by Dick Couch
I watch as Sergeant Jennings goes to each of the three training platoons and calls out the roster numbers of those successful students and quietly takes them aside. “OK, men, congratulations. You’ve worked hard, and you’ve met the standards of this course. Next Monday, you start selection.” There’s a collective cheer from the students. Jennings quiets them down and continues. “Now, you’ve got the next few days to enjoy your success, rest up, and get your gear ready for Phase I and Special Forces selection. Don’t let up; maintain your focus. Remember what you’ve learned here. Selection is hard—a lot harder than this course. The ruck marches are longer, the nav courses are longer, there’s less sleep, and there are team events that will test your stamina and your ability to work together. Above all, don’t do something stupid this weekend like get in a fight or drink and drive. Be smart. Look after each other just like you did during this training. And while congratulations are in order, remember: You’ve just completed one small step on the road to the Green Beret. You’re now ready to begin the Q-Course.”
Jennings is equally as judicious when he musters those who had quit or were involuntarily withdrawn from training. They are housed in a separate barracks area nearby.
“Men, I want to thank you for being part of this course. This is not easy training and Special Forces is not for everybody. Some of you may, after a tour with the 101st or some other unit, come back to give Special Forces another try. For now, we hope that what you’ve learned here will make you a better soldier and serve you well in your next unit. Thanks again for your effort, and good luck to each of you.”
Close to half of Class 8-04, or some seventy soldiers, will move on immediately to SFAS. Another forty, those who for the most part fall into the VW/IVW category, will soon have orders to somewhere else in the Army. That leaves close to forty men who have to come before the recycle board, where their fate will be determined and/or explained to them. The board is chaired by Captain Shields, with First Sergeant Carter sitting at his right elbow and Sergeant First Class Jennings close by. During my sessions with the recycle board, another first sergeant from one of the other phases is also present. Normally, the soldier’s TAC NCO briefs the board on the soldier who is about to appear before them. The TACs know the men best, and they’re not reluctant to give their opinion to the board.
“This is a really good kid. I know he tries hard. He’s had a lot of problems with land navigation, but as you can see, his scores continually improved. Both his APFT scores were just below the minimum, but I watched him closely the second time, and I know he gave it his best shot.”
Another TAC, another student. “This guy is a total misfit. He falls out of the runs and the ruck marches, and he could only manage twelve points on nav courses—just one on the final problem. And look at his peers. His squad thinks he’s a shit bag, and most of them have rated him dead last.” The board hears the TAC out and then calls the soldier in.
“Private First Class Jones reporting to the board as ordered, sir.” He’s in a clean uniform, and apprehension’s written all over him.
Captain Shields, who is seated behind the table with the others, returns his salute. “Stand at parade rest, Private. You’re here before the board because your performance has not met the course standards, and it’s the duty of this board to determine what will be the next step for you. Before we do that, what do you have to say for yourself?”
The replies range from “No excuse, sir; I did my best” to a litany of excuses and/or requests for another chance and promises to do better next time. The work of the board is serious and emotionally charged. The future and dreams of some fine young men are being determined. Even at this first step on the long path to the Green Beret, the composition and quality of the Special Forces is being determined. I didn’t envy the responsibility of the board, and my heart went out to the men standing before them. Tough business all around. The ones who were just under the performance standard hear things like this:
“Soldier, you need to pay more attention to terrain association.”
“Your physical-fitness test scores are low, and you’re going to have to find a way to do better.”
“You seem to have trouble meeting the times on the ruck marches. What’re you going to do at selection when you have to keep pace on a much longer march?”
“You do OK on the navigation courses at night, but you’re having trouble in the daytime. Why is that?”
“There are spot reports in your file that say you come to formations and evolutions unprepared or missing equipment. You want to tell us about that?”
Peer rankings are factored into the performance rankings. If a man has low performance and low peer rankings, then he’s probably ill-suited for Special Forces. “The peers often tell us something that we miss,” one of the TACs told me, “because we’re cadre—we’re not privy to everything that goes on in the barracks and the interpersonal relationships within the squad. Sometimes we find that a guy who is a marginal performer is selfless when it comes to helping his teammates. That’s important in Special Forces. Sometimes we learn something negative. A few classes back, there was a kid who was a superstar. He was good on the fitness test, the ruck marches, and only missed one nav point. But he cheated on the land-nav courses. He ran along the roads and bragged to his squad mates about cheating. We never caught him cheating, but his squad mates peered him dead last and said why. When we confronted him, he admitted to cheating. He was recycled, and we watched him closely. He did just fine; he never had to cheat in the first place. So we think the peers are very important.” When a man with a stack of pink, low-peer chits came before the board, I hear:
“You seem to have a problem working with others. Your fellow soldiers don’t seem to want to serve with you.”
“Both the cadre and your peers say you need to watch your mouth. You want to tell us about that?”
“You seem to have a bad attitude about the Army and this training. Why is that?”
