Chapter 18
While he was munching on what remained of it, I swam up to the surface and flagged down the security boat. I grabbed onto the side and explained that they were taking me in RIGHT NOW!! because there was a SHARK!! out here, and he was one hungry mother.
During another training exercise-this one was before my first deployment-four of us were inserted on the California coast from a submarine. We came ash.o.r.e in two Zodiacs, built a hide, and did some reconnaissance. When the time came, we all got in our Zodiacs and headed back out to meet the sub and go home.
Unfortunately, my officer had given the submarine the wrong grid coordinates for the rendezvous. In fact, they were so far off that there was an island between us and the sub.
Of course, we didn't know that at the time. We just circled around, trying to make radio coms with a vessel that was too far away to hear us. At some point, either our radio got wet or the battery drained, and all hope of connection was lost.
We spent just about the entire night out on the water in the Zodiacs. Finally, as dawn approached, our fuel was nearly gone. My raft was starting to go flat. We all decided we'd just go back ash.o.r.e and wait. At least we would get some sleep.
As we were coming in, a sea lion swam up, all friendly-like. Being from Texas, I had never really had much of a chance to look at sea lions, so naturally I was curious and started watching this one. He was a pretty interesting, if ugly, critter.
All of a sudden-splop-he disappeared below the surface.
The next thing I knew, he-and we-were surrounded by large, pointy fins. Apparently, a number of sharks had decided to make breakfast of him.
Sea lions are big, but there were way too many sharks to be satisfied with just him. They started circling closer and closer to the sides of my raft, which looked increasingly thin and perilously close to the water.
I glanced toward sh.o.r.e. It was very far off.
Holy s.h.i.+t, I thought. I'm going to get eaten.
My companion in the raft was a rather round fellow, at least for a SEAL.
"If we go down," I warned him, "I'm shooting you. You'll be something for the sharks to munch on while I swim to sh.o.r.e."
He just cursed at me. I think he thought I was kidding.
I wasn't.
TATS
We did finally make sh.o.r.e without getting eaten. But meanwhile, the entire Navy was looking for us. The news media started carrying the story: FOUR SEALS LOST AT SEA.
Not exactly what we wanted to be famous for.
It took a while, but a patrol plane finally spotted us and an Mk-V was dispatched to pick us up. The commander of the a.s.sault boat took care of us and got us home.
That was one of the few times when I was really glad to get aboard a boat or s.h.i.+p. Generally, when I've been out at sea I've been bored. Worrying about being a.s.signed to sea duty was a big motivator
Submarines are the worst. Even the largest feel cramped. The last time I was aboard one, we weren't even allowed to work out. The gym was located on the other side of the nuclear reactor from our quarters, and we weren't authorized to pa.s.s through the reactor area to get there.
Aircraft carriers are a h.e.l.l of a lot larger, but they can be just as boring. At least they have lounges where you can play video games and there are no restrictions on getting to the gym to blow off steam.
In fact, on one occasion, we were specifically requested to go to the gym by the CO.
We were on the Kitty Hawk when they were having a problem with gangs. Apparently, some punk sailors who were gang members were causing quite a discipline problem aboard s.h.i.+p. The CO of the boat pulled us over and told us when the gang used the gym.
So we went down to work out, locked the door behind us, and fixed the gang problem.
During this workup, I missed a dive session because I got sick. It was as if a light went off in my head. From that point on, just about every time diving turned up on our practice schedule, I came down with a very bad disease. Or I found a sniper-training trip that just had to be taken at that point.
The rest of the guys teased me that I had better ninja smoke than anybody.
And who am I to argue?
I also got my first tattoo around this time. I wanted to honor the SEALs, and yet I didn't feel as if I'd earned a Trident tattoo. (The official SEAL emblem had an eagle perched in an overwatch position on a trident that forms the crossbar of an anchor; a flintlock pistol sits in front of it. The insignia is known as the trident or, unofficially, a "Budweiser," the reference being to BUD/S... or the beer, depending on who you ask.)
So, instead, I got a "frog bone," a tattoo that looks like a frog skeleton. This, too, is a traditional SEAL and UDT symbol-in this case, honoring our dead comrades. I have the tattoo on my back, peeking over my shoulder-as if those who came before me were looking after me, offering some protection.
BIRTH
Besides being a SEAL, I was also a husband. And after I came home, Taya and I decided to try and start a family.
Things went pretty well. She got pregnant about the first time we kissed without protection. And her pregnancy was near-perfect. It was the childbirth that got complicated.
For some reason, my wife had a problem with a low platelet count. Unfortunately, the problem wasn't discovered until too late, and because of that she couldn't get an epidural or other painkiller when it came time to give birth. So, she had to give birth naturally, without any training or preparation.
Our son was eight pounds, not a particularly small kid.
You learn a lot about a woman when she's under duress. I got b.i.t.c.hed to high heaven. (She claims she didn't, but I know better. And who are you going to believe, a SEAL? Or a SEAL's wife?)
Taya was in labor for sixteen hours. Toward the end, they decided they could give her laughing gas to ease the pain. But before they did, they warned me of everything that could happen to my son, no matter how distant the possibility.
I didn't feel I had much of a choice. She was in tremendous pain. She needed relief. I told them to go ahead, though in the back of my mind I was worried that my boy would come out messed up.
Then the doctor told me my son was so big, he couldn't quite squeeze through the birth ca.n.a.l. They wanted to put a suction thing on his head to help him get out. Meanwhile, Taya was pa.s.sing out cold between contractions.
"Okay," I said, not really understanding.
The doctor looked at me. "He may come out like a Conehead."
Oh great, I thought. My child is not only going to be f.u.c.ked up from the gas but he's going to be a Conehead.
"G.o.dd.a.m.nit, just get him out of there," I told him. "You're killing my wife. Do it!"
My boy came out just fine. But I have to say, I was a case the whole time. It was the most hopeless feeling in the world, seeing my wife in excruciating pain, without anything I could do.
I was a h.e.l.l of a lot more nervous watching her give birth than I ever was in combat.
Taya:
It was a very emotional time, with tremendous highs and lows. Both of our families were in town for the birth. We were all very happy, and yet, at the same time, we knew Chris would be leaving soon for Iraq.
That part sucked.
Chris had trouble handling the baby's crying at first, and that stressed me as well-you can handle war but you can't handle a few days of crying?