SFAS-The Experience, Part II

[Basenshukai]

A Full Company Of Men:
One soldier's journey into the US Army Special Forces Assessment, Selection and Training

By Basenshukai

Note To The Reader:

The following is a continuation to the series that "The Reaper" has graciously allowed me to share in this forum. I have titled the thread "SFAS - The Experience, Part II" only to maintain its association with the original work. However, the training represented here is part of the US Army Special Forces Qualification Course (commonly known as the "Q-Course"). The work, in its entirety is called "A Full Company of Men". This next installment is the second phase of training known as the Small Unit Tactics (SUT) Phase. To maintain OPSEC I have changed all of the names of the persons involved. Some of their backgrounds have been altered as well. The events described, however, are as I remember them.

Chapter 2

The Mission: Forward In Time

I died on 18 March 2003 on, or about, 1600 hrs. An enemy sniper, concealed just north of our previous direction of travel dispatched a 7.62x39 round that impacted me on the sternum, shattering the bone, and fragmenting into pieces, two of which tore apart the heart and lung tissue. Death was instantaneous. I lay on the ground wrapped in a camouflaged poncho with my head up against a tree. I maneuvered my head around until my eyes were uncovered so that I could see what was going on around me. The focus of my attention was four of the members of the patrol who were hard at work digging a shallow grave, which would accommodate my rucksack and me. The clanking sound of four e-tools pierced through the otherwise silent afternoon. The rest of the patrol was on the prone behind some type of cover and concealment, mostly trees, creating a circular perimeter around the men. Beads of sweat poured from the brows of the men and, as they wiped away their sweat, they revealed the reddish color of their overheated skin from underneath thick layers of green and loam camouflage paint. The wind blew the branches of the towering pine trees such that they swayed in a lazy, slow rhythm. The natural sounds were only interrupted by our Cadre Team Sergeant (CTS), "Ok, cease work, men. Put him in the hole." The four men, two non-commissioned officers, a captain, and a specialist, put their shovels down and walked a few steps towards my body. "Terry and I will put him in, you two go and get your gear back on," said the captain. I was lifted and placed in the two and a half foot deep hole, with my rucksack at my feet. All mission-essential gear was removed from my possession and Terry, formerly a sergeant with the field artillery, picked up his e-tool and began to fill the hole with dirt. "Ok, you can stop there, SGT Terry; we'll assume that you buried him," said the CTS as he got up and motioned for his assistant, a Special Forces non-commissioned officer from the 7th Special Forces Group, to stay with me and keep me from further influencing the mission, as I was technically dead. I unwrapped myself from inside the poncho, beat off some of the dirt and picked up my rucksack, took off my patrol cap and fell in behind the assistant instructor. The assistant instructor is also known as the "Shadow" since he shadows the CTS. The "Shadow" and I followed the patrol as they reformed their squad column, team wedge formation and moved out in the original direction of travel. Concurrently, the patrol leader, a former armor captain, called in higher headquarters and confirmed the ten digit grid coordinates to my "body" and that they were continuing with the mission.

Forging the Sword: The Return To Camp Mackall

This time the bumpy ride to Camp Mackall was not as ominous as it had felt just before selection. It was about six o'clock in the morning and the air was chilled and crisp. The temperature had averaged in the high forties during the day and near freezing at night. However, rain had not dominated the season thus far and, with the knowledge of upcoming patrols, it was a good thing. We all carried more gear with us this time than we brought in for SFAS. For one thing, this phase was going to last about forty-six days, which is almost twice as long as "selection". The weather forecast today was for partly sunny skies and the sun was beginning to make an appearance far away on the horizon. A hazy shade of gold was seen merging with the darkness of early morning in the distance. I did not sleep. Instead, I poured over my thoughts. There was much that had been said concerning Phase II of the Qualification Course: Small Unit Tactics. The "re-cycles"--those unfortunate candidates that had to redo this portion of training, either from having received a "no-go" in a critical task or voted out of cycle by his peers (known as being "peered")--were mostly somewhat embittered by the experience. Many had a pessimistic point of view towards just about everything involving Phase II. In a way, I was beginning to get that way myself but it was more a result of psychology, than anything else. I felt that if I expected the worst, the only thing that could happen is that I'd be ready for adversity or surprised by good fortune. Either way, I promised myself, I was going to pass through this phase in one single shot; "One-Shot-One-Kill" as the saying goes.