After questioning by the board, the soldier is asked to step outside while the board considers its decision. Sometimes it’s a brief conference among the board members and the man’s TAC sergeant, and sometimes they discuss the case at length. I’ve watched as they sent for another TAC for his opinion. On occasion, a student is recalled by the board for further questioning. If it’s a man’s first time through Pre-SFAS, the board usually recycles him.
“Private Jones,” Captain Shields tells him, “it’s the decision of the board that you are to be recycled to better prepare yourself for selection.” This is usually followed, as appropriate, by a comment from First Sergeant Carter. “Son, you need more time here. We want you to succeed in Special Forces, so take this as an opportunity to get stronger and improve your performance. It’ll give you a better shot at being selected.”
If they send a marginal student on to SFAS, it goes like this:
“Private Jones, the board is considering sending you on to selection. If we do this, do you think you can step up your performance and be successful?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try my best, sir.”
“Very well, but you do understand that there are no second chances during Phase I. If you don’t cut it there, you’ll quickly become an infantryman in a line Army division.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. I think I can make it.”
“So do we, soldier. Stay focused, work hard, and make us proud. You’re dismissed, and good luck at selection.”
The really hard ones for the board are the men who are coming before it after their second time through Pre-SFAS Training. Most of those who aren’t cut out for Special Forces have quit or been involuntarily withdrawn, but not all. Some don’t have the physical tools, others lack the awareness or focus to do land navigation, and some just can’t find it within themselves to put forth the effort. But they didn’t quit. These are the men who are now before the board, and these are the men who, with a very few exceptions, the board has to send to selection. So the purpose of the board is to
do what they can to get these men ready for the tough sledding that awaits them at Camp Mackall during SFAS. This usually involves a good talking to by First Sergeant Will Carter.
“Soldier, your performance in this course has been totally unsatisfactory. You need a hell of a lot more preparation, but we just don’t have the time for that, and there’s no room for you in the next class. We’ve no choice but to send you to selection. I personally don’t think you can do it. So why don’t you go out to Camp Mackall and prove me wrong. I don’t think you can cut it, but let’s see if you can make a liar out of me.”
With the findings and disposition of the recycle board, the 18X Pre-SFAS Training course for Class 8-04 is over. The recycle board sends half of the forty boarded men on to Phase I and designates the other twenty to be recycled in the next 18X Pre-SFAS class—Class 1-05. Those X-Rays headed for Phase I and SFAS will be joined in the selection phase by a dozen X-Rays held over from previous Pre-SFAS classes for medical or personal reasons. Next stop, Camp Mackall and Special Forces selection.
Author’s Note: Since I observed the training during 18X Pre-SFAS Class 8-04, there have been changes. Among them, the X-Ray soldiers who now arrive from Fort Benning are not hazed on arrival or at their initial formation. The shakedown I described in this chapter is no longer a part of this training. The current thinking is that these are mature, patriotic volunteers, and should be treated as such. Pre–Phase I/pre–Qualification Course training is now built around the goal of doing everything possible to help each soldier succeed at Special Forces selection. The physical, professional, and performance criteria of Pre-SFAS Training is no less strenuous, but the focus is now on giving these new soldiers the tools to succeed in Special Forces.
THE NASTY NICK. Swing through the air, crawl through the mud. The obstacle course at Camp Mackall tests the candidates during SFAS and Phase I.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE SELECTION
Sergeant First Class Byron Hacker is the assigned Special Forces Assessment and Selection duty NCO, which means he’ll be at Camp Mackall until he’s relieved at 0800 the following morning—Wednesday morning. Most of the phase cadre have the day off. When there’s a class in session, they work 24/7. When there’s no class in session, the cadre are permitted time off. Sergeant Hacker sits by the door of the cadre hooch that opens out onto the crushed-rock assembly area and waits. It’s almost 1600—four o’clock—and only about a third of the class has checked into Phase I and the Rowe Training Facility. It’s September, and this is Class 8-04—the eighth and final Special Forces Assessment and Selection class this fiscal year. Sergeant Hacker’s duty post and SFAS are at the Rowe Training Facility, a secure compound on Camp Mackall.
The Colonel James “Nick” Rowe Training Facility is named in honor of a legendary Green Beret. Nick Rowe was taken prisoner by the Vietcong and held for five years. The night before they were to execute him, he made a daring escape and eluded his captors to eventually return to friendly forces. Following the Vietnam War, Rowe was released from the Army, but he returned to active service in 1980 to train a generation of Special Forces at the facility that now bears his name. In 1989, Maoist guerrillas managed what the Vietcong could not. They assassinated Nick Rowe while he was serving in the Philippines. Today, the Rowe Training Facility is a secure compound on Camp Mackall that is home to Special Forces Phase I, Phase II, Phase IV, and Special Forces SERE training. Within the compound there are barracks, classrooms, a chow hall, support facilities, and the headquarters of the 1st Battalion, 1st Special Warfare Training Group. First Battalion is responsible for all training at the Rowe Training Facility. The compound itself is a study in the old and new. Most of the buildings have numbers that begin with “T,” which stands for temporary. They date back to World War II. Gradually, these are giving way to new construction, including a modern shower-and-head facility, and an extensive new do-it-yourself laundry. There will soon be a new chow hall. But the sleeping quarters are old and cramped. The soldiers who train there still live in the old-style barracks, very much the same as did the airborne troopers who lived and trained at Camp Mackall before they parachuted into France on D-day, sixty-plus years before.
