My set backs in the CCT pipeline Part 1

 A few self inflicted problems for your enjoyment

A few minor roadblocks as a CCT trainee

With all the challenges people must face in special ops training, sometimes we're own worst enemies.

Sometimes things happen beyond our own control; the core of any special operator's life.

Sometimes we can get injured.  Sometimes we get in trouble.  And sometimes, we just  can't catch on to the fire hose of information that is forced down our throats every day.

Yeah, this type of training is hard; so hard that it's an expectation most people don't make it through. Most people realize that part, but what they might not think about is life.  Life still happens in training just like it happens in the real world.  

You know that stuff that happens that you don't plan for? When you're on your way to work and get a flat tire.  When all three of your kids are sick, you just worked all day, and your wife had plans to go out, so no free time for you?  I'm going off a bit, but that type of stuff still happens in training.

Some people get lucky, join at 18, get through everything on the first try, and never have a hiccup.  It does happen.  For the rest of you, remember these stories if you experience hardships in training.

In this article I'm gonna discuss two experiences; One that was even before I joined the Air Force, and the other was after the first week of training.  It was the start of a couple of years that were a struggle, most of it my own fault.  I share these experiences to give hope to anyone trying to accomplish a goal but are stalled by circumstances they never thought would happen; more specifically, anyone who decides to enter this type of training and are slapped int he face by a set back.

The Stress Fracture

I'll start when I was 18 with big dreams of going to BUD/s.  I had it all figured out.  After watching numerous training documentaries and researching online, I was gonna be one of the guys that made it.  I wouldn't quit. No, not me. I'd also get into the best shape of my life, so I should've had no major issues.

I've learned a lot about physical training since I tried to prepare for BUD/s, especially running.  I'd always been a great runner in school and often labeled " the fastest kid in my class" , but that wasn't the type of running I needed to do for that type of training. Sprinting fast was cool, but I needed to adjust it to distance running, something my muscular build didn't look suited for; like those skinny marathon guys.

When I realized what type of runner I needed to be, I joined the cross country team when I was a senior in high school.  I started going out on the long 7 to 10 mile runs with the distance team.  It turned out that I was a pretty decent distance runner ( slightly better than average, but not fast enough to be competitive in college.)

I knew nothing about running, especially building up to distances the proper way.  I don't think the coach even knew I was on the cross country team.  I just showed up one day with one of the guys from my 6th period science class.  

About a month after I started running after school and feeling on top of the world, thinking I was about ready for BUD/s, I ran into problems.  I had a nagging pain that turned out to be shin splints.  After reading about all the BUD/s students that completed Hell Week with twisted, even broken ankles, I decided to push through.

A few weeks later I was on crutches from developing a stress fracture.  I was bummed.  At that age I even felt like my career and dreams were over ( extreme, I know).  I had a small fracture playing basketball in the 7th grade, so I knew it would take a while to heal.  I still have a picture of me on the team with a giant brace on my leg.

My senior year was almost over, and I wanted to join the Navy right after high school graduation.  I began walking without the crutches and soon after began trying to run.  The stress fracture healed but not properly.  I still had a dull pain where the fracture was as I began to up for the Navy, ignoring obvious red flags.

The MEPS process was miserable. That part where they have you walk like a duck to expose any injuries was hard to fake.  The pain when I crouched down was almost unbearable, but I somehow kept a straight face.  

It was a long, exhausting day trying to enlist. The entire day my gut was telling me not to do it, but I kept going.  The voice in my head told me I wasn't ready.  Thoughts of how brutal BUD/s was couldn't be ignored, especially when I could barely pass a MEPs exam.  

There was even other recruiters driving out to my parents' house to gather my birth certificate and other documents.

I got all the way to the office where they swear you in.  The young guy in his Navy dress uniform was talking fast.  My mind was going faster. I got nervous.  At the very end, before I held my hand up, I simply said, " I can't do this."  

" What are you talking about?" the guy asked confused, with frustration.  

" I'm not ready"

I walked out defeated and exhausted.

The Fight

About five years later, I properly prepared for training, but I changed my focus to CCT.  My life was swimming, running and getting into the best possible shape of my life.  I was certain that I was physically ready for the demands of Combat Control training ( that turned out to be true) but I still needed to do some growing up.

