TWELVE

INTO THE FIRE

PLAYING SPORTS FOR MOST OF MY LIFE GAVE ME A unique perspective going into the SEALs program. It wasn’t long into my training when I realized something that helped me understand how what I was doing now was a continuation of what I had done then.

In baseball, for example, if you are a millisecond late, you miss a fastball that’s going by at one hundred miles per hour. With the “athletes” in the SEAL teams, the decision to “swing”—in this case, pull the trigger—has a far different result. But if can imagine this, when you are in that moment, as Hank Aaron or as Ryan Zinke, there is no game, there is no war. It’s only you and an incredibly quick decision to make. No, scratch that. It isn’t actually a decision, as the brain plays almost no part: it’s a reaction. Once that call is made, the action must be perfectly, and I mean perfectly, fluid and precise. And this is exactly what the SEAL teams are taught.

SEALs are actually the most highly trained, underpaid professional athletes on earth. Their level of physical fitness would rival any professional decathlete, their hand-to-hand fighting skills are the equal of any steel cage professional fighter, and their shooting ability is on par with any Olympic marksman. Each and every one of them. All of these are required skill sets for survival. Flub any part of it and you don’t make the grade.

Can you imagine a baseball team comprised of nothing but multi-threat superstars?

However, the quality that separates a SEAL—an “operator,” as he is known—from a professional athlete is that a SEAL must be a superstar every time he goes to bat. Babe Ruth could afford to strike out twice as often as he homered. A SEAL cannot.

Yet with all of that said, even among superstar operators was a best-of-the-best. Men who are—I kid you not—a thousandth of a second faster than the others. The SEALs have developed a secretive “all-star” team among themselves, a SEAL Team that even the navy does not officially confirm its existence.

Some people in professional sports call it muscle memory; others call it motor learning. The bottom line is that when a task is repeated so many times, it eventually is performed without conscious effort. The process decreases the need for attention and creates maximum efficiency within the motor and memory systems. Examples of muscle memory are seen every day in riding a bicycle, typing on a keyboard, or playing a piano or guitar. The operator no longer has to consciously tell the body what to do; it just does it.

So, too, is the key to refining the athlete at the SEALs, except his task is arguably a little more dangerous than the average baseball player trying to hit a fastball. Once the threat is identified, he must shoot faster than the opposing player, or die. The stakes are higher.

In addition, not only must you make the play quicker than the bad guy, you must be certain that the bad guy is a “bad guy” and not throwing you a “curve ball” in the form of an unarmed decoy or other obfuscation (vest-wearing suicide bomber).

A mistake could land you in Leavenworth, or you and/or your teammates could be dead. All the while, you are making less per hour than McDonald’s workers have been lobbying for nationwide. Seem a little out of whack? Sure does to me, but I thank God we have the men willing to take on the task.

You may know that the existence of an elite SEAL Team itself is sensitive, especially among the SEALs themselves. There are a couple of reasons for that. The first is, officially, there no longer is such a team. I’m not being secretive here: the team was officially disbanded in 1987, and most operators refer to those assigned to it as the “Jedis.” Its public mission is to test and evaluate equipment used by the various Naval Special Warfare forces.

When I use the word “execute” I use it in connection with undertaking a mission. I want to talk a little about its other meaning, which has to do with taking out enemies of our nation.

In the closing days of 2015, under intense pressure, Barack Hussein Obama—with reluctance—finally authorized special ops teams to stop operating from behind barbed wire and go after the leaders of ISIS. Despite the fact that Special Operations Forces demonstrated great capability and phenomenal success taking out the terror group’s chief financial officer, Abu Sayyaf, in May, it took the president another half year to authorize this as military policy. I should also remind you that the raid snagged Sayyaf’s wife, who was running a slave ring for ISIS. Women were being held against their will and trafficked. How did bringing them justice not fit in with the president’s alleged pro-women positions?

Reportedly, the commander in chief was dragged to this position by the fact that ISIS controlled so much territory and was so well organized that it could only be stopped by putting a significant force on the ground for several years … or by tactical decapitations. He chose the latter. And even then, only after blood was spilled in the streets of Paris.

One of the problems with putting boots on the ground in Syria and Iraq is not just tactical, not just cost in lives and tax dollars—but, to put it crassly, perception. A massive, uninvited US force in both nations would turn us into invaders. Becoming such an invading force would allow ISIS and other Islamic fighters to position themselves as a defending army. That would literally rally moderate Arabs against the “infidels” to a group they would normally not support. It’s the old saying, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” American troops on the ground must be accompanied by a larger force of our Muslim allies. An American military force must be viewed as an invited force within a greater coalition of the Muslim world. The fact of the matter is, without American leadership and military might, defeating ISIS is impossible. Also a fact is that without our Muslim allies joining in the fight, ISIS will simply go underground and metastasize into another brand of evil. The fight against ISIS or any radical Islamic organization is a struggle with Islam as much as it is between the ideas of Eastern and Western cultures. Defeating radical Islamic terrorism, whether in the form of ISIS, Al-Qaeda, or Boko Haram, will take unity of effort. We saw that kind of unity, then schism, in our own history when the colonies banded together to expel the British. When that was accomplished, the former colonies, now states, grew increasingly disenchanted with one another until the Civil War erupted. Of course, the difference with our revolution and subsequent War Between the States is that in all cases we were fighting for freedom, religious and otherwise, not the vile, enslaving madness of ISIS.

