It’s initially treated with 100 percent oxygen until the diver can be placed in a hyperbaric chamber for recompression. I handled some cases of dive embolisms and decompression sickness levels one and two later in my career, but they were rare, since SEALs are expert divers.
Following the two-week course, Bob and I took Christmas leave. He flew home to Texas to go on a hunting trip with his dad, and I flew to Pennsylvania, where my parents were living.
Then I returned to ST-1 in Coronado, and before starting advanced training, I volunteered for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) School.
Bob questioned my choice, and he wasn’t the only new SEAL who did. “Why are you going to SERE School?” he asked. “You don’t have to, and I’ve heard it’s a pain in the neck.”
“Because a Vietnam vet SEAL told me that if we’re captured in combat there’s a good chance we’ll be beheaded or skinned alive,” I explained.
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Most of the twenty people in my SERE class were Navy pilots and aircrew personnel considered to be at high risk of capture. Since I was the only SEAL, I was known to both instructors and students as Baby Killer—a derogatory term left over from Vietnam that described a commando who raided small villages and killed indiscriminately.
The night after my arrival, I received a call from Bob, who told me that soon after he had gotten home, his dad had gone out to the store, and three guys had stopped him and tried to rob him. Bob’s dad had resisted and was shot dead.
“Jesus, Bob. That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”
Bob said, “Don, I need your help. They caught the asshole who pulled the trigger. He’s in prison. I need you to show me how to get inside and kill him.”
Bob knew that I had worked briefly as a prison guard when I was waiting for orders to BUD/S.
I said, “Bob, forget it. Your dad’s gone. You don’t want to murder anyone.”
“You don’t understand. The asshole’s in prison waiting for arraignment. I’m going to go in there and take him out.”
“Bob, you’re one of my best friends. I don’t want you to do this.”
“I have to do this, Don.”
“When you go into the prison, they’re going to use a metal wand to check you for weapons. Then you go through a door and you wait there. There’s a table. They check the table. Then the guards bring the prisoner in. You’ve got to call first to make an appointment. Say that you’re an attorney and you want to meet with the guy. Make sure you carry a briefcase and business cards. And tape a razor blade to the back of your watch. Wear a short-sleeved shirt so it looks like you don’t have anything to hide. While you’re talking to the guy, lean over and whisper something, then do what you need to do.”
Bob decided not to do it—thank God. And he ended up serving on the SEAL teams for twenty years.
SERE training was intended to provide the skills to live up to the U.S. military code of conduct when operating in an uncertain or hostile environment.
The COC was drilled into our heads.
You’ve probably heard pieces of it grunted through the gritted teeth of actors stripped to their waists in cheesy action movies. But for the record, here it is:
Article I. I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense.
Article II. I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist.
Article III. If I am captured, I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.
Article IV. If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information nor take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way.