I Can't Say

By Bruce Wright

You would surely recognize both my face and name should I choose to reveal same. I'm the author of this book; I wrote the text but the material was supplied by an incredible discovery that shook my otherwise unshakable inquisitive nature. During one of my trips to California's Mojave Desert, west of the Ridgecrest Hills and near the Garlock Road, I came across what looked like an old sea trunk that had been unearthed by nature’s alluvium activity. With a miner’s pick I normally keep in my buggy for just such occasions I pulled the trunk from its hiding.

The information used to write this book was found in the various written documents, journals, tapes (audio and video) and computer disks I found in the dry bags within the trunk. I also researched from additional sources to verify the information found in the trunk. Armed with the information found in the trunk and my journalistic investigative background, I continued an extensive research contacting many people, including some of my old friends and political allies, old newspaper archives and both state and federal agencies to verify the story written herein. The people contacted included government officials, court clerks, military personnel (active and retired, enlisted) civil servants, people in industry, retired corporation executives and the private sector in general. I obtained information from various people in the United States, England, Spain, France, Nigeria, Canada, Japan, Ecuador, South Africa, Israel and Russia. Although most were willing to verify the stories included in this book, most requested to remain anonymous and some even added information not found in the bag. Additionally, I was supplied with some tapes of telephone conversations. As I stated before, it has taken me hundreds of hours of research and I have spent thousands of dollars to authenticate the incidents I found in the documents I discovered. I’m confident they are accurate accounts.

This gets to the point of this book. I have worried and troubled many hours and days as to whether the information contained herein should be released and who would benefit, if anyone. When I read the materials found in that old trunk I was appalled by activities of government and organized crime and impressed how three men worked to counter those activities although sometimes in strange and counterintuitive ways. It changed my life and the way I think of and deal with our government and businesses in the United States and Europe. It has made me more cautious and aware; I'm less naive about the system we have contrived in what we call civilization. I decided it was worth the work and risk to bring this awareness to a broader group.

I see no reason to keep you in suspense as to why I entitled the book, "I Can't Say." It's simple; the three main characters were required, either implied or as a directive, to not divulge the information presented in this book and this restriction was sometimes enforced with a death sentence. Read this book and learn where Jimmy Hoffa rests, find out about a stash of biological weapons stored in Antarctic caves and three H-bombs embedded in the shoreline of a remote Alaska beach, then you will know why it took me 10 years to brave publishing this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Wright
• Release date: May 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301411825

Bruce Wright

Bruce Wright Web site: www.environmentalaska.us Senior Scientist, Chilkat Environmental, 2013-present Senior Scientist, Knik Tribal Council, 2010-present Senior Scientist, Aleutian Pribilof Islands Association (APIA), 2005-present Project Manager, APIA, Native American Lands Environmental Mitigation Program, 2010-current Project Manager, Tanadgusix Power Corporation, TDX Village Power Group 2009-2010 Project Manager, APIA, 7 Generations, Environmental Education Project 2006-2009 Principal Investigator, APIA, Sand Point Wind Farm Bald Eagle Monitoring 2006-2009 Program Manager, APIA, Energy, 2005-current Principal Investigator, APIA, Testing and Monitoring for Paralytic Shellfish Poisoning in Aleut Communities, 2006-2014 Principal Investigator, APIA, Oil Spill Capacity Building, Preparedness and Monitoring Project, 2005-08 Director, Conservation Science Institute, 2001-2012 Chief, Office of Oil Spill Damage Assessment & Restoration, NOAA, 1989 – 2001 Program Manager, Alaska Predator Ecosystem Experiment, NOAA, May 1995 – July 2001 Project Manager, Alaska Shark Assessment Program, NOAA, 1998 – 2001 Visiting Assistant Professor of Biology, University of Alaska Southeast, 1989-2001 Fisheries Biologist/Habitat Biologist, Alaska Department of Fish and Game, 1978-1989 PUBLICATIONS BOOKS Wright, Bruce A. 2013. Great White Sharks in Alaska, 2nd Edition. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/324785 Wright, Bruce A. 2013. Passenger Pigeons and Their Extinction. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/324053 Wright, Bruce A., 2011. Alaska Predators, Their Ecology and Conservation. Hancock House Publishing. 119 pages. http://www.hancockhouse.com/products/alapre.htm Wright, B.A. and P. Schempf (Eds.). 2005. Bald Eagles in Alaska. Bald Eagle Research Institute. Rice, S.D., R.B. Spies, D.A. Wolfe, and B.A. Wright (Eds.). 1996. Exxon Valdez oil spill symposium proceedings. American Fisheries Society Symposium Number 18. PAPERS....... About 20 Wright, B.A., E. Donat and R. RaLonde. 2013. Life-threatening risk from paralytic shellfish poisoning in Dungeness crab in Southeast Alaska. See at http://www.environmentalaska.us/psp-in-dungeness-crab.html. Wright, B.A, 2013. Sunburned Arctic seals. 5th International Conference, Contemporary Problems of Oriental Studies, The Far Eastern State University of Humanities, Khabarovsk, Russia. http://www.environmentalaska.us/ultraviolet-radiation-uv.html. Wright, B. A., B. Hirsch and J. Lyons. July 2012. A better use of wind energy in Alaska and applicability for Russian villages. Indian Journal of Energy. Vol.1, No.1. Wright, Bruce A. 2012. Harbingers of Climate Change, Dominance of a Top Predator, Pacific Sleeper Sharks and Greenland Sharks. In; Biological Diversity and Ecological Problems in Priamurie and Adjacent Territories. Regional Scientific Work with International Participants, Far Eastern Federal University for the Humanities. Issue 3. Wright, Bruce. 2010. Salmon Swimming Against Multiple Threats. Science 19 March 2010. Vol. 327. No. 5972, p. 1452a. Wright, Bruce. 2010. Predators Could Help Save Pollock. Science 5 February 2010: 642. Costa, Pedro Reis, Keri A. Baugh, Bruce Wright, Raymond RaLonde, Natalia Tatarenkova, Stacey M. Etheridge and Kathi A. Lefebvre. 2009. Comparative determination of paralytic shellfish toxins (PSTs) using five different toxin detection methods in shellfish species collected in the Aleutian Islands, Alaska. Toxicon: 54 (2009) 313–320. Wright, B.A. 2009. Chukchi Sea Ice Out, In: Thoreau's Legacy: American Stories about Global Warming. Penguin Classics. New York, N.Y. Okey, T.A., B.A. Wright and M. Brubaker. 2007. Climate change, trans-oceanic fisheries impacts, or just variability?: Salmon shark connections. Fish and Fisheries. Volume 8, Issue 4, Pages 359 – 366. Okey, T.A. and B.A. Wright. 2005. Sufficient fuel taxes would enhance ecologies, economies, and communities. Ecological Economics 53 (2005) 1– 4. Wright, B.A. and P. Schempf. 2005. The book on bald eagles. pages 8-14. in: Wright, B.A. and P. Schempf (Eds.). 2005. Bald Eagles in Alaska. Bald Eagle Research Institute. Wright, B.A. and T.A. Okey. 2004. Creating a sustainable future? Science 304(5679):1903. Okey, T. A. and B. A. Wright. 2004. Toward ecosystem-based extraction policies for Prince William Sound, Alaska: integrating conflicting objectives and rebuilding pinnipeds. Bulletin of Marine Science. 74(3): 727-747. Heiman, M., B. A. Wright, et al. 2000. Contaminants in Alaska: Is America's Arctic at Risk? A white paper published by the Department of the Interior and the State of Alaska. Wright, B.A., J. W. Short, T. J. Weingartner, P. J. Anderson. 2000. The Gulf of Alaska. In: Seas at the Millennium: An Environmental Evaluation. Ed. C. Sheppard. Elsevier Science Ltd. Wright, B.A., and L. Hulbert. 2000. Shark abundance increases in the Gulf of Alaska. PICES Press Vol. 8, No.2, July 2000. Wright, B.A. 2000. The Exxon Valdez Oil Spill Response, Damage Assessment, Restoration and Continued Effects. pages 55-61. in: What Should We Learn from Oil Spills? Preparatory Committee for the Japan Environmental Disaster Information Center, Global Environment Information Center, Tokyo, Japan. Short, J.W., K. A. Kvenvolden, and B.A. Wright. 2000. Response to Comment on “Natural Hydrocarbon Background in Benthic Sediments of Prince William Sound, Alaska: Oil vs. Coal.” Environmental Science and Technology. 34, 2066-2067. Short, J.W., K. A. Kvenvolden, and B.A. Wright. 1999. Natural Hydrocarbon Background in Benthic Sediments of Prince William Sound, Alaska: Oil vs. Coal. Environmental Science and Technology. 33, 34-42. Loughlin, T.R., B.E. Ballachey, and B.A. Wright. 1996. Overview of Studies to Determine Injury to Marine Mammals Caused by the Exxon Valdez Oil Spill. in Rice, S.D., R.B. Spies, D.A. Wolfe, and B.A. Wright (Eds.). 1995. Exxon Valdez Oil Spill Symposium Proceedings. American Fisheries Society Symposium Number 18.

