Battle Ready: Memoir of a SEAL Warrior Medic Read Online Free PDF Page A

her husband: a savior. As a military spouse she quietly stood by as the army continually took her husband away from the home. While she was supportive of his career in every way, the family was separated, and in the Hispanic home, or even a half-Hispanic home like ours, leaving the nest borders on sacrilege. At the time of my enlistment, my brother was locked up and my sister was receiving psychiatric care, and the thought of her Marky leaving for the military must have been agonizing for her. Still, deep inside she realized the Corps gave her little one the best chance to make it, and graduation day confirmed her intuition. To this day she remains a passionate supporter of the United States Marine Corps, and woe unto you should you have a disparaging remark or disrespectful attitude toward “her marines.” That includes me, too.
    MOS
    All marines are riflemen, but not everyone is a grunt. Marines are assigned a military occupation specialty (MOS), which is intended to serve as their primary job in the Corps. As in all the branches of service, a marine’s MOS is based on three factors: the individual’s score on the military’s aptitude screening test, the member’s personal interests, and most importantly, the needs of the Corps. At the time of my enlistment I needed a billet that allowed me to universally serve among the infantry units, so I took a job as a radio operator.
    After boot camp, I spent a few days of downtime with my mom and sister Diana in San Bernardino, California, before checking into FROC, as the grunts called the Field Radio Operator Course at Twentynine Palms, California. Diana had relocated to the area a year earlier, and the idea of having family within driving distance was comforting to me. We hadn’t spent much time together since our move into the Heights; she’d married a local airman at a young age and moved away. This may have saved her from some of the chaos we experienced over the last few years, but it’s my belief that feelings of guilt and an overwhelming obligation to Mom had eventually brought her back home.
    “Marky, when do I have to take you to the base?” Diana asked, stirring a pot of green chili stew. Diana was always the best cook in the family, so I took full advantage while I could.
    “I need to be there no later than midnight on Sunday,” I replied, trying to sneak a taste.
    “Can I take you Saturday?” she asked while slapping my hand as it neared the top of the pot. “It’s almost two hours from here, and after Mass I need to help Julio get the shoe shop ready. It’s going to be a busy week.” Julio was her second husband, a much better fit for her.
    “Two hours? You’ve got to be kidding me. Where the heck is this place?” I asked, answering her question with a question.
    They both laughed and told me that I would be living in the middle of the Mojave Desert for the next three to four months. They knew more about my duty station than I did. We sat down to Diana’s excellent chili and enjoyed some much-needed family time, the last for several months.
    *   *   *
    The coursework at Twentynine Palms was uninspiring, but I worked hard and made sure I’d graduate among the top of my class so I could concentrate on what I really wanted to learn: swimming. Classes were taught a couple of miles down the road at the base’s training tank. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for a young marine to do, especially without any personal transportation, so I devoted my off-duty time to conquering one of my greatest fears, the fear of drowning.
    The outdoor pool was huge and intimidating, much larger to me than the one at MCRD, but that was a mental hurdle I had to set aside. I passed the basic swim test at boot camp, but just barely, and that wasn’t good enough. I recalled a story Coach Sparago told us about a wrestling champion who won his title by continually practicing each move that had defeated him until his weaknesses became his strengths. That was exactly