Unbreakable: A Navy SEAL’s Way of Life

by Thom Shea

  Outside I grabbed our EOD and let him lead me around in front of the hellhole. We stood there for a minute, then looked at each other. Bullets and RPGs had left holes in the wall where they had impacted. Even bigger holes were on the ground, where bad aimers had tried to hit KM on the .50 but missed.

  “I count eight RPG impacts and over a hundred bullet strikes in the wall,” I said. EOD nodded, “We have to get more sandbags in the hellhole. He won’t survive another volley like that.”

  I replied, “I agree. You and he are manning the hellhole. KM will need you. Keep him alive, OK?” EOD patted me on the back, “You keep us alive, OK?”

  I returned to Texas and said, “How are you doing, Son? How is the pig working for you?” He shrugged and asked for water. “I left my kit over on the wall and I am parched.” I handed him my two Gatorade bottles saying, “Drink up.” I patiently waited and began moving into his position subtly. When he was done I said, “I think we are good here. I need you to go to the hellhole and help KM and EOD bunker that shit so that it can withstand a 500 pound bomb, OK? KM needs you; go help.” Texas and I hit knuckles, then he grabbed his shit to walk to the hellhole. As he passed his kit, I stopped him, “Hey, take your kit with you until I personally come and get you, OK?”

  After Texas left, I walked over to LT and Lawyer, who were still engaged in controlling the jets and helos above us. “LT, the hellhole needs some serious bunkering and we are going to run out of .50 caliber rounds today. I am going around to see how everyone else is doing, but I can assure you, we are all going to run out of rounds today. Better get coordinating with everyone else. I am sure every other position will also need a resupply. I’ll be back in ten. How are you doing?” LT looked up and said “OK?” then looked back at the maps. I took that as, “Hey, I’m busy; get away.”

  Lawyer looked frazzled. He was on the ground on all fours, one hand on the map, and the other on his push trying to reach the aircraft.

  I walked over to him and put my hand on his shoulder, “Good job, brother.”

  I took a second to stop at my own kit and pull out another Gatorade bottle and snacks. In the room where my kit was, I noticed Carnie sitting on the ground in the corner.

  He looked up and said, “This is just like hunting deer from a stand.” I walked over and sat next to him. He proceeded to tell me the story of his “hunt.” I let him talk. As long as men can associate what they are doing in combat with something they like, I think it’s a good thing. He got animated telling me about guys shooting at him and ducking behind trees, as if the tree would hide them. So, he shot through the trees. He ended the story with a laugh and said, “I am not going out there to get the horns.”

  We shared a bag of beef jerky, then I got up, reached down, and patted his shoulder. He and I had known each other long enough that I knew a word wouldn’t work for him. I stood there for a moment before saying, “KM got hit by seven or eight RPGs, and has bodies all over the road. Keep your wits about you—your wife needs you. Do you know what I am saying?” He replied, “Yes, Chief, I got you.”

  Across the courtyard Nike and Jake were in the primary sniper position. I climbed up the ladder and lay between them. They were still looking through their scopes. After a moment I reached into my pocket and brought out a can of Copenhagen, offering it first to Nike. He rolled to his left side and I could see the smile on his face.

  “Damn, Chief, this is real sniper work. I’ve shot 20 rounds. Furthest is 700 yards. This is going to be fun.” With that, he opened the can and put half into his lip. Handing it back to me, he told me, “Chief, I need an aspirin ‘cause I have a screaming headache. Can you be my bitch and go dig it out of my med kit?” I smiled.

  “Jake, what do you need?” I asked before leaving. He replied, “More rounds, please.”

  I crawled back, then stopped to grab each of their legs. “Don’t think you are studs and stay up here. Ask for help. I am not going to tell you how long. This shit is real. Don’t fight it when you lose concentration, just ask for help. Do you understand me?” They both replied in the affirmative. “So, how much longer do you think, so I can plan for your relief?” I asked. “Maybe twenty minutes,” was the reply.

