Frogman Stories, page 10
In my two years as lead recruiter for Navy specialty units, I did not see one woman that could pass any of the standards. I would actually come out when a woman was testing to cheer her on because I wanted them to succeed; I wanted at least one to make it to the next level. Unfortunately, none did. The other problem I had was with minority recruiting. The main reason a majority of the candidates did not pass the screening test was that they simply could not swim or swam poorly. I am not going to get into what I believe were the reasons for this, but standards are made for a reason. Sure, we would go the extra mile to help train an individual who was close to passing the test, but bootcamp isn’t the place to teach someone how to swim. Recruiting minorities into the SEALs is very important to the overall strength of the unit. I was supposed to help grow those numbers so we could be more effective at our mission. I tried my best and, fortunately, was able to pass a few into the community.
About a year after arriving in Great Lakes, I was ready to go. The Navy didn’t agree, however, and I had 12 more months of pain to go. During that time, I was visited by the admiral in charge of all the SEALs; he was based in Coronado, California. He tasked me to locate a building on base which would be suitable to start a program to prepare future trainees for the rigors of BUD/S before they were shipped to California. The theory was Pre-BUD/S would create more SEALs because they would better understand what they were getting into. What it actually created was a better-qualified class of quitters. The attrition rate of over 70 percent hasn’t changed at all and the Navy was spending a bunch of time and money to babysit these guys in Illinois before they shipped out to California. I did what I was asked and started looking for a suitable building on base to run the course. About a week into my search, I got a phone call from the aide of the admiral in charge at Great Lakes to come to her office for a visit. Really? Maybe she wanted to check in on me and review SEAL recruiting. Regardless, I put on a proper uniform and traveled to her office expecting a warm welcome.
That is not what I got. The admiral’s aide ushered me into the office in front of her desk where she was working. I stood there for a minute looking stupid until she lifted her head and yelled “stand at attention!” Well, this wasn’t going well. It turns out my admiral, the one in charge of the SEALs, didn’t discuss his plans to open a Pre-BUD/S course on her base. As I went about my merry way looking for proper facilities for the mission, word got back to her what I was doing. Since I technically worked for her, it appeared I was going behind her back, a rogue warrior for lack of a better term. Needless to say, I continued to stand there at attention and receive my tongue lashing until she was sufficiently tired of yelling. I think the only two words out of my mouth at the time were “Yes, ma’am” when she asked if I understood her anger. You can do one of two things at this point. Suck it up and move on or try to explain the situation and how I was put into that situation by my own admiral. I choose to suck it up for a number of reasons: 1. It is less than honorable to throw anyone else under the bus; 2. No one was dying; 3. For all I knew, she already understood what was going on and wanted to prove a point. Who knows?
I walked out with my tail between my legs and learned a very valuable lesson. Make sure you understand the game before getting on the field. Politics seems to change people for the worse. In this case, both my bosses were willing to screw with me for something I did not understand at the time. Now, granted, I have done plenty that has deserved a reprimand, but not in this case. Life went on. We started the new Pre-BUD/S course on schedule. By the end of my tour at Great Lakes, I had made many friends and even tried to help with Big Navy recruiting by bringing in the Navy Parachute Team “Leap Frogs” to do a demonstration for the base (perhaps even get a jump in myself).
CHAPTER 20
Trust Your Gut
Parachute operations are one of the highest-risk evolutions any military unit can undertake. There are always at least 100 things that can go wrong at any given time that you have absolutely no control over. Jumping at night makes it even more dangerous, but that is when SEALs typically operate. With over two thousand five hundred jumps under my belt, I have been fortunate to record only two mishaps which could have easily taken my life. Sometimes it is good to be lucky, blessed, or both.
As you become more proficient at parachuting, like any other skill set in the SEALs, you are usually assigned more responsibility managing the training evolution. In my case, I became qualified as a Military Freefall Jumpmaster and Accelerated Freefall Instructor, both of which meant being responsible for the safety of multiple jumpers. I no longer had the luxury of being responsible for just my own actions, but everyone involved in the training.