Back then, all CCT trainees attended a two week orientation course, which was structured, but it was basically a gut check to see who had the motivation to continue on through the pipeline.  It was harder than I expected because the entire week seem to be back to back gut checks with some classroom time sprinkled in between.  There weren't any pass or fail events, but the difficulty was intense.  Guys quickly flooded out of the training.  All the events were set up to win.  If you weren't in the front of the pack, then you were given extra punishment and told, " you don't really wanna be here!"

The first week was kind of fun for me, and two other guys I became friends with. One guy, John, was a smart ass guy from Connecticut ( who I found hilarious and fun) and the other, Drew, was an Ohio state wrestling champ of Italian decent, who quiet but was also funny if I caught it. During some of the events on Wednesday, known as grass and guerrilla drills, I became more exhausted than I'd ever been in my entire life.  My two friends and I bonded because we were coming out on most of the events which included: log rolling down large hills, racing with a teammate across our shoulders, wheelbarrow races ( one guy holding someone's legs while they raced on their hands), and numerous other games that lasted for hours.

After the first week, My two buddies and I thought we were warriors, feeling on top of the world because we made it through a week of intense military training.  Friday evening, all I wanted to do was go out and drink, blow off some steam, and talk about all the crazy shit we had just been through.  Even though we were in some serious military training, we were only a week out of basic military training, which meant we were not allowed to go off the base wearing civilian clothes.  We had to wear our dress blues.

The silly rule kept us from going out Friday and Saturday, but Sunday we couldn't wait anymore.  The three of us decided to put on our stylish clothes that we weren't able to wear since we joined the military and get a taxi that Sunday morning, which was actually Easter Sunday.  There would no Easter egg hunts for us, only a search for alcohol and food.

Our day started out out pretty normal.  Both my new friends I enjoyed several pitchers of beer and steaks at Texas Roadhouse. John was getting louder and more funny as time passed, and Drew even began getting really chatty.  It was fun to be out and thinking back on the week and sharing stories about our experiences. 

We were having the time of our life wearing our regular clothes, drinking beer off the base, and sharing war stories, but we didn't want the fun to end.  I certainly didn't want to go back to the base and think about the next day, especially another week of the brutal orientation course.

We decided to go to an Irish piano bar, eat peanuts and listen to the sounds of a piano in a bar environment; it was the perfect place, or so we thought.   It was perfect for John with his green T-shirt displaying a four leaf clover.

After about 30 minutes we escorted out of the bar for throwing peanut shells at the man playing the piano, I don't remember much about it, but I'm sure I was involved.  The hazy Easter Sunday was beginning to become out of control.

The day continued with us stopping in at Coyote Ugly, watching beautiful girls dance on top of the bar tops and drinking more.  My memories of this place of very fuzzy, but I do remember being escorted out the door by the bouncer.  John and I were demanding to the bouncer to tell us why we were being kicked out.  The bouncer, one of those guys that were pretty big, but had some fat to go along with it, wearing a black shirt with the word Coyote Ugly in white letters, and he pointed at Drew.  " That guy is way too loud.  He's out of control."

Puzzled, we stumbled out to the river walk, in downtown San Antonio,  and walked around looking at all the people, the families with their children, and young people out in the civilian world being normal.  It was there that one of the strangest things happened, one that I will never forget, and I still can't completely explain to this day.  On the cobblestone walk near the river, I walked behind John and Drew lost in my thoughts.  I remember thinking about how I finally made into training, and I was walking around in new city with two guys who were the same as me.  I began to hear them talking to each other.  

My two friends were starting to argue about not quitting the training.  It was something that was seared into our brains during the first week of training,repeated in the songs we sang as we ran, to each other in the barracks, and seeing it posted on the door into the school house, NEVER QUIT.  It was coming out after the over consumption of alcohol.  

" I won't ever quit", John yelled to Drew. " I won't either", Drew replied back.  At first it was funny seeing them go back and forth to each other, but they got louder.  People began to stare at them, and I could tell that it was beginning to go from telling each other they'd never quit, to a full on fight.  They were arguing, and angry at each other before I realized the reality of the situation.

They began to wrestle each other, still shouting about not quitting.  I froze and looked around at all the people watching two guys letting out bottled up energy of one of the hardest things they'd attempted in their lives.  They rolled around on the ground and stood back up.  Punches began at each other.  First, John landed a punch on the side of Drew's head, and then Drew landing one on John's mouth.  I looked around and began to panic.  All my hard work could end right there if they continued.  

