by Thom Shea
When I lifted the lid to the trashcan, a hundred flies rose up, reinforcing my opinion of how backward this whole land and people are. Nothing like flies in your grill to ensure a passion to survive. “This fucking place,” I said with disgust.
I walked across the road back into the SEAL compound and the planning center. In planning another dance with the devil, it was time for me to call on everything I knew about my men—and everything I didn’t want to know about the enemy.
Our intel shop had matured so fast, they had found ways to get us into the battle. We decided to coordinate our efforts with a Special Forces Team who needed our bullets and training to move into an area clearly used as an enemy training camp; no Americans were allowed to move through the area. A lot of coordination would have to take place, including a flight up to their base to talk through issues, and some mortar training on our part so we could effectively support their offensive.
Discussing our options, I said, “Shit, yes. I would be happy to fly in to 10,000 feet to set up an overwatch and shoot mortars and rifles while they do all the walking. Who would ever have thought SEALs would be mortar men for SF?”
After completing our initial talk-through, I headed back to my combat room eager to read the emails Stacy had, no doubt, sent by now to read what a successful, patriotic man wanted to say to a SEAL chief in combat. I was truly excited to have a committed ear to talk to about performance. SEALs learn quickly to seek out other professionals to help us overcome anything not clear to us. As a sniper, I constantly seek out the top long-range shooters, and even big game hunters, to ask the questions only the best know the answers to.
An old saying I read as a young boy is, “If you want to learn how to go up the mountain, ask the man who goes up there every day. Don’t read a book about it.”
I pondered what questions I really did have about teamwork, human performance, dealing with overwhelming situations, etc. I also wondered if anyone not involved would have any understanding of what we faced … of what I faced. Could anyone truly understand this shit—this hell? I surely didn’t, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to delve any deeper.
Yet, since I was a child, I’ve been driven to seek every advantage to win. I have taken responsibility to make sure we win every tactical task the bosses give us and to also find a way to bring my men home alive and well. Tactically and technically, this platoon could go up against any enemy the world has ever had in the history of war. Nothing any outsider would offer could impact us in this arena.
In my time teaching boys to grow into SEALs, I’ve learned there’s something inside a man far more in need of training, far more valuable for him to learn, than any tactic or new fitness technique. After teaching young men in training to overcome impossible conditions, and watching them endure terrible pain, I noticed the key wasn’t how hard the man was, but how malleable his mind was—how he harnessed his thoughts before, during, and after these times of hell.
A hard mind is breakable.
A malleable mind is Unbreakable.
Much effort has been spent by our SEAL community chasing, very successfully, better technology for improving our ability to find and kill enemies. We have spent years using physical performance and toughness to make our SEALs the best in the world. We arrived at a solution of mental mastery by breaking down a man’s physical abilities. Throughout history, most nation’s warriors achieved this same mastery of mental state by crushing or breaking the body. Hell, some religions even push minimizing the physical body in order to get to heaven—or whatever state of awareness that discipline deems great.
In training these men, I chose to train their minds directly by teaching them to use their Internal Dialogue to bridge the gap between failing, on the one hand, or toward powerful performance when the body fails or when the odds of success aren’t in their favor. During hard training days, I saw how the quitters lost control of their own Internal Dialogue, and would quit the task for one or every reason they heard in their thoughts. Yet, what the non-quitters were saying to themselves wasn’t clear at first because we didn’t interview the winners! So I started interviewing the winners—those who would not quit no matter what.
My task was made more difficult because the winners didn’t pay any attention to thoughts that might make them quit. Often, they would not even let themselves say out loud what they were thinking. This simple act of not being comfortable speaking about quitting—or even acknowledging such thoughts of quitting at all—struck me as a far more important discovery.
So, on that day, I sat down to share that very point with Jerry to see if he had any insights.
Reading the introductory email from a man and woman I didn’t know, from a place so far away and so far removed from hell, I was immediately shocked by his first paragraph. I have copied and pasted it here, directly quoted:
Thom, I will not waste your time with unproven, useless words. The work you have to do needs every ounce of your attention and experience. Your family is safe, I personally assure you if they need anything, we will move heaven and earth to help them.
Tammy and I simply offer all of our years of experience in business, with honest conversation about losses and victories, and what we have learned from both. The nation is behind you, and we in particular, will help where we can.
Stacy has shared some of the emails you have sent your family. We are ready to listen and engage on one particular subject where we know we can assist. We know what it takes to get a group of people to excel.
Very fine, I thought, reading the last word. But in hell, something always pulls you back to reality. A distant explosion triggered the base alarm system, so off I went to the bomb bunker to wait thirty minutes for the base to confirm what the rest of us already knew—the bomb missed, and the enemy was long gone.
I had much to ponder after Jerry’s email, but we were off to planning and training. Our next mission matured to the point of having a day and time set. The men always seemed to get electrified when those were set. We had clearance to send a small team up to the SF base to meet and coordinate the entire plan.
