Chosen Soldier - Dick Couch [63]
It’s hard to put into words, but I know this feeling from my SEAL training, way back when. It’s an emotion, or sense of being, that is given to few in the military and, from my experience, far fewer in civilian life. It’s a feeling one gets after a hard-won rite of passage. In the case of the Star, it’s an evolution that demands a certain amount of intellectual skill and a maximum physical effort. It’s a personal victory over what you previously thought of as your own limitations. It’s also a powerful engine for future growth. Those who train to become SEALs, Rangers, Air Force Special Tactics Team members, and Special Forces all know this feeling. It’s a delicious sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. It’s also fleeting. For that’s the nature of all special operations training—attaining one difficult, seemingly impossible goal and moving on to the next. This aura of accomplishment in Andersonville was so thick you almost had to swim through it.
The second night I journey around to visit with a few of the point sitters and to watch candidates pass through, get their point recorded, and plot their next set of coordinates. Midmorning, I stay with a point sitter to watch the final hours of the second Star. Twelve candidates are slated to be at that location as their fourth and final point. Four make it in time to go four-for-four, while one other comes through to make his third point with a good chance to get to his fourth. Two others come for only their second point; one has time for a chance at his third. The first man to arrive at my location to get his fourth point has over three hours to spare. He carries his load easily, tired but not as exhausted as I’d seen other candidates on the course.
“Congratulations,” I say, offering him my hand. “Good job, and you had a good time.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replies as he shucks his pack and takes out a canteen. “I’m very glad to have this behind me.”
“You seem pretty fresh,” I tell him. “What happened to you on the first Star?”
“Well, that’s a little embarrassing.” He smiles and shakes his head. “Took a wrong bearing and missed my second point—walked way past it. By the time I got sorted out and found the point, it was too late. Never missed a single point on the land-nav practicals at Camp Mackall, and then I get lost on the first Star. Go figure.”
“Where are you coming from?” I ask.
“I was just detached from the 101st Airborne.”
“Why Special Forces?”
“It’s something I’ve wanted to do ever since I was a plebe at West Point.”
There is no way to tell he is an officer; he wears no rank and has only a number over his nametag. He is First Lieutenant Matt Betters. Betters had grown up in Annapolis, Maryland. He turned down an appointment to the Naval Academy because he didn’t want to go to college in the same town in which he was raised. He is Ranger qualified and has seen action in Afghanistan and Iraq.
“So what’s next?”
“Next month I report to Fort Benning. There’s a six-month course there for new Army captains. Then, after Benning, assuming I’m selected, I’ll be back here to continue with Phase II sometime in the spring or summer.”
“Are you in for a career?”
“Yes, sir. Hopefully a career in Special Forces.”
Later that day, another increment of men, including First Lieutenant Betters and my Ranger X-Ray candidate, achieve the magic four-for-four and made their way into Andersonville.
There are two ways to pass the Star course and the land-navigation requirement at Special Forces selection. A candidate can pass any one of the three Star evolutions by making all four points in the allotted time. Or he can make it to at least eight of the points