by Eric Blehm
When it was his turn, Kevin ripped their squadron patch off his shoulder, set it on the body bag, and pressed it against Adam’s chest. “Go easy, brother,” he said.
Larry had started that Thursday morning the way he always did: with coffee and his Bible. As active as ever with their church, he now also volunteered with the Garland County jail ministry. Almost every Sunday evening for the past decade, he had walked through steel doors and into the cell blocks, where inmates called him Preacher Larry—a man whose son had been behind these same bars and by God’s grace had turned his life around and become a U.S. Navy SEAL.
Someone knocked at the door and Larry closed his Bible, one of several he and Janice had literally worn out over twelve years of study. They loved and trusted Jesus with all their hearts, but when Larry opened the door and saw four SEALs in dress blues, his faith was stretched to the breaking point.
Oh God, he thought. You got this wrong. You didn’t do right here.
If Adam’s teammates were the best-trained warriors, they were also some of the best at providing aid and comfort to the families of the fallen. So, too, were their wives, who immediately began showing up at Kelley’s house to help in any way they could.
During that long, terrible first night, Kelley never stopped asking, “Why my Adam?!” Sometimes she screamed as if she were having a nightmare. At one point she searched for a hat, a jacket, anything of Adam’s that hadn’t been laundered. Finding a ball cap, Kelley held it closely to her face, closed her eyes, and breathed in, almost hyperventilating in the attempt to memorize Adam’s scent as Michelle rubbed her back. Then she composed herself and insisted on cleaning the house.
“It made her feel normal,” explains Michelle. “We encouraged the kids to do things like watch movies and play video games, and they all just tried to escape reality. It was such a horrible fog, and we were there to help guide them through it.” While Kelley washed dishes, Michelle stood beside her and dried them, aware of the sheet of paper on the refrigerator in Adam’s handwriting: “Pray for the little girl with cancer.” Adam had put it there as a reminder in February after seeing a frail child wearing a surgical mask at their church.
Around sunrise Nathan began to throw pillows around the living room, then toys and books and magazines. He yelled at God and he yelled at the world until Kelley held him and the anger subsided into tears. When he was calm again, he took aside Jeff Buschmann, who had arrived shortly after Michelle, and said, “I need to know something. Did they get the guy who killed my dad?”
Jeff had just gotten word from Christian, who had received the information from Intelligence. “Yes,” he was able to tell Nathan definitively. “Your daddy’s teammates got him. And then some.”
Nathan nodded his head for a few seconds before saying one word: “Good.”
Vindicated by confirmation of the death of Objective Lake James, Adam’s team loaded back into the helicopters that night and escorted his body from eastern Afghanistan to the military airbase at Bagram, where uniformed servicemen and women, hundreds this time, waited on the tarmac. They stood at attention, flanking the team as they carried the flag-draped coffin into the cavernous hull of the transport plane that would take Adam to Germany, then the United States.
Brian, John, and Kevin remained in the plane to accompany Adam home, while the rest of the men returned to their compound. There they built a roaring fire in the fire pit, and in turn, each committed a piece of Adam’s blood-soaked kit to the flames.
“No matter how late Adam came home from a deployment,” says Michelle, “Kelley always loaded up the car and met him at the gate. She was determined to meet him this time as well.”
Grief stricken, Shawn, Manda, and their families flew to Virginia Beach with Janice and Larry on Friday morning. That evening Janice and Larry joined Kelley, who was escorted by Adam’s commander, on a private military jet to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware. For two days Kelley had not slept and had hardly eaten. “She could barely stand,” says the commander, “but she found the strength somehow to welcome him home like she always had. These SEAL wives are a dignified bunch, and Kelley Brown showed me that night that she was a warrior in her own right.”
Adam returned to Hot Springs on March 23, met by the pallbearers he’d named in his CACO form: friends from his youth, Jeff Buschmann, Heath Vance, and Sean Merriott; his brother and brother-in-law, Shawn Brown and Jeremy Atkinson; and his SEAL brethren, Dave Cain, Austin Michaels, and Christian Taylor.