Book preview

1Deceived: A true story of Deceit and Corruption

By

Gregory Smith

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Gregory Smith on Smashwords

1Deceived: A true story of Deceit and Corruption

Copyright © 2013 by Greg Smith

Thank you for downloading this ebook which remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. No alteration of content is allowed. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

Adult Reading Material

*****

1Deceived: A true story of Deceit and Corruption

Written by Gregory Smith

Preface

I'll refer to myself as Greg Smith. I am a retired investigative reporter. You would surly recognize both my face and name should I choose to reveal same. I'm the author of this book; I wrote the text but the material was supplied by an incredible discovery that shook my otherwise unshakable inquisitive nature.

On weekends I sometimes operate my VW dune buggy in the desert. During one of my trips to California's Mojave Desert, west of the Ridgecrest Hills and near the Garlock Road, I came across what looked like an old sea trunk that had been unearthed by nature’s alluvium activity. With a miner’s pick I normally keep in my buggy for just such occasions (In the past I have found the desert to be a world of wonderful natural resources and a treasure trove of marvelous natural out-croppings) I pulled the trunk from its hiding.

I pried open the trunk and found a couple of large heavy duty trash bags bound together with duck tape. I ripped open the bags to find a faded yellow canvas military style duffel bag, plus some additional documents wrapped in wax paper inside another trash bag. For the next two hours I perused the contents. Some of the material was inside a bag with what appeared to be a bullet hole and white powder. Not knowing what the powder may be, I secured these for later. As I read some of the documents, I began to realize the trunk contained significant and valuable information. With an adrenalin rush and goose bumps, I hoisted the trunk to the dune buggy and looked around to make sure I was alone. Then, completely forgetting the reason I came out to the desert in the first place, headed for home, looking in the rear view every few seconds, to make sure I was not being followed. I wasn't sure if being paranoid was necessary, but what I had read was unnerving.

The information used to write this book was found in the various written documents, journals, tapes (audio and video) and computer disks I found in the buried dry bags. I also researched from additional sources to verify the information found in the trunk. The real authors of this book are three men whose information and material was in the trunk; Scott Connors, Bruce Wright and George MacDonald. Suffice to say that many of the names have been changed, but not all. Upon researching events and confirming with some of my personal contacts in the government, I decided to not use real names of many of the still-living characters, including Scott, however, for the other persons involved, including George and Bruce, I have used their real names.

Armed with the information found in the contents of the yellow canvas bag and my journalistic investigative background, I continued an extensive research contacting many people, including some of my old friends and political allies, old newspaper archives and both state and federal agencies to verify the story written herein. The people contacted included government officials, court clerks, military personnel (active and retired, enlisted and civil service), people in industry, retired corporation executives and the private sector in general. I obtained information from various people in the United States, England, Spain, France, Nigeria, Canada, Japan, Ecuador, South Africa, Israel and Russia. Although most were willing to verify the stories included in this book, most requested to remain anonymous and some even added information not found in the bag. Additionally, I was supplied with some tapes of telephone conversations; I didn't ask if these were legally collected. As I stated before, it has taken me hundreds of hours of research and I have spent thousands of dollars to authenticate the incidents I found in the documents I discovered. I’m confident they are accurate accounts.

Scott and Bruce were contacted and interviewed; George was not located.

