Part 37 (1/2)

He did. Thinking Ryan was trying to be a jerk, the chief grabbed him by the throat and tossed him to the ground.

That only encouraged us. Ryan had to show the face a lot. Every time, he'd go and get his a.s.s beat. Finally, we had him do it to one of our officers-a huge guy, definitely not someone to be messed with, even by another SEAL.

”Go do it to him,” one of us said.

”Oh G.o.d, no,” he protested.

”If you don't do it right now, we're going to choke you out,” I warned.

”Can you please just choke me out right now?”

”Go do it,” we all said.

He went and did it to the officer. He reacted about how you would expect. After a little while, Ryan tried to tap out.

”There's no tapping out,” he snarled, continuing his pounding.

Ryan survived, but that was the last time we made him do the face.

Everybody got hazed when they joined the platoon. We were equal-opportunity ballbusters-officers got it just as bad as enlisted men.

At the time, new guys didn't receive their Tridents-and thus weren't really SEALs-until after they had pa.s.sed a series of tests with the team. We had our own little ritual that involved a mock boxing match against their whole platoon. Each new guy had to get through three rounds-once you're knocked down, that's a round-before being formally pinned and welcomed to the brotherhood.

I was Ryan's safety officer, making sure he didn't get too busted up. He had a head guard and everyone wore boxing gloves, but the hazing can get kind of enthusiastic, and the safety officer is there to make sure it doesn't get out of hand.

Ryan wasn't satisfied with three rounds. He wanted more. I think he thought if he fought long enough, he'd beat them all.

Not that he lasted too much longer. I had warned him that I was his safety and whatever he did, he was not to hit me. In the confusion of his head being bounced off the platoon's gloves, he swung and hit me.

I did what I had to do.

MARC LEE

With our deployment rapidly approaching, our platoon was beefed up. Command brought a young SEAL named Marc Lee over from another unit to help round us out. He immediately fit in.

Marc was an athletic guy, in some ways exactly the sort of tough physical specimen you expect to be a SEAL. Before joining the Navy, he had played soccer well enough to be given a tryout with a professional team, and may very well have been a pro if a leg injury hadn't cut short his career.

But there was a lot more to Marc than just physical prowess. He'd studied for the ministry, and while he left because of what he saw as hypocrisy among the seminary students, he was still very religious. Later on during our deployment, he led a small group in prayer before every op. As you'd expect, he was very knowledgeable about the Bible and religion in general. He didn't push it on you, but if you needed or wanted to talk about faith or G.o.d, he was always willing.

Not that he was a saint, or even above the horseplay that is part of being a SEAL.

Soon after he joined us, we went on a training mission in Nevada. At the end of the day, a group of us piled into a four-door truck and headed back to the base to get to bed. Marc was in the back with me and a SEAL we'll call Bob. For some reason, Bob and I started talking about being choked out.

With new-guy enthusiasm-and maybe naivete-Marc said, ”I've never been choked out.”

” 'Scuse me?” I said, leaning over to get a good look at this virgin. Being choked out is a mandatory SEAL occupation.

Marc looked at me. I looked at him.