One of the biggest mistakes involving jumping in my career was during my tenure as the lead training chief at SEAL Team SIX. Many of the newer guys that showed up did not have the necessary skills or qualifications to be assigned to an assault team without advanced parachute training, among other things. Because of the nature of jumping and the risk involved, this form of training took longer than others. The culmination of the course was a full-team, full-equipment jump into an unknown drop zone (DZ)—in this case, somewhere on the U.S. Army base in Fort Campbell, Kentucky. The aircraft was a U.S. Air Force Special Operations C-130. The crew was not happy about the mission because jump operations for them were boring. Too bad. My goal as jumpmaster and lead of the evolution was to have the 30 men exit the aircraft at twilight, so they could see each other when opening, and land at dark. Timing was critical. I had a set time to pull this off.
The aircraft commander on the other hand had a different idea and wanted to get some low-level flight training in before the jump—no problem if he is ready to go at the agreed upon time. First mistake, I should have known better. That plane and crew were there for us, not the other way around. As time passed and we missed our deadline, I became more and more agitated and let my emotions get the best of me. I re-briefed the jumpers in flight to let them know this was going to be a night jump with release control given to the aircraft navigation system. What I should have done in retrospect was to cancel the jump and land the aircraft; but I did not.
We released all 30 new SEALs over the designated drop zone when the green jump light came on at the back ramp of the plane. Or that is what I thought. As it turned out, we were nowhere near the DZ and just released the Team all over the base. Luckily for me, no one was injured. All jumpers and parachutes were recovered and the Team continued on with their mission, glad to be alive, with a little less faith in me. That is a big deal in the SEAL Teams. Landing the aircraft would have been the smartest and safest thing to do, but I was afraid to lose face. How could Navy SEALs not want to conduct a mission just because it got dark out? My own pride clouded my judgement and it could have gotten someone hurt or worse. Every time I have made a mistake during parachute operations, it has been because I didn’t trust my training and, more importantly, my gut. Unless someone’s life is on the line, stop what you are doing, regroup, and make sure you are making the right decisions. It works every time whether you are getting ready to send a questionable email or text or getting ready to get into an altercation. Stop and think about what you are doing and the outcome.
Slowing down even for a split second can really be the difference between success and failure. Many years later, I ran into a number of the guys on that particular jump. Instead of the expected harassment I deserved, they actually told me the jump was one of the best in their careers. It seems all the things I had preached in training were put to the test on that jump—truly an unknown DZ, in the dark, and everyone had to land safely and find their teammates. Typical training jump operations revolve around safety which eliminates all the realism. Go figure.
CHAPTER 21
Never Say Never
I retired from active duty at ST-6 after 22 years as a Master Chief Petty Officer in August of 2000. I had been an assaulter, breacher, lead diver, lead jumper, special projects member, sniper, sniper team leader and sniper squadron leader. The deployments were starting to get to the family and me at this point and the only mission in town was searching for persons indicted for war crimes in Bosnia. I considered myself to have “been there, done that” already. It was not time to hang up my fins however, so I took a job as a civilian employee in the operations department at ST-6. No more deployments for me. At the time there were only a handful of former SEALs hired back to assist in running the team and none of them worked in the operations department, which is the center of any Command. Bottom line: operations is given guidance from the Commanding Officer and is then given the authority to carry out his orders. I did not have any problems giving directions after being on the Team for so long. I believed I would be a good fit. I had many SEAL, civilian and support personnel friends throughout the Command. I knew how to get things done and how to deal with people. I was still part of the team but not the guy kicking down doors. It was a senior leadership position. No written guidance, no rules, trust your gut. I worked directly for the operations officer, a senior Navy SEAL progressing up the officer ranks as part of his career path. Usually, a two-year assignment like all officer positions in the Navy. It was my job to provide continuity and give guidance as a long-term Team member. It was a good job for a short time until the unthinkable happened. 9/11. When the attacks on our country occurred on 9/11 it changed my life as it did for countless others. ST-6 was at the forefront of any retaliation strike that our leaders were going to hand to our enemies and I wanted in. Having only been off active duty for a year, it was easy to make a few phone calls to get me back. Events were moving quickly at home and with the team. Explanations were given, decisions were being made, and I was a few weeks away from returning to active roles. That is when my boss, the operations officer, asked me to reconsider the change. What I did not understand was that the entire Command was about to deploy, leaving a huge leadership void. The operations officer was about to leave for an undetermined amount of time and was asking me to stay and hold down the fort. Decision time. On the one hand, I could stay where I was and help arguably the greatest fighting force on the planet. On the other, I could rejoin and be assigned to any SEAL Team that needed a Master Chief. In the end, I believed I could make more of a difference in operations and remained there for the next 12 years, including multiple deployments to wonderful places like Afghanistan. Never say never.