A separate bag, which I will refer to as the brown bag, was found within the yellow dry bag, along with some technical data. The contents of the brown bag are apparently highly contaminated, including with bio-agents. I now know that there are two distinctly different biological agents involved and both are now in a secure place, with a private laboratory whose staff is carefully recovering the information therein. From what we have learned so far, one of the microorganisms, a marine organism similar to a diatom, was developed to change the chemistry of the ocean and reduce its ability to make oxygen. Apparently, someone felt the world was over populated and found a way to eliminate most of us here today. I do not know who developed this dreaded organism; perhaps this information will be revealed as we continue to decontaminate the documents in the brown bag. Many double sealed vials were in the brown bag and there is every indication that one of the intact vials found in the brown bag contains the smallpox virus.

Also within the yellow bag were two sets of keys and a series of numbers. I have determined these keys are for bank safety deposit boxes and the numbers for numbered accounts. Hopefully, additional research will reveal the location of the boxes and I will be allowed to access them.

The documentation for this book and the other documents used have been copied and secured in several locations to act as protection for the subjects and myself. Much of the specific information about individuals, government agencies, agents and the mafia was excluded to offer us additional protection, as some of the characters are still alive and active. My attorney recommended that I release limited amounts of information, again to act as insurance so no one would risk taking action against us. If anything adverse happens to me, or I learn of something unpleasant happens to Mac, Scott, or Bruce or their families, the contents of that yellow canvas bag will be released to the authorities and media. Those materials will never see the light of day as long as no one threatens or harms us or our families.

This gets to the point of this book. I have worried and troubled many hours and days as to whether the information contained herein should be released and who would benefit, if anyone. When I read the materials found in that old trunk I was appalled by activities of government and organized crime and impressed how three men worked to counter those activities although sometimes in strange and counterintuitive ways. It changed my life and the way I think of and deal with our government and businesses in the United States and Europe. It has made me more cautious and aware; I'm less naive about the system we have contrived in what we call civilization. I decided it was worth the work and risk to bring this awareness to a broader group and I hope you will use this information to force our leaders to make the world a better place and to stop putting their personal agenda ahead of the interests of humankind. Once again, although the contents of the bags I found revealed the true identity of all the subjects in this book, I will not use everyone’s real names.

I see no reason to keep you in suspense as to why I entitled the book, Deceived. It's simple; the three main characters were deceived by the government and colleagues and on several levels. An earlier title of this book was, I Can’t Say. This title was considered because the three main characters were required, either implied or as a directive, to not divulge the information presented in this book and this restriction was enforced with a death sentence. However, Mac, Scott and Bruce were compromised by these same people. This book is presented to set the record straight.

CHAPTER 1. Blind Date

October 1950, Coronado Island, San Diego, California, USA

The U.S. Navy established an elite organization during World War II, the Underwater Demolition Team, or UDT that performed special or secret and often dangerous missions. This small force was the best of the best the Navy had to offer. During their early years, the UDT were called frogmen, but later, land and air components were added to their mission and the name of the group was changed to the U.S. Navy Seals (SEAL for Sea, Air and Land).

Upon completion of Naval Boot Camp, successful recruits could apply to enter the UDT training program. These entrants were required to satisfactorily pass a battery of rigorous tests, including mental and psychological screening, physical conditioning, emergency and combat response and swimming tests.

In 1950, the Naval UDT force consisted of only a hand full of members (in comparison to the existing SEALs) and was separated into four units. One unit was active and the others were on reserve or standby. Each unit had three eight-man teams. The teams were a cohesive group that trained together, lived together and fought together.

George MacDonald and Scott completed the U.S. Navy Boot Camp and were accepted as recruits in the UDT. (Scott’s original name was changed when he entered the Federal Witness Protection Program and then later another name change, when the program failed to do its job. The reason for the Witness Program will become clear later. To avoid confusion, Scott will be used in this book.) Each UDT class had 100 recruits, but only 10 to 15 or sometimes less would pass and become frogmen or froggies.

Casey, report to the Special Ops Center, UDT, Coronado, next Monday, commanded the officer. He read off other names and assignments, which were met with emotional groans or exclamations of excited agreement…" Scott had dreamed of this day for a long time. His father, a naval officer, had wanted his son to attend Annapolis, where he had an appointment, but Scott wanted to be a frogman. He wanted to be on the Underwater Demolition Team, the UDT. Few officers were recruited to the UDT; Scott had a better chance to be a frogman if he went in as an enlisted recruit and so far his plan was working.

Dad? asked Scott.

Hey Rube (a pet name). What’s up? The telephone connection was poor, crackling, sounding almost as bad as a radio transmission.

I made it. I’m going to the UDT training, said Scott.

Damn, are you sure that is what you want? Yea. OK, I know that’s really important to you. When do you start?

Monday. They only gave me a few days off. My buddies and I are going to L.A. for the weekend, said Scott.

Well, be careful. Some of those guys…well…just watch yourself. Sometimes some tough guys like to show off and want to take on a couple of swab jockeys to show how macho they are.

Oh, I’ll be with my buddies. We’ll be OK.

Here’s your mom, Good luck in the UDT.

Hi mom. I made it into the UDT training; now if I can only pass, said Scott.

Oh, Scott, I so wanted you to become a minister. The church needs good young men like you. Your Dad has been serving our country for over 25 years and I thought…Oh anyway.... Will you be able to come home before you go back to training?

No. They want me to start Monday. That only gives me the weekend to get ready and some friends and I are going to L.A. on a pass for the week end."

The operator comes on the telephone, One minute remaining.

Hey, mom, I gotta go. I’ll write you and tell you all about it.

Be careful and write me.

OK mom. Bye.

Ed picks up Scott and says as Scott gets in the car, I got us dates, a blind date for you buddy.

What do you mean I have a blind date this weekend, yelled Scott. This was supposed to be our weekend for fun and games, not blind dates. Who the hell is she, no don’t tell me because I won’t be going anyway. NO blind dates for this kid.

Hey man, don’t do this to me, responded Ed. Remember last month while doing grinder (parade and marching field) time you agreed to a double date and my friend in North Hollywood would fix you up?

Oh! Shit Ed, are you going to hold me to a rash moment of placating you?

The party was at the home of Ed’s friend and was packed. Scott looked around and said Well, at least if I don’t like her I can get lost in this maze of bodies.

Here, have a beer and relax, said Ed. Alright! There she is.

Scott looked up to see a rough cut version of Cleopatra, including all the Egyptian finery and jewels. My God man, don’t do this to me. I don’t have anything in common with Nile River rejects or asps between the breasts.

Hello Eddie, said the shapely blond as she made her slinky sultry way across the room.

This must be your buddy Scott she said, while posing seductively and in a voice she must have been practicing as sexy.