I looked back and saw John dragging Drew by his feet, while his face drug on the ground. I began to run over to break them up.  I was about to grab John by the shoulders to pull him away, but I was struck hard on the side of the head.  I was furious.  I hit John in the back of the head, and he stumbled away from Drew.

I was ready to fight, but I saw John and Drew staring at the people around us.  I looked around and saw the  San Antonio police, on bicycles, circling us.  My heart sank as my dreams and goals seemed to be gone.  We were in deep trouble.

John took off running; Drew stood there with a blank stare, and I almost cried.  As John ran in a full on sprint, two of the cops chased him on a bicycle.  John, who hated running, was in a perfect sprint with two cops on his tail.  " I'll never quit!" John shouted as he ran away. The two cops jumped off the bicycles and tackled him; one pulled his baton and began to beat him.  " I'll never fucking quit!" John screamed as he was hit with the stick.

I'd never been arrested before, only been a passenger riding in a vehicle of someone receiving a DUI charge, so I was scared.  I knew I was not gonna be in training any more.

When the cops found out that we were combat control trainees, we were turned over to the military police, and we were standing in front of the team captain surrounded by the police in the main sitting area of the barracks.  I felt a bit better about being turned over.  They asked the captain to handle the situation, he agreed.  

I asked the captain what he thought was gonna happen ( the other two were completely silent) and with a confused look the captain said, " I have no idea, but it's not gonna be good."

That night I asked both John and Drew what they thought would happen, and they seemed frustrated about my frequent questions.  I had a hard time going to sleep that night wondering what Monday would bring at the school house.  I was terrified of being kicked out of training.  

The next day, the team captain told us to sit on the couch in the entrance of the school house.  It was next to a glass case containing a red beret, that I'd blown my chances to earn.  It's where I'd later sit behind a desk to answer the phone, while i healed from a broken leg.

The team formed up on the mats outside and continued on with the day without us.  We sat silent on the couch for a few hours.  A few times and instructor would walk through, shake his head, while they looked at Drew with a big scrape on the side of his head, John with a black eye, he'd laugh, shake his head and walk out the door, or back to the instructor office.  One time he asked, " you guys got into a fight with each other?"  He laughed and walked out.  The waiting was grueling.  

Around noon, a short instructor walked in.  He was always funny to me, telling stories and the way he talked-- in a direct manner, with a Texas accent-- and he finally broke the silence.  He looked at us, and gave a faint hint of a smile.  " This isn't like the Air Force used to be", he began.  " We're all type A personalities here, but the Air Force doesn't put up with this shit.  You guys can't be fighting."  He turned and walked away.

Finally an instructor walked in.  He was a very fit man with a shaved head to the skin, I watched him run a 15 minute 3 mile run the week before.  He looked like GI Joe.  He was very quiet, almost too quiet for me.  " What happened?" He asked.  We explained the best that we could, and it was how I remembered, the two other guys did not hide the fact that I wasn't really involved.

We were ordered into our good BDUs, along with the rest of the team outside on the workout mats.  GI Joe walked out and explained to the team about what had happened, but he turned to me.  "You weren't involved with this fight, McDonald?"  

 " Negative, Sergeant", I replied.

" What if you were just a better shot?"

" Negative, Sergeant."

They explained to the class about what happened.  I was embarrassed.  We were pulled away from the class again.  We were ordered back to the classroom inside.  We were given paper and pens.  We were ordered to write exactly what happened.  I wrote about the incident the best I could remember.

After more waiting, GI Joe finally came back to the classroom and told us the verdict.  

" It looks like everything lines up about the fight.  We all think you guys have what it takes to make it through this program.  You're gonna be removed from this class and start with the next one.  You owe us 2000 eight count body builders, and you will announce on the loudspeaker after every 100 hundred completed.  You'll wear BDUs and you can start now."

2000 eight counts would have normally been hard to accept, but I was so relieved and happy to remain in the training.  We spent the rest of that afternoon and the next day doing eight count body builders.

The second chance I received after the downtown brawl should have been enough to keep me from pulling anything like that again in the pipeline.  Not long after I was involved in some near miss situation, but was never caught.  I did cause myself some other delays because of my own choices although some were out of my control.

These are just a few of my hurdles in the CCT pipeline, in another article I'll go through a broken leg at Airborne school, failing an air traffic simulation test.  I also discuss an accidental discharge at combat control school here.  Until next time, live everyday like an operator and never quit.

Kevin