Combat Swimmer
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
PREFACE
PART 1 - Lock and Load
Chapter 1 - “WATER, WATER EVERY WHERE . . .”
Chapter 2 - THE ONLY EASY DAY WAS YESTERDAY
Chapter 3 - DOMINICAN REPUBLIC: FIRST REAL MISSION
PART 2 - Fire One: First Vietnam Tour
Chapter 4 - GETTING READY TO FIGHT
Chapter 5 - FEET WET: BREAKING IN THE TROOPS
Chapter 6 - MEKONG AMBUSH: TAKING AWAY THE NIGHT
Chapter 7 - ATTACK IN BROAD DAYLIGHT: BASSAC MISSION
Chapter 8 - SNEAK AND PEEK: LONG TUAN SECRET ZONE
Chapter 9 - A CLOSE CALL: TAN DINH ISLAND
Chapter 10 - PATCH ME UP AND SEND ME BACK
PART 3 - Fire Two: Second Vietnam Tour
Chapter 11 - FIRST MISSION: CHECKING OUT ALL THE PARTS
Chapter 12 - ATTACK AT DAWN: DUNG ISLAND
Chapter 13 - GOT THEM RIGHT WHERE WE WANT THEM: BAC LIEU
Chapter 14 - SOMEBODY HAD TO DO IT: PULLING BODIES
Chapter 15 - ANOTHER CLOSE CALL: NUI COTO
Chapter 16 - BOLD DRAGON: LONG TUAN REVISITED
Chapter 17 - VIETNAM: A SEAL’S PERSPECTIVE
PART 4 - Fire Three: SEAL Team Six
Chapter 18 - BACK IN THE SADDLE
Chapter 19 - ONE MORE CLOSE CALL: URGENT FURY
Chapter 20 - POLICING THE BATTLEFIELD: BACK TO BASICS
Chapter 21 - THEY CAN RUN, BUT THEY CAN’T HIDE: THE ACHILLE LAURO MISSION
Chapter 22 - AUDITS AND INVESTIGATIONS: THE MARCINKO LEGACY
PART 5 - Fire Four: A New Way of Doing Business
Chapter 23 - THE OLD WAY OF DOING BUSINESS: PUT THEM BACK IN THEIR CAGES
Chapter 24 - HUNTING IN THE GULF: JOINT SPECIAL OPERATIONS AT WORK
EPILOGUE: CEASE-FIRE—LOCK AND LOAD
GLOSSARY
SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY
INDEX
About the Author
Praise for
COMBAT SWIMMER
“Bob Gormly tells his story with remarkable wit, wisdom, drama, and grace. Combat Swimmer is a superb and fascinating story about the U.S. Navy SEALs, from one of the best of the breed.”
—Hans Halberstadt, author of U.S. Navy SEALs, U.S. Navy SEALs in Action, and Inside the U.S. Navy SEALs
“Combat Swimmer is a ‘from the ground up’ story, taking the reader from fire ants to firefights, from compelling patriotism to government failures, all told by a survivor of the most dangerous kind of combat.”
—Roger C. Dunham, author of Spy Sub: Top Secret Mission to the Bottom of the Pacific
“Combat Swimmer is a gripping, stroke-by-stroke, firsthand account of Navy SEALs.”—Gerald Astor, author of The Mighty Eighth and Crisis in the Pacific
“Gormly is a warrior for the working day . . . . In a harsh world, it will comfort many to know that men with Gormly’s spirit, character, and patriotism wear this company’s uniform.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Gormly tells it like it was, not hiding his mistakes and the tragedies that go hand in hand with combat and military training . . . a quick, fun read.”
—Soundings
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Copyright © Robert A. Gormly, 1999
eISBN : 978-1-101-45994-2
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For the people who made it all possible: the SEALs with whom I served, and especially Becky.
PREFACE
Since I retired, many of my former SEAL shipmates have asked me when I was going to write a book. Other former SEALs have written accounts of their careers, but only one has offered a commanding officer’s perspective. I want to provide the reader not only with “war stories” but with serious analyses of events in the evolution of SEALs into the best fighting force in the U.S. military. My story in many ways mirrors the story of the Naval Special Warfare program. I have been fortunate enough to participate in the forefront of what has become one of the most sought-after officer career programs in the Navy.
The Vietnam War is forever etched in the minds of my generation. Reflecting back, I think our cause was just, but the way we went about it was flawed. SEALs who fought in Vietnam were professional military men, not draftees; the war just didn’t affect us as it did others. I’d like to illustrate what we professionals achieved in the Vietnam War.