We neared Camp Mackall and the various barricades could be seen through the winding roads that lead to the WWII-era airborne post. Since September 11, 2001, the Force Protection postures of all military activities have increased dramatically. Camp Mackall seemed no different, and in some ways, even more so. The familiar chain-linked fence that surrounded the main garrison area of Camp Mackall passed us rapidly on our left, as we faced backwards from inside the trucks. I remember this very road, as it was the last portion of my leg towards completing the "Trek" during SFAS. Now, having negotiated that rite of passage, I was to embark in actual training. All LMTV trucks turned left onto a broken concrete tarmac, which doubled as the camp's helicopter pad. It was an area roughly 230 meters by 250 meters made mostly of concrete, which time had broken and nature was beginning to overtake. Grass could be seen growing between the seams of broken concrete and taller grass surrounded the edge of the helicopter pad. The southwest corner of the helicopter pad doubled as the cadre and staff parking lot.

We dismounted the LMTV after the driver came over, and as per standard procedure, undid our troop safety strap and opened the tailgate. Once the overloaded LMTVs were emptied of most personnel, the few that remained inside began to unceremoniously throw out our gear. A burly instructor, who resembled "Tony Soprano" from the famous HBO series "The Sopranos", began to bark instructions at us and placed us in three distinct groups: the officers on one side, the non-commissioned officers (NCOs) in the opposite side, and the junior enlisted soldiers in the middle. With all three formations facing inwards, toward each other, we formed what resembled a block letter "c". At the open end of the "c" stood nearly thirty SF NCOs, the cadre, with clipboards and all manner of variations on uniforms. Some had their patrol caps tipped back, like a baseball hat; others had their hands in their pockets and stood in a very relaxed manner. Others, however, looked serious and obviously had on a "game face".

SFC Tony Soprano began by screaming some simple instructions at us and then quietly called for two of his colleagues to begin with the roll calls. A pair of instructors centered themselves on us and began calling-out names while referencing their clipboards. From the looks of it, they tried to balance each twelve to fifteen-man squads with about three to four officers, three to four NCOs, and the rest in junior soldiers. As the squads were collected, their respective instructors would have them run to an isolated part of the helicopter pad and the harassment began basic-training style. Within about ten minutes, yelling could be heard all around us and I had the sinking feeling that I was about to repeat the Ranger Course experience all over again. "Oh well", I shrugged my shoulders and thought, "what's a brother gonna do?" and I smiled to myself.

(To Be Continued)

[Basenshukai]

A young Asian NCO was our Cadre Team Sergeant (CTS), our instructor. A much taller and very fit SF Combat Swimmer Course instructor from the SF Combat Diving School in Key West, Florida, was tasked to assist our CTS in order to give a hand to the already undermanned student company. Like everyone else on the tarmac, we were directed to dump all of our gear from our duffels, rucksacks, and aviator's kit bags in order to inspect the viability of our equipment. Technically, there was some gear that was unauthorized because it was not in the packing list, or was not issued to us. However, our instructors did not fuss over the matter much. They were more concerned that we bring what we needed to perform the tasks that will be asked of us. Some of the favorite unauthorized gear common to us all were the aviator Nomex flight gloves which, if cared for, could get you through the woods while at the same time enabling you to handle the etched bevel of the compass, or the selector switch of the M-4. Our equipment shakedown was fast and furious with one instructor calling out different pieces of equipment while we held it up for a few seconds for closer inspection by the other. There were a total of twelve of us and we were done in about fifteen minutes. Other groups were far less fortunate; their instructors put special effort in ensuring that every portion of this very simple task was as confusing and as painful as possible. The scene around us looked as if it had been transplanted from a Hollywood movie’s basic training scene. There was shouting and yelling all around and we were the proverbial "eye of the storm". I rather liked our situation. We quickly re-packed our gear and moved out of the tarmac onto Camp Mackall's garrison area. Our instructor gave us a quick introduction to the area, which took all of two minutes. For most of us, the memories of Camp Mackall were seared into our minds. Sounds, smells, and places associated with SFAS rarely leave you. We were quite familiar with the area.

