or loss, or combat, or death, but in the ability to be in the moment, and not be somewhere else.
PART FOUR
YOUR LIFE
SECTION ELEVEN
NOW
“We don’t do our past or our future, so I only value this moment. I think always on This, and I am happy. I am only living Right Now.”
—Thom Shea, Afghanistan 2009.
I haven’t taken the time to write for several days. We have recently been working on the flight plans to return home. As exciting as that seemed at first, it is now proving to be more emotionally draining than actually exhilarating. Everyone clearly wants to get out of this hell, but we are somewhat concerned with emotionally letting go, than physically making a mistake on the next mission. The end is in sight, yet this is the most dangerous time.
As I write this, we are planning the next few missions, which will also be what we call the “turn over” missions, with SEAL Team One. I am sharing this insight with you so you, too, become very conscious of when you either start a new job or turn over a project to someone new, you need to keep two facts in mind. The first one is when you are at the top of your game, telling others what you have learned and showing them how to be successful can be quite difficult. The second point is the people coming in are always more eager than experienced. Be realistic in your goals, and tone down your efforts.
The whole process reminds me of my teaching my sons how to play football. Each play, each drill seems so clear to me, but watching my sons not even understand how to grab the football makes for some frustrating times. I think this process will be the same: tons of frustration and many harsh words will be exchanged.
With that in mind, we have two missions we will be taking the new SEAL Team One folks on that will serve to open their eyes to the reality of what we face here and also provide them with the leadership they will need to ease them into our hell … their hell.
The first target we are developing for the leadership turn over is a very complicated mission. Today, we were watching the target area on video and noticed the enemy is connecting wires each night all around the target area.
Nike laughs while watching it, saying, “Well, at least we know where the mines are. This will be a piece of cake.”
“Sure, it does. How about we all just take wire cutters, then?” EOD wasn’t smiling because he knew this was going
to be complicated not only for him, but also for us trying to find them at night and avoiding stepping on the mines in order to find them.
For the next few days, we watched the target and enemy do the same thing each night and morning:
As I watched, I kept saying, “They are lulling me to sleep. It looks too easy. I suggest we take the inner ring of buildings and just wait for daylight. Let’s bring an entire SF Team with their trainees to take the outer ring so that while we clear the market in daylight, the enemy doesn’t surround us.”
“Yeah, that would be my suggestion, and we need to make sure the SEAL Team One gents don’t lead any of this.” LT reaffirmed my thoughts of complication mixed with zeal.
Finally, the day came when SEAL Team One’s leadership had arrived. That very morning, part of Echo platoon had left for home, and the rest of us had cleaned the barracks and gotten some space set aside for the many boxes Team One would bring. We were all rather excited to welcome the new guys to the hell that we had created. I had decided to walk across the street to meet the oncoming men, while some of my men went to pick up the boxes of war.
When the shuttle bus door opened and I walked inside to give them their first welcome, I was awestruck at the wide eyes. They were looking at me as if they didn’t know who I was. After talking a bit, I sat down, and one of my close friends from SEAL Team One leaned over and said, “Damn, you look like you lost twenty pounds and grew five years older.” I said, “Bro, if you only knew.”
We immediately got them settled into their rooms and oriented the new warriors to the armory. Eventually, we went to the chow hall to eat. I sat down with the two new platoon chiefs, and we were chatting about unrelated shit, when I finally stopped and said, “Gents, this place is a firefight every time you go out. We have been hit on insert while on the helos, we have fought our way for miles to the target area, and we have been in five-day fire fights. It is no joke and not worth trying something new, nor unduly risking your men.”
“Yeah, we have been reading your after-action reports. Have you all really been using 60 mm mortars?” my buddy asked, like that was an odd thing to put into an after-action.
“Are you kidding me? We have shot over 100 rounds! We have shot 81 mm rockets, used Bangalore torpedoes, set up claymore fields, and shot over 5,000 .50 cal machine gun rounds. On our third mission, we ‘Winchestered’ two B-1 bombers. The deal is to survive at all costs,” I said without blinking.
“Today, we are going to take you all out so that you can sight in all your weapons. Then tonight, we have a warning order for the first mission, which will begin three nights from tonight. I need to know after the warning order—no bullshit, ok?—if you think your men can handle this mission. Don’t be a gung-ho idiot and say, “Yes.” I can tell you eight mines have already been located on target, and the enemy has guys moving on target all the time.”
“Well, we didn’t come here to play poker,” my buddy said while he laughed.
The next few days were spent settling in and planning the details with SEAL Team One. We had a full-blown rehearsal with all involved, and as I looked at the gear SEAL Team One was carrying, I tried not to laugh. I suppose we looked like that when we first got here. The men were carrying ten magazines of bullets. Their gear looked damn heavy and bulky, and I knew if I said anything, it wouldn’t go over too well. So I did a stupid thing and kept my mouth shut. I regret not saying anything.
The day of the first turn over mission with SEAL Team One finally came. We all had our final meeting on the flow of events and order of battle. The men from SEAL Team One were excited, and I have to admit that if you were an outsider looking in, you would not note any difference. We were all used to stress and don’t even call stress, stress any more. Stress is just the pain in the ass that happens prior to actually starting anything.
