hardly contain his excitement. But just when I thought that the men of
Charlie Platoon and Task Unit Bruiser and their families who had
suffered and endured so much were safe from the specter of death, Ryan
Job died in recovery from a surgery to repair his combat wounds—
wounds he had received under my charge. No words can fully describe
the hammer blow that this news dealt—agony beyond comprehension.
As their platoon commander, the loss of Marc and Ryan were a
crushing burden that I would bear for the rest of my days. I knew that
Mike’s platoon commander in Delta Platoon felt the same way. And, as
commander of Task Unit Bruiser, Jocko carried this burden for all. And
yet as difficult as this was for me, I knew I could not ever fully
understand how devastating the loss of these fine men was to their
families and closest friends. In the months and years ahead, it was my
duty to help them and support them as best I could.
* * *As I stood watching these young boat crew leaders—not yet SEALs—I
knew they could not possibly grasp the responsibilities in store for them
as future SEAL officers and combat leaders. Sure, BUD/S training was
tough. Hell Week was a kick in the nuts. But nobody was striving to kill
them. Decisions in training here weren’t life or death. Boat Crew races
did not lead to memorial services. There was no pressure that wrong
decisions might spark an international incident, which could instantly
make the evening news or front-page newspaper headlines, with negative
repercussions on the entire war effort, just as it had been for us in Iraq.
When these inexperienced soon-to-be SEAL officers graduated from
BUD/S, I put them through our five-week-long Junior Officer Training
Course, a program focused on their leadership development. I did my