Unbreakable: A Navy SEAL’s Way of Life

by Thom Shea

  I’ve had people ask me why I married a man who is constantly in so much danger. For me, it’s an honor being a part of what he is committed to. In our relationship, I have found what I’ve wanted ever since I was a little girl: a man who loves me completely, who is not afraid to be strong and bold, and who makes me feel safe and secure because he knows who he is. To us, and to those around us, everything appears easy between us. In many ways that’s true. But I want you to think about something. When we met, I had been divorced twice. Thom was recently divorced. He was trying to manage being a single father of two young children, a SEAL, and the lover of a strong-willed woman. When we got married, we faced what anyone would call insurmountable odds. I was leaving a successful career, my friends, my family, and everything I had known for so long. My new husband would be traveling a great deal for work, and I would have to figure out how to balance the life of a newlywed with spending a lot of time alone in a new place.

  Within a year and a half of getting married, I moved across the country, changed jobs, had a child, lost a job, and faced my husband’s deployment to Iraq.

  Early in our relationship, we came to some agreements. One of them was this:

  We do it together, or we don’t do it at all.

  This agreement was so different from anything I had experienced before. All that mattered in this expression of our love and commitment was what we openly SAID to ourselves and each other about … us.

  Our agreement created a very connecting conversation. I was a part of everything he was doing, and he was a part of everything I was doing. We left each other out of nothing. As a result, I never had an experience of being left—or of being alone. In all the times he was away on training trips or at war, I was with him. In the challenges I faced in my professional life or in the transition to being a stay-at-home mom, I did none of it without him. The tyranny of distance did not limit our connection and our communication.

  As many of our wives do during deployment, I traveled to spend time with family. Being home, surrounded by familiarity, was comforting. During this time Thom and I communicated more than any other. Outside of planning and executing missions, he had a lot of free time. We Skyped and chatted online a lot. I still remember the first time Autumn saw him after he had left for Iraq. She was so excited when I said we were going to be able to see him. She laid on the living room floor on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. The laptop was open, and when she saw him, she got really upset and cried. Watching her so upset was hard for me. I knew what she was going through. So many times when I saw him on the computer like that … well, he looked so different when he was at war. He always looked so tired. Many times I thought to myself, What if this is the last time I talk to him? Is this dirty little Internet room the last place of civilization he’ll know before he dies?

  I wanted to make all her fears and sorrow go away. I fought the urge to close the computer and hold her in my arms, telling her that everything would be OK. I knew seeing and connecting with her dad would make her stronger to face that fear. After all, I didn’t really know if everything was going to be OK. Her daddy was at war. I couldn’t possibly promise her his safe return. It would be an outright lie, and we would both know it. Instead, we faced that fear together and, in those moments, I began to find my deepest connection to Autumn.

  Chance and I stayed with my family during the first part of Thom’s deployment. Getting away from the house for a while is helpful because life is not the same without him. The thought he might not come home to us is sometimes too much to bear. Like many in our community, we escape for a while to the love and support of family. Living in the San Diego area, if you tell someone your husband is a SEAL who is currently deployed, there isn’t much of a reaction. With the large military presence here, half the SEALs being stationed in Coronado, and a protracted war, the local civilians are used to hearing this.

  Step outside of this little enclave, and the reaction is quite different. Anywhere you travel as the spouse of a deployed service member, if you share that your husband is overseas fighting, people want to do anything they can to help you and your family. How much people truly love our military and their families has been the most touching thing in my travels. People show they care in brief encounters with us, through random small acts of kindness, and through generous financial gifts to the many groups providing support.

  “I got this.”

  So, here it is, roughly one month into the deployment, and one of the unforeseen things I have to face is the overwhelming fear people around me have about Thom’s death. It will come up intermittently until his plane lands and he walks across the tarmac and into our arms.

  These fears are clearly harder for the women in my life than the men. I think the women see themselves in me; they wonder how I can do it and be so solid. The men think it will make me falter to show any weakness and, somewhere deep inside, they wish they were taking the fight to the enemy and counting scalps along the way.

  My mom and my sister seem to struggle the most. Their tears affect me profoundly. Mom pictures me alone in my house with my babies and without their daddy, and she can’t hold back her emotional response. Lisa, my sister, sees a firefight on the news resulting in loss of American lives and calls me in a panic. After all, they’re mothers and wives, too, and they struggle with the reality I’m facing. In these moments I find my strength. I do my best to reassure them. They need me, too.

  PART TWO

  YOUR MUSCLES

  SECTION FIVE

  WORDS

  WERNER ERHARD, 1975

  “Fuck and spaghetti are just words. It is you who provide the meaning.”

  “I am here, Stacy,” I typed in an email, knowing she must surely be stressed out. I had not left them with any knowledge of where I would be, nor how long I would be gone. I suppose this is the way things are when you marry a SEAL. Especially so in my case. I knew our life would consist of me constantly going to war. I tried to make that clear. Looking back, in light of the last ten days, I should have tried harder to talk her out of marrying and creating a life with me. The last ten days makes clear I will not have total control over when I die.