Hi, I’m Barb and this is my friend and your date, Jane. Making it sound more like she was rescuing me than introducing. Hope you get along. And without so much as a by your leave off she went hauling Ed across the room. Scott was in shock. Jane was the typical all American girl next door. She had big blue eyes and was petite, blond, with full very kissable lips which formed into a devastating smile. Scott could not say a word. His mouth went dry. His eyes would not focus and butterflies were doing gymnastics in his stomach. Jane just looked up, smiled, took his hand and led him across the room to the only vacant chair available. She turned, put both hands on his shoulders and eased him into the seat, then sat on his lap.

It’s the only seat in the house she said.

I’m… not… complaining, said Scott stumbling over every syllable. Scott and Jane spent every moment they could together that weekend.

During their last evening together, Sunday, Scott said, I will be gone for a few months but when I get my new duty station I would like for you to join me. Nothing more was said, or could be said by either of them. Scott was not sure what he had just said and Jane was even less sure. So they just sat in the back seat of their friend's car and held hands. Later that night Scott actually proposed to Jane not knowing it would be almost two years before he would see her again. Without hesitation she turned to him, pulled him close and whispered in his ear a simple but emotional Yes.

CHAPTER 2. Rescuing the Sandbag People

The bus, filled with potential 'Froggies,' pulled up to the Coronado Island UDT Training Center. As the door opened, the early afternoon sun washed in and a cool sea breeze filled the bus with its salty breath. One of the guys commented, God this is beautiful. I am going to like this. Just then, his euphoric state was shattered with: Out of the bus girls, on the double shouted a crusty, salty, weather beaten Chief. Come on, come on, get moving, let’s go. We don’t have all day you sweet young things, move it. Line up... here. At attention. Eyes forward. Come on you bunch of sorry looking landlubbers . You think I have all day? Straighten up that line. Look sharp. Left face. Forward march. To your Left, right, left, left, left, right, left. Column halt, one, two. Single file, double time, through that door. Find a chair. Move it! yelled the Chief. What the hell you think you're doing sailor? Did I tell you to sit down? Off your ass and on your feet.

The Chief was no joke. He was two hundred twenty pounds, if an ounce and solid as a rock. He looked more like a Sherman tank than a human. The scar across his lower jaw added to the effect. On the table in front of you are several forms and various paperwork; your 'will' in case you don’t come back and a responsibility release are included. Right now complete the forms, all of ‘em. Make sure to sign the responsibility release and place it on top so I can see it. When done, put down your pencil and sit at attention. I know I don’t have to tell you girls there’ll be no bull shitting with me. Now get to work, commanded the Chief. Upon completing the paperwork, the recruits were assembled in another room, stripped naked and fumigated. They were then herded into the barbershop where their heads were shaved and then they proceeded through a complete physical. UDT members are required to have good hand-eye coordination. One slip setting or disabling an underwater charge could cost the entire team their lives. Good depth perception was equally important. During the physical exam the recruits were required to work wires and strings out of complicated solutions. These tasks were accomplished forward and backward using a mirror and hanging upside down. The physical ended with numerous shots in both arms for a number of diseases, but the shots were obviously designed to inflect pain and torture.

Standing around, at attention, outside in one’s shorts, doesn’t make for a happy camper when the recruits were cold and hungry. They had gone without lunch, so spirits rose when they were marched into the mess hall. Sitting at attention, with highly active salivary glands, they watched large juicy steaks being grilled right in front of them. They just sat mesmerized watching and smelling those huge chunks of prime beef.

The Chief walked in, Well, ladies, you should have noticed as you marched in here the path leading down to the beach, which conveniently leads through the 100-foot long mud field followed by the ice pond. When I say the word, you will double-time through the obstacle course to the beach and run south until told to stop. The recruits listened halfheartedly; they could almost taste those steaks. Double-time to the beach, ordered the Chief. Nobody moved, too dazed to believe their ears. Then, through the megaphone he yelled, On your feet you poor excuses for a human and get your butts down to the beach, NOW!

The recruits stumbled and fumbled, in their skives only, out the door into the mud patch, 100’ x 12’ of two-foot thick mud and goop too slippery to stand in, too thick to move through. Everyone slipped, slid, fell and was covered with the muck by the time they reached the lake of freezing water filled with large chunks of ice. At the ice pit the recruits were required to cross on a horizontal ladder rung by rung. Muddy hands increased the difficulty making a safe passage impossible. Because of the way the ladder was slanted, every man dropped in the ice pond. Once they crossed the ice-lake, they were confronted with a solid 8-foot brick wall. Most of the recruits gave each other a hand up and over and then down the beach they ran and ran, in their skivvies, for what seemed forever, all on an empty stomach, cold, miserable and covered with mud. When satisfied with the length of the southern part of the run, the Chief ordered the recruits into the ocean surf to wash off the remaining muck and to run back to their barracks. For dinner they were given, not a steak dinner, but some foul tasting C rations. They were told to organize their footlockers and hit the sack.

I’m gunners mate George MacDonald and I’ve been trying to get into this bloody outfit for the past year. Looks like I’m your bunk mate.

Hi George, I’m raw assed recruit Scott and I do mean raw, after that wonderful stroll on the beach

Just call me Mac. That’s what my friends call me. Where are you from Scott? repeating the name so he would remember it.

My dad was in the Navy so we moved a lot, but I spent most of my high school and college in California. What about you? asked Scott.

I was born in Maryland, but we moved to San Francisco where my dad worked for a company that had government contracts, all a bunch of hush hush bullshit. You’re kind of big for a frogman? said Mac, standing next to Scott in the dark.

I’m 6’2 which is a little tall I guess. Maybe they’re hard-up right now with Korea winding down and all."

Well, watch your shins and head in the subs; those minis are pretty small.

I imagine I’ll be adding a few more creases to my hard skull, answered Scott.

Do you think we’re supposed to roll these clothes like they taught us in boot camp? asked Mac.

S’pose so, but it’s hard in the dark. I bet it won’t be right no matter how we do it.

Ladies, get your butts out of sack. Now! The Chief held the megaphone in his left hand and switched on the lights with his right. This is a short arm inspection, drop the drawers. Squeeze and pull your cock when the doctor walks up. We don’t want no clap in here. Hey, there won’t be no discussion. You’ll stand at attention and work that little weenie when the doc walks up. That’s all, hollered the Chief.

