On April 29, 2010, the third anniversary of First Lieutenant Travis Manion’s death in Fallujah, Iraq, Lieutenant Brendan Looney, sporting a full beard almost two months into his deployment, sent an e-mail to Tom and Janet Manion from the mountains of southeastern Afghanistan:
Mr. and Mrs. Manion,
I just wanted to let you guys know that I am thinking about you today and every day. I also [wanted] to drop you guys a quick line from Afghanistan and let you know what was going on and give you an update.
Things here are pretty slow, but by all accounts should pick up in the near future. It is interesting here for sure; we are more or less out in the middle of nowhere and are expected [to] protect the local nationals as well as rid them of Taliban.
The biggest problem . . . is trying to be in 100 places at once . . . seeing that the villages are so spread out and the terrain is such that it allows many different avenues of approach. So it is very frustrating. We are optimistic, but often wonder what we are doing here when you have [Afghan President Hamid] Karzai making comments that he might join the Taliban. Kind of crazy . . . but we are trying to chip away at it.
Other than that things are good for the most part I guess . . . weather has not been bad, not too hot.
I also wanted to let you guys know that I flew a flag here for you today. We do not have outgoing mail, so I will not be able to get it to you until I return. I hope all is well and I will talk to you guys soon.
—Brendan
Brendan’s parents, Kevin and Maureen, worried every day about their son. For Tom and Janet, watching Brendan deploy to Iraq and then Afghanistan was like having another son in combat.
When Janet became anxious, she would take Brendan’s gold Navy SEAL trident out of her handbag and say the same prayers she used to say for Travis. When Tom read or watched the news, which didn’t include nearly as much reporting from Afghanistan in 2010 as it had from Iraq three years earlier, he wondered what his son’s former roommate was working on at the same moment in the country where 9/11 was planned.
America had changed dramatically in the eight and a half years since Brendan, Travis, and millions of Americans had watched the Twin Towers fall on live television. On November 4, 2008, the American people elected Barack Obama as the first African American president in US history. In his January 20, 2009, inaugural address, the new president echoed his theme of change:
We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort, even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We’ll begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan.
With old friends and former foes, we’ll work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat and roll back the specter of a warming planet.
We will not apologize for our way of life nor will we waver in its defense.
And for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that “Our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken. You cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.”
Although a Democratic president had replaced a Republican in the White House, the burden shouldered by military families was largely unchanged. Two days after the new commander-in-chief took office, twenty-one-year-old US Army Specialist Matthew Pollini, of Rockland, Massachusetts, was killed near al-Kut, Iraq, in a vehicle rollover. Two days later, twenty-five-year-old US Marine Lance Corporal Julian Brennan, of Brooklyn, New York, was killed while supporting combat operations in Afghanistan’s Farah province.
Almost three years before the last US troops would leave Iraq, and with no end in sight for the ongoing struggle in Afghanistan, thousands of American service members still faced danger on a daily basis. At home, their loved ones continued waiting, worrying, and sacrificing.
As assistant officer in charge of his SEAL Team Three platoon, Brendan saw the terrorist threat firsthand in a way few Americans could in the spring or summer of 2010. He was driven not by ideology, but by the same promise he and Travis had made when they were called to action after 9/11. As long as evil men wished to do Americans harm and demonstrated the willingness and capability to do so, brave men and women like Brendan and his fellow US service members would step forward to confront them.
With the Taliban launching its annual spring offensive, Brendan and his platoon started to see more action in May, just as he had predicted in his e-mail to Tom and Janet. Surrounded by jagged cliffs, extreme poverty, and acute desolation, which many of the younger SEALs had never experienced, it was Brendan’s responsibility to keep them optimistic, focused, and sharp. But considering that the SEALs were sleeping on an FOB “in the middle of nowhere,” thousands of miles from home, setting a positive tone was never an easy task.
Rather than barking out orders to the SEALs under his command, Brendan was “Loon-Dog.” The enlisted SEALs, or “E-Dogs,” as they were nicknamed, loved working for the twenty-nine-year-old lieutenant, because even though Brendan was an officer, he still thought of himself as just one of the guys.