Before leaving base, I hastily dashed off an email to Stacy.
Honey, I will be gone for a couple days. My email and phone silence is nothing critical—unless the helo crashes! Just kidding.
My trip away was solid. The men of my platoon are operating beyond the need for my control. I have to admit I am proud of them, and now know I only play a management role, holding the reins. The analogy is fitting, because they are no longer acting like a herd of cats, but as a team of horses, all pulling together in one direction. Sometimes, I ultimately feel I am holding them back. I suppose leading warriors is just that way—holding aggression in check.
We finally met a SF officer who wants to go after the enemy and doesn’t care if it is dangerous. The SF battalion we operated with in Helmand was that way, but they are gone now. Now we’re smiling openly, knowing we are going to get into some good fights over the next few operations. Time to get a good grip on the reins.
Now that I am back at camp, I have time to get back into working out and talking with Stacy and the kids on the computer or phone. I find myself needing this routine to stay rooted in family and to be fit and available for combat. Mostly, I selfishly need the connection with Stacy.
The men have already completed organization and initial tactics required for loading us up and getting us back home after the operation. This one has moving parts and logistical delays to this operation, but the tactics, once on the ground, are simple … at least at this stage of our combat lifestyle.
Tomorrow night we leave, and I predict we will be back within thirty-six hours. I decided to see what my new, wise mentor may have to add to my experience leading men and to making sure we get back alive.
My short email to Jerry:
Jerry, without going into detail, let us talk about what you have learned regarding leading men and making them capable. I just want to know what you think about or talk about wi
th your companies’ employees to make them perform.
Jerry’s response:
Thom, I will admit I have never led men in combat, nor have I encountered any situation where I have killed or asked a man to kill. I will, however, tell you what I have learned about how we have developed over the millions of years of evolution, and maybe, just maybe, some bit of information will fit in with what you face.
Over the millions of years of evolution, some breeds of men have evolved a need to endure hellish things, as you stated. I suggest you don’t fight that need; give in to it and give it to your men and embrace it. Don’t worry that many people back here don’t understand it or want you to be that way. Be that way because you need to be that way.
I see that you called your wife Spartan Wife. Keep calling her that—it makes you embrace who you are and who you need to be, and your men will see that. I also think Stacy needs you to be a Spartan.
Well, that was all he wrote. Don’t fight who I am; embrace it. The men will see it and thrive, and the wife needs you to be that way, too. Sometimes I wish wise people would just tell the young “how to,” instead of this Yoda shit.
Standing in line for chow, I thought about the mission, about the men, and about my new-found knowledge. I needed to be here, and so did my men. I knew I needed to be here. I had spent twenty years in one war or another and felt at home, even though it sucked, and I would often rather be in bed with Stacy.
I think what I do with the men actually reinforces not only that what we are doing is what we need to do, but also demonstrates the respect I have for each of the men for being here. During the Helmand mission, they showed me, and themselves, they were capable of doing quite well here in hell.
Email to Stacy:
Stacy, a week has passed since our last email and video chat. I have so missed my family. Before I tell you what we went through during the last two missions, know we are all here, healthy and unbroken. I so long for your touches.
The first mission we embarked on was very straightforward. We loaded up our SEAL force and flew to a remote base to link up with our SF brothers. We had an hour on the ground to talk through some of the last details and allow our communications experts to get their final checks with all the assets and other players during the mission.
We have become used to, and relaxed at, the thought of flying into unknown areas, into bad guy backyards, searching through the mazes of buildings we inevitably find. This target area was a maze, too, but the men handled it very well.
The main compound was surrounded by a ten-foot wall, spread out over a 100-yard by 100-yard area. The inside compound was a literal maze of interconnected buildings, with crawl spaces linking some of the buildings to each other.
I found the first crawl hole and could not fit my big ass through, so I backward scooted, then pulled the smallest guy I had over. We call him the Mad Hatter.
He looked at me and said, “Are you fucking serious? Right now?”
“No, I am joking. You are welcome to sit with your back against the wall for the rest of the day, with your thumb in your mouth. The choice is yours,” I snickered.
He pulled out his pistol and crawled in. After the light and sound of him scooting disappeared, I looked up and saw LT staring down at me from the roof. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I bet he is pissing himself about now, don’t you?”
“Sometimes being small doesn’t pay,” said LT as he laughed and walked away.
After two minutes, I could see a flashlight coming back through the space. When he fully birthed himself from the canal, he sat down, and I saw he was soaked head to toe. I didn’t say a word, since I knew he’d report when he got his composure back.
Finally, he looked up and said, “Holy fuck, Chief; I about drowned in there. It all of a sudden dropped off. I was head down and couldn’t turn around. I dropped my pistol, too. Once I pushed myself up out of the water, I turned and could see my pistol at the bottom of the little elbow. I put my feet in, slid underwater, squeezed my pistol between my feet, and pulled my body back up. I suppose now I know why we do drown proofing in BUD/S.”
