Part 17 (2/2)

Once I identified those spots, I'd spend more time looking at them. I had excellent vision going into the course, but it wasn't so much seeing as learning to perceive-knowing what sort of movement should get your attention, discerning subtle shapes that can tip off a waiting ambush.

I had to practice to stay sharp. Observation is hard work. I'd go outside and just train myself to spot things in the distance. I always tried to hone my craft, even on leave. On a ranch in Texas, you see animals, birds-you learn to look in the distance and spot movement, shapes, little inconsistencies in the landscape.

For a while, it seemed like everything I did helped train me, even video games. I had a little handheld mahjongg game that a friend of mine had given us as a wedding present. I don't know if it was exactly appropriate as a wedding present-it's a handheld, one-person game-but as a training tool it was invaluable. In mahjongg, you scan different tiles, looking for matches. I would play timed sessions against the computer, working to sharpen my observation skills.

I said it before and I'll keep saying it: I'm not the best shot in the world. There were plenty of guys better than me, even in that cla.s.s. I only graduated about middle of the pack.

As it happened, the guy who was the honor man or best in our cla.s.s was part of our platoon. He never had as many kills as I did, though, at least partly because he was sent to the Philippines for a few months while I spent my time in Iraq. You need skill to be a sniper, but you also need opportunity. And luck.

BEATEN BY DOLPHINS, EATEN BY SHARKS

After spending the entire summer at sniper school, I returned to my platoon and got busy with the rest of our workup, going through the different training sessions as we prepared to deploy in a year. As usual, I had some of my hardest times in the water.

Everyone gets all warm and fuzzy about marine animals, but I've had close and personal encounters that were anything but.

While the Navy was testing a program using dolphins for harbor defense, they used us as targets, in a few cases without warning. The dolphins would come out and beat the s.h.i.+t out of us. They were trained to hit in the sides, and they could crack ribs. And if you hadn't been warned in advance of the exercise, you didn't know what was going on-your first reaction, or at least mine, was to think you were being attacked by sharks.

One time we were out and the dolphins were taking it to us. Getting beaten bad, I headed toward sh.o.r.e to dodge the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Spotting some piers, I ducked underneath-I knew they wouldn't follow me.

Safe.

All of a sudden, something clamped hard on my leg. Hard.

It was a sea lion. They were being trained to guard the piers.

I went back out into open water. I'd rather be beaten by a dolphin than eaten by a sea lion.

But sharks were, by far, the worst.

One evening, we were supposed to swim across the bay off San Diego, in the dark, and plant a limpet mine on a particular s.h.i.+p. Simple, standard SEAL operation.

Not every SEAL hates the water like I do. In fact, a lot of them like it so much they'll swim around and play tricks on the others in the exercise. You might have a guy plant his mine, then sink to the bottom and wsait for the next guy to come over with his. There's usually enough light from above that the second diver is silhouetted and easy to see. So when the victim-I mean, diver-comes to plant his mine, the first diver comes up, grabs his fin, and jerks it.

That scares the s.h.i.+t out of the second diver. Usually he thinks there's a shark in the water and screws up the rest of the exercise. And his gear may need a special cleaning.

On this particular day, I was beneath the s.h.i.+p and had just planted my mine when something grabbed my fin.

SHARK!!!

Then I put my heart back in my chest, remembering all the stories and warnings about my brethren SEALs.

Just one of the guys messing with my head, I told myself. I turned around to flip him off.

And found myself giving the finger to a shark who'd taken a particular liking to my flipper. He had it in his jaw.

He wasn't a huge shark, but what he lacked in size he made up for in pure orneriness. I grabbed my knife and cut off my fin-no sense keeping it now that it was all chewed up, right?

<script>