You must have a never-quit attitude, he told himself. Never quit.
The evolutions came fast and furious: workouts in the surf followed by log PT, and they were even tasked with carrying their boat as a team across the O-course. They faced repeated drills of rock portage, followed by carrying their boats to chow after nearly ten hours of hard work on the very first day.
Because they were too excited to sleep the day before, and they had trained throughout the night, by morning of the first day sleep deprivation was already taking its toll. Moore’s brain had become fuzzy. He’d call out for Instructor Killian, and Carmichael would remind him that they weren’t in INDOC anymore, that this was the real deal, it’s Hell Week. They were all heavy-eyed, saying things that made no sense, having weird conversations with ghosts in their heads.
This was a major problem, especially for team leaders who had to pay close attention to their instructors — because the instructors would deliberately leave out directions for a task to see if team leaders were still on the ball. If team leaders caught the error and brought it to the attention of their instructors, their team’s task could become much easier — or they might even be allowed to skip the task altogether.
But Moore had been too exhausted, ready to pass out, and certainly not ready to carry a heavy log with the rest of his team.
“Grab your logs and get ready!” came the order.
Most of the men rushed back to their logs, but several team leaders remained behind. Moore was not one of them. Over his shoulder, he heard one of the other team leaders say, “Instructor, don’t you mean you want us to grab our logs and get them wet and sandy?”
“Yes, I do! Your team sits this one out.”
Moore’s shoulders sank. He’d screwed up, and the entire team would pay for his mistake.
That evening, during a rare one hour and forty-five minutes of rest, Moore draped an arm over his eyes. Carmichael had been right. Moore couldn’t stop thinking about all the pain and suffering to come and the pressure of being responsible for the others. They’d given him a leadership position, and he’d failed.
“Hey, bro,” came a voice from the darkness.
He removed his arm and saw Carmichael leaning over him. “You fucked up. So what.”
“You were right. I’m ready to quit.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I failed. Let me quit now so I don’t drag down the rest of the team. I’m making it harder for all of us.”
“Maybe we needed to carry the log.”
“Yeah, right.”
Carmichael’s eyes grew wider. “Here’s the deal. Our training will be even harder than everyone else’s. When we get through this, we got bragging rights to say we took on every challenge, and we did ’em the hardest way possible. We weren’t looking for the easy way out. We’re the best team.”
“They haven’t said it, but I know the other guys are blaming me for this.”
“I talked to them. They’re not. They’re as strung-out as you are. We’re all zombies, man, so get over it.”
Moore lay there, just breathing a moment, then said, “I don’t know.”
“Listen to me. You keep paying attention — but even if the instructor leaves out an order, don’t say anything.”
Moore shivered. “You’re crazy, man. We won’t survive.”
And Moore wasn’t kidding. It was the end of the first day of training, and more than half the guys were gone.
Carmichael’s voice grew more stern. “We’ll make a bold statement. A few weeks ago they asked us to commit to the warrior’s life. You remember that?”
“Yeah.”
“We came to fight. And we’re going to show them how hard we can fight. Are you with me?”
Moore bit his lip.
“Don’t you remember the quote they told us? We can only be beaten in two ways: We either die or we give up. And we’re not giving up.”
“Okay.”
“Then let’s do this!”
Moore balled his hands into fists and sat up in his bunk. He looked at Carmichael, whose bloodshot eyes, battered and sunburned face, blistered hands, and scab-covered head mirrored his own. However, Carmichael still had a fire in those eyes, and Moore decided right then and there that his swim buddy was right, had always been right. One evolution at a time. No easy way out. No easy day.
Moore took a long breath. “I screwed up. It doesn’t matter. We’re not taking the breaks. We’re kicking ass and taking names. Let’s rock-and-roll.”
And by God they did, crawling under barbed wire on the O-course with simulated charges going off and smoke pouring in from everywhere.
Covered in mud, his heart filled with sheer terror, Moore talked himself through it. He would not give up.
Then the time came when the instructor left out a command prior to one of their four-mile runs. The other team leaders caught it.
“Missed it again, Moore?” cried the instructor.
“No, I did not!”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because this team is not looking for a free pass! This team came here to fight harder than any other team! This team has the heart to do so!”
“Dear God, son, that’s impressive. That takes courage. You’ve just doomed your entire team.”
“No, Master Chief, I have not!”
“Then go show me!”
They charged off with their team. It was the fifth day of Hell Week, the last, and they were running on four hours of sleep, running on a sense of sheer willpower none of them knew they possessed until now.
In fact, the intestinal fortitude displayed by Moore and his team was awe-inspiring, he later heard. They powered their way through more runs, rock portages at night, an “around the world” paddle covering the north end of the island and then back to San Diego Bay and the amphibious base. They cast themselves into the scummy muck of the demo pits and clawed their way out, looking like brown mannequins with flashing eyes.
“In the unlikely event you actually make it through the next two days, there will be a nice meal waiting for you,” shouted one of the instructors.
“We got one day left!” cried Moore.
“No, you’ve got two.”
The instructors were lying to them, messing with their minds, but Moore didn’t care.
They were held in the freezing-cold surf until they were mere minutes away from hypothermia. They were pulled out, given warm soup, then tossed back in. Guys passed out, were revived, and returned to the water. Moore and Carmichael did not falter.
When the final hour arrived, when Moore and Carmichael and their classmates felt as close to death as ever, they were ordered to haul themselves from the Pacific and roll themselves in the sand. Then came a cry from their proctor to gather around. And once they were huddled up, he nodded slowly.
“Everyone, look around the beach! Look to your left. Look to your right. You are class 198. You are the warriors who’ve survived because of your teamwork. For class 198, Hell Week is secured!”
Moore and Carmichael fell to their knees, both teary-eyed, and Moore had never felt more exhausted, more emotionally overwhelmed, in his life. The hooting, hollering, and hooyahing that came from just twenty-six men sounded like a hundred thousand Romans ready to attack.