CHAPTER 22
Don’t Judge a SEAL by His Cover
I watched the Twin Towers come down as did most people in this country—on TV. What I understood however was that we were going to war. No one at that time could have understood the length or depth of what was coming. But we were doing what we were trained for. Once I made the decision to remain in operations, I settled in for the ride. Myself and another fellow Master Chief basically ran the department for the foreseeable future. Leadership tried to keep up by assigning various operations officers to oversee us but due to the war, these guys were more valuable forward in Afghanistan and eventually Iraq than they were at home. I started to keep a list of the many “O’s” who took the job but stopped after 25–30 in a matter of five years. One guy lasted only three days before new orders sent him away. Another day in the life of Ops. My time was not without controversy. I had many run-ins with other officers who could not accept the fact that a former Master Chief was now giving them orders. Of course, I was only following my own orders, but that did not make any difference. Early on in Ops, I was given a Navy SEAL reservist as an Ops O. “Sacrilege.” What in the world did a damn reservist know about running ST-6? I can tell you. Little or nothing. Or so I thought. He turned out to be one of my better bosses during my time in Ops. Go figure, wrong again. He was also responsible for single-handedly keeping me from getting fired by the Commanding Officer. I had ruffled quite a few feathers doing my job and several of the officers throughout the Command were not happy. They complained to the CO, at which point he considered giving me the boot. The reservist had been there long enough to see what I did on a daily basis and convinced the CO that it would be a mistake to get rid of me. I was not told of the incident until months later when the reservist had moved on and was deploying in leadership roles for the Team. He waited to tell me the story because he knew I would have confronted the CO about questioning my abilities. Probably would not have ended well for me and he knew it. That CO moved on and the next and the next, while I remained. The reservist ended up with more time deployed overseas than any other Navy SEAL. He also retired as an admiral.
CHAPTER 23
Think before Hitting Send
I have a daughter who is a Millennial and a son who is a Gen Z. I have been forced, along with all others in the older generations, to adapt to changes in technology and communications. It was probably easier for me than most because, as a Navy SEAL, our goal was always to innovate and find the next best piece of equipment or technique. I realize the importance of social media but am not particularly impressed with where it has led us as a society. I believe young people are losing the skill to communicate in person, face to face. They depend on a smart phone of some sort and a keypad. Fire and forget, much like the modern-day military drone pilot that sees things on a video screen; it is far easier to detach from a Hellfire strike if you are not even in the same country as the person you are shooting at.
Maybe one day there will be no use for Special Forces. Wars will be decided by some method we cannot even contemplate at this time. In the meantime, however, new tech, such as the ever-changing social media platforms, is bad for any type of personal or operational security. It is far too easy for an enemy to monitor an individual’s Facebook or Snapchat feed looking for information. Pictures from deployments find their way to the internet where they can be studied and identified. Deployment and re-deployment dates are readily exchanged between family and friends in totally innocent ways, but this gives others information that can lead to disaster. My point? Some of our foreign counterparts require their Special Forces members to agree “not” to use any form of social media while on active duty. I see no downside to this of course, having come up long before there were computers, let alone cell phones. There are many different ways to communicate that are more secure than social media. This is not only important to the military, but to any business with intellectual property worth stealing.
One of the funniest pranks I have pulled in my long history of pranks was directly related to technology. My daughter, who was 15 at the time, had a slumber party with about ten other girls at our home. Each one of them had their own cell phone and proceeded to either talk on the phone, take pictures, or send text messages at the party. What was the sense of bringing everyone over if no one was going to talk to each other? I just so happened to have a portable cell-phone jammer in my car which I immediately grabbed, and decided to conduct a social experiment.