I will not, at this point, get too deeply into the question that remained largely unresolved by our Civil War, that of states’ rights. However, this is as good a place as any to say that under Barack Obama and the extreme left—on matters as wide-ranging as the establishment of health care exchanges under the misbegotten “Obamacare” and the Syrian refugee relocation program—the precious and necessary quality of self-governance, of tailoring leadership to our inherently and wonderfully unique populations, has been crushed and discarded in a way that threatens a new revolt. When known felons and potentially soon-to-be mass killers are welcomed to these shores—as were Juan Francisco Lopez-Sanchez who murdered young Kate Steinle in San Francisco, or the radicalized Tashfeen Malik of the San Bernardino killings—voters must decide locally whether these inherently dangerous policies are something they want. California’s allowance of sanctuary cities aided in the death of Ms.Steinle: Why is the opposite, non-sanctuary cities, not allowed? Isn’t that kind of choice the very essence of our democracy? The statement on sound immigration policy from my favorite American, Theodore Roosevelt, is worth quoting:

In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes an American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin. But this is predicated upon the man’s becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American… . There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn’t an American at all. We have room for but one flag … We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language… . And we have room for but one sole loyalty to the American people.¹

In a few words, that is one of the reasons I have devoted myself to politics, to help restore the values, traditions, and spirit that made America great. The number one loyalty of any elected official must be to the American people and the Constitution upon which our freedoms and pursuit of happiness were founded.

Getting back to ISIS. Even without the perception risk, cutting off the hydra heads of the terrorists achieves the same thing that taking out Saddam Hussein did in Iraq: it removes the strongman (in this case, strongmen) who use cash, ingenuity, prison, slavery, and broad dogma to keep disparate groups and ideologies fighting in the same direction. With those leaders gone, their underlings would turn on one another to win those vacant positions. The losers in those struggles would take their factions and go off on their own. The cancerous mass that is ISIS would fall apart, in the same way that Saddam Hussein’s nation crumbled when his fearful methods of maintaining unity (hangings, rape, and chemical warfare) were removed.

In both of its definitions, “execution” is a delicate, careful business in which a single misstep will result in the capture and/or death of a number of American heroes.

Lastly, with our enemies using everything from drones to electronic eavesdropping, keeping the training location under wraps is a wise policy. Since the killing of bin Laden and other high-profile raids, the existence of the team is now public knowledge, but who they are and specifics about how they do their mission should remain dark, period.

What is discussed openly is that there are East Coast SEALs and West Coast SEALs, and while nobody likes to admit it, internal jealousies and tensions exist between the teams located on the two coasts. (As I said above, factions—even when they have the same general goals—tend to butt heads, or worse. I don’t think I need to remind everyone about the hostility between many Democrats and their GOP colleagues.)

Still, the rivalry between East Coast SEALs and West Coast SEALs is odd, because everyone goes through BUD/S training in Coronado, and SEALs aren’t assigned to one coast or the other until after they graduate.

I suppose I should be used to this sort of regional rivalry; heck, I saw it in eastern and western Montana while I was growing up, and that was true in football, schools, and general attitudes of in-staters from one side or the other. But being used to something doesn’t mean I like or condone it.

East Coast SEALs tend to think of the West Coasters as having bought into the Hollywood mentality. Now, it’s true that Hollywood is just up the coast from Coronado, and many BUD/S instructors end up being extras in movies, including Top Gun, Rocky, and Uncommon Valor. There are other opportunities available to West Coast SEALs, too, and, as a result, many of them end up doing their own things individually. The East Coast guys tend to do more as a team; they tend to think that, because of the Hollywood connection and other distractions like surf and sunshine, the West Coast guys don’t work as hard, and that’s absolutely untrue.

There is an underlying competitive theme among SEALs. The pecking order among the different groups within the SEAL family goes something like this: You were just Underwater Demolition Team (UDT), you were just a SEAL Delivery Vehicle (SDV), you were just a regular team guy, you were just a Jedi assault team guy, you were just a Special Projects guy all the way to “you are just not me.” All SEALs, whether UDT or a member of a special unit, are type A, competitive, self-centered, and, most of all, have earned the right to wear the Trident upon their chest.

I’ll tell you what was true, though: when I was first assigned to SEAL Team One, the perception was that the first to go into combat would be those from the elite SEAL Team—and combat is where I wanted to be. At the time I joined SEAL Team One in 1986, it had last seen battle in Vietnam. In the meantime, the guys from the elite Team had been in Grenada in 1983 as part of Operation Urgent Fury, when members did beach recon, an extrication mission of Grenada’s governor-general, and destroyed the country’s only radio tower; and in Panama, as part of Operation Just Cause in 1989, when, among other missions, they knocked out President Manuel Noriega’s escape routes.