The doctor walked up to Mac. Scott saw the doctor’s surprise by the size of Mac’s short arm, very impressive for a man only 5’8 tall. OK, said the doctor. He stepped in front of Scott and shined his flashlight on the end of Scott’s penis. Squeeze when you pull. OK."

The doctor walks to the next man. Hey Mac! Remind me not to introduce you to my girl friends, said one of the other men.

When they had all been checked, the Chief walked down between the still standing men and said, I don’t suppose anyone will tell me who made remarks during inspection, so why don’t you all just give me 50 (push-ups) for the fun of it. Then he ordered them back to their sacks. There were still 50 recruits that night; however, the next morning the bell rang three times, one time for each recruit who quit the UDT training program. Those three men had already had enough. In less than 24 hours, the original 50 recruits had dropped to 47 members.

Most mornings at the UDT training center came alive early, usually by 4:00 A.M. It started with the Chief yelling in his loudspeaker to get off your ass and on your feet. Scott heard Mac in the lower bunk. God that was a short night. I wonder what pleasure they have for us today.

I’m sure it’s worth getting up for, answered Scott sarcastically.

After 16 weeks of UDT training they had gone through swimming and self defense lessons (how to kill and not be killed), seeing many, many miles of beach sand pass under their feet as they ran the ‘Strand’ that seemed to go on forever during which they often carried what could pass for a full grown redwood tree hoisted above their heads, or the rubber rafts, it was time for a change of pace. A change of pace meant pick up the pace.

OK you sweet things get into your fatigues and packs, commanded the Chief.

If I wanted to run around with a 60-pound pack on my back I would’ve joined the Marines, mumbled Mac.

Quit your bitching; you could cut that much off your foreskin but you would be off balance said Scott. Besides, I hear those sissies run with a canteen on solid ground and call it good. I suppose that’s why they call them the ankle deep Navy and us the iron men.

Iron shit. If you would get some of that lead out of your ass you just might make it, said Mac.

After an eight-mile run on the sand, a gear truck met them on the beach.

Chief Petty Officer Hazelton grabbed a re-breather and said, Suit up, fins and re-breather only. This will be just like using the re-breather in the pool except you will be in the ocean. You’ll swim through the breakers, out to that buoy (pointing to a white buoy about a mile offshore). Grab a chit from the buoy rope. Maintain a depth of 20 feet and stay with your partner. You’ll need to conserve energy for such a long swim on the re-breather. If you mis-navigate or are thrown off by the current, you’ll run out of breathable air, although they re-circulate the air you breathe the sieve material doesn’t last forever. Any questions? Then let’s get to it.

Scott, can you help get my re-breather straps on straight? asked Mac. Thanks.

No problem buddy. I think we should swim out beyond the breakers without using up the re-breather supply of emergency 02 that is supplied with this new style re-breather then head to our prescribe depth. I’d hate to run out three-quarters of the way back. The Chief will probably be in his rugged rubber baby buggy just waiting to push us back under, said Scott.

Well, that must be the reason they require us to hold our breath for three minutes. Hold your breath or get bonked on the noggin by the Chief! exclaimed Mac.

Something like that, said Scott.

Got ‘em on? asked Hazelton.

Yes sir, said Scott and Mac together.

You’ll be third team in today. Go ahead and pay attention to your course. Mac and Scott swam over and under the breakers, then dove following the compass line, swimming down to 20 feet. They signaled each other they were at depth, but the cross current was strong and the water murky so, using their compass, they compensated accordingly, swimming at a slight angle to the north. About 28 minutes out Scott heard Mac’s signal, metal on metal. He had found the buoy rope. They grabbed their chits and were headed back. This was too easy and they were glad to have the re-breathers instead of the bulky tanks for the return trip. Close to shore, with the breaking waves, the visibility was poor, but no matter, they would be on the beach in no time. For a minute, Mac couldn’t see Scott and then he felt a strong tug on his right flipper. Mac thought it must be Scott playing around. He knows better than that, thought Mac. I’ll have a little talk with him on shore about playing grab-ass while on exercise. They both came out of the water where the waves washed up smoothly along the sandy beach. Scott was 30 feet to Mac’s left, further away than Mac expected.

That was easy, said Scott, splashing through the shallow water towards Mac.

Yeah, but it’s probably not wise to grab my flipper, I might turn around and shoot first and ask questions later. said Mac.

What are you talking about? asked Scott.

You grabbed my right flipper, back there before the breakers, grumbled Mac.

No, I didn’t, insisted Scott. They were standing in the wave wash in about eight inches of water. Mac lifted his flipper up out of the water and saw a large chunk chewed out of the end with several obvious shark teeth grooves next to where the piece was missing.

See, said Mac. You bit my flipper. Now cough up the piece you chewed off.

Jesus Christ, Mac! exclaimed Scott, Maybe it was a female and she was looking for your famous third leg.

Bastard!!! They both laid back in the sand exhausted and laughing.

After 16 weeks only 24 of the original 50 trainees still remained. The bell had rung for the other 26. The Chief ran the Zodiac up on the beach and walked up to the gathering UDT trainees. I only had to bang a few heads out there. Pretty good offshore current, huh? So, what have you done for me lately? Well, if you want breakfast you better get that little bit of rubber out of the waves and carry it home, ordered the Chief. Two other Zodiacs came ashore. Eight men to a boat, they had to carry the three boats several miles back to the center. They had 20 minutes to shower to get breakfast down before they were off to their class on dispatching an enemy with a K-bar knife, the close-in approach, slash and dash, without a sound.

The next morning lights came on what seemed earlier than usual. Alright you would-be froggies you have 10 minutes to dress down for a sea/land assault. You will be briefed en route.

Scott wondered what new and fun experience was in store for them today. The Chief seemed more pleased with himself than usual.

Scott, watch where you’re stepping, growled Mac. Jesus, what goddamn time is it anyway? I don’t believe I even fell asleep before those damn lights went on.

I think you need a cup of coffee Mac. You just don’t appreciate beautiful mornings said Scott.

More like a gallon and it’s still dark Mac snapped. God, it’s only 22:30, not even morning. I’ve been in the rack for a whole 30 minutes.

The landing craft (LLT) was waiting just at the breaker line, although in the dark all the UDT teams could see was water and lights. They half-waded, half-swam with their back packs and M-1 rifles until they caught a hold of the LLT’s ramp and then clambered aboard. Within a few minutes the ramp was up, the lights went out and they were underway to the south. The Chief handed out waterproof topo maps and began their briefing. We have a 2 ½ hour run to a location south of Encinitas, Mexico where hostiles are holding two prisoners. Squad leaders are to determine appropriate tactics. You can expect enemy fire, live fire ladies, so watch your ass. The two teams listened carefully.