I plopped down in my chair to watch TV, which happened to be fairly close to where all the girls were congregating on their phones. I slowly reached into my pocket and turned on the device. Within 30 seconds, all 11 girls were clamoring about not having signal. I helpfully suggested they go outside on the driveway to see if the signal would improve. They followed me like lemmings. Of course, the signal did not improve because the jammer was still on in my pocket. They were becoming visibly shaken. I turned the jammer off. Their signal came back full force and everyone shouted in glee. Thirty seconds later, I walked toward the front door and turned the jammer on again, shutting down the latest round of texts, pictures, and conversations. It was glorious. Some of the girls were jumping up and down in anger. How could their trusty cell phones all go out at the same time? I suggested the backyard, with deep concern on my face. The lemmings followed and were rewarded with one minute of service only to be shut down once again. Life was cruel, but I was worse.
We continued on this path for approximately 45 minutes until they finally decided to go back in the house, play a game, and talk. Mission accomplished. After some snacks, games, and conversation, the girls were now bored; the phones came back out only to be shut down once again. Helpful as ever, I suggested they try going outside one more time, but I would not accompany them. It seems the jammer had enough strength and range to work from inside the home on the second floor. Time for a cocktail so I could watch the fun from the window. As I sat on the windowsill observing the girls’ behavior, my daughter had the foresight to realize I was up to something. Why would I be watching from the window? Surely, I had a show to watch or something. Then it hit her.
I saw the angry look in her eye as she screamed “Dad!” and raced up the steps to confront me. By that time, I was laughing so hard I immediately spilled the beans and showed her the jammer. I was lucky to escape the wrath of the teenage hit squad and promised to turn off the jammer for the night. The story spread like wildfire and unfortunately the jammer never worked as effectively as it had the very first time until I took it to my favorite watering hole—a whole new set of victims ripe for the picking. I hope the girls finally realized somewhere way back in their minds that maybe, just maybe, they were a bit more dependent on technology than they should have been. We will see.
It was an email that taught me the rule of never writing something down that you are not willing to share with the world. A lesson learnt the hard way. In the early days of the War on Terror—I’m talking the month after 9/11—SEAL Team SIX (ST-6) was in Afghanistan. One of my sniper buddies from my days in Somalia was deployed while I was working operations Stateside.
One day, I was sitting in my office and received an email from my friend asking what I thought about a junior officer who had recently also been deployed but had only been at the team for a few years. I thought about the question because I wanted to give my friend an accurate answer which would help him deal with the individual overseas. At the time, I was not a fan of the individual but didn’t want to let my personal feelings get in the way. I wrote, “Watch your back.” Fairly short but clear. I wasn’t sure the individual could be trusted in all situations. He was younger and less experienced than my Master Chief teammate.
About a year after arriving in Great Lakes, I was ready to go. The Navy didn’t agree, however, and I had 12 more months of pain to go. During that time, I was visited by the admiral in charge of all the SEALs; he was based in Coronado, California. He tasked me to locate a building on base which would be suitable to start a program to prepare future trainees for the rigors of BUD/S before they were shipped to California. The theory was Pre-BUD/S would create more SEALs because they would better understand what they were getting into. What it actually created was a better-qualified class of quitters. The attrition rate of over 70 percent hasn’t changed at all and the Navy was spending a bunch of time and money to babysit these guys in Illinois before they shipped out to California. I did what I was asked and started looking for a suitable building on base to run the course. About a week into my search, I got a phone call from the aide of the admiral in charge at Great Lakes to come to her office for a visit. Really? Maybe she wanted to check in on me and review SEAL recruiting. Regardless, I put on a proper uniform and traveled to her office expecting a warm welcome.
That is not what I got. The admiral’s aide ushered me into the office in front of her desk where she was working. I stood there for a minute looking stupid until she lifted her head and yelled “stand at attention!” Well, this wasn’t going well. It turns out my admiral, the one in charge of the SEALs, didn’t discuss his plans to open a Pre-BUD/S course on her base. As I went about my merry way looking for proper facilities for the mission, word got back to her what I was doing. Since I technically worked for her, it appeared I was going behind her back, a rogue warrior for lack of a better term. Needless to say, I continued to stand there at attention and receive my tongue lashing until she was sufficiently tired of yelling. I think the only two words out of my mouth at the time were “Yes, ma’am” when she asked if I understood her anger. You can do one of two things at this point. Suck it up and move on or try to explain the situation and how I was put into that situation by my own admiral. I choose to suck it up for a number of reasons: 1. It is less than honorable to throw anyone else under the bus; 2. No one was dying; 3. For all I knew, she already understood what was going on and wanted to prove a point. Who knows?
