Chosen Soldier - Dick Couch [51]
“What can I do for you, soldier?”
“Specialist McAlister, First Sergeant. I was told to report to you when the X-Ray candidates were formed up.”
“Where’re you from, McAlister?”
“Texas, First Sergeant.”
The phase first sergeant, a master sergeant in grade, walks from behind the desk and holds out his hand. “I’m First Sergeant Billy Sarno, soldier. Welcome to Camp Mackall.”
“Uh, thank you, First Sergeant. Glad to be here.”
“You want to be a Green Beret, McAlister?”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
“Well, that’s terrific, ’cause that’s what I want, too. You go on back to your men and stand by. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
“Roger that, First Sergeant.” Specialist McAlister leaves, more than a little puzzled about the smiling, affable SFAS first sergeant.
First Sergeant Billy Sarno joined the Army right after he graduated from John Marshall High School in Cleveland. That was in 1980. He became a Green Beret in 1987. Sarno is Italian by heritage, but since most of his time has been with the 7th Group, he speaks Spanish much better than he does Italian. Sarno has been to almost every country in Central and South America, and has seen action in Panama, Haiti, the First Gulf War, and Afghanistan. He’s been the first sergeant at Bravo Company, 1st Special Warfare Training Group, for two years, which means he has had a hand in the selection of most new Special Forces soldiers since 9/11. Yet he’s still itching to get back to 7th Group—or any group, for that matter. Billy Sarno is a people person; he’s not happy unless he’s meeting, greeting, listening, or talking. I’ve watched him stop a car just to meet and talk to a total stranger.
When Sarno steps in front of the former Phase I students, he is the picture of a Special Forces soldier. He’s a well-favored man, just under six feet with dark hair, good shoulders, and a confident manner. His dark eyes have a mischievous twinkle in them. There are master sergeant chevrons, ones that designate him as first sergeant, on his collar points, and his Green Beret is set at a rakish angle. His BDUs are freshly starched with sharp creases in the trousers. Specialist McAlister calls the formation to attention.
“Stand at ease men, and bring it around, in close. I want to talk to you guys for a minute.” The formation breaks and bends in around the first sergeant. “Welcome to Camp Mackall and SFAS. This is where we select soldiers for Special Forces training. How many of you started basic training together at Fort Benning—two, three hundred? Well, that doesn’t really matter now; you’re here, and here we play for keeps. You have to make it in this phase or you’ll be soldiering with another outfit. But hear me on this, we need you in Special Forces. We need all of you. Assessment for soldiers coming from the regular Army can run between 30 and 40 percent. Because you’ve just come from basic training, jump school, and Pre-SFAS, we expect better than that from you. But you still have to show us you belong here. You really have to want this and show us some heart. Doing your absolute best here at selection has to be on your front-sight post. This is a tough course. It’ll hurt; it’s supposed to hurt. Getting through this phase and moving on to Phase II should be your goal. How well you perform should be another goal. Remember, this is a small fraternity and reputation’s everything. Your reputation starts right here, today. Are you going to be somebody who does just enough to get by or someone who goes all out? I’ve been at this a while, and I’ll know if you’re not doing your best.
“I want you to forget everything but this training. Don’t worry about your family; we’ll let you know if there’s a problem at home.