The pin lights were glowing red as the team members inspected the maps. Look at this, Scott, Mac pointed to the lagoon below the site holding the prisoners. Scott was glad Mac’s morning grumpiness had passed; he didn’t want to baby sit an attitude today. The frontal approach up this canyon south of the lagoon is open, an obvious approach and a route we would get the marines to take. I say we use the lagoon approach and come in from this flank. Mac was pointing to a low saddle in the hill side.

Perhaps a diversion would be useful, say, over there, replied Scott.

One of the squad leaders, Tex, was watching. I can come up the front. We’ll split into groups of four each and lay down lots of fire to draw attention. The diversion will allow your teams to come in on either flank and not get too wet said Tex. What the hell do Texans know about lagoons and water said Mac

Hell man! We have watering tanks for our cattle in Texas bigger than this little pond.

We’ll take the lagoon and cross the water here, said Mac.

That’s a good place for booby traps, said Scott.

What if we take the harder route over here? It'll be deeper and they’ll be less likely to be defending it. Plus, they won’t expect us to come this way because of this cliff, Mac pointed.

Cisco, another squad leader, spoke up. We’ll take the south flank. If we get much enemy fire we probably won’t be able to get beyond this draw, but we can fall back fast to cover your retreat, if you can get the prisoners.

OK.

OK.

We’ll give it a try.

Coffee, Mac?

Sure. They opened c-rations and between the ocean's spray and wave action they ate some hardtack. The saltwater spray softened the boards of cooked flour that passed as food.

Yummy, joked Scott . Mine are coffee flavored, with the grounds.

That’s the only way I can eat these damn things too, said Mac as he dunked the hardtack in his coffee he had put in his canteen, instead of water.

About two hours later the hill’s outline to their approach could be seen as they blocked the stars on the horizon. Hey Amigos, another beautiful day in paradise, se? said Mac.

I’m a little worried about booby traps in the lagoon Mac, said Scott as he looked at the map again. If we trip a bomb we’re haste luego and that would alert the bad guys about our flank operations.

I’ll take point. Don’t worry about booby traps, said Mac. That cliff on the back end of the canyon is only about 50 feet or so. You two get us up and down the cliff. We have to get in and out, before dawn.

Butch and I have the rope and climbing gear, said Scott.

The LLT motors slowed ever so slightly as the boat turned to the port towards the coast. They were now picking up the swell as the waves prepared to break. Two minutes, whispered the Chief. The whisper went through the group of waiting frogmen. Clank, clank, clank, clank the gate dropped, the engines revved to hold the boat off the beach. Go, go, go. The water was shallow, only three feet and in 30 seconds the entire offensive force was ashore and prepared to move out. A small red light flashed from the south flank force, the signal to move. Silently and swiftly the three teams carefully moved toward their initial positions. Thirty minutes from the beach the frontal assault team engaged the bad guys. Small arms fire ensued. This was the signal for the flanks to penetrate deeper into the hills.

Mac, the lagoon; we’re too far north, whispered Scott.

Drop down here. Follow me, said Mac. They eased into the cool fresh water. This was not a lagoon but a small river. There was some flow making detection of trip wires more difficult. Mac carefully felt ahead, felt a trip wire, no, it was a root. Come on, almost there, he thought. A little further. They were chest deep and 20 feet from the approaching shore when machine gun fire cut across the water 10 feet away – live fire! The frogmen dropped down and swam underwater with their back pack showing just above the surface for the last 20 feet. They surfaced side by side where overhanging brush offered some cover.

Will, take Pete upstream to offer cover or take out the machine gun. Move out, Mac whispered. More machine gun fire broke the silence, then small arms fire, probably return fire from Will and Pete.

Move out behind the hill. Mac and Scott exploded from the shore and sprinted up the hill. A grenade signaled the demise of the machine gun nest.

Will and Pete soon joined Scott and Mac. Good work. Let’s move, said Mac.

Up this side canyon to the right, commanded Mac. The cliff should be 300 yards up that side ravine. Mac and Will take point. Move out. The cliffs loomed ahead, blocking out the stars. Scott scaled up, Butch fed him rope. They affixed the rope with pitons at seven points and then Scott secured the rope above and along a large crevice. Ten minutes later they were on top and only 200 yards from a machine gun nest and the prisoners. The four team members, two and two, split and crept up from either side. Using their knives, they took out the three enemies in the nest, then the three guarding the prisoners.

The frogmen moved in to carry out the two (prisoners) only to find they consisted of three sand bags stitched together and dressed in clothing, each dummy weighed about 200 pounds. Two men picked up each sand bag prisoner, carrying them back down the mountain. Nobody even considered emptying out the sand then refilling them back on the beach, although that would have been more manageable it was totally unacceptable. They could just hear the Chief Don’t even think about it. The men tired quickly carrying the dead weight sand prisoners, but there were no replacements to take over. They just kept stumbling down the rocky hill in the dark. They traveled to the south, avoiding the cliffs and met up with one of the other teams. As they progressed towards the beach, they encountered enemy positions blocking their escape to the beach.

The six frogmen, carrying over 400 pounds of sandbags dressed as prisoners, diverted north and crossed part of another lagoon. The water was still. Keep alert for booby traps, said Mac. Keep the prisoners out of the water. If that sand gets wet we’ll be packing an extra 200 pounds of water. Their route took them through some fields, probably gardens of the local village. Let’s skirt the village where we have more cover. Mac was relieved of the front end of the prisoner he was carrying, so he moved ahead to scout a route through the village. He came up behind a cantina, slipped in the back door, grabbed four bottles of beer. Not wanting to steal anything and incur the wrath of our southern neighbors and knowing he had no pesos to pay, he quickly and quietly pulled c-rations from his pack and replaced them for the beer. As he slipped out the back door, Mac wondered what the Mexicans would make of the pile of c-rations in their kitchen, typical American hospitality.

Finally making their way down to the beach they were met by the third team and the two other members of their team. They had 15 minutes to meet their pick up, the roving Zodiacs stationed about 50 yards offshore. Move out, said Cisco. Keep those dummies up out of the water, stay together and take turns keeping those sand bags dry. Finally, they were offshore at the pickup site and the two Zodiacs could be heard. Lights were signaled and the rubber boats moved in.