Although Christian did not realize it at the time, he had taken the front-right position on the casket, the same position he’d had on their boat team at BUD/S a decade before, opposite Adam’s front left. Led by Chaplain Tim Springer, whom Adam had met during his planning for Nate Hardy’s funeral in 2008, the men carried Adam from the plane to the waiting hearse, between rows of American flag–bearing Patriot Guard Riders standing at attention behind Kelley, Nathan, Savannah, Larry, Janice, and Manda.
Before the casket was put into the hearse, Chaplain Springer addressed the crowd of hundreds who had known and loved and respected Adam. As Adam had instructed in the event of his death, the chaplain preached the story of the Resurrection, the “one thing,” he said, “that gave Adam comfort and hope.”
At the Hot Springs airport, Adam was carried home by his friends and teammates.
After the chaplain’s brief message, the hearse drove through the streets of Hot Springs, whose residents had turned out by the thousands. American flags waved, citizens saluted, and autos respectfully paused at intersections. The billboard at Lake Hamilton High School read in bold letters ADAM BROWN AMERICAN HERO.
Later that afternoon and on into evening, Brian Bill, John Faas, Kevin Houston, Dave, Austin, and Christian escorted the members of the Brown family, guarded Adam’s casket, and greeted the public during a viewing that spanned hours. Adam had requested that if killed in combat, he would be buried in his dress blues. His SEAL Trident was prominent on his chest, accompanied by ribbons, medals, and awards his family had no idea he’d received. Missing was the Silver Star still under consideration for his actions the night of his death.
While Nathan and Savannah did not attend the viewing, Kelley carried for them special items to give to their daddy, whom she looked upon sadly but with the absolute clarity that his spirit was gone from his body. She, too, tucked something special into the casket, as well as the one thing Adam had requested—his favorite photograph of his family of four. Shawn included the Arkansas flag he had given Adam the previous year, the one Adam had worn between his body armor and uniform on all his ops.
Once the viewing was over, John shut the door to the room, and the six SEALs stood at attention while Austin took a shiny new Silver Star out of his pocket, pinned it on Adam’s uniform, and closed the casket. “It was way out of protocol,” says Christian, “but we felt in our hearts that he deserved it.”
On March 24, 2010, more than a thousand people crowded into the dimly lit Hot Springs Baptist Church for a celebration of Adam Brown’s life. As the last were seated and the family was led to the front row, a song by Tim McGraw broke the silence of the hushed crowd. “If You’re Reading This” relays the words from heaven of a soldier who has been killed in combat and contains the refrain,
And know my soul
Is where my momma always prayed that it would go.
Two poster-size photographs—Adam kneeling in front of a group of Afghan children, and Adam with Nathan and Savannah—were displayed on either side of his flag-draped casket. Leaning against the podium behind the casket was the wooden paddle SEAL Team TWO had presented Adam four years earlier, “The Ballad of Adam Brown” inscribed on its blade.
Chaplain Springer welcomed those attending, and the service began with a prayer and a reading from a psalm written by King David, a great warrior himself:
Be merciful to me, O God, for men hotly pursue me;
all day long they press their attack.
My slanderers pursue me all day long;
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many are attacking me in their pride.
When I am afraid,
I will trust in you.
In God, whose word I praise,
in God I trust; I will not be afraid.
What can mortal man do to me? (Psalm 56:1–4, NIV)
Then, for nearly two hours, Adam’s friends, teammates, and spiritual mentors took their places at the podium to share verses from the ballad that was Adam Brown’s life.
Pastor Mike Smith spoke of Adam’s dark time and how he had accepted the Lord into his heart while on his knees in the Garland County jail—a shocking revelation to those in the audience who had never heard about those years of struggle. On his CACO form Adam had encouraged people to talk about his drug addiction and what he had put his family through, “probably the most selfless and fearless thing he ever did,” says Christian.
Says Austin, “He must have known he’d be a hero if he were killed in action, but he gave the go-ahead to humble himself, to let the world see those skeletons in his closet, to share his testimony.”