  I slid down the ladder, got Nike’s aspirin, and threw it up to him with some bottles of water. At the base of the ladder, I took a moment to think and consider all that had happened and what certainly would happen again. The enemy knew we were here, and exactly what we had to shoot at them. We hadn’t dropped any bombs yet, and that would surely change things. We had 40 mm grenades, 60 mm mortars, and 84 mm rockets yet to bring out. When we brought them out, they’d cause havoc.

  Time to set up the mortar tube now. I was the only one not gainfully employed, so I broke out the tube and set it on the bipod and plate. I gathered a couple of boxes of mortars and opened the cans. When I looked back, it occurred to me to go separate the cans a bit, so if one happened to blow up, the whole compound wouldn’t go into the sky.

  After two hours of hard work, around 10:30 a.m., our compound was as good as it was going to get. I had just lay down to get some rest when I heard the .50 caliber light off. Unconsciously, I was on my feet running to a hole in the wall next to Carnie. Immediately, we were spotting and shooting the enemy, who were running around trying to shoot us. I turned my radio to LT’s channel and said, “I suggest we use air on this one. They are only 100 yards away, and we have five EKIAs (enemy killed in action) over here. If they get in on us at this point, we are going to be hurting. It’s only the first day.”

  LT replied, “Already on it. First one: two minutes out. Danger close in your sector.” Turning back to my hole, I shot two more “gentlemen who came to call,” then I heard a 500 pounder thirty seconds out that rocked me back on my chair. Ouch! My finger squeezed the trigger, the bullet hitting the side of the hole. I looked at Carnie, who was on the ground, having been knocked off the chair. He laughed and said, “Dude, that was funny. You shot the wall: what an amateur.” Dust came pushing through the holes and totally clouded the entire room, so we stood up and walked out coughing and laughing together.

  Looking in the direction of the bomb, we saw a huge dust cloud rising above the trees, and rocks and dirt were being thrown everywhere. I walked over to Lawyer, who said, “I think I came in my pants; that shit was close. Next time I think I am going to get the A-10 to do a gun run.”

  “What are you waiting for? Do it,” I replied.

  A minute later Lawyer called out, “danger close.”

  I continued the count and got my crosshairs on another “caller,” and as I pulled slack out of my trigger, a huge bright light exploded right in the middle of my scope about 150 yards away.

  Lawyer was talking to the A-10 pilot and you could hear the plane coming in closer. Nike and Jake were still shooting at the devils in their sector as some stupid ass who thought 800 yards was a safe distance to stop and talk to his buddy.

  I climbed the ladder and said, “Nike, gun run coming on those guys you are shooting. Tell me where you want it.”

  After passing the info to Lawyer, I turned around and looked right into the mouth of an A-10 flying 100 feet above our compound. I do recall my eyes getting wide as it passed right over us and erupted with two huge bursts out of its mouth cannons.

  I didn’t get the chance to see where the rounds impacted because the shells from the A-10 were falling right on me, and knocked me off the ladder. Thank God for body armor. I lay laughing, because in that split second, I knew I was where I needed to be and had spent my entire life training and waiting for—the happy chaos. Afterward, it was clear no enemy were moving, and wouldn’t be for a while. By then, it was 130 degrees, so I checked through my kit for water and noticed I had none left. I nonchalantly walked around, noticing several empty bottles thrown around. After asking every man how many bottles of water or Gatorade he had left, it became even clearer—we had no water.

  At that point, my own Internal Dialogue truly worked against me. I was piss
ed we were all out of water, and had not planned for more. I was further pissed because, without water, we would die quicker than with what we faced in combat. Everyone was more than upset, because we all knew in this heat, water means life or death.

  I got Nike down from the sniper position and said, “Well, we have no more water. I need suggestions. Do you see anything from up there that would help?” He replied, “Yes, Ridge Boss. A canal is about forty yards to the south. Or we can drink from these yellow containers that were left here in the compound.”

  We walked to the bundle of yellow containers, opened one, and poured it out. Yum, I thought, Dirty water that’s 120 degrees. Then I figured, What the hell: I will try it. I knew that even if it had bacteria, it wouldn’t affect me as quickly as dehydration would. So, bottoms up. Damn, it tasted like piss with sand, but it quenched my thirst, and made me feel alert.