We sent a small detail of men over to the camp's supply area to get us several boxes of Meals Ready to Eat (MRE) and proceeded to meet them over at our Isolation Facility; known to us simply as ISOFAC. Our ISOFAC seemed more comfortable than anything I was previously used to. It was a new prefab building with built-in air conditioning. We had a supply storage area up front by the main door, a classroom / planning area next and, through a doorway, the sleeping area. We had a back door at the sleeping area that led back to the rear of all the ISOFACs. We had a full view of the last two obstacles of the Nasty Nick: the monkey bars and the cargo net. In between that and us there was a gravel area and a fence that separated us from the obstacles.

We settled our gear in the classroom portion of the ISOFAC and were in the middle of making usual first introductions when our CTS walked in. We all stood where we were in dead silence. The first few days with any instructor are always filled with anxious uncertainty since each cadre has his own set of personal standards. No one here wanted to be the guy that made that negative first impression that would distinguish him from the rest of the men. The key to most courses is to be the grey man up until one figures out where he stands. To do otherwise can cause one to be that negative anomaly that we fondly referred to as "That Guy". Whatever you do in any Army School, you don't want to be "That Guy". However, this did not excuse anyone from being a leader and taking charge when it is needed. The balance between the two can be a circus wire act without the benefit of a safety net. Our CTS directed us to sit down at the table, with the appropriate names affixed to cardboard signs taped to them, and make a quick inventory of the academic material found on our desks.

On our desks we found the basic manuals one could expect to find in any small unit tactics course. There was a copy of the venerable SH 21-76 Ranger Handbook and a copy of several small workbooks such as "Special Operations in Urban Terrain" and "Special Forces Small Unit Tactics". So far, nothing was new. I expected this to run along the general lines of the Ranger Course, which I had already attended. Our CTS provided us with the usual guidelines for the course - nothing new here. What was new, however, was the amount of autonomy we had in the course. In the Ranger Course, every minute of your life is managed for you. The pressure that is in the air is mostly orchestrated by the instructors and so designed to foster mounting confusion. In Phase II of the Q-Course, the stress is mostly self-imposed by one's own lack of focus in the task at hand, or by the built-in ambiguity of some tactical scenarios. One of the major differences between SF and Ranger training is the emphasis that SF places on ambiguity. While conventional warfare may be said to be "fluid", unconventional warfare could be considered to be in an even higher state of flux. The Phase II cadres understand that they have to inculcate the students with sound infantry tactics while at the same time allowing them to develop trust in their own innate intuition. That hair that stands on the back of one's neck is an ancient defensive mechanism in all humans. Civilized life shunts these instincts, but SF aims to re-kindle them in its students.

We made our inventory of material in about twenty minutes and then sat silently while our CTS went through the usual narrative of the do's and don'ts that are typical of Camp Mackall. We were told how we were going to be graded, what the minimum standards were and made aware of a number of standard operating procedures. After that, our CTS announced that he would be departing for the day and with that he exited as he closed the door behind him. We stood in silence for about ten seconds to ensure that he had traveled some distance away from the ISOFAC. One of the non-commissioned officers (NCOs) stood up and went to take a look out the window to verify our CTS' departure. "Yep, there he goes." I sat silent as I looked around the various name cards on each desk trying to discern the pronunciation of each last name. CPT Miguel Fernandez, a foreign military officer who was assigned to us for cross training, leaned over to me to me and inquired, "Que hacemos ahora?" What do we do now? We get to know one another and get settled in, I told him. We proceeded to go around the room and introduced ourselves and said a little bit about our backgrounds.