Pastor Smith was followed by Chaplain Springer, who said that Adam “surrendered only once, and that was to Jesus Christ.”
Jeff elicited laughs when he told about some of Adam’s stunts and described him as “the wild guy, the crazy guy. But,” he added, “I remember his compassion, and how he didn’t think about himself, ever.” He talked about how Adam had faced the young man with the loaded shotgun the night Jeff was stabbed. “Adam saved my life. He was a hero long before he was a SEAL.”
In the eulogy Heath Vance said, “Whether it was a game called wall ball we played as kids or training as a Navy SEAL or being a husband to his wife, a father to his kids, he defined commitment. Adam was not reckless; he was in command of his fears. He never cheated death; he earned life. He was driven in a way few of us can comprehend. To fail at something was acceptable. To fail to try was not.”
And in his remembrance, John Faas said, “Adam is the hardest man I have ever met. Over the course of his career he sustained more significant injuries than most of us combined, but he just kept on operating. Adam would not quit, he would not accept defeat. Not ever.
“Adam’s devout Christian faith matched his toughness and fearlessness. It was the cornerstone upon which he built his life and the compass that he turned to for guidance. To truly live one’s faith, in word and deed, is a mighty, and a daily, struggle; and Adam embraced that struggle and devoted himself to it.
“A couple of days before Adam died, he showed me a passage from one of the books he had brought with him on this deployment, titled Tender Warrior, written by a Vietnam veteran who served in the Special Forces: ‘A warrior is one who possesses high moral standards and holds to high principles. He is willing to live by them, stand for them, spend himself in them, and, if necessary, die for them.’
“Adam was the rarest and truest of warriors in that he combined fierce and unwavering resolve on the battlefield with deep and genuine compassion off of it.” John paused, looking over the vast, hushed crowd, many of them wiping away tears. Christian was sobbing, the first time he’d broken down since Adam died.
“Adam was a protector and a defender, and his individual actions reflect the same purpose that is at the core of the actions of this country; a country that Adam loved dearly. No country has shed more of its own blood for the freedom of other people than America. One need only take a glance at recent history to see the proof of this. America turned the tide in World War II and defeated the murderous regimes of Nazi Germany and Imperialist Japan. America stood watch up on the walls of the Western World for the long years of the Cold War, and ultimately defeated communism, whose menace was responsible for the deaths of untold millions. And who is doing the heavy lifting now, in civilization’s current struggle with fundamentalist Islamic jihad? America.
“This fight is every bit as significant as the struggles against the fascism of the Third Reich and the murderous communism of the Soviet Union. All of these ideologies share a common thread: an utter lack of respect for the dignity of individual human life. And it is precisely that respect for individual human dignity that characterizes our Constitution and our willingness to help those who cannot defend themselves.
“Ultimately this is more than just a fight between America and the Taliban or al Qaeda, just as World War II was more than just the Allies versus the Axis. This is a struggle between the forces that would protect and nourish human dignity and freedom, and those that would destroy it. Adam Brown was a part of that struggle. It is a struggle that is of eternal significance, and Adam’s contribution to it is of eternal significance.
“A week ago, on Saint Patrick’s Day, Adam’s team was given a challenging mission. They were tasked to go into a remote area of Afghanistan that was without American presence. A place that was a sanctuary for the insurgents, a place where they felt safe and beyond the reach of the American military. No one else but members of Adam’s team had the skill, fortitude, or audacity to infiltrate this area undetected and engage the enemy in their own backyard. This was exactly the kind of challenge that Adam Brown relished.
“In the fight that followed, Adam acted aggressively and selflessly. He fell protecting his teammates. Adam died a warrior’s death. Adam Brown is a hero.”
John stopped again. Willing his composure, he took a deep breath and continued. “Adam, we miss you, brother. We miss your goofy grin, your crazy eye, your hilarious stories, and your warm-hearted presence. In the days to come we will miss your untiring work ethic, and your fearlessness under fire. We will aspire to the example that you set for us, and we will tell the young warriors who join us about you and the standard that you set.