I walked out with my tail between my legs and learned a very valuable lesson. Make sure you understand the game before getting on the field. Politics seems to change people for the worse. In this case, both my bosses were willing to screw with me for something I did not understand at the time. Now, granted, I have done plenty that has deserved a reprimand, but not in this case. Life went on. We started the new Pre-BUD/S course on schedule. By the end of my tour at Great Lakes, I had made many friends and even tried to help with Big Navy recruiting by bringing in the Navy Parachute Team “Leap Frogs” to do a demonstration for the base (perhaps even get a jump in myself).
CHAPTER 20
Trust Your Gut
Parachute operations are one of the highest-risk evolutions any military unit can undertake. There are always at least 100 things that can go wrong at any given time that you have absolutely no control over. Jumping at night makes it even more dangerous, but that is when SEALs typically operate. With over two thousand five hundred jumps under my belt, I have been fortunate to record only two mishaps which could have easily taken my life. Sometimes it is good to be lucky, blessed, or both.
As you become more proficient at parachuting, like any other skill set in the SEALs, you are usually assigned more responsibility managing the training evolution. In my case, I became qualified as a Military Freefall Jumpmaster and Accelerated Freefall Instructor, both of which meant being responsible for the safety of multiple jumpers. I no longer had the luxury of being responsible for just my own actions, but everyone involved in the training.
One of the biggest mistakes involving jumping in my career was during my tenure as the lead training chief at SEAL Team SIX. Many of the newer guys that showed up did not have the necessary skills or qualifications to be assigned to an assault team without advanced parachute training, among other things. Because of the nature of jumping and the risk involved, this form of training took longer than others. The culmination of the course was a full-team, full-equipment jump into an unknown drop zone (DZ)—in this case, somewhere on the U.S. Army base in Fort Campbell, Kentucky. The aircraft was a U.S. Air Force Special Operations C-130. The crew was not happy about the mission because jump operations for them were boring. Too bad. My goal as jumpmaster and lead of the evolution was to have the 30 men exit the aircraft at twilight, so they could see each other when opening, and land at dark. Timing was critical. I had a set time to pull this off.
The aircraft commander on the other hand had a different idea and wanted to get some low-level flight training in before the jump—no problem if he is ready to go at the agreed upon time. First mistake, I should have known better. That plane and crew were there for us, not the other way around. As time passed and we missed our deadline, I became more and more agitated and let my emotions get the best of me. I re-briefed the jumpers in flight to let them know this was going to be a night jump with release control given to the aircraft navigation system. What I should have done in retrospect was to cancel the jump and land the aircraft; but I did not.
We released all 30 new SEALs over the designated drop zone when the green jump light came on at the back ramp of the plane. Or that is what I thought. As it turned out, we were nowhere near the DZ and just released the Team all over the base. Luckily for me, no one was injured. All jumpers and parachutes were recovered and the Team continued on with their mission, glad to be alive, with a little less faith in me. That is a big deal in the SEAL Teams. Landing the aircraft would have been the smartest and safest thing to do, but I was afraid to lose face. How could Navy SEALs not want to conduct a mission just because it got dark out? My own pride clouded my judgement and it could have gotten someone hurt or worse. Every time I have made a mistake during parachute operations, it has been because I didn’t trust my training and, more importantly, my gut. Unless someone’s life is on the line, stop what you are doing, regroup, and make sure you are making the right decisions. It works every time whether you are getting ready to send a questionable email or text or getting ready to get into an altercation. Stop and think about what you are doing and the outcome.
Slowing down even for a split second can really be the difference between success and failure. Many years later, I ran into a number of the guys on that particular jump. Instead of the expected harassment I deserved, they actually told me the jump was one of the best in their careers. It seems all the things I had preached in training were put to the test on that jump—truly an unknown DZ, in the dark, and everyone had to land safely and find their teammates. Typical training jump operations revolve around safety which eliminates all the realism. Go figure.
