SEAL Team Six: Memoirs of an Elite Navy SEAL Sniper by Howard E. Wasdin, Stephen Templin
Authors: Howard E. Wasdin, Stephen Templin
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dive, I tied the last two knots and gave Instructor Stoneclam the OK sign. He didn’t even seem to look at the knots, staring into my eyes. I saw he was going to give me trouble. I gave him the thumbs-up sign to ascend, but he just kept staring. The depth put pressure on my chest, and my body craved air. I knew what he was looking for, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. The SEAL instructors had taught me well. I can ascend myself, or you can drag my body to the surface when I pass out. Either way. He smiled and gave me the “up” signal before I even came close to passing out. I wanted to shoot to the top, but I couldn’t show panic, and shooting to the top isn’t tactical. I ascended as slowly as I could. Pass. Not all of my classmates were as lucky, but they would get a second chance.
In Second Phase, Land Warfare, we learned covert infiltrations, sentry removal, handling agents/guides, gathering intelligence, snatching the enemy, performing searches, handling prisoners, shooting, blowing stuff up, etc. As a child, I learned attention to detail—making sure that not one single pecan remained on the ground when my dad came home saved my butt from getting whipped. Now, that same attention to detail would save my butt from getting shot or blown up. Attention to detail is why I would never have a parachute malfunction.
We became the first occupants of the new barracks building, just down the beach from the multimillion-dollar Coronado condos. One Saturday afternoon, I sat in my room shining jungle combat boots with Calisto, one of the two Peruvian officers going through BUD/S with our class. They had our training schedule, complete with days and times. Both of them had been through Peru’s BUD/S, which was a mirror image of our training. Calisto and his buddy had been operating for nearly ten years as SEALs, including real-world ops. We received a lot of intelligence about training from them.
I asked him, “If you’re already a Peruvian SEAL, why are you doing this again?”
“Must come here before become Peru SEAL instructor.”
“I understand you’ll get more respect and all…”
“Not respect. More money.” His family had come with him, and he stayed with them on weekends in an apartment downtown. They bought a lot of blue jeans and sent them home. He explained that the amount of money they would receive would change their lives.
They were the only officers remaining in our class, but because they weren’t American, they couldn’t lead us. Mike H., an E-5, led our class. He and I shared the same rank, but he was senior to me. We didn’t have any cake-eaters (commissioned officers). The enlisted instructors seemed to enjoy it.
* * *
Out at San Clemente Island, I served as a squad leader and once led my squad to assault the wrong target. Calisto led us the next time. He was an excellent land navigator. We assaulted the instructors while they were still sitting around the campfire jacking their jaws. Our squad hit them so fast that they didn’t even have their M-60s set up yet. They were not happy. The instructors changed our exfil route and made us go out through a field of cacti. Later, the corpsman had to come around with pliers to pull the needles out of our legs.
During the debrief, the instructors explained, “Sorry we had to send you out another way, but the exfiltration route was compromised.” The instructors always had the last laugh.
We ran before each meal on even days. On odd days, we did pull-ups before each meal. One day, the number of pull-ups had just changed from nineteen to twenty. I must’ve had a brain fart because I dropped off the bar after nineteen pull-ups.
“Wasdin, what the hell are you doing?” an instructor asked. “That was only nineteen.”
I didn’t understand what he was asking me.
“The pull-up count is twenty. Just to make sure you know how to count to twenty, drop down and give me twenty.”
I did twenty push-ups.
“Now get
In Second Phase, Land Warfare, we learned covert infiltrations, sentry removal, handling agents/guides, gathering intelligence, snatching the enemy, performing searches, handling prisoners, shooting, blowing stuff up, etc. As a child, I learned attention to detail—making sure that not one single pecan remained on the ground when my dad came home saved my butt from getting whipped. Now, that same attention to detail would save my butt from getting shot or blown up. Attention to detail is why I would never have a parachute malfunction.
We became the first occupants of the new barracks building, just down the beach from the multimillion-dollar Coronado condos. One Saturday afternoon, I sat in my room shining jungle combat boots with Calisto, one of the two Peruvian officers going through BUD/S with our class. They had our training schedule, complete with days and times. Both of them had been through Peru’s BUD/S, which was a mirror image of our training. Calisto and his buddy had been operating for nearly ten years as SEALs, including real-world ops. We received a lot of intelligence about training from them.
I asked him, “If you’re already a Peruvian SEAL, why are you doing this again?”
“Must come here before become Peru SEAL instructor.”
“I understand you’ll get more respect and all…”
“Not respect. More money.” His family had come with him, and he stayed with them on weekends in an apartment downtown. They bought a lot of blue jeans and sent them home. He explained that the amount of money they would receive would change their lives.
They were the only officers remaining in our class, but because they weren’t American, they couldn’t lead us. Mike H., an E-5, led our class. He and I shared the same rank, but he was senior to me. We didn’t have any cake-eaters (commissioned officers). The enlisted instructors seemed to enjoy it.
* * *
Out at San Clemente Island, I served as a squad leader and once led my squad to assault the wrong target. Calisto led us the next time. He was an excellent land navigator. We assaulted the instructors while they were still sitting around the campfire jacking their jaws. Our squad hit them so fast that they didn’t even have their M-60s set up yet. They were not happy. The instructors changed our exfil route and made us go out through a field of cacti. Later, the corpsman had to come around with pliers to pull the needles out of our legs.
During the debrief, the instructors explained, “Sorry we had to send you out another way, but the exfiltration route was compromised.” The instructors always had the last laugh.
We ran before each meal on even days. On odd days, we did pull-ups before each meal. One day, the number of pull-ups had just changed from nineteen to twenty. I must’ve had a brain fart because I dropped off the bar after nineteen pull-ups.
“Wasdin, what the hell are you doing?” an instructor asked. “That was only nineteen.”
I didn’t understand what he was asking me.
“The pull-up count is twenty. Just to make sure you know how to count to twenty, drop down and give me twenty.”
I did twenty push-ups.
“Now get
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