Carl Higbie - Enemies, Foreign and Domestic: A SEALs Story

A POST HILL PRESS BOOK

ISBN (Hardcover): 978-1-61868-811-8

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-810-1

ENEMIES, FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC

A SEALs Story

2016 by Carl Higbie with Brandon Caro

All Rights Reserved

Cover Design by Quincy Alivio

Jacket photograph by Fredy Mfuko/Mission 101 Media

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Certain names of places have been changed for the purposes of Operational Security.

Post Hill Press

8115 Isabella Lane, Suite 4

Brentwood, TN 37027

posthillpress.com

ECHO PLATOON

When we checked in, sometime in November 05, most of Team 10 was returning from deployment to Afghanistan and guys were taking post-deployment leave to see their families and decompress. And they had a lot to decompress from; Echo Platoon alone had suffered the largest loss of SEAL life in a single day since Vietnam.

With everyone coming back home then going out on leave, the command was in flux. Headquarters was a ghost town. Lenny and I and a few other check-ins mustered every morning at 0630 on the quarterdeck because we hadnt yet been assigned to a platoon.

Some dickhead called CJ, whod been with the Teams for five platoons, would call roll, then send us all to the water O-course. O was for obstacle and there was no shortage of them on this gauntlet.

The water O-course was a series of physical challenges suspended over an Olympic-size pool, 164 feet long, 82 feet wide. The path of the course ran across the pool lengthwise and reversed directions twice, creating a giant S-shape.

The sequence was as follows: starting from a three meter dive platform, Tarzan swing on a thin rope then let go in the middle of the trajectory, fly about five feet from the let-go point and grab hold of a cargo net. Climb twenty-five feet up to the top of the net, transfer to a horizontally hung rope and upside down, shimmy across fifteen feet, drop twenty-five feet into the pool, swim ten feet to the next obstacle.

Climb twenty-five feet up a thick rope; at the top of the rope is a series of suspended rings. Traverse fifteen feet across, ring from ringjungle gym styledrop down twenty-five feet to the water, swim ten feet to the next obstacle.

Climb an orange rope ladder twenty-five feet up to the top, traverse hand-over-hand across two consecutive horizontally hung ropes that are fifteen feet in length, each. Drop down twenty-five feet, swim ten feet to the next obstacle. Change directions.

Climb twenty-five feet up a caving ladder, walk twenty-five feet across a pair of vertically parallel thin ropes, drop down twenty-five feet into the water, swim ten feet to the next obstacle.

Climb twenty-five feet up a thin rappelling rope, more jungle gym rings, then thick ropes with knots at the bottom, thirty feet across. This is a rest point (although CJ would scream at us if we stopped even for a minute). Drop down twenty-five feet to the water, swim ten feet to the next obstacle.

Climb twenty-five feet up a thick rope, go hand-over-hand across two fifteen-foot consecutive horizontally hung ropes, drop down twenty-five feet to the water, swim twenty feet to the next obstacle. Change directions.

Climb twenty-five feet up a thick rope, traverse hand-over-hand twenty feet across a steel rafter, drop down twenty-five feet to the water, swim ten feet to the next obstacle.

Climb twenty-five feet up a thick rope with knots in it, tight rope walk twenty feet across a beam, do ten front grip pull-ups, drop down twenty-five feet to the water, swim ten feet to the next obstacle.

Climb twenty-five feet up a thin rappel rope. With two pieces of PVC pipe, shimmy across a pair of horizontally parallel ropes that are slack in the middle, do ten pull-ups on the steel rafter, then do a muscle-up onto the rafter and sit. That is the last obstacle.

We were required to at least attempt this several times each morning.

If you fall during an obstacle, you have to start over from the beginning. Roughly ten percent of SEALs can complete the whole thing. My gymnastics background gave me an edge, and I was able to complete the whole course on most of my attempts. But that thing kicked my ass every time.

In a break room at headquarters where we stashed our gear in the mornings because we hadnt yet been given lockers, we loitered, shooting the shit. In the military, even in the Teams, theres a lot of downtime. The Navy is like the DMV, but with nuclear submarines. Hurry up and wait, wed say. The day inevitably arrived that we were farmed out to the platoons.

Chief Alanzo came in and gave the assignments.

Hizenboch, JeffreysAlpha. Truesdale, JeffersonBravo. Flannigan, RialtoDelta. Lenny, Higbie, Gonzales, Burns, G-unitEcho.

It made sense that Echo Platoon would get the lions share of new operators; they needed bodies to fill in for the guys who didnt come home after Operation Red Wings.

We shuffled out of the break room and beat it upstairs to Task Unit 3 which housed the administrative offices and a common briefing room for Echo and Foxtrot platoons. (Each SEAL Team has three task units which, unto themselves, have two platoons. Task Unit 1 is Alpha/Bravo, 2 is Charlie/Delta.)

As we entered Echo platoons office, I noticed immediately that we were being sized up by some of the veteran SEALs. We were Fucking New Guys, or FNGs, so we had yet to cut our teeth.

Of the new check-ins, at twenty-two, I was the youngest. But some of these guys that had been with the Team for two plus years were even younger than I was. Not only that, but they were significantly smaller than us as well. There was tension right from the get-go. The SEAL community isnt kindergarten, and I was willing to accept a level of hazing before Id demonstrated my value to the platoon. But some of these smaller, younger guys were put off by us joining their platoon, and werent shy about showing it. New guys vs. old guys became a thing.

Oh, look at these motherfuckers!

One in particular, a small-framed, 165-pound, cocky twenty-two-year-old from Miami that we called Rico (Suave), took it upon himself to let us know we would have to earn our keep if we wanted a place in his platoon.

He had no real authority, and we knew it. But he had a hard time with us from the day we were assigned to Echo. One-upmanship was his thing.

Id later learn that Rico was one of those guys who became a SEAL for the absolute worst reason: to say he was a SEAL. Most others like him wash out by Hell Week, but some make it through. Hubris and vanity, not courage and commitment were his core values. He exemplified the type of SEAL I did not want to be.

A guy in his late twenties poked his head in the room and said, Hey, Im B-rad, your new LT. Go ahead, get settled in. Dont let any of these clowns give you too much shit.

The Teams have a different way of doing things from the rest of the military. We have long hair, we call our officers by their first names. Were on our own program. But we get it done, so the relaxed military standards are tolerated for the most part.

Hey Deuce, B-rad continued. Take these guys down to the Kill House and get em sorted out.

Roger that.

Deuce was a two-platooner, meaning hed deployed twice already with the platoon. Thats why we called him Deuce. A six to eight month deployment every eighteen months is the norm. And Deuce had two under his belt. He was a salty dog.

Me, Lenny and Burns (named for a stunning likeness to The Simpsons character) were the only new guys present that day. Everyone else was at least a one-platooner.