Among Heroes: A U.S. Navy SEAL's True Story of Friendship, Heroism, and the Ultimate Sacrifice by Brandon Webb Page A
Authors: Brandon Webb
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and it wasn’t a good one. He was a dyed-in-the-wool fleet Navy guy who’d come to the teams as a senior enlisted man with no real experience downrange. He’d made chief right away and been shuffled around the teams in a variety of admin roles. I’d been fleet Navy myself for four years before joining the SEALs and, as I knew firsthand, they are two completelydifferent cultures. And while he was a hell of a shot and an excellent match shooter, match shooting is not sniping, and Harvey had no real-world experience as a sniper. Putting someone like that in charge of a group of SEALs would be like trying to work inch-based nuts and bolts with a metric toolkit.
On top of which, I’d heard he was a major dick to work for.
Bob gave me a bland, unreadable look. “I know this course will be in good hands with you guys,” he said. “No doubt in my mind.” He clearly knew that Harvey was a poor choice for the position, but he just as clearly trusted Eric and me, and figured that however difficult Harvey might be, he would at least stay out of our way. “Sorry, gents,” Bob said.
I don’t think he ever dreamed just how bad it would get.
Harvey’s deficiency as a sniper should not have been a problem, in and of itself. All he really had to do was lean on us. Between Eric and me and our other instructors, we had it completely covered. Things might have worked out fairly well if he had just let us do our jobs. The problem was, he was incredibly insecure toward junior, more experienced instructors, and that insecurity just would not let him get out of the way and allow us to do what we were there to do. Once he took command, it quickly became obvious that our working relationship was the opposite of what we’d had with Bob Nielsen. Whereas Bob would defer to us, with Harvey everything had to be his idea. It had to be his course, his curriculum. And he was strongly resistant to most of the very innovations that Eric and I were trying to implement.
If Bob Nielsen exemplified the best in leadership, Harvey was leadership at its most abysmal. He micromanaged theteaching and curricula, was patronizing and antagonistic to students, and exercised poor judgment in countless decisions both large and small. The quality of the course began to suffer as a result. We’d made Bob look good. Harvey was making
us
look terrible.
Harvey’s behavior had been a problem during that summer session with Matt and Morgan. After they graduated and we moved into the fall, things grew even worse.
That fall was the last time we held the course at Camp Pendleton. Nailing down a consistent, established location for the shooting portion of the course had been a constant headache, and as much as we wanted it to, Pendleton wasn’t working out. This was a Marine facility, which meant we didn’t have priority. We’d reserve the range, but the Marines could kick us out whenever they wanted.
The rifle club several hours to the north where Glen and I had gone through the course in 2000 was another possibility. In fact, this was an ideal location in many ways. But there was one big problem with that place. The dry, dusty environment harbored
coccidioidomycosis
(“valley fever”) spores. This didn’t seem to bother the locals; maybe they’d adapted to it. When out-of-towners came for an event that might last just a few days, they didn’t seem troubled by it. But living out there in tents for weeks on end, our guys kept getting sick, and valley fever can be brutal. As much as I loved that location, I’d had to face the fact that we just couldn’t use it.
Except Harvey disagreed.
“We’re going to make it work,” he said. “We’ll do dust mitigation—get a water truck up there and spray it down every day.”
Right
, I thought.
Like that’ll work.
In every class, the senior (i.e., highest-ranking) studentserves as class leader. That session our class leader was Rob, a guy I knew from Team Three. Rob came to me and said, “Hey, Instructor
On top of which, I’d heard he was a major dick to work for.
Bob gave me a bland, unreadable look. “I know this course will be in good hands with you guys,” he said. “No doubt in my mind.” He clearly knew that Harvey was a poor choice for the position, but he just as clearly trusted Eric and me, and figured that however difficult Harvey might be, he would at least stay out of our way. “Sorry, gents,” Bob said.
I don’t think he ever dreamed just how bad it would get.
Harvey’s deficiency as a sniper should not have been a problem, in and of itself. All he really had to do was lean on us. Between Eric and me and our other instructors, we had it completely covered. Things might have worked out fairly well if he had just let us do our jobs. The problem was, he was incredibly insecure toward junior, more experienced instructors, and that insecurity just would not let him get out of the way and allow us to do what we were there to do. Once he took command, it quickly became obvious that our working relationship was the opposite of what we’d had with Bob Nielsen. Whereas Bob would defer to us, with Harvey everything had to be his idea. It had to be his course, his curriculum. And he was strongly resistant to most of the very innovations that Eric and I were trying to implement.
If Bob Nielsen exemplified the best in leadership, Harvey was leadership at its most abysmal. He micromanaged theteaching and curricula, was patronizing and antagonistic to students, and exercised poor judgment in countless decisions both large and small. The quality of the course began to suffer as a result. We’d made Bob look good. Harvey was making
us
look terrible.
Harvey’s behavior had been a problem during that summer session with Matt and Morgan. After they graduated and we moved into the fall, things grew even worse.
That fall was the last time we held the course at Camp Pendleton. Nailing down a consistent, established location for the shooting portion of the course had been a constant headache, and as much as we wanted it to, Pendleton wasn’t working out. This was a Marine facility, which meant we didn’t have priority. We’d reserve the range, but the Marines could kick us out whenever they wanted.
The rifle club several hours to the north where Glen and I had gone through the course in 2000 was another possibility. In fact, this was an ideal location in many ways. But there was one big problem with that place. The dry, dusty environment harbored
coccidioidomycosis
(“valley fever”) spores. This didn’t seem to bother the locals; maybe they’d adapted to it. When out-of-towners came for an event that might last just a few days, they didn’t seem troubled by it. But living out there in tents for weeks on end, our guys kept getting sick, and valley fever can be brutal. As much as I loved that location, I’d had to face the fact that we just couldn’t use it.
Except Harvey disagreed.
“We’re going to make it work,” he said. “We’ll do dust mitigation—get a water truck up there and spray it down every day.”
Right
, I thought.
Like that’ll work.
In every class, the senior (i.e., highest-ranking) studentserves as class leader. That session our class leader was Rob, a guy I knew from Team Three. Rob came to me and said, “Hey, Instructor
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