The complete story of SEAL Team Six has not yet been told; it may never be. Much has been written about the command in the years since it was formed. For three years I commanded SEAL Team Six, and I think the brave and dedicated men I served with deserve recognition.
I was fortunate enough to have four SEAL command tours. Timing, not talent, was responsible for that. I also commanded two SEAL platoons and a SEAL team in combat, and was lucky to have survived a number of close calls. I like to tell people who hear me groan every time I move that if I had thought I’d live this long, I’d have taken better c
are of my body when I was young!
Any success I had during my SEAL career was a direct result of the truly outstanding people I worked with and for. Most SEALs I’ve known were not Rambo types. The ones who thought they were usually fell by the wayside. Instead, most SEALs were hardworking, highly trained, extremely motivated men who did dangerous jobs well but never thought of themselves as particularly special. I’ve tried to make this their story as much as mine, describing as well as I can remember who participated in various events. If I’ve included anyone who wasn’t with me at a particular time, or excluded anyone who was, I apologize for the oversight. Also, in some cases I’ve chosen to not use the full names of certain people still involved in SEAL activities.
Some key people have helped me in this effort. My wife, Becky, and my son, Kevin, provided much-needed proofreading, and suggestions that have improved the quality of my work. My daughter, Anne, provided encouragement and support. My agent, Andrew Zack, gave me guidance and assistance beyond that normally expected of an agent, and my editor, Todd Keithley, brought my sometimes disjointed thoughts into focus. Hans Halberstadt, a friend and fellow author, provided encouragement and advice when I was about to throw up my hands in frustration. One of my former officers and a good friend, Lieutenant Commander MacKenzie (Mac) Clark, USN (Retired), provided initial editorial assistance and advice. Commander Tim Bosiljevac, author of SEALs: UDT/SEAL Operations in Vietnam and a hard-charging SEAL officer, provided me copies of many of the Mission Reports I wrote during my Vietnam deployments. I used these “Barndance Cards,” as they were called, to verify my memory.
Despite all the help I’ve received writing this book, I take full responsibility for the content. Combat Swimmer is my recollection of what I consider the most significant events in my naval career. I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible, and any errors of fact are unintended.
PART 1
Lock and Load
“Lock and load” is a command used on all U.S. military firing ranges. Literally, it means “Get ready to fire,” but lock and load is more than that; it’s a mind-set. It is the realization that you have to be ready to go into combat at a moment’s notice. You stay ready—you stay locked and loaded.
For SEALs, combat comes in many forms and at any time—often when no other U.S. forces are committed. The lock-and-load mind-set begins the day a prospective SEAL steps across the threshold of our basic training facility. SEALs stay locked and loaded as long as they’re in a SEAL Team. Most military units train for combat under as realistic conditions as possible, but most don’t have the sense of urgency found in SEAL Teams. There’s one difference between SEAL training missions and actual combat: we don’t kill the enemy in training.
1
“WATER, WATER EVERY WHERE . . .”
February 1966
In Sea Lion’s forward torpedo room, I had just finished briefing my men for the mission. U.S.S. Sea Lion was a World War II-vintage fleet submarine that had been converted for swimmer operations. It was gliding through the water at six knots, thirty feet below the surface, maneuvering to our launch point.
I looked around the room at the twenty-four other men from Underwater Demolition Team 22. Dressed like me in black wet suits with Mark 6 diving rigs on our backs, they were standing close together between two racks of torpedoes. We all held swim fins and face masks. Over our diving gear each of us wore a rolled-up life jacket with an emergency flare attached. Around our waist was a weight belt loaded with thirty pounds of lead weights. On one leg we each wore a diving knife. None of us had firearms. We wouldn’t need them on this mission. If we had to shoot someone, the mission would fail. We’d pick up the rest of our mission equipment from external storage lockers on the submarine deck after we locked out. The forward escape trunk, through which we were exiting the sub, was barely big enough to handle a pair of swimmers and the trunk operator.
The forward torpedo room was designed to accommodate six men, who loaded the torpedoes into the forward tubes. We filled the space and then some. Sweat filled my wet suit and dripped off my face. Our suits would keep us warm once we were in the water, but now, as we waited for the submarine to reach the launch point, they were about to dehydrate us.
The trunk operator was already standing by in the chamber. The submarine dive supervisor stood by the entrance to the forward escape-hatch ladder, waiting to receive the word from the submarine commanding officer in the conn. I knew my commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Dave Schaible, was standing right next to him, making sure his boys were launched at the right place.