Getting picked up by a moving Zodiac was something they had practiced many times, but it took a couple passes to get those sacks-of-sands-for-prisoners aboard. Finally, they strapped one of the prisoners to the strongest frogman on the team and with the assistance of a man on each side to help, grabbed onto the loop ropes of the passing Zodiac and used the boat’s momentum to toss himself and the prisoner aboard. They repeated the procedure for the other prisoner. The four Zodiacs skipped along the waves as the frogmen dozed or ate c-rations. They relished the rolling ride and sea spray that occasionally caught a guide rope and splashed up over the bow. Mac pulled the four beers out of his pack. Here amigos, anyone want a Cerveza, compliments of our Mexican hosts?

Oh-my-god!

You’re kidding!

When did you…? then Skeeter pulled out a pair of women’s panties he snatched from a clothesline in the same village.

Oh-my-god!

You’re kidding.

When did you…? Those are kids bloomers you idiot. Don’t get in such a hurry next time. "Yea! Well they don’t call me speedy Gonzales for nada. The Chief would have transferred all of them, if he knew. Maybe that’s what made the warm beer taste so good.

Hey, Mac, asked Scott, is this the first time you’ve had a beer other than in a strip joint?

Cheers, responded Mac.

CHAPTER 3. Underwater Gunplay and Crappy Pants.

A few days later the exercise was to swim down in a tank of near-freezing water with only your swim trunks and .45 auto (automatic pistol) strapped to your waist. The black tank was about 16 feet across with one small opening in the top and 50 feet deep. Their air tanks and mask were held on the bottom with their weight belt. Usually four divers went at a time, took a deep breath, dove to the bottom of the unlit black tank, felt for their tank by the number welded on the top, put everything on and returned to the surface.

OK, gentlemen, today you dive down, put on your gear and before surfacing, you take down and reassemble your .45’s. The Chief’s green eyes were glowing brighter than usual and a slight smile was just obvious under his red moustache. Parker, Langer, MacDonald and Connors, you’re first in. Within a few seconds the men were at the edge of the tank’s opening. Parker looked at the other three, took a deep breath and jumped in feet first. Surfaced briefly, took another deep breath, flipped over and kicked, disappearing into the black waters. The others quickly followed. At about 20 feet, Scott hesitated to equalize the increasing pressure in his ears by holding his nose and blowing slightly and then he continued down. He passed two others who were doing the same. At about 45 feet, Scott scrunched up his lower lip and blew. Some air bubbles leaked out his nose, but it was enough to equalize the building pressure. His arms went out in front as he groped in the darkness for the tanks.

Mac was already there, feeling the cold metal tanks for the numbers welded in each tank. Number 3, number 3, come on, where’s number 3? Scott’s mind totally focused on the task at hand. There. He grabbed the attached weight belt and slipped his hand through the tank’s harness, then the mask and unclipped the weight belt. The water’s coldness had numbed his fingers but he held onto the tank as the weight belt swung free, preventing the tank from shooting up to the surface. Mac slipped the weight belt around his waist and snugged it down. He had been down now for about 60 seconds; his lungs were beginning to tighten, wanting some air. Mac pulled down the tank, grabbed and twisted on the valve. Bubbles blew the water out the mouthpiece. He heard another tank coming, bubbles rushing from its mouthpiece too.

Blam, blam! Two compression-like nearby explosions ripped through the water. Mac was focused on the air his lungs now screamed for, shoved the mouthpiece into his mouth and breathed slow at first, then deeply. Blam, clank, clank, bang! Another explosion, then there were sounds of someone hammering on the outside of the large tank containing the four frogmen. The banging was loud in the water, an obvious attempt to distract, but the divers maintained their focus. Mac slipped on the mask, took another deep breath and blew out through his nose, clearing the mask of water. He slipped on the air tank, bumping it into another diver. His numb hands made strapping the tank on a difficult task, but now he could breath. He reached for his .45.

Scott was belting on his air tank at the same time as Mac. Scott's fingers were cold and felt distant from his arms. He drew the .45 from the holster belt, then pushed the release and slid the pistol barrel off, being careful not to drop any pieces. He was slowly ascending, so dropping a gun part now would involve feeling around the tank’s rusty bottom. He held one of the weapon’s parts under his chin and completed the disassembly. The pieces filled his hand. Had the gun jammed in the dark, he knew he could disassemble it and have it functional again in less than a minute, but in 50 feet of water with numb hands, the task was slower, much more difficult. The loud banging and concussion explosions added to the frustration level. I can do this, thought Scott. Spring, slide, pin, there, I have you back together. Scott pulled the slide back, released and chambered a round from the clip. He put the safety on, replaced the pistol in its holder and kicked up to about 25 feet where he would wait a few minutes to simulate a slow decompression. Two other divers were already there, but in the dark he didn’t know who they were. Scott knew he had completed the task in under the maximum time of three minutes. Over the weeks the trainees had spent so much time in cold water they became immune to the pain, but Scott could feel the numbness penetrating his arms and tightening his chest. His thoughts wandered for a few seconds; he thought of the bell that had rung twice yesterday, two more potential frogmen dropping out of the program. One was from the marines and the rumor was the other was with some secret federal agency, maybe the FBI, or one of the counter intelligence cooperatives he had heard about. Scott felt one of his companions kick for the surface. Better give it another ½ minute. Man, a warm shower sure is going to feel good, he thought.

When he reached the surface, Mac and Weiss were already out of the tank. The next group was preparing to dive. Go clean up and hit the chow hall. Cookie has brewed up a special batch of hot chocolate, the Chief had a funny glint in his eye again.

Let’s go, Scott, said Mac. I’m starving.

Me too.

Cookie made breakfast for dinner. I bet I could eat a dozen eggs, said Mac.

Great hot chocolate, huh? asked Scott.

Yeah. They ate and ate, went back to the barracks and were sound asleep by 1900. Lights came on what seemed immediately, but it was already 0400 hours. Let’s go. Pack lots of water and bring your pea shooters (M-1 rifle). Ten minutes. Let’s go! hollered the Chief in the megaphone.

Hey, Scott, your gut feel OK? asked Mac. He looked up and Scott was gone. Mac started to pack then went flush. He ran for the head. Scott was just leaving it.

Coming through. Look out, pleaded Mac.