“Mr. and Mrs. Brown, on behalf of the men of Adam’s team, I want to tell you that your son Adam was a man of the highest caliber, the truest character. Adam lived by his faith and by his principles and he did not compromise, period.
“Kelley, Adam was our brother, and you are our sister. We will support you always, and whatever your need, great or small, we will be there for you.
“Nathan and Savannah, we are your uncles and love you very much. Now, and as you grow older, it will be our honor to share with you the man that your father was, as we knew him: warm-hearted, goofy country boy, rabid Razorbacks fan, patriot, hero, warrior-brother, friend.
“And to Adam’s brothers in arms: Today we mourn the passing of our brother and we celebrate his life and the example he set for us. Tomorrow, we avenge him. Today we honor the passing of Adam’s unconquerable soul into the eternal glory of Christ Jesus and into the halls of Valhalla; tomorrow, we dispatch the souls of Adam’s enemies to the hell that surely awaits them. Tomorrow, we bring that hell to their doorstep.
“Long live the brotherhood.”
Adam was buried in a small cemetery bordered by woods and farmland, the funeral a coming together of his past and present, the crowd a checkerboard of starched Navy uniforms and citizens dressed in their Sunday best. In front of the casket, Kevin and Brian had lined up chairs, exactly twenty-four, the number on Adam’s high school jersey that had been his favorite ever since. With the family’s approval, Kevin and Brian had arranged his military burial, with full honors, for the twenty-fourth day of March.
The front page of the Browns’ hometown newspaper, the day after Adam’s funeral.
The twenty-one-gun salute got the cows mooing, making Austin smile. So, Adam, he thought. This is Arkansas. It’s perfect.
A wall of men in blue faced the casket throughout the service, until the flag was lifted and ceremoniously folded and Captain Pete Van Hooser—Adam’s commander from SEAL Team FOUR—broke ranks to present it to Kelley.
Janice and Larry, too, received a flag, then the chaplain closed in prayer. Upon his final words, Van Hooser removed the golden Trident from his chest and walked to the casket. He had pinned Adam with his Trident when Adam was born a SEAL a decade before, and today he would complete the cycle and pin his casket.
Setting
the Trident at the head of the casket, Van Hooser raised his arm, clenched his fist, and brought it down with a thud—driving the pin into wood. One by one, every SEAL present removed his Trident and rendered the same honor to his fallen teammate. The only sound was the Thud! Thud! Thud! as more than fifty Tridents were pounded in.
After the burial, strangers walked up to the SEALs and thanked them for their service. A woman shook Kevin’s hand and asked if he had been friends with Adam. “One of my best,” he replied, then asked the woman how she had known Adam. She told him that Adam had noticed her standing awkwardly by herself at a school function in the ninth grade … and had asked her to dance.
Others reunited—like Richard Williams and Ryan Whited, who hadn’t seen each other in more than a decade. Janice and Larry embraced Captain Roger Buschmann, then Larry thanked him for what he’d done for Adam. “We were so worried about you when you vouched for him,” he said. “We were worried that we were going to really do you some harm if he messed up.”
Now retired, Captain Buschmann said, “You know, Adam thanked me too every time he’d get a promotion. He’d call and say, ‘I owe my life to you, sir.’ And I told him what I’ll tell you both now: bringing Adam in was the best thing I ever did the whole time I was in the Navy.”
In fact, Captain Buschmann had second-guessed this very decision when he’d learned of Adam’s death. “I don’t think anything’s ever hit me that hard,” he says. “But I’m proud I had a part in his life. Adam Brown epitomizes exactly what I would want to be myself and what I would wish for any child. He epitomizes what a real man is: he’s honorable, he cares deeply about his family. He’s not just a tough guy; he’s a gentle giant, no question. He’s one of the most unique men I’ve ever known. If you have a son and your son turns out to be half the person Adam Brown was, warts and all, it’s the luckiest day of your life.”