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Authors: Dick Couch, George Galdorisi
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do. I do know that while we’re detached from the task unit and the squadron, the communications back home may not be what we’ve enjoyed in the past. Let your families know that there may be times when we’ll be in the wind, and they’ll not hear from you.” He paused to carefully frame his words. “Regarding families, I’ll say again what goes without saying. If there are any issues—personal, emotional, financial, whatever—get them fixed. If you need help, there’s the chief and myself. Our wives are there to help as well. We’re all here for you. But get it right and get it locked down. When we leave, I want a total front-sight focus on the mission. Everyone’s got everyone else’s back. That’s how we go to war; that’s how we all come back from war. We good with that?” He met each man’s eyes in turn, and each nodded in agreement. “Chief?”
“You’ve said it all, Boss. So let’s drink to our brotherhood.” Nolan raised his beer and was quickly followed by others, including a few who were raising water bottles. “For all of those who go downrange—to us and those like us—damn few.”
“Here, here.”
“Friggin’ right.”
The two squads broke from their separate gatherings, much like they had peeled from their free-fall V-formations, and rejoined their families. It was full-on dark, and most people had pulled in close to the fires. The wives handed off sleeping kids to their fathers. The older kids drifted back to sit between their parents. Mikey and his wife joined the Nolan tribe and took one of the little boys between them. Ray and A.J. sat near Engel and Jackie and observed a comfortable silence. Some talked quietly, others just listened. An occasional joke or war story kept the melancholy at bay, but it was a holding action. Finally, the Banditos and their families began to drift away. Jackie walked Julia Nolan back to their car, leaving only Nolan and Engel. Always the good Scout, Mikey had doused and inspected all the fire pits. No glowing embers or rekindles while he was on duty.
“That’s it, Boss. I think we’re ready.”
“I think you’re right.”
“And don’t worry about the other squad—they have good veterans and good leadership.”
Engel smiled. His chief knew him well; he was thinking just that. “I’ll do my best. Can’t worry about what you can’t control, right? Just like back here on the home front.”
Nolan nodded. “Two days and a wake up, then the long good-bye.”
Engel again smiled, but it was a sad one. “Yeah, the long good-bye.”
* * *
The following day, despite Senior Chief Miller’s best efforts, there was no further clarity on what might await them. Something seemed to be brewing, but no one seemed to be able to communicate what it might be. The day after that, the task unit and their single Bandito Platoon squad mustered at the North Island Naval Air Station for the flight that would take them west, halfway around the world. Actually, they would fly north on a great circle route, pausing at Kadena Air Force Base on Okinawa for fuel before continuing on to Manila. Lieutenant Engel and Chief Nolan were there to see them off. Following the good wishes and the good-byes, the big C-17 swallowed up the SEALs, the task unit combat support team, and their gear. For Engel, Nolan, and the remaining Bandito squad, they and their support team would be staging gear at this same location for most of the day. Their departure was scheduled for early the following morning.
Every SEAL leaves on deployment in his own way. For some it’s highly ritualized and formatted. Others go to great lengths to make it just another day. A few try to make the last minutes pass slowly; others want it over and done so they can be Co ts tgin the countdown to the homecoming. Above all, it’s individual—each SEAL and SEAL family handle it in their own way.
The night before, just as he had for previous deployments, Roark Engel arranged for the
“You’ve said it all, Boss. So let’s drink to our brotherhood.” Nolan raised his beer and was quickly followed by others, including a few who were raising water bottles. “For all of those who go downrange—to us and those like us—damn few.”
“Here, here.”
“Friggin’ right.”
The two squads broke from their separate gatherings, much like they had peeled from their free-fall V-formations, and rejoined their families. It was full-on dark, and most people had pulled in close to the fires. The wives handed off sleeping kids to their fathers. The older kids drifted back to sit between their parents. Mikey and his wife joined the Nolan tribe and took one of the little boys between them. Ray and A.J. sat near Engel and Jackie and observed a comfortable silence. Some talked quietly, others just listened. An occasional joke or war story kept the melancholy at bay, but it was a holding action. Finally, the Banditos and their families began to drift away. Jackie walked Julia Nolan back to their car, leaving only Nolan and Engel. Always the good Scout, Mikey had doused and inspected all the fire pits. No glowing embers or rekindles while he was on duty.
“That’s it, Boss. I think we’re ready.”
“I think you’re right.”
“And don’t worry about the other squad—they have good veterans and good leadership.”
Engel smiled. His chief knew him well; he was thinking just that. “I’ll do my best. Can’t worry about what you can’t control, right? Just like back here on the home front.”
Nolan nodded. “Two days and a wake up, then the long good-bye.”
Engel again smiled, but it was a sad one. “Yeah, the long good-bye.”
* * *
The following day, despite Senior Chief Miller’s best efforts, there was no further clarity on what might await them. Something seemed to be brewing, but no one seemed to be able to communicate what it might be. The day after that, the task unit and their single Bandito Platoon squad mustered at the North Island Naval Air Station for the flight that would take them west, halfway around the world. Actually, they would fly north on a great circle route, pausing at Kadena Air Force Base on Okinawa for fuel before continuing on to Manila. Lieutenant Engel and Chief Nolan were there to see them off. Following the good wishes and the good-byes, the big C-17 swallowed up the SEALs, the task unit combat support team, and their gear. For Engel, Nolan, and the remaining Bandito squad, they and their support team would be staging gear at this same location for most of the day. Their departure was scheduled for early the following morning.
Every SEAL leaves on deployment in his own way. For some it’s highly ritualized and formatted. Others go to great lengths to make it just another day. A few try to make the last minutes pass slowly; others want it over and done so they can be Co ts tgin the countdown to the homecoming. Above all, it’s individual—each SEAL and SEAL family handle it in their own way.
The night before, just as he had for previous deployments, Roark Engel arranged for the
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