The entire group woke up with stomach cramps and diarrhea. The Chief came back in, What’s taking so long? Nobody wanted to say anything. They knew colds, flu, fever, aches and pains were no excuse. These were afflictions that must be overcome and couldn't compromise their mission. Only Cookie and Chief knew about the packets of chocolate flavored Ex-Lax added to last night’s special hot chocolate to simulate physical distress. Move it commanded the Chief.

Those still in the head when the unit moved out had to double-time to catch up. The day was long, mostly hiking up a small river, punctuated with diversions by one or two frogmen to relieve himself again. Some didn’t make it to the bushes, so the unit began to reek as the day dragged on. At several locations along the hike, they encountered enemy fire that had to be dealt with. Shoot and shit, shoot and shit. What did they feed us? asked Scott as he and Skeeter returned fire on an enemy position.

I’ve got nothing left in me and there’s no way I’m eating until we get back, said Skeeter. Don’t we have our swimming test today? he asked.

Unless the Chief changed his mind, said Scott. Bang, bang, bang…boom!

Move out. Back at the barracks the Chief gave the unit an extra 15 minutes to clean up. Everyone in trunks and at the pool at 1500, commanded the Chief. Some of you guys could use some cleaning up, so take this extra time to prepare for an inspection after your swim test.

He’s so generous, grumbled Mac sarcastically. All of the men had to wash their clothing, if not of dirt and mud then of feces.

What a mess, said Skeeter. He was using a washboard, rubbing up and down and then dunking the pants into the soapy water. I sure wish we could have our laundry done for us, this takes so much time.

I guess they want us to be self-sufficient, which we pretty much are. That’s something our dear ole Uncle Sam wants and I’ve gotten to like, said Scott.

At 1500 hours the frogmen stood around the swimming pool in their snug-fitting swim trunks. The tight trunks were necessary to avoid getting snagged. This day’s exercise was straightforward. Each frogman had his arms tied behind his back and his legs were tied together. To pass the test, they were required to float in a pool for one hour. In sea water the body is more buoyant but the pool was fresh water. Even worse, the water was softened via a water softener, decreasing buoyancy further. Several of the frogmen freaked out being restrained and eventually failed the floating test.

UDT culminated with Hell Week, seven days of various strenuous exercises and tasks, with no rest and little sleep. Periods of sleep would be 10 to 15 minutes here and there. After a couple of days of this torture, the recruits were exhausted and rummy. Hell Week was the final effort to wash out the men who weren’t the best of the best and strongest. Many did wash out during this time. On the last day of Hell Week the men were required to swim in the open ocean from some of the offshore islands near San Diego for a period of 12 hours. Come on Mac, said Scott, We have two more hours to go. Keep kicking, keep up the pace. You can do it, buddy.

Yeah, said Mac. We got it made now. They were finally picked up in the Zodiacs and they fell asleep leaning against the side of the bouncing boat. Out of 50 recruits, seventeen survived and met the UDT challenge. One of the seventeen was with a secret agency, perhaps the FBI or Naval Intelligence. No one knew. The others had worked together for six months and formed a natural UDT unit. Over the next several months the Team trained with more seasoned and experienced teams, sometimes on practice missions and sometimes as support on actual missions. By mid-195l, The Teams were ready for action.

CHAPTER 4. War Zone Rescue.

March 15, 1951, Tongjoson Bay, Korea

Good morning, Admiral, gentlemen, I’m Colonel Nelson of Army Intelligence. We have information that two high-ranking undercover officers were captured by North Koreans during the last days of the war and are being held near Kowloon. The particulars about the enemy camp and their numbers are in the packet in front of you. We appreciate your help in recovering these men. We have informed the White House that the Navy will be taking the lead in this operation. Their primary concern is that our operation is not detected, that we do not cause an international incident. We can’t have any additional prisoners taken.

Commander Bradshaw? asked Vice Admiral Peterson.

We have two submarines standing by sir, answered Bradshaw. They are equipped with escape pods. The two UDT Teams are ready to roll. They are en route from Guam on choppers right now to a frigate and can rendezvous with the subs this afternoon at approximately 1600 hours. We have additional forces in the area, including a carrier group if needed.

Risks, Commander? asked Admiral Crowley.

Sir, this is a risky mission, but do-able. The UDT boys need to open up an antisubmarine fence, which is mined, get a sub into the bay and up the river about 10 miles without being detected and land our teams also undetected. They will travel several miles over land to Kowloon, neutralize the guards and return with the prisoners. I think we have a 40% chance of success without casualties and a 10% chance of having some of our forces killed or taken as prisoners. It’s a high-risk operation, Sir. However, the prisoners they have are privy to highly sensitive information and will be painfully interrogated until that information is revealed, then killed.

Other discussion? Anyone have arguments for not going in? asked Admiral Crowley. Then do it. Keep me informed of any situations that develop. I’ll inform the President tonight.

The U.S. Navy frigate maneuvered outside of Tongjoson Bay, some 40 miles offshore of North Korea. The Korean conflict had cooled somewhat, but anything could raise everyone’s temperature in a hurry, such as discovering the North Koreans held U.S. soldiers or the U.S. was caught operating in North Korean waters. Gentlemen, I’m Commander Jackson. He looked around the room. The young men of UDT Teams were alert, a very professional group, he thought. Blue Team goes in; Red will be on standby for backup and pickup. In 30 minutes you will be transferred to a sub. It’s fitted with an escape pod on deck. You’ve already been briefed on the operation so I won’t waste your time except to say we are still at war with Korea. Being a prisoner in that country is a death sentence, so be sharp and good luck. The Commander turned and left the room.

We’ve gone over this, but now’s your chance for any last questions, said Chief Renkin.

Sir? What if the prisoners are too weak to transport?

Bring them back in any condition. There may be others, we just don’t know. If there are and they are too great a burden or would jeopardize your mission, leave them a weapon. Let them decide the necessary action. Bring me the two you’re going after, even if it’s in a body bag. Other questions? This operation could be the last U.S. military operation in North Korea, if it’s done right. Do it right! The sub’s alongside. Move out.

A high-tension cable was strung from the sub to the frigate. In the waning light, the 13 UDT members, and Chief Renkin hooked on the cable and slid from the frigate deck down to the sub deck. The slide was controlled so their landing on the sub deck, even with all their gear, was gentle and quiet. The diesel sub was crowded even without the extra 13 men and all of their gear.

As the sub dove, the sub's Skipper, Commander Howard,