  I had made an attempt to talk Stacy out of marriage. For God’s sake, my proposal was simple and to the point: “Stacy, we are both divorced. I have two kids who live with me. I am a Navy SEAL who actually likes and enjoys my job and wants combat. I travel 220 days a year, and will surely go back into combat two or three more times before I retire. I may not survive. I love and need you, and I don’t want you to suffer in a life you don’t want. So you wanna get married, or what?”

  Poor Stacy said, “Are you serious? Is that your proposal?” I do recall thinking for a second and finally said, “Oh no, that isn’t. I don’t have any money, so if you want a ring, you have to buy it.” I was serious, and knew for sure she would say no. But, the silly woman said, “Yes, let’s get married.”

  I wanted you, Chance, to know that tidbit about your mother and father, so you might know for sure who your daddy is, and what he said to your mom. Writing this is tough because, as I wrote earlier, I truly had no control of whether I lived or died over there. Each day counts; I am glad for that fact. Every thought I wanted to share felt urgent to write so you could have it later in life when you needed it.

  Before I get into what I had gone through over the past ten days, I want you to know this about me. I don’t use words like hope and belief. Let me tell you why—and I want you to ponder why I do not. This question is the fifth task for you to complete.

  ADAMANTINE LESSON FIVE

  Hope and Belief

  I want you to begin looking at your language and the meaning of words, both yours and those others use. Specifically, hope and belief. My definition of hope is:

  The feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.

  As a result, many people use this word. I did for the longest time. Yet something shifted for me when I became a SEAL. I had to actua
lly make it through very hard times and tasks, and then later, I had to watch and train other men attempting to go through SEAL training. The shift occurred when I realized some people use the word “hope” as a mechanism when they are not actively taking committed action in their life or toward their goals. “I hope I make it through SEAL training,” said by every single person who quit BUD/S, helped me move away from that word.

  Can you imagine saying, “I feel like I am going to make it through football camp,” or, “I feel like we are going to win or lose this game.” Sounds completely stupid, doesn’t it? So does, “I hope I do well,” or, “I hope that girl likes me.” Hope is what you have or say when you are neither in action, nor committed 100 percent to what you are doing … when you have given yourself a way out. Hope is a word used when you don’t act or follow up on what you are doing.

  My definition of belief is:

  Confidence in the truth, or existence of something not immediately susceptible to rigorous proof.

  I want you to look at your language again. What are the words you and others use in the course of living? Belief is a word which will not serve you well. Belief works to make others feel good about something, but in the end is truly deceptive. Don’t let anyone tell you Jesus or God used the word. They did not. Jesus was a man of action. Belief and action cannot live together.

  Therefore, belief is a disease sucking action out of you … sucking the possibility of the actions you take toward goals coming to fruition. Belief is what is left after you fail once, and stop pursuing. Belief is what people say when they have no experience, but refuse to take action.

  Grasping and coming to terms with this task will take a long time. Look at language, your Internal Dialogue, and don’t fall prey to misuse of it by others, especially with regard to “belief” and “hope.” Replace those two words with, “I know I will do this thing … not hope,” and, “I know God … not belief.”

  Well, the last ten days were the most real and most chaotic I have ever lived … up to this point. The first five, since I talked with my family, we were placed in “lock down.” Due to the nature of the mission and rather high-profile issues, the bosses turned off our Internet and phones for security reasons. I am sort of glad for it, too.

  With that said, I am proud of the men for how they planned and organized every detail of the upcoming mission into the capital city of hell. And, trust me, we needed all five days to work through the details. Stacy always says the devil is in the details; now I know why. But let me add: the devil actually lived in this city, and I was going to shoot him in the face.

  I am writing this while waiting for Stacy to get my email saying I am alive. I’m trying to find the right words to convey something that happened to me. The last five days were completely out of control by every definition. I even think the god of war looked down and said, “Shit, that place is too dangerous for me. Those SEALs don’t need my help.”

  We loaded up all six helos with 200-plus Special Operators and, after a twenty-minute flight, we landed everyone in two minutes. I have never, ever heard of that many Special Operators landing so fast on one mission in the heart of enemy territory. Let me tell you, it was breathtaking and actually manageable from my point of view. We rehearsed each phase, from insert to hitting each phase line to extracting.

  My platoon’s specific section was immediate takeover and hold of the eastern sector, then maintain hold for five days. Our part was small in scope, assaulting only one building, but let me tell you: we did not sit down for five days. Upon insert, we only had to move 40 yards to our target, but we all packed food, water, bombs, and bullets so heavily, I could not pick up my backpack and had to drag it behind me. My pack weighed 220 pounds. I had packed ten liters of water, two days’ worth of food, six mortar rounds, and a case of linked .50 caliber.

  Near the building, we dropped our packs and commenced to “get it on.” In two minutes, we worked the problems on that target, seizing those who gave up and shooting those who wanted to go to guns. I have to admit it felt more like twenty minutes, because in combat, everything seems to slow down; I don’t know why. However, we had a timekeeper calling out time, and as I heard my men say they were done, I called target secure. As I set some of the men on security, the rest of us rushed out and got all the packs. I do recall saying to myself, after getting five separate packs, I wished I worked out more—less endurance, more power lifting.