The Team

CPT Miguel Fernandez had come to us from a counter-terrorist unit in South America. He was a smaller than average size man and his body did not betray any athletic ability. In my mind I categorized him as a runner, but nothing more. His upper torso was slender and his neck was quite the average, for a sedentary person. His unit was supposed to be the equivalent of some of our own counter-terror Special Mission Units (SMUs), but few units in the world are actually at that level of skill. In fact, from the conversations I had with him up to that point, his unit sounded more like the LAPD SWAT, than anything like the FBI's HRT, or other like units. Yet, the LAPD SWAT is among the most battle-tested such units in the world so I figured that Miguel's unit were probably not as good as the LAPD boys. He mentioned that he was not comfortable with a rucksack. "It's gonna hurt like hell to get used to one this late in the game." I thought. Two weeks prior to the commencement of this phase of training, we were asked if any of us wanted to volunteer to sponsor one of about a dozen international students. I said that I would sponsor any South American; CPT Fernandez became my "Ranger Buddy". I was to help him along the administrative labyrinth of the Special Warfare Center and ensure that he had the proper gear as we reported to Phase II. I made myself available at all times and took him around the town. But, for the most part, he was very reserved.

Captain Scott Carver had come to us from the 4th Infantry Division. He was a prior-service OCS graduate whom, as an enlisted man, was part of an airborne test platoon in Yuma, Arizona. He had over 200 HALO jumps and was qualified as a master parachutist. He had attended the Ranger Course as an infantry 2nd Lieutenant. Scott's greatest attribute was his ability to make a group focus in the task at hand. He had a great sense of humor and related very well to the men. His experience as a former NCO allowed him to see things from very different points of view. I had the privilege to go through most of the Q-Course with him.

Captain Thomas Layman was an armor officer, also from the 4th Infantry Division. He had excellent planning skills and remained calm under pressure. He was a graduate of the Airborne and Ranger Courses. He was the quietest man in the team and kept mostly to himself. Despite coming from the same division, Scott and Thomas had never met before.

(To Be Continued)

[Basenshukai]

Staff Sergeant (SSG) Chris Schuyler was the most experienced NCO in the team. He had served all of his time up to this point with the 75th Ranger Regiment. He was, in fact, one of only two Rangers not injured in the extraction convoy during what is commonly known as "The Battle of the Black Sea" in Mogadishu, Somalia, on October 3, 1993. He typified the image of a Ranger: Average height, broad shoulders, wide back, thick neck, powerful legs and recent combat experience in Afghanistan. He was also an avid Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu grappler and had been champion high school wrestler. SSG Schuyler's keen interest in medicine had led him to seek Special Forces training as an 18D -- a Special Forces Medical Sergeant. This is, academically, the hardest training available in the Special Forces pipeline. The 18D's are neither merely paramedics, nor are they doctors. They are somewhere in between and are renowned as the best special operations medics in the world. In fact, the Ranger Regiment, the Air Force Special Operations commandos, and the Navy SEALs send their personnel to be trained by Army Special Forces 18D's at the Special Operations Medical Training Center in Fort Bragg. But, for all of his physical ability, SSG Schuyler is one of the most intellectual soldiers I have ever met. "Own his own accord" he had taken-up college courses in physiology and medical terminology prior to attending Phase II. I had no doubt that he would succeed in the SF Pipeline. He became our de-facto "Team Sergeant", or senior NCO in the team.

SSG Mark Harvard was as small as any stout fourteen year old but was as outspoken and boisterous as anyone twice that size. He had served in the 10th Mountain Division as a scout sniper. He was an honor graduate of the US Army's Sniper Course and had his sights set on become an 18D as well. His infantry skills were up to par with anyone at his level of experience and rank. Though, most of his experience was with the light infantry units. He could probably pick out a main battle tank in a police line-up, but that was probably about it. I identified with him there, since the 10th Mountain Division was my first assignment as an officer. So far, my most significant training had entailed the Airborne Course, the Ranger Course, time in a light infantry division and the Infantry Captain's Career Course. Mechanized, or heavy doctrine was not my strong suit. In fact Mark and I had served in the same brigade and in the same infantry battalion. He may have well covered my men with his precision long-range fires during some of our tactical exercises in the battalion but we never met prior to this course.