If I wanted to go to war—and I did—I thought that going to the elite Team was where I should be. I wanted to fight for my country and lead the best into battle. Call it ego or patriotism, I had a calling. Back then, the SEALs trained hard but were sent into conflicts intermittently. These days, if you are a SEAL, chances are you will spend your entire career at war. Many of them have never experienced not being at war.

I made it to the elite Team in the early ’90s, while the first Gulf War was still in swing. Ironically, though, other than a few boats, the only team that wasn’t called to go over was us: we were “on standby,” which isn’t like being on the bench in football, when you tend to be an observer and, barring a field injury or collapse, are not going to play. As a member, part of you is on constant high alert. The reality is there are no time-outs. You probably won’t have time to gear up before a mission falls in your lap. No, scratch that: falls on your head. They tend to be that big and bad. You have to be ready, to sleep with both eyes open.

When I was on standby, I was never more than forty-five minutes from the compound, as you never know when a situation will call for a rapid deployment. Back then we had beepers, and if you were a SEAL on standby, you had your beeper with you at all times. It’s important to note that it wasn’t just the member who was on the “beeper,” it was your whole family. Every aspect of your life was organized around being able to respond to the “010101” code that sounded the alarm.

Of course, that’s only true part of the year. As a SEAL, sometimes you’re on standby and basically glued to the base, sometimes you’re taking training courses or recertifying your skills, and sometimes you’re out in the field. There was little consistency other than you were typically away from home more than 250 days a year. Today’s warriors may be away even more.

Officially, the reason was that the United States needed a counter-terrorist force on standby that wasn’t committed to the Gulf War. Had there been an embassy raid or terror attack, there needed to be assets not tied up in that theater. And, of course, being that we were relatively close to Washington, DC, and other major strategic military areas, I imagine politicians and top brass liked having us nearby.

I remember thinking it was both sad and ironic that the nation’s top fighting force watched the Navy band assemble, get on an aircraft, and go to the Persian Gulf before we were called to action. Hey, I love our fight song, “Anchors Away,” as much as the next sailor. But … they saw desert, and we did not.

Service to country.

I was elected to the Montana State Senate in 2008 to represent District 2, a district that is 1,882 square miles. In Congress, I represent a district approximately the same distance as from Washington, DC, to Chicago. I am used to big districts. The day I walked into the state house in Helena as a newly minted Republican senator—my heart proud but racing, I confess—I joined an old and honorable group of fifty men and women who meet once every two years for ninety session days. As a Montanan, I worked hard and I worked well with my colleagues across the aisle, and also with the one hundred members of the other part of our bicameral legislature, the Montana House of Representatives. We were all citizen legislatures, we all had our own constituents and agendas, but most of us never forgot this: we were also elected to serve the people and not ourselves. I was fortunate enough to have some great political mentors along the way who placed higher purpose above self. Local community heroes like State Senator Bob Depratu, who was a Ford Dealer; State Senator Bob Brown, who was a teacher; and Charley Abell, who ran the local credit union. Ordinary citizens who made an extraordinary difference.

As thrilled and honored as I was to be a senator, as humbled as I was every single time I walked into the great domed chamber, as determined as I was to give my all to serve the people who had cast a precious vote on my behalf, one aspect of my new job was immediately familiar: I was part of an elite group with its own traditions, rules, and codes of conduct. That part, at least, was extremely familiar to me. I slipped into my new team as though I was putting on my old, comfortable beach recon hiking boots. The marines have a saying that I like very much: “Once a marine, always a marine.”

That’s very true. I was able to bond quickly and tightly with my fellow senators because being part of a special team was already familiar to me. For more than two decades, I had been learning to lead when it was essential, follow when it was necessary, and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with fixed bayonets when that was the call. The senate was just a different kind of team waging a different kind of war—purse strings instead of territory, infrastructure instead of supply-line logistics, quality of life instead of life itself.

The challenge of politics is that while there are rules, there are also backroom deals. What you see on C-SPAN—for those of you who have the interest and patience to watch elected officials stand at a podium and drone or shout or implore for hours—is the proper, formal face of governance. Once those heavy oak doors close on committee meetings, though, the shirtsleeves get rolled up, the harsh words and foul language kick in, pizza or salads are sent for, and real struggles take place.

I was good with that too. Heck, I enjoyed it. That was like the difference between drilling on-base and going out into the field to face the unknown.

I found that there are two kinds of people who do politics well. One is the “wonks,” the accountants or lawyers or surgeons who have logical minds and stick to the ideas or programs they’ve crafted. Follow the map, and you never lose your way.

Me? From the get-go, I have never been that kind of politician. Under that broad banner of “service,” service above all, I follow my gut and look for opportunities to strike to make a difference. In that respect, I have a strong core of “cowboy,” as we say in Montana. When I was with the SEALs, though, there was those who followed all the rules and played it safe, and there were those who used unconventional tactics to win.

We called them “pirates.”