During his deployment, Brendan spent roughly the equivalent of two full weeks on “over watch” missions above three districts in northern Zabul province, where the lieutenant and SEALs under his command would look down from the cliffs to make sure their brothers in arms operating below were safe from lurking Taliban and al Qaeda fighters. But after only a day or two on the high ground, Brendan was concerned that his primary responsibilities as an officer and squad commander weren’t enough of a contribution to his platoon. Upon returning to base, he started training on a .50 caliber sniper rifle so he could directly help his teammates blunt the enemy threat.
After only limited training, Brendan was a consistent shot from a thousand yards. Over the next few months he made some of the most accurate shots his teammates had ever seen to protect Americans and Afghans in the villages below.
Wearing a half-shell helmet and carrying heavy gear and the .50 cal sniper rifle in his huge backpack, the bearded warrior patrolled, exercised, ate, and hung out with his entire platoon. When there was extra gear to carry, the officer threw it on his back instead of ordering enlisted SEALs to carry it. Regardless of the command structure or rank, Loon-Dog treated everyone with the same respect.
When things got dicey on the battlefield, however, there was no mistaking who was in charge, like one day when gunfire rang out beneath the over watch position Brendan’s SEAL team had established above a small, Taliban-controlled Afghan village.
“Incoming!” Brendan yelled.
As bullets pounded the mountain rocks that were shielding his team, who took cover as soon as they heard their leader’s unmistakable voice, Brendan’s commanding officer (CO) asked for a status report over the radio.
“We’ve got enemy fire coming from just outside the village,” Brendan said. “Nobody’s been hit, and we’re prepping the counterattack.”
“Lieutenant?” the CO asked.
“Sir?” Brendan repeated what he had said a few times before realizing the signal was dropping in and out, as it had been for most of the day.
“Lieutenant,” the CO repeated. “If you copy, call me on the SAT [satellite] phone.”
As soon as Brendan heard the order, he broke his crouch and stood up. The SAT phone was a few yards in front of the boulder that was protecting him.
“Whoa, Loon-Dog,” exclaimed a surprised fellow SEAL, Petty Officer First Class Vic Nolan. “Be careful, sir.”
Brendan knew his CO wouldn’t ask him to call unless it was extremely important, and for all he knew, retrieving the satellite phone could be a matter of life and death. Without blinking, Brendan hustled toward the phone, picked it up, and returned to his position as bullets whizzed by.
“Loon-Dog . . . you alright?” Nolan said.
“I’m okay,” said Brendan, acting more like he was taking an afternoon stroll than engaging in an intense firefight.
Brendan then told his CO that his men were ready to strike back at the enemy. Moments later he aimed his sniper rifle at the enemy position. When the day was over, the Navy SEALs had once again disrupted the Taliban’s plans.
At night in the cold, largely uninhabited land where he was serving, Brendan usually returned to his FOB, where he would unwind by lifting weights. At the same time, Amy would be starting her day in warm, sunny San Diego.
Before Brendan called home, he would give his teammates a chance to call their wives and girlfriends first. He wound up calling Amy about once a week. On one particular night, he was relaxing after an all-day mission and called his wife.
Amy was running around getting ready for work, making a cup of coffee with the birthday present Brendan had given her on the day he left for Afghanistan. Instead of spending money on pricey lattes at Starbucks, her husband had said, she’d now have her own machine and enough coffee to last the full six months.
“Damn it, I just spilled my coffee,” said Amy.
She told Brendan that nothing out of the ordinary was happening. But Brendan, who missed home, asked his wife to tell him anyway.
“Well . . . things are crazy,” Amy said. “I can’t figure out how to merge our bank accounts online, work has been nuts, and Hayley and Lexi keep tearing up the furniture and peeing on the rug because I’m usually not home in time to take them out.”
Amy was dealing with the stress that military spouses across the country, including wives of Brendan’s teammates, experienced every day. The young couple didn’t have children, but managing a household, its finances, two dogs, a full-time job, car repairs, and life’s daily curveballs was starting to wear on Amy after almost three months.
“It’s just hard, Brendan,” she said. “Sometimes I can’t even think because there’s so much to do. . . . Things get so hectic.”
With the same calmness he had displayed on the battlefield, Brendan offered a gentle retort.
“Just one quick question,” he said. “Did you get shot at today?”
Amy abruptly stopped what she was doing and pressed the phone closer to her ear. After she asked Brendan if he was okay, the SEAL asked his wife to please answer the question.
“Of course nobody shot at me today,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “What do you? . . .”
Stopping herself mid-question when she understood her husband’s point, Amy felt bad for making such a big deal out of her relatively painless hassles.