SSG David Haynes had spent his entire Army career in the 82nd Airborne Division. His foray into SFAS took place as a result of his dissatisfaction with the way in which "Mother Army" handled its affairs. Mind numbing hours doing paperwork, disciplining unruly soldiers and trying to balance post clean up with combat training had gotten old for SSG Haynes. He wanted more out of his Army experience. He wanted to live the warrior lifestyle and he knew that only life in special operations would nearly guarantee such a chance. Shortly after receiving his promotion to staff sergeant, David put in his packet for SFAS at the Special Forces Recruiting Detachment in Fort Bragg. If David had a particular strength it was his ability to see things for what they were. He believed in realism. David was also one of the funniest and most talented comedians in the team and his antics kept us sane.

SSG Travis Halden had come to us from the 101st Airborne Division. He was young for his rank but was a cerebral soldier. He was much more emotional than the other guys. He often made the mistake of wearing his feelings on his sleeves. To the rest of us this quality was treated as blood in the water. Like a school of sharks, we would zero-in on poor Travis and tease him about this or that. He had a good sense of humor, however, and did not take things too seriously, most of the time. Travis had attended the Marine Corps Scout Sniper Course and achieved honorable mention upon graduating. Most of his skills had been honed in a Long Range Reconnaissance and Surveillance Detachment. Thus, he became our "recon man". We sent him out on the leader's recon often enough to pass on some lessons to the rest of us.

SGT Shelton Terry never really shared his reasons for joining SF, other than his desire to finally do some real-world missions. He came to us from a field artillery unit in the 4th Infantry Division. He lacked small unit tactics experience but having him was good since he was our expert on indirect fires and that facilitated our planning. He was tall and lanky and built like a basketball player. Shelton could probably carry a cement truck in a rucksack. He also preferred to carry the M-240 Machine Gun, or the M-249 Squad Assault Weapon. Those weapons matched Shelton's personality perfectly. Shelton was outspoken and oftentimes abrasive, but he was great to have around in a tough fix. Shelton could never be a doctor; his bedside manner was terrible and his spelling was worse. But, he also had all the indications of a heck of a future SF soldier.

SPC Mike Leicester was a recycle from a previous Phase II class. He had failed his graded patrols. Mike was an infantryman from the 3rd Infantry Division. He, however, lacked both the experience and knowledge that the other guys had. Nevertheless, Mike was not afraid to learn. If there was one thing that set him apart from the rest of us, it was his voracious appetite.

SPC Troy Aldridge was an MP from Fort Benning. He joked about the job and often regaled us with stories of stopping vehicles that were not speeding and accuse them of excessive speeds just to hear the drivers argue. We got a kick out of his stories. He rarely, if ever, gave out any tickets, however, as he hated the paperwork.

PFC Jonas Testaverde was our one Special Operations Preparation and Conditioning product. He was also a re-cycle from a previous class. Jonas was the youngest member of the team. He talked about sex with his girlfriends like any other high school kid in the middle of puberty. He understood the principles of small unit tactics but was not as adept at interacting with the rest of us. The significant age difference may have played a part in this. We never shunned Jonas aside and made constant efforts to keep him in the pack. But, at times, the rest of the men treated Jonas like the omega wolf. He wasn't discarded as a member of the team, but he had to earn his place at every "kill".

(To Be Continued)

[Basenshukai]

Initial Training and Land Navigation

The first week of training centered on physical fitness and classes on basic infantry tactics at the small unit level. We went on small forays into the immediate Camp Mackall area. Chris, as the most experienced man in the group took to the task of supervising our training. Our CTS allowed us to formulate our own training plan within his guidance. We worked on basic movement techniques. We worked on formations and immediate action drills. We worked on crossing danger areas: large, small, open and linear. All the while, we subconsciously worked at knowing each other a little better. As time passed, our hand and arm signals became less and less necessary. Sure, we ran into protracted arguments as to which methods were more appropriate at certain times. The way the team was forming, we all allowed for an equal say in such matters. We rarely, if ever, used rank; first names were the norm. For the most part, the number one determining factor in influence was the person's level of real-world experience and knowledge of Army doctrine. Naturally, Chris was the one to end the arguments. While this was occurring, preparations were being made for the upcoming land navigation week.

Land navigation week took place on the second week of training. During this week, the Phase II students would go out to the Southern Pines area and re-live the SFAS land navigation experience. Four short-range land navigation practical exercises would take place in three days followed by the dreaded "Star" exercise, for those whom did not fare well during the practical exercises. We would all begin our land navigation from the same central spot and fan-out from there.

