had stumbled right into them. We cursed our bad luck, but there was nothing to do except make it to the beach within the time limit and try not to get caught again.
Soon we had moved well away from the last crossing and noticed the terrain was getting rougher: small hills, ravines and thick undergrowth. Another map check showed we had about 7 miles left and only a couple of hours of daylight. What to do?
“If we push on, we can be on the beach sometime after midnight,” said Mike Deuel. “But covering this terrain in the dark won’t be much fun.”
I worried about someone slipping into a ravine.
“I’d love to get in tonight,” I said, “but I guess discretion may be the better part of valor.”
“Yeah, we don’t want any injuries,” Monty added.
“Well, let’s at least make it as far as we can before dark,” André said, “and we can see what it would be like to continue.”
“So we move out briskly,” Mike Deuel concluded with a grin. We did, but the terrain didn’t get any better.
Dusk came and went. Mike L. had taken the lead. At one point he almost walked into a tree. We took it as a sign to call it a night. We could move through the jungle in darkness, but there were limits. This terrain was difficult enough in daylight. At night it just didn’t seem smart to keep moving. We decided to get some rest and finish the last miles starting at dawn.
I leaned my rifle against a tree, took off my pack and sat down. It had been a long, stressful, demanding day. I was dead tired.
We spread out the ponchos to sleep on and got out more C-rations. Suddenly we heard noises behind us. Was it a patrol looking for us? Another bunch headed for the beach? We didn’t know. There wasn’t time to do much. I reached for my unloaded rifle, just because it seemed a sensible thing to do.
Just then three men we thought were from the SEAL group ran—yes, ran—right by us. We watched, amazed.
What the hell are they doing? How long have they been behind us? Was this just for effect?
Whatever the answer, the SEALs just kept going. We later learned they had arrived first on the beach, well before midnight. However imprudent they might have been, watching those men run by raised our already high regard for them.
Despite the conditions—hard ground, bugs and intermittent rain—I slept well. Fatigue will do that. Someone shook me lightly just before dawn and I rolled out and put my boots on—we had all slept in our fatigues. Much to the concern of the rest of us, Mike L. had not taken off his boots. He said he was having trouble with his feet and didn’t want to look at them until we got to the beach. We had all argued that some air and dry socks would be a good thing, but he wouldn’t listen.
We were already walking as dawn broke, and our spirits were high. This would be the last day of the course and the end of a tough two weeks in Panama. The sleep, fitful for some, had done us all good, and there was a spring again in our steps.
Mike Deuel took the point and set a good pace. We all wanted to get this over with. A pretty blue sky appeared over the jungle canopy, and it looked like yet another sunny day. The terrain grew less difficult as we approached the rendezvous point. It took only a couple of hours to cover the rest of the way. We reached the beach and checked in by 8:30.
I looked forward to a long hot shower and some hot food.
The military had watched and graded everyone during those two weeks. Even though we were civilians they included us in the evaluations, which turned out to be advantageous. We had done very well both individually and as a group. They awarded us points for our performance in each exercise, and total points determined how we finished. Above certain levels they awarded badges of distinction.
I left with a Jungle Expert badge, meaning I had performed at the highest level. So did all but five in our group.
The badge aside, I also left with a much greater respect for the jungle environment and how to deal with it. That turned out to be very important. What I had learned and experienced in Panama would serve me well and soon.
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