I was at the bottom of the ladder, going over in my mind all we were about to do. My swim buddy, Petty Officer Second Class Tom McCutchan, stood next to me, checking to see if all the men were ready to go. I knew they were. I could see it in their eyes. My men were all aggressive warriors, and they were well prepared for the mission. Adrenaline levels were high, and confidence levels even higher. All they wanted to do was get off the damn submarine before they sweated to death.
Suddenly, we all leaned slightly forward as the Sea Lion slowed to three knots. It was time to start. The first dive pair headed up the ladder and squeezed into the small forward escape trunk to begin the lockout cycle. The dive supervisor carefully lowered the bottom hatch and shut it tightly. Pressing the call switch on the 1MC internal communications system, he told the conn, “Ready to commence lockout.”
Through the speaker I heard, “Commence lockout.”
The loudspeaker squawked again as the trunk operator said, “Undogging side door.” Then, “Opening flood, opening vent.”
I heard the rush of water and the roar of escaping air as the trunk operator opened the flood and vent valves to fill the escape trunk with water. I watched through the small window in the bottom of the hatch as the seawater filled the trunk.
“Water at waist level, swimmers okay,” the trunk operator said.
“Roger,” responded the dive supervisor, located just under the escape trunk. “Continue the flood.”
I watched as the two swimmers washed their masks in the water, spat in them to reduce fogging, and put them on.
“Water at chest level, closing vent!” yelled the trunk operator.
“Side door opening.” I heard a clunk. Through the hatch window I saw the door swing open as the pressure in the trunk equalized with the pressure outside the submarine.
“Swimmers leaving trunk” came through the speaker.
I watched as my men escaped the cramped trunk for the freedom of the night ocean. They disappeared from my sight through the trunk’s accessway below the main deck of the submarine. It was just after two in the morning and very dark.
I pictured the first swim pair moving aft toward the sail, holding on to lines that were strung along the deck to guide them to the small “cigarette deck” halfway up the sail. There each man would swap his mouthpiece for one attached to the submarine’s air supply, so as not to deplete his Mark 6 gas supply while waiting for his teammates to arrive.
As soon as the second swimmer’s fins cleared the entranceway, I watched as the trunk operator closed and dogged the side door.
“Opening blow, opening drain,” said the operator as he opened the blow and drain valves. That slightly increased the pressure in the trunk and forced the water out into a holding tank in the bilge area of the submarine.
“Roger,” replied the dive supervisor.
“Water at bottom hatch,” said the operator. “Securing drain and opening vent.” As he secured the valves, he cracked the vent to bring the trunk back to the “surface”—in other words, to make the air pressure equal to that inside the submarine.
When the gauges indicated the trunk was “on the surface,” the dive supervisor said, “Stand clear, opening hatch,” and pushed open the bottom trunk hatch.
The next pair of swimmers climbed up the ladder into the trunk to repeat the cycle. That first cycle had taken nine minutes—a good but not great time. We repeated the process until, 11
7 minutes later, only my swim buddy Tom McCutchan and I remained in the submarine.
I turned to Tom. “You ready?”
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he replied.
Up the five-foot ladder he went, me behind. Tom leaned forward as he got to the hatch opening. I reached up and guided his diving rig as he wiggled inside. When I got to the hatch opening Tom reached down, grabbed the top of my rig, and helped me wedge my frame through. It was a tight fit.
I am about six feet, one inch, and I weighed 205 pounds in those days. Tom was equally tall but not quite as heavy. Together, we more than filled the escape trunk. We wriggled around as the dive supervisor gingerly closed the bottom hatch, trying not to catch one of our feet. As we moved, the fiberglass coverings on our diving gear bumped against the piping in the trunk. We had to be careful not to bang them too hard. We also had to be careful not to snag one of the canvas-covered rubber breathing bags or our breathing hoses, crammed against our chests. The Mark 6 was a somewhat fragile rig. It wasn’t designed for locking out of submarines.
As the water flooded into the trunk and began to creep up my legs into my wet suit, a feeling of calm came over me. It was time to do the mission. The rising water began to relieve some of the weight I carried. Fully immersed, we would be almost neutrally buoyant. When the side door opened, I put in my mouthpiece, hunched down, and eased into the short accessway to the main deck. Tom was right behind me. We both stopped and put on our swim fins. From this point on there would be little need for talk.