I began my exercise along with Miguel. As it turned-out, the cadre wanted to ensure that we gave a helping hand to the foreign students in areas that they may not be familiar with. Miguel was not good at moving out with a rucksack on his back. While our packing list was minimal, the movement itself would pose a problem to Miguel. I had to balance teaching and coaching him with doing some of the work for him. Being a competitive soldier, I didn't want to do badly during the exercises. More than that, I was not looking forward to repeating the "Star" if we didn't do well during these days. Initially, I watched him work out the land navigation coordinates on the MGRS map we were each issued. After watching most of the other American students move out with a purpose, I decided on a more proactive approach and did some of the map plotting for him. I handed him a small green water-resistant paper with the azimuths and distances and he looked back at me confounded. I couldn't believe that he didn't understand this basic soldier task. But, then again, his country may use a different system. I doubted this, however, as his country nearly parallels Colombian military doctrine. We set off to our first objective. The exercise started in the late evening, but with enough illumination left for visual "dead-reckoning". Our points would not be manned. Instead, we were looking for a rusted green steel picket at about shoulder level. From this picket we would find a 4 x 4 inch Plexiglas with the next set of coordinates burned onto its surface. Hanging next to that would be a new green chemical light glow stick that we were instructed to break so that subsequent students could find it in the darkness that was to follow. I moved out onto the wooded terrain with the same sense of purpose I was taught to maintain by the SF instructors. Miguel was not as purposeful in his movement. He tired easily and we paused often to relieve the pressure that a mere 65 lb was exerting on his small shoulders. The biggest time-waster was not the rests, but the fact that he would undo his rucksack straps each time and walk away from his rucksack to do I-don't-know-what. I tried to be as diplomatic and unselfish as possible, at first. Later, my admonitions became much more stern. I told him about making time in this exercise, about mission accomplishment, etc. It all fell on deaf ears.

To top it all off, our first and last points had no chemical lights broken. The first one, we found after a ten minute search when, frustrated with the search, I used the corner of an intersection and walked methodically step-by-step the prescribed distance to our plotted point. Miraculously as I took the last step of the last leg for that movement, my boot bumped the rusted steel picket with a satisfying metallic "clang". Generally, plotted points are accurate within ten meters. By some miracle, I was accurate to the inch. The last point was nearly impossible to find. But, by the time we found it, it was too late. Incredibly, this one had no chemical light on it as well. It's one thing to find a hidden enemy camp in the woods, or a SAM missile launcher. It's another, all together, to find a green and brown rusted picket with a cross-section of three by four inches in the middle of kilometers of forest whose trees and saplings stand straight and vertically as well. I was livid when we returned to our starting point to turn-in our point cards.

I didn't show it, for I was trying to remain "diplomatic", but I was utterly pissed. Even without the chemical lights, we should have been able to find our final point. We just needed more time, which Miguel consumed every three hundred meters of movement. The following days were consumed with more land navigation. Finally, having not found all points for all the land navigation exercises, I was tasked with performing another "Star" exercise. I did well, found all my points with about an hour to spare. Miguel, had to perform the "Star" as well, but my understanding is that upon not finding his first point, he went deep in the woods where the instructors would not find him and slept until it was time for the exercise to end. Amazingly, he openly admitted this to me with some pride. "I'm not going to break my back", he said, "We don't do this in my country." I would come to hear this phrase from him often in the coming months.

I will add that his attitude was not the norm with most international students in the course. All of the international students that enter the course are handpicked by their nations to represent their particular special operations community. Since many of them come from areas of heavy conflict, they have a lot of experience in counter-insurgency and combat, in general. In fact, there were two that stand out in my mind whom I would not mind going to combat with today. One was another South American who was part of a counter-narcotics unit. He was as competitive and determined as any American in the course. The other was a member of a Special Forces unit in the Asian continent and had been extensively trained by the British Army to include the SAS. These two, were in fact, the only two international students to successfully complete "The Star" exercise within the same standards, by which the American students held. Their tactics were sound and battle-tested. I feel privileged to have met them during the course.

(To Be Continued)