“See? There ya go,” Brendan said. “Believe me; I know it’s hard on your own. I totally get it, but just remember . . . only three more months.”
“Three more months,” said Amy. “See you later.”
“See you later,” Brendan said.
After hanging up, Amy initially worried that she had upset Brendan, which she always told her friends was a big no-no during an overseas deployment. But when Amy checked her e-mail later that day, a PowerPoint presentation was waiting in her inbox. Brendan, who had a combat mission the next day, had stayed up late to send his wife instructions on how to merge their bank accounts online.
Even though Brendan saw the sun set while Amy watched it rise, the young couple, separated by thousands of miles, were closer than ever.
Later that night, when Brendan returned from his patrol, another assistant officer in charge, Lieutenant Steve Esposito, asked him what had happened during the day’s mission.
“Nothing much,” Brendan responded, as he often did. “It was good.”
It wasn’t until later—at the weekly Sunday dinner their CO scheduled to reinforce the platoon’s motto of “brotherhood”— that Esposito heard what had really happened outside the wire. Along with stories of his predeployment mountain training exploits in Alaska and Utah, in which Brendan wowed his teammates with his dogged approach and sheer might, the SEALs liked to joke about Loon-Dog standing up in a hail of bullets because he needed to make a phone call.
Each Sunday evening before they broke bread, the SEALs, prompted by their CO, would go around the table and each say something nice about the teammate to his left. Though some SEALs initially compared this to a classroom exercise, it boosted morale and made the team even closer, just as the CO intended.
Sitting to Brendan’s right was Esposito, who was routinely impressed by his fellow officer’s valor, character, and humility. Instead of pumping up his accomplishments or exaggerating stories from the battlefield, Brendan’s “nothing much” response embodied what being a SEAL was all about: accomplishing remarkable things without caring who got the credit.
“So what do I like about Loon-Dog?” Esposito said. “Where do I start?”
With every ensuing Sunday dinner and combat mission, the platoon’s motto of brotherhood was being woven ever more deeply into its fabric. Much of that was thanks to Loon-Dog, whom every SEAL on the FOB was starting to model himself after.
One day Brendan and his fellow SEALs went house to house clearing terrorists from a collection of tiny villages in a one-mile radius. As the combat mission wore on, the team was becoming exhausted from carrying its gear and dealing with the constant, heart-pounding intensity of the unknown. When they flung open the doors of houses or huts, enemy fighters could be waiting to ambush them. During most searches, however, they encountered civilians, including frightened, confused children still living in the grip of the Taliban’s iron fist.
On this day Brendan made a surprise discovery while searching a mud hut. Instead of IEDs or AK-47s, they found a litter of puppies. Starving and thin, the brown and black dogs, which were probably around eight weeks old, would almost certainly die or wander around the war-torn village for the next few months as strays.
Thinking of his dogs back home, Brendan gave a unique order to Petty Officer First Class Nolan.
“Hey, can you put that pup in my pouch?” he said. “We need a camp dog, and this little guy is perfect.”
“Yes, sir,” Nolan said.
For the next three hours, including a tense stint just outside a village, where Brendan kept his rifle at the ready in case any Taliban fighters jumped out and fired on his fellow SEALs, the puppy peeked out of the greenish-brown pouch on Brendan’s left side. Next to a first aid kit and box of ammunition, the Afghan puppy got its first taste of freedom.
Battle-hardened and more muscular than ever after ramping up his already fanatical workout routine inside the war zone, Brendan was a nightmare for insurgents and terrorists. But even as the Navy SEAL peaked as a warrior, he was still Brendan. Compassionate and caring, he shared Travis’s view that a combat deployment wasn’t all about killing bad guys. It was also about respecting different cultures and religions while bringing hope to distant, faraway lands.
Back at the FOB, Brendan knew the names of every Afghan local who worked on the base and became acquainted with several janitors and cooks. On or off the battlefield, Brendan didn’t view civilians as an obstacle to accomplishing SEAL Team Three’s mission. To Brendan and those around him, the Afghans truly mattered.
Brendan’s soft spot for the locals meant he had no sympathy for the insurgents and terrorists trying to kill them. Three years after his friend’s life was cut short by a sniper terrorizing Fallujah, Brendan used his own high-powered rifle to bring murderers of men, women, and children to justice. As a former intelligence officer who was now meticulously planning missions with SEAL commanders, Brendan knew whom to target before ever putting his eye to his rifle’s scope. When he did, however, the results were clear, precise, and devastating for the enemy.