  We filled up most of the men’s bottles, though not everyone was brave enough to indulge in the sand piss. Yet, after a couple of hours, all but LT were gorging themselves.

  I was exhausted, to be sure. After the sandy piss-flavored debacle, most of us tried to get rest; no one can fight in that heat. We called in some helos and jets to continue keeping pressure on the enemy. If I recall, the bullets started flying again around 4:00 p.m. We were ready this time, yet we took heavy fire in all the sandbags. RPGs were hitting the north- and east-facing walls.

  I had walked to one of the wall ports and was firing on several enemy who were making their way along a wall, from the east toward the west. Oddly, the wall had a big gap where they had to expose themselves to get to the other wall. I don’t think those three guys will be doing that anymore. Again, after forty-five minutes of fighting, we had enough jets and helos above us getting after it, that we could lick our wounds and resupply with the remaining bullets. Only twenty bullets were left per man and 200 linked rounds for the heavy weapons to share.

  We needed to get to the protection of darkness, where we had the superior advantage, about three hours away. Lawyer, LT, and I discussed the importance of maintaining an active and visual presence of helos and aircraft above us to ensure our survival. Once our ammo condition was made clear to the commander of the operation, and our plan to get more agreed upon, he authorized more aircraft be called in.

  One hour before dark, we got hit with a half-hearted attempt by the enemy. You could tell their heart wasn’t in it after several A-10 Warthog and AH-64 Apache Helos did multiple gun runs and rocket attacks. It was fun to watch. But, for a moment, I let my guard down and kept my head exposed just a bit too long. A round hit the wall about two inches from my face, spraying dirt and sand into my eyes. I immediately ducked, even though it would have been too late had the round actually hit me. Thank God I had my glasses on, because several pebbles embedded in my lenses. Those would have left a mark! I was not going to drop my guard ever again.

  I recall saying to myself, “Sorry, Stacy. I about lost my eyes on that one. Not seeing you again would really suck! Although, I have a feeling you would be OK.” Sometimes my humor is sick, but it works for me.

  With night came parachutes filled with resupply. However, the silly coordinated effort put eight para-bundles on our position. Each bundle weighed 300 pounds, and each bundle broke apart on impact; the shit was spread everywhere. As luck would have it, our water bundle landed in the canal forty yards from our compound. Several of us immediately rushed out to grab the sinking bundle and throw the water bottles up on the bank. After an hour of wading in the cold water and chucking up bottles and stray food boxes, I was more than ready to go to sleep.

  After six hours of continuous work to get all the bullets, bombs, food, water, fuel, batteries, and extra barrels, we were open for business as combat Walmart. As funny as that sounds, not one of my men had slept for thirty-six hours. We were all completely exhausted, and we only had thirty minutes before dawn brought the enemy, all happy to die, and the sun, all happy to kill us with the heat. This was day number two.

  I just went into where my gear was and lay on my back with my body armor off. For maybe an hour I just said, “Fuck it.” I think I know what often happens in combat when you are tired and hot, the brain just stops caring about anything other than closing your eyes and sleeping. I had nothing left to fight; everything was quiet, and my snipers were in position. While drinking some new, cold Gatorade and eating some food, my eyes just stopped functioning.

  Oh, your dreams when you are exhausted are truly disjointed. I was clearly dreaming of mad, passionate sex with Stacy, but I kept looking out the window at an old man with a beard trying to throw a grenade at the window, and watching it bounce off. I recall sticking my tongue out at him, laughing. All of the sudden, I woke up covered in dust. My ears were ringing, and for a second, I didn’t know where I was. From where I lay, I could see out a small hole in the wall. I had a hard time focusing, since the old man looked as though he was carrying a grenade, running toward the wall I was looking through.

  The real world came rushing in. I rolled over and grabbed my M14, and lay on my side so I could get my cross hairs on him. I aimed at his right shoulder because I knew the bullet would fly low and right from my point of aim. Right when he threw his arm back, I fired. Dust kicked up in the room again. I jumped up and found another hole in the wall. As I relocated him, the grenade went off between him and me … much closer to him than me, thank God.