CHAPTER 21
Never Say Never
I retired from active duty at ST-6 after 22 years as a Master Chief Petty Officer in August of 2000. I had been an assaulter, breacher, lead diver, lead jumper, special projects member, sniper, sniper team leader and sniper squadron leader. The deployments were starting to get to the family and me at this point and the only mission in town was searching for persons indicted for war crimes in Bosnia. I considered myself to have “been there, done that” already. It was not time to hang up my fins however, so I took a job as a civilian employee in the operations department at ST-6. No more deployments for me. At the time there were only a handful of former SEALs hired back to assist in running the team and none of them worked in the operations department, which is the center of any Command. Bottom line: operations is given guidance from the Commanding Officer and is then given the authority to carry out his orders. I did not have any problems giving directions after being on the Team for so long. I believed I would be a good fit. I had many SEAL, civilian and support personnel friends throughout the Command. I knew how to get things done and how to deal with people. I was still part of the team but not the guy kicking down doors. It was a senior leadership position. No written guidance, no rules, trust your gut. I worked directly for the operations officer, a senior Navy SEAL progressing up the officer ranks as part of his career path. Usually, a two-year assignment like all officer positions in the Navy. It was my job to provide continuity and give guidance as a long-term Team member. It was a good job for a short time until the unthinkable happened. 9/11. When the attacks on our country occurred on 9/11 it changed my life as it did for countless others. ST-6 was at the forefront of any retaliation strike that our leaders were going to hand to our enemies and I wanted in. Having only been off active duty for a year, it was easy to make a few phone calls to get me back. Events were moving quickly at home and with the team. Explanations were given, decisions were being made, and I was a few weeks away from returning to active roles. That is when my boss, the operations officer, asked me to reconsider the change. What I did not understand was that the entire Command was about to deploy, leaving a huge leadership void. The operations officer was about to leave for an undetermined amount of time and was asking me to stay and hold down the fort. Decision time. On the one hand, I could stay where I was and help arguably the greatest fighting force on the planet. On the other, I could rejoin and be assigned to any SEAL Team that needed a Master Chief. In the end, I believed I could make more of a difference in operations and remained there for the next 12 years, including multiple deployments to wonderful places like Afghanistan. Never say never.
CHAPTER 22
Don’t Judge a SEAL by His Cover
I watched the Twin Towers come down as did most people in this country—on TV. What I understood however was that we were going to war. No one at that time could have understood the length or depth of what was coming. But we were doing what we were trained for. Once I made the decision to remain in operations, I settled in for the ride. Myself and another fellow Master Chief basically ran the department for the foreseeable future. Leadership tried to keep up by assigning various operations officers to oversee us but due to the war, these guys were more valuable forward in Afghanistan and eventually Iraq than they were at home. I started to keep a list of the many “O’s” who took the job but stopped after 25–30 in a matter of five years. One guy lasted only three days before new orders sent him away. Another day in the life of Ops. My time was not without controversy. I had many run-ins with other officers who could not accept the fact that a former Master Chief was now giving them orders. Of course, I was only following my own orders, but that did not make any difference. Early on in Ops, I was given a Navy SEAL reservist as an Ops O. “Sacrilege.” What in the world did a damn reservist know about running ST-6? I can tell you. Little or nothing. Or so I thought. He turned out to be one of my better bosses during my time in Ops. Go figure, wrong again. He was also responsible for single-handedly keeping me from getting fired by the Commanding Officer. I had ruffled quite a few feathers doing my job and several of the officers throughout the Command were not happy. They complained to the CO, at which point he considered giving me the boot. The reservist had been there long enough to see what I did on a daily basis and convinced the CO that it would be a mistake to get rid of me. I was not told of the incident until months later when the reservist had moved on and was deploying in leadership roles for the Team. He waited to tell me the story because he knew I would have confronted the CO about questioning my abilities. Probably would not have ended well for me and he knew it. That CO moved on and the next and the next, while I remained. The reservist ended up with more time deployed overseas than any other Navy SEAL. He also retired as an admiral.
CHAPTER 23
Think before Hitting Send
I have a daughter who is a Millennial and a son who is a Gen Z. I have been forced, along with all others in the older generations, to adapt to changes in technology and communications. It was probably easier for me than most because, as a Navy SEAL, our goal was always to innovate and find the next best piece of equipment or technique. I realize the importance of social media but am not particularly impressed with where it has led us as a society. I believe young people are losing the skill to communicate in person, face to face. They depend on a smart phone of some sort and a keypad. Fire and forget, much like the modern-day military drone pilot that sees things on a video screen; it is far easier to detach from a Hellfire strike if you are not even in the same country as the person you are shooting at.