In the heat of battle, even the strongest, best-trained warriors become engulfed in chaotic, unpredictable dilemmas. Once, as SEAL Team Three held another over watch position near a cliff’s peak, Brendan and his men were taking incoming fire from insurgents in the valley, which echoed with sounds of gunfire.
“Hey, I need you to grab that box of ammo,” Brendan told a fellow SEAL, Petty Officer Second Class Joe Battaglia, while talking to his CO over the radio.
Bullets were smashing into rocks and tree branches, as well as ricocheting all around them, and if an American stuck his head out for even a few seconds, it could mean death. Unless they quickly regained the upper hand, every Navy SEAL on the mission was almost certainly in grave danger.
Brendan was out of ammo, as was almost everyone on his team. The problem was that the box was a few yards away, in an exposed position.
“I’ll get it,” Battaglia said. “But I’m waiting a minute or two until this shit calms down.”
Putting down the radio, Brendan repeated his order.
“No, we need that ammo right now,” he said.
Brendan, who never minced words, did not give an order unless it was for good reason. Nothing meant more to the lieutenant than the safety of his men, but as he worked with the CO to plan a counterattack, which would include air support, he simply did not have time to retrieve the ammunition himself.
“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s suicide,” Battaglia said as gunfire from the valley grew even louder. “Look behind you. . . . Rounds are landing right above our heads!”
Without speaking, Brendan put down the phone, stood up, and retrieved the ammunition. Looking at the SEAL who hadn’t followed his order quickly enough, he slammed the box on the ground as insurgents shot at him from below. They missed.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Brendan asked before resuming the strategy call with his CO.
Far from showing up a teammate who he had no doubt was courageous, Brendan was demonstrating that he would never ask someone to do something that he wouldn’t do himself. It was the last time anyone under his command ever hesitated before following an order.
“Loon-Dog, I’m really sorry about what happened today,” Battaglia said after his team had eliminated the threat and returned to the FOB. “I fucked up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Brendan said. “I trust you, brother.”
Back home, Amy had invited several Navy SEAL wives, fiancées, and girlfriends on a “girl’s trip” to Las Vegas. It was summer, and if everything went as planned, Brendan’s platoon would be coming home soon.
Amy knew her friends were feeling the same tense, burgeoning sense of anticipation while waiting for their significant others. A Lady Gaga concert in Vegas was the perfect antidote to counting every hour and minute until their loved ones finally returned.
For the first time, Brendan was deployed in a war zone without Sarver, who was on a separate mission in Iraq. Amy, who had become even closer to Sarver’s girlfriend, invited Heather on the Vegas trip.
On a lazy Sunday by the pool after the raucous Lady Gaga show the previous night, Amy, Heather, and their group were discussing “the boys.” As the wives talked about whether they and their husbands might soon start families, Amy turned to Sarver’s girlfriend.
“I think you have it so much harder than us,” Amy said. “At least we know that when they come home, we’re already married. . . . The future is pretty much set.”
Sarver’s girlfriend was touched by Amy’s remark. Heather wondered how Amy could put the plight of others first while her own husband was fighting in the mountains of Afghanistan. Amy, Heather realized, was truly selfless.
After the Vegas trip, Heather called her boyfriend in Iraq. After seeing a brief news report about violence there, she was concerned for his safety.
“I’m not the one you need to worry about,” Sarver said. “Brendan is the one you need to worry about.”
Brendan? Heather remembered how Sarver had called him “a machine” during BUD/S, and she knew the larger-than-life reputation that had followed Brendan around ever since. Though she didn’t doubt the seriousness of the danger Brendan faced, Heather mostly dismissed her boyfriend’s remark. Brendan was invincible.
With fifty-eight combat missions under his belt in Afghanistan, everyone trusted Brendan, and confidence was strong throughout the SEAL Team Three platoon. It was September now, and their six-month deployment would soon be over. Though still committed to their mission, their excitement about finally returning to Coronado to see their wives, fiancées, and girlfriends was palpable.
On September 11, 2010, the ninth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, Brendan sent an e-mail from Afghanistan to Sarver in Iraq. Another SEAL team was about to arrive on Brendan’s FOB, which meant that after a few weeks of getting them acclimated to the area and its terrain, Loon-Dog and his men would be going home.