“Well, get your guns back up, this clearance isn’t close to being over. Shake it off,” I replied.
I moved back outside to see where all the men were. As we pushed the clearance south along the wall, I grabbed one of my new heavy weapons guys who had missed the first part of deployment and placed him on the right flank security.
I have not mentioned much about these guys. I suppose now is a good time. One guy, Salty, is the toughest and most loyal man I have ever met. When we were forming up the platoon eighteen months ago, we needed one more man. I had a list of potential guys still in SEAL Qualification Training from my master chief. I went to the training building and interviewed some from the list. This guy was at the bottom. He had gotten in a fight with “real” team guys at a local bar and had suffered a detached retina. He had been recovering for three months, becoming disillusioned and pissing off everyone around him. My kinda guy.
As I talked with him, I began to like this dude. The willingness to fight, the lack of fear, and the hatred for administrative leadership reminded me of myself. I offered him an option—only one option.
“Salty, here is the deal. If I take you on, we will have no drinking of any kind from here on out. Unless we are at a platoon family function and I say you can, I better never hear of you being drunk. I expect you to be the hardest, strongest man in the platoon, and I am going to give you the machine gun to carry. If you are ever late, you are out of the platoon. If I ever hear you bad mouth anyone in the platoon, you are out. Can you live by those rules?”
He looked at me and replied, “Chief, I will live by those rules.”
“Good. Pack your bags and check into Team Seven Bravo platoon tomorrow morning at 0700 hours,” I advised.
Since then, he has done every single thing asked of him. He has become dependable as a teammate, reliable in all weather, and I call him friend. So I set him on flank security and said, “You are the only one out here. Don’t let any enemy get in on us. Don’t ask for permission to shoot; this isn’t a game. Don’t drop this position for any reason. I will come get you when the target is secured. OK?”
He nodded, and I walked away.
The clearance went on for another hour of twists and turns, but no shots were fired, and nothing big was found. As we set up for the long day of sitting and waiting, LT and I joked about the tunnels and looked at the really old weapons we had found on target. Flintlock, black powder rifles, and some Russian shotguns from the early 1900s. They may have been old, but they can still do damage.
The sun was coming up as I walked around getting the final head count and ensuring we had 360-degree coverage. Suddenly, I realized I had not gone back to relieve Salty on the flank. “Jesus, Salty, two hours flew by. Next time I won’t tell you to stay in position until I get back. Shit, if I had died, would you have stayed here forever?” I asked when I returned.
Laughing, he replied, “No, if you had died, I would have killed the ones who had shot you, or died trying.” He stood up and turned to pee. I thought to myself, Wow, this dude did exactly what he was told to … in an age of defiance. Impressive.
On the short walk back, he grabbed my arm, and we stopped. “Chief, I am here because of you. I will never forget your support. I owe you.” I patted him on the back and said, “Go get some rest and sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
The remainder of the operation was completely hilarious. On the final building, we needed to breach the main gate. My original Leading Petty Officer (LPO), who had been sent to Iraq during the first part of the deployment, had taken the lead to conduct the explosive breach. I think he put in too much charge, poor guy. We blew the entire metal door into the compound. It flew, spinning like a saw, about two feet above the ground, across the inner courtyard, then buried into a wall. The craziest part is the entire family sleeping in the courtyard didn’t even wake up.
On
the second floor, our snipers needed to breach some small holes in one of the west-facing walls to get eyes on that direction. Again, LPO aided in the explosive breach. I was on the first floor with him, All Around, and Salty. Boom!
“Damn, that seemed a bit loud for a porthole breach,” I said with a frown.
All Around turned to LPO and said, “Fuck, how much did you use?”
LPO said, “Just two quarter-blocks.”
All Around, who was also a breacher, mused, “Um, that is a half a pound of C4!”
So up we all crawled, back through the 2,000-year-old, hand-molded, mud staircase. I was the last one to climb up. Everyone stood silently. The explosion had lifted the mud roof and twisted it forty-five degrees. The south-facing wall of the room was no longer there. Most interesting—the holes produced were only six inches wide.
I laughed and said, “Good luck,” before crawling back down the ancient staircase.
ADAMANTINE LESSON EIGHT
Mentors and masters
Mentorship is a great thing. I am beginning to see, in a small way, my effect on my men, and find myself thinking of Jerry’s offer to mentor and affect both me and the platoon. I think great men show up when we are at a place where we’re ready to be mentored.
Look for and seek advice and guidance from people who are experts at the things you, too, want to be great doing. Be ready to receive their coaching, their mentorship. I know you kids will all want to go it alone. For a variety of reasons, humans have a natural tendency to do things alone. You have learned to use your own Internal Dialogue to shape your actions. I think this same Internal Dialogue works against us sometimes if we are not careful. Yet, in the case of being open to mentorship, you will have to quiet your Internal Dialogue, as it will most assuredly tell you this person is not going to help, or this person will steal your dreams, or some other self-sabotaging directive.