Maybe one day there will be no use for Special Forces. Wars will be decided by some method we cannot even contemplate at this time. In the meantime, however, new tech, such as the ever-changing social media platforms, is bad for any type of personal or operational security. It is far too easy for an enemy to monitor an individual’s Facebook or Snapchat feed looking for information. Pictures from deployments find their way to the internet where they can be studied and identified. Deployment and re-deployment dates are readily exchanged between family and friends in totally innocent ways, but this gives others information that can lead to disaster. My point? Some of our foreign counterparts require their Special Forces members to agree “not” to use any form of social media while on active duty. I see no downside to this of course, having come up long before there were computers, let alone cell phones. There are many different ways to communicate that are more secure than social media. This is not only important to the military, but to any business with intellectual property worth stealing.
One of the funniest pranks I have pulled in my long history of pranks was directly related to technology. My daughter, who was 15 at the time, had a slumber party with about ten other girls at our home. Each one of them had their own cell phone and proceeded to either talk on the phone, take pictures, or send text messages at the party. What was the sense of bringing everyone over if no one was going to talk to each other? I just so happened to have a portable cell-phone jammer in my car which I immediately grabbed, and decided to conduct a social experiment.
I plopped down in my chair to watch TV, which happened to be fairly close to where all the girls were congregating on their phones. I slowly reached into my pocket and turned on the device. Within 30 seconds, all 11 girls were clamoring about not having signal. I helpfully suggested they go outside on the driveway to see if the signal would improve. They followed me like lemmings. Of course, the signal did not improve because the jammer was still on in my pocket. They were becoming visibly shaken. I turned the jammer off. Their signal came back full force and everyone shouted in glee. Thirty seconds later, I walked toward the front door and turned the jammer on again, shutting down the latest round of texts, pictures, and conversations. It was glorious. Some of the girls were jumping up and down in anger. How could their trusty cell phones all go out at the same time? I suggested the backyard, with deep concern on my face. The lemmings followed and were rewarded with one minute of service only to be shut down once again. Life was cruel, but I was worse.
We continued on this path for approximately 45 minutes until they finally decided to go back in the house, play a game, and talk. Mission accomplished. After some snacks, games, and conversation, the girls were now bored; the phones came back out only to be shut down once again. Helpful as ever, I suggested they try going outside one more time, but I would not accompany them. It seems the jammer had enough strength and range to work from inside the home on the second floor. Time for a cocktail so I could watch the fun from the window. As I sat on the windowsill observing the girls’ behavior, my daughter had the foresight to realize I was up to something. Why would I be watching from the window? Surely, I had a show to watch or something. Then it hit her.
I saw the angry look in her eye as she screamed “Dad!” and raced up the steps to confront me. By that time, I was laughing so hard I immediately spilled the beans and showed her the jammer. I was lucky to escape the wrath of the teenage hit squad and promised to turn off the jammer for the night. The story spread like wildfire and unfortunately the jammer never worked as effectively as it had the very first time until I took it to my favorite watering hole—a whole new set of victims ripe for the picking. I hope the girls finally realized somewhere way back in their minds that maybe, just maybe, they were a bit more dependent on technology than they should have been. We will see.
It was an email that taught me the rule of never writing something down that you are not willing to share with the world. A lesson learnt the hard way. In the early days of the War on Terror—I’m talking the month after 9/11—SEAL Team SIX (ST-6) was in Afghanistan. One of my sniper buddies from my days in Somalia was deployed while I was working operations Stateside.
One day, I was sitting in my office and received an email from my friend asking what I thought about a junior officer who had recently also been deployed but had only been at the team for a few years. I thought about the question because I wanted to give my friend an accurate answer which would help him deal with the individual overseas. At the time, I was not a fan of the individual but didn’t want to let my personal feelings get in the way. I wrote, “Watch your back.” Fairly short but clear. I wasn’t sure the individual could be trusted in all situations. He was younger and less experienced than my Master Chief teammate.