Due to the isolation of the target and the immediate need for the helos to fly back and pick up the SF elements, we had decided to land close to the targets. I hated landing close. Close always meant chaos, mixed with dust and urgency. Someone always makes a minor mistake during those three tactical issues. Hell, I was thinking I may even misstep and trip on a fucking mine.
As we loaded the helos, however, the reality of combat came surging back, and all the greyness of thought went away. The sound of the comms checks, helos engines, and the smells of it all tend to wake the distant call of being a warrior back to the surface. I am no longer clear what it calls up in new men waiting for their first firefight, and honestly, at the time, I could have cared less. It was time to fight, and I liked fighting.
Upon landing, we were immediately supposed to move south 200 yards to the tip of the village and secure those few buildings so that we could have a foothold in the area in case the devil found out we were in his back yard. But, again, you can wipe your ass with the paper that the original plan was written on. The helos kicked up so much dust that none of us could see two feet in front of us. Without a lick of wind that night, the dust just hung there. One of the helos had decided to land 500 yards east in an area we told them not to land because intelligence had said it was mined.
“LT, for fuck’s sake did that helo land over there in that mine field?” I remarked rather pissed off.
“Nothing we can do about it now. Linking up will take too long. Just move out. If we don’t hear an explosion, then we know that mission is to continue,” he said with his always business-like attitude he had with me. I always thought his joking with others while always straight and to the point with me was funny.
“Nike, do you have your bearings yet?” I asked.
“Um, yeah, but a twelve-foot-high wall is right in front of me that none of us saw on the map or overhead images. And, the fucking thing has no corners,” he said in his always pissed-off way.
“We don’t have time. Just get two ladders up, and we can climb up and over while this dust cloud is here.”
The climbing over the wall took a bit more time than expected, but eventually we moved away from the wall and out of the cloud right into the first buildings. The men did what they normally do with precision and speed. Within ten minutes, the three buildings were clear. As I stood outside listening to the reports and waiting for all the troops to link up with me, even the lost crew that landed in the mine field, I noticed no one reported any people found on target … none. Five people were cooking and eating just two hours ago. I recall saying to myself with a jaded attitude, ‘Oh, boy: here we go!’
The next step in the mission was to linkup. Echo platoon and SEAL Team One would move to the west side of the target area, and myself and parts of Bravo would take over the initial buildings of the target, then wait until daylight to clear through the mined streets. Well, that was the plan. Funny how shit doesn’t work out so well.
Once we separated, I took part of my crew to the east side and cleared the first structure, putting some snipers on the roof. As I was walking behind the building, our dog, Turbo, came over to me and sat down. I looked down and recalled the dog handler telling me if the dog sits down, it is because he smells explosives. I immediately called out to my dog handler and EOD:
“Hey, why the fuck is Turbo sitting between my legs?”
EOD and the handler turned and looked at me and said together, “Chief, don’t move.”
“Don’t worry, I am not going to move a muscle!”
EOD moved over to me waiving his wand, and as he got right up next to me, he said, “Yep, that is a pressure plate right between your legs. Jesus you are the luckiest man I have ever known. Just hold on while I cut these wires.”
“You have got to be kidding me. What if it blows up?”
“If it does, then it won’t matter because we will both be dead. That is the thing I like most about defusing bombs. If I fuck up, then I won’t feel this slipped disc in my back any more.”
“Well, that is a good point. I have to admit, that is a great point.”
After a bit, EOD defused the pressure plate from wherever
it was. I took a step backward and became uniquely aware of every single bit of ground around me. I noticed the rocks, pebbles, sand, ridges—everything. Turbo was called back, and he walked away wagging his tail, then got a treat from the dog handler. I moved back to the corner of the building and watched EOD trace the wires toward the bomb. He looked up and said it was an old tank round packed with homemade explosives.
He finally stood up, stretched, yawned, and walked over to me.
“Thom, that motherfucker had your name on it. I think you need to buy a lotto ticket.”
I laughed and said, “No, I need to name my next kid after you.”
Obviously, we were not going to move any further during the dark time. I heard over the radio the SF guys were landing on their part of the target. I climbed up the ladder to look at how my snipers were positioned and see how the other crews were progressing. I had the intent to tell everyone we had marked our first pressure plate, but when I looked around, I saw several chem-lights EOD was told to use to mark known plates so that others wouldn’t inadvertently walk over them. I recall thinking to myself, Why in the hell is a line of chem-lights going up a hill we were not going to clear during the night hours?
The next hour would be the oddest in my life. As you read through this, please get that things happen, and you must rise to the occasion; you must keep a level head; and you must fight the screaming Internal Dialogue that is telling you to panic and run.
I reached up to hit the button that would allow me to talk to the guys moving up the hill. The very second I touched the button, a huge bright light accompanied by an incredibly fucking loud explosion happened right up on the hill where no one was supposed to be. A moment of silence followed after the audible explosion. At that kind of moment, you don’t dare move, as you are waiting to see if any rounds are being shot at you.