“I am on the last damn flight out of here,” Brendan wrote to Sarver. “I cannot wait to get back.”
Brendan and Amy had big things to discuss upon his return to San Diego. They had just bought their first house, so perhaps it was time to discuss starting a family. The possibilities were endless, as both were young, bright, and successful. Most important, though, Brendan and Amy were in love.
The next time he went to Afghanistan or Iraq, Brendan would be his platoon’s officer in charge, which carried even greater responsibilities that the SEAL couldn’t wait to tackle. But first he needed to spend time with his wife, who had already endured two combat deployments during two short years of marriage.
On the Sunday before his fifty-ninth combat mission in Afghanistan, which would begin on Tuesday, September 21, 2010, Brendan called home an unprecedented three times. Amy hadn’t heard this kind of excitement in her husband’s voice since he and Sarver were about to come home from Iraq in 2008. She told him she was in the car with Ali, the wife of Brendan’s brother Steve.
“We just got some ice cream, but we forgot my rainbow sprinkles, so we’re stopping by the store to get some,” Amy said.
As they drove through the palm-tree-lined streets of San Diego, laughter filled the car as Brendan responded with a joke.
“What’s up with this?” Brendan said to Ali. “Are you trying to ruin my wife’s figure while I’m stuck over here?”
“Oh whatever!” Amy said. “I’m doing Barry’s Bootcamp right now, so I’ll kick your butt when you get back!”
“Naah, I think I’ll just have to come to one of your classes and show them a real workout,” Brendan joked. “Seriously though, enjoy your ice cream and save me some of those sprinkles.”
After another phone call in the middle of the day, Brendan talked to Amy again at night, which was already morning in Afghanistan.
“Hey, I meant to tell you, there’s another SEAL here with me whose wife is dealing with his first combat deployment,” Brendan said. “It’s been tough on them while he’s been away, so I was wondering if I could give him your e-mail address to give to his wife, just so you can give her tips on how to handle things.”
Brendan was looking out for a teammate and his family, who were still adjusting to a demanding lifestyle that few outside the military and special operations communities could comprehend.
“Of course I will,” Amy said. “Give her my e-mail address, and I’ll make sure to get in touch.”
“Thanks, you’re the best,” Brendan said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Amy said. “See you later.”
“Yep, see you later,” Brendan said.
On Monday, Amy and Brendan exchanged e-mails. The six months that Amy dreaded were coming to a close, and finally they would be living together again as husband and wife. Brendan could barely contain himself during his last reply before the mission:
CAN’T WAIT TO GET HOME AND GO ON A LONG OVERDUE VACATION WITH YOU!! I’ll call you when I get back from my op.
Love ya, Miss you
—Me
September 21, 2010, started like almost any other day. A front-page headline in that day’s San Diego Union-Tribune read, “Recession’s End Brings Little Joy: Official declaration that downturn ended in June ’09 belies persistently high jobless rate, slow recovery.” With millions still out of work after the previous year’s economic meltdown, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq had long since taken a backseat to what most Americans regarded as a more pressing, immediate concern.
Just after midnight in Afghanistan, Brendan’s Tuesday started as normally as it could for a Navy SEAL at war. After putting on his camouflage uniform, backpack, pouch, and a tan ball cap that he wore backward, Brendan hooked up his radio; petted the dog that he had brought back from the war-torn village; and headed outside to meet his SEAL Team Three teammates, another group of US Army soldiers, and three UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters.
Several members of SEAL Team Four, who had recently arrived in Afghanistan to relieve Brendan’s platoon at the end of their deployment, were also gathered near the choppers. After accompanying their successors on this mission, Brendan and his fellow SEALs were going home. After the mission the SEAL Team Three platoon would fly by helicopter to Kandahar, where they would be met by C-17 aircraft and flown out of Afghanistan.
Before most missions, Brendan’s platoon would huddle for a quick prayer before giving each other high fives, hugs, and back slaps. Before the last few missions, however, the SEALs had forgotten to gather and say a few words, which prompted one team member, Petty Officer First Class Nolan, to ask for everyone’s attention now.
