Inside SEAL Team Six(6)

“No, thanks, Mohammed.”

None of us showed the least bit of interest. We just wanted to get the dinner over with, return to the base, and crash.

But Mohammed wouldn’t leave us alone. He was constantly at my elbow, saying, “Look, Mr. Don. Fine perfume. Very nice. I get you the very best price.”

“No, thanks.”

I tried arguing with him, I tried ignoring him, but he wouldn’t let up.

After half an hour we arrived at an upscale restaurant where four or five Egyptian military officers were waiting. They escorted us to a round table. My three SEAL buddies sat across from me. The Egyptian officers found places next to them. Mohammed settled to my right.

The waiters placed before us plates of fried falafel, kushari, baba ghanoush, lamb kebobs, and more. All the local delicacies. None of us four SEALs had any appetite. We just wanted to get through the dinner politely and then go back to our tent in west Cairo. It had been a difficult week.

But Mohammed to my right kept bugging me. He kept saying, “Please, Mr. Don. You can’t leave without buying some fine perfume. I’ll take you later.”

“No, thanks.”

He wouldn’t let up. “Please, Mr. Don. I insist. I’ll show you. I’ll personally guarantee the very best price.”

“I said no.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Don. You’ll see. These are the finest perfumes in all the world.”

I’d held myself together through the heat and diarrhea, the night of captivity and exhaustion, the collapsed veins, even the sharks. But with this little Egyptian handler refusing to leave me alone, I snapped. I lifted a sharp knife from the table and held it to his throat.

Mohammed’s eyes bugged out and his face turned white.

In an even tone—without raising my voice—I said, “Shut the fuck up, Mohammed.”

He nodded and I put down the knife.

Nobody at the table said anything about the incident. We finished our dinner as though nothing had happened.

As we neared the base, LT walked beside me and flashed his sinister smile. “You still having fun, Doc?” he asked.

“Sure.” But inside, I was saying, I just want to get out of here alive and in one piece.

“Teams and shit, huh, Doc?” LT asked. It was a SEAL saying that in a few words described all the training and hardship we had to go through to accomplish what we did. I’d just completed my first real-world SEAL mission.

“Teams and shit. Yeah,” I responded, now appreciating what the words meant.

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Through all the action, the physical and mental challenges, and the brushes with death, my enthusiasm for SEAL life hasn’t dimmed. Call me a maniac, which many people have. Call me crazy. But I’ve never wanted it any other way.





Chapter Two





New England, 1970s


Looking for adventure