  I looked down at my watch. For some reason, I felt numb—a sick numbness. I am sure some psychoanalyst has a name for what I felt, and would be willing to base a PhD on it. Perhaps the numbness was due to having a sexual dream, then being ripped away into combat and killing someone. I began to care little about the dirt, surroundings, or what was going on anywhere other than here. I was truly surprised by my lack of feeling, but maybe the urgency and exhaustion got me. I drank some warm Gatorade, ate an MRE (Meal Ready to Eat), and looked out my hole in the wall.

  I don’t know how long I sat, but Carnie touched me on the shoulder and said, “Chief, LT wants to talk to you.”

  “LT, what’s up?” I asked.

  LT replied, “Nothing in particular. Just heard you shooting, and Nike said he saw a guy blow up with a grenade in his hand.”

  “Well, one minute I was naked with my wife, and the next I was shooting some stupid ass trying to throw a grenade. So I am pissed … how are you?” I said.

  LT replied, “Well, we have everyone’s bullets, bombs, and supplies here. I called out to everyone and told them it was here and we were busy fighting. If they wanted it, they would have to get it themselves.”

  I replied, “That being said, I am going to make sure we have more water and food.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Chief. The boys already pilfered the stores. I passed out at 3:30 this morning, and when I woke up, you were lying face down. We are all dead tired,” LT said.

  I said, “Listen, our men don’t need to be awake every second. They are fighting for their lives and each other. If we don’t get sleep, we will not be effective. Sleep to stay alive. I am going to check in with everyone. At this point, they only need reassurance and a reminder we will cover their backs. With all this killing, they only need to know we support them—trust me on this.”

  Before I made my rounds, I went back into the room where I had been sleeping to sit and take a minute to get my thoughts straight. I took this moment, “in the space between the bullets,” to reflect on what I had learned over the course of my life. This may be the last time I would actually get to connect and speak to all—or just one of—my men. This was real, no bullshit combat—real life or death. Every single condition played against us. We were in a static, defensive position and would be for the next three or four days. We had already shown the enemy most of the weapons we had for delivering death, and they also knew once the first round was fired, we would have bombs dropping on them. They had tested our position to see if we had any kinks in our defenses, and we had plenty. Plus, we were tired.

&nbs
p; Yet, I knew this was a crucial point in human performance I was personally putting all my effort toward. I knew this:

  What a man says to himself in the crucial moment between a perfect operation and falling off a cliff, always tips the scale and shifts the battle. Human performance adjusts and moves toward each man’s Internal Dialogue. The format of his Internal Dialogue is also important. His sentences must follow the statement, “I am going to ‘whatever’.” A man must need to be in this exact condition. A warrior must tell himself, “I am meant to be here.”

  I sat and closed my eyes, saying to myself:

  “I need to be here. This is who I am, and I enjoy combat. My men need me, and I need them.”

  “I need to be here. This is who I am, and I enjoy combat. My men need me, and I need them.”

  “I need to be here. This is who I am, and I enjoy combat. My men need me, and I need them.”

  I repeated this thought until it became a part of me. After a bit, I heard my wife’s voice in my ears, like she was actually in the room:

  Thom, I need you to come back to us. Do not fear dying. It makes you weak.

  Afterward, walking around, the bullet holes in walls and the sandbags no longer shocked me. This was our place. We owned it, and we would not only survive, we would flourish. The ladder leading up to our primary position had several bullet holes in it, yet no bullet found any of my men. Nike and Jake were in position again. Lying next to them was inspirational beyond any of my experiences.

  Nike said, “Chief, could you relieve me? I am tired as hell. I need rest.” I looked over at Jake; his eyes were bloodshot, and I knew he was spent as well.

  I replied, “Sure, but tell me what has been going on and where you think the enemy is working in on us.”

  After Nike’s sniper brief, I said, “Send Carnie up here, too. Come back in ninety minutes, OK? I need you both to get rest, but I need you here as well. Nike, leave your rifle here. I will put it to use.”