  After an hour of going over the buildings with a fine-tooth comb, I had already consumed one liter of water. At 5:00 a.m., the temperature was already 110 degrees. At this rate, I would be out of water by noon. I should have taken that hint, because it came back to haunt us all by 2:00 p.m. However, at 5:30 a.m. on the first morning, my snipers were already shooting. We were in our first real firefight in this platoon.

  Two separate sniper positions had been set up on the roofs, and holes knocked in every wall, so everyone was gainfully employed. As tactical leader, I moved around the compound ensuring we had all avenues covered, and I also assisted the men who needed help. In a firefight, every man needs help, and every man needs to know you are there for him. You will rarely read in a military journal or heavy combat book how vital that connection is.

  The machine gun young Texan was running, jammed, so I rushed over to his wall and took his position while he fixed the problem. Rushing in and looking through a hole in the wall, only to immediately see the enemy shooting AK-47s was an interesting feeling. All my training kicked in, and all the years as a sniper took hold. Guessing the distance to be 200 yards or so, I raised my M14 rifle and looked through my scope. Dialing one minute into my scope, I took a deep breath. Slowly, I took up slack in the trigger, then gradually exhaled until my breath stopped naturally. In the pause between breaths, the waving of the cross hairs on the scope lessened, and the gun fired. I saw the bullet hit his neck and his gun drop.

  Suddenly, the wall erupted with bullets, and I ducked. When I looked up, wide-eyed Texas was looking down at me, his chief, kneeling. I smiled and said, “There is enough for everyone, but that dude is dead. You need anything for that gun?” He frowned and said, “Yes, get the fuck out of the way so I can shoot.” I crawled away, and when I looked back, he was unloading on someone, who, I can only imagine, didn’t realize he was dying.

  I moved another five yards to the corner of the wall and looked back for a wider perspective. I saw carnage like I had only seen before in war movies. To my left a ground-mounted M2 .50 caliber machine gun was hammering down the road. In front of me two sniper positions were manned with four snipers, who were calmly shooting their .300 Winchester Magnums, ducking occasionally when rounds from the enemy hit next to them. To my right, Texas was yelling for another box of rounds for his machine gun.

  Lawyer was tucked in a corner with LT looking at a map and trying to coordinate an A-10 and an AH-64. I turned to crawl back to Texas, and at that moment, a rocket hit the wall outside my just-vacated position, knocking me down. Texas ran over and pulled me out of the rubble, saying, “Hey listen, don’t go over there. It is bad. Stay over here and kill some more with me. If you die, I am going to shoot you.”

  After forty-five minutes, the enemy retreated, so we continued building up our position, and resting, eating, and drinking. One truth about combat you rarely see in movies or read in books is you are never safe until you are back home with your kids and wife. For SEALs in combat, this is an ingrained truth … never stop fighting, never stop making the situation better for yourself and worse for the enemy, and, finally, if the enemy doesn’t do what you want him to, MAKE HIM.

  While we built up sniper positions with sandbags and more sandbags, until the roof began to dip, I checked in with every single man to ensure he was OK, that his “shit was still tight,” and that he was not afraid. Looking into a man’s eyes moments after he has shot and killed another man is a hard thing, but I have learned this is the time for the leader to stop and connect with him, even if only to make sure your man is present a
nd living in the now. While hard to describe, the key to connecting to everyone in the middle of conflict is to give him or her exactly what is needed in the moment—even if what’s needed is a kick in the ass.

  Moving around the compound, I made my first stop at the .50 caliber machine gun position we called the hell hole. KM sat behind the open window the barrel stuck out of. The whole scene was surreal to me. He was soaking wet with sweat, the barrel was smoking hot, and I could see the mirage rising up and hear the metal ticking as it tried to cool. The ground around hellhole was covered with shell casings, and it occurred to me there were over 500 casings. I immediately turned and got two cans full of new rounds, dragging them forward to KM.

  Without turning, KM said, “What up, Ridge Boss?” I laughed, “Dude, what the fuck is going on here? You shot over 500 rounds by yourself.”

  He smiled and said, “I thought all of you were dead, ‘cause I shot the first 100 without ear protection, and I can’t hear a fucking thing. Other than that, you might want to take a look down that road.”

  I got out my binoculars to look. My brain took several seconds to realize what I was really seeing. I saw bodies lying all down the road. RPG-7s lay everywhere, some shot apart by KM, others apparently having already launched their rockets. One, two, three … seventeen, eighteen.

  I went to hand the binoculars down to KM, but he handed them back, laughing, “Let the buzzards come, or let the enemy come get them. Either way, I got this shit.”

  At that point, our EOD walked in, stopped, and said, “Holy shit, Chief. You’ve got to come see this.” I turned to KM, “Look at me, KM.” He did. I said, “Everyone is alive, and so are you. We are going to help you bunker this .50, so hang tight. Don’t let any motherfucker with a weapon get in on us. Do you understand me?” He smiled, we hit fists, then I left.