Before saying a prayer, Nolan showed his fellow SEALs and soldiers the cover of a book written about Corporal Pat Tillman, the former NFL football star who turned down a three-year, $3.6 million contract offer by the Arizona Cardinals to join the US Army after 9/11. The twenty-seven-year-old Army Ranger was killed in a friendly fire incident on April 22, 2004, while serving in Afghanistan. Brendan had been moved by Tillman’s courage and had spoken about the fallen hero several times with Travis, who had listed the football player turned warrior as one of his role models in his spiral notebook at Navy.
After Nolan read a short passage from the Tillman book and said a prayer, it was time for the mission to begin.
“Stay safe out there, Loon-Dog,” Lieutenant Esposito said to Brendan.
“You too, brother,” he said. “See you back here.”
After boarding the chopper Brendan, who had shaved off his beard since blending in with the locals wouldn’t be required during this final mission, was calm and alert. As long as he stuck to his training and looked out for his men, they would get through another challenging, unpredictable night. Soon, probably in about a week, he would be home in Amy’s arms.
Brendan’s assignment, in support of Operation Sea Serpent—an ongoing, joint antiterror assault—was to watch over the village of Ayatalah in the mountainous, southeastern Afghanistan province of Zabul. As on other tactical over watch missions, on this one Brendan and his team would serve as guardian angels, much like when Travis held the roof after the chlorine attack in Fallujah. No matter what transpired in the darkness below, Brendan and his SEALs, equipped with night vision equipment, would be watching.
Quiet and focused, Lieutenant Brendan Looney flew above the skies of Afghanistan on the fifty-ninth combat mission of his fourth overseas deployment. As bright moonlight shined into the chopper through the war zone’s soaring mountains, the words “Spartan, Hero, Leader” reflected from the bracelet Brendan always wore on his right wrist. Moments from landing on top of a mountain, the SEALs and soldiers aboard the chopper unhooked their safety belts and prepared to dismount.
Suddenly a terrible, piercing sound stunned everyone aboard the helicopter, which rapidly tumbled down a jagged, steep cliff before plunging into the darkness. The frantic moments that ensued were harrowing, dreadful, and tragic.
The next day the US military released two official reports to the American public:
The Department of Defense announced today the deaths of five soldiers who died in a helicopter crash Sept. 21 during combat operations in Zabul province, Afghanistan, while supporting Operation Enduring Freedom. All soldiers were assigned to 101st Combat Aviation Brigade, 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault), Fort Campbell, Ky.
Killed were:
Lt. Col. Robert F. Baldwin, 39, of Muscatine, Iowa
Chief Warrant Officer Matthew G. Wagstaff, 34, of Orem, Utah
Chief Warrant Officer Jonah D. McClellan, 26, of St. Louis Park, Minn.
Staff Sgt. Joshua D. Powell, 25, of Pleasant Plains, Ill.
Sgt. Marvin R. Calhoun Jr., 23, of Elkhart, Ind.
As “Screaming Eagles” of the Army’s storied 101st Airborne Division community mourned the tragedy, word was quickly spreading among Navy SEALs stationed in Afghanistan, Iraq, Virginia, and California that four of their warrior brothers were also killed during the combat mission. The Pentagon’s official announcement left the entire US Navy special operations community reeling in stunned disbelief:
The Department of Defense announced today the deaths of four sailors who died in a helicopter crash Sept. 21 during combat operations in the Zabul province, Afghanistan, while supporting Operation Enduring Freedom.
Killed were:
LT (SEAL) Brendan J. Looney, 29, of Owings, Md., assigned to a West Coast-based SEAL Team.
Senior Chief Petty Officer David B. McLendon, 30, of Thomasville, Ga., assigned to an East Coast-based Naval Special Warfare unit.
Petty Officer 2nd Class (SEAL) Adam O. Smith, 26, of Hurland, Mo., assigned to an East Coast-based SEAL Team.
Petty Officer 3rd Class (SEAL) Denis C. Miranda, 24, of Toms River, N.J., assigned to an East Coast-based SEAL Team.
To Amy, Brendan was a loving husband, soul mate, and best friend.
To Kevin and Maureen, he was a loyal, brave son.
To Steve, Billy, Bridget, Erin, and Kellie, he was a trusted, caring big brother.
To fellow Navy SEALs, he was Loon-Dog.
To Janet and Tom, he was like a second son.
To Travis, he was the brother he never had.
To everyone, Brendan embodied the three words reflecting from his wrist during his final, courageous moments: “Spartan, Hero, Leader.”