The buses from Fort Bragg arrive in threes and fours and disgorge soldiers, each one with a duffel bag, a parachute or gear bag, and a rubber M4 rifle. As they do, Hacker goes out to meet them, checks their names from his list, and sends them to their assigned barracks. So far they’ve all been the regulars, soldiers from conventional units here to try out for Special Forces. They come from all over the nation—all over the world, actually. Many are from the airborne divisions, the 82nd at Fort Bragg and the 101st at Fort Campbell, but some are from units in Germany, Hawaii, Alaska, and remote bases around the globe. The rain has stopped for the moment, but a low overcast hangs over Camp Mackall with the likely prospect of more showers. The bus ride from Fort Bragg to Camp Mackall takes about forty-five minutes. At 1630, three buses arrive with the men from Pre-SFAS Class 8-04. Hacker doesn’t have to ask if they’re the X-Ray soldiers; he could tell by looking at them.
“Where’s the class leader?”
“Right here, Sergeant.”
“OK, get them in the five ranks with their gear and be quick about it.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Hacker watches with a quiet detachment as the soldiers form a human conveyor belt, passing their bags from the back of the bus up to the door. Byron Hacker grew up in New York and joined the Army right out of high school. After four years in the 82nd Airborne Division, he put in for Special Forces, and like the men arriving here today, came out to Camp Mackall for selection. That was twelve years ago. He spent all his time in the 3rd Special Forces Group and has made a half dozen deployments to Africa and one to Afghanistan. As soon as the new arrivals achieve some semblance of a formation, he walks over to the class leader.
“The detail is formed, Sergeant. One hundred and four men assigned, one hundred and four men present.”
Hacker returns his salute. “OK, listen up, everyone. I’m going to call out your name, followed by your roster number and your barracks number. Sound off when you hear your name. Then take your gear to the barracks and find an empty bunk. Dump your gear on your bunk and fall in back out here in a separate formation. Everyone understand that?”
“YES, SERGEANT!”
“Class leader, when you’ve got everyone mustered back out here, I want you to go over to the phase headquarters building and get First Sergeant Sarno. He wants to have a word with you, clear?”
“Clear, Sergeant.”
Hacker begins taking roll. He speaks loudly, but there’s nothing particularly harsh in his tone. Soldiers answer up, then shoulder their gear and stagger off for their barracks. Soon they are forming back up, and the class leader is checking them off as they re-form. They now carry only their rifles—still the rubber rifles for SFAS. The class leader is a specialist who’s been in the Army for three years. He was in the medical corps and was trained as a respirational therapist. Since he lacked current field experience, he asked to come to Special Forces through the X-Ray Program. Once he has a good muster, he jogs across the road to the headquarters building, which is a corrugated metal, half-round World War II Quonset hut. Painted on one end is a Special Forces logo and, in block lettering a motto: SFAS: WHERE THE BROTHERHOOD BEGINS. The class leader raps on the screen door and steps inside.
“What can I do for you, soldier?”
“Specialist McAlister, First Sergeant. I was told to report to you when the X-Ray candidates were formed up.”
“Where’re you from, McAlister?”
“Texas, First Sergeant.”
The phase first sergeant, a master sergeant in grade, walks from behind the desk and holds out his hand. “I’m First Sergeant Billy Sarno, soldier. Welcome to Camp Mackall.”
“Uh, thank you, First Sergeant. Glad to be here.”
“You want to be a Green Beret, McAlister?”
“Yes, First Sergean
t.”
“Well, that’s terrific, ’cause that’s what I want, too. You go on back to your men and stand by. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
“Roger that, First Sergeant.” Specialist McAlister leaves, more than a little puzzled about the smiling, affable SFAS first sergeant.
First Sergeant Billy Sarno joined the Army right after he graduated from John Marshall High School in Cleveland. That was in 1980. He became a Green Beret in 1987. Sarno is Italian by heritage, but since most of his time has been with the 7th Group, he speaks Spanish much better than he does Italian. Sarno has been to almost every country in Central and South America, and has seen action in Panama, Haiti, the First Gulf War, and Afghanistan. He’s been the first sergeant at Bravo Company, 1st Special Warfare Training Group, for two years, which means he has had a hand in the selection of most new Special Forces soldiers since 9/11. Yet he’s still itching to get back to 7th Group—or any group, for that matter. Billy Sarno is a people person; he’s not happy unless he’s meeting, greeting, listening, or talking. I’ve watched him stop a car just to meet and talk to a total stranger.
