did four more jumps, including one at dusk. Again no one got seriously hurt, our techniques got progressively better, and our confidence grew with each jump. I listened to the instructors and actually made some passable PLFs.
After parachute training they flew us to a secluded base near the Atlantic coast for explosives and small-boat operations.
As usual the sessions included PT but with several new twists. In response to questions, our instructor explained that he had developed the exercises based on his training as a frogman. He said he had designed them to strengthen our upper-arm and chest muscles, which we’d need to place magnetic limpet mines on the hull of a ship.
That explanation brought no more questions.
Each day after breakfast, which followed PT, we moved out to a practice range, where our instructors demonstrated the use of explosives. One of them, John Ward, was also quite entertaining. He could have worked as a stand-up comic. He delivered his stories and jokes with ease and good timing that captivated our group. He continued his routines in the officers’ club in the evenings, but he also knew when to get serious. In the field and dealing with explosives, he was always dead serious.
In both classroom sessions and field demonstrations our instructors emphasized how powerful and efficient relatively small amounts of plastic explosives could be. I wasn’t sure whether I would ever want to mess with the stuff, but I resolved to keep an open mind.
The secret of using explosives properly, they told us, was to shape the charges. That is, mold the plastic and place the charges where they could best attack the structure of the target. A small amount could drop a large tree right across a road or trail, or bring down a bridge.
Safety was the highest priority, and the instructors gave precise briefings on what to do—and what not to do. They started with primer cord, an explosive itself, which is used to detonate the plastic. During our drills it was mandatory after we lit the primer cord to yell, “Fire in the hole!” to alert everyone else to move to safe areas or bunkers.
It took a lot of practice to gauge just how much time we had before the charge would detonate after we lit the cord. It wasn’t too difficult with small lengths that would explode in seconds, but figuring out how much time was needed to move away safely from, say, a bridge before it blew up proved much more of a challenge.
After several days we all grew fairly skilled at getting charges to explode just about when they should. From countdowns of ten to boom, we could get within just a few seconds of boom.
When in doubt we gave ourselves more time.
We practiced on various targets, such as trees, pieces of steel, buildings and vehicles. The instructors also taught us the basics of structural engineering, which would help us place the charges more effectively.
We also learned how to operate and maneuver small boats, in this case small, black rubber rafts propelled by powerful but silenced outboard motors. Even carrying three men plus equipment the little boats could really move.
The SEALs, the Navy’s sea, air and land commandos, used the same craft to infiltrate target areas at night. After we learned the basics about the boats and their motors we also spent a lot of time training at night.
We quickly found that in darkness it’s easy to lose your sense of direction on the water, and our drills concentrated on techniques to gain our bearings and stay on course. Sometimes they towed us out to a certain point and dropped us off. Other times we moved along the coast on our own. After a while we got the idea.
Our final exercise involved a night raid to destroy a simulated enemy command post that was supposedly unguarded.
We planned the operation as a group. We would bring three small boats to a designated cove. Each boat would carry explosives and three armed men, their faces blackened. After rendezvousing at a dock, six of us would move to the target, while the others would guard the boats. At the target two men would set up watch posts, and four would infiltrate and set the charges, with everything observed by our instructors.
After the team lit the primer cords everyone would move back to the boats and beat a hasty retreat. I drew the detail to guard the boats.
It seemed to take much longer than it should for the attack team to get their job done and return. It always does. Finally we heard an explosion and saw fire in the direction of the target.
Done! They should be back in a couple of minutes.
“Let’s get the engines started,” I whispered to the other two guards.
“What if someone hears them?” one responded.
“There’s no one here,” the third retorted.
“At least we will be ready and can get the hell out of here,” I said, pulling the start cord. The engine sprang to life and purred softly.
The returning team needed only spot the dock and slip onto the boats, and we would pull away into the darkness. I heard a second engine start and idle quietly.
“Shit, mine won’t start,” was the next sound that penetrated the night.
Christ! That can’t help anything.
“Keep trying,” I said.
“I am, I am,” he shot back, just as the attack team appeared out of the tree line and moved quickly toward us. Two jumped into each boat—and waited.
“Let’s move,” one of them said.
“Engine won’t start.”
I don’t know if the instructors had built this into the exercise or not, but clearly we had to react to it.
“We can’t stay here. We’ll tow you. Pass us a line,” I said quietly to the men in the disabled boat.
They did, and we pulled slowly but steadily away from the dock and out into the blackness of the estuary. We followed the lone boat, and everyone tried to keep a low profile. No other problems developed, and our field improvisation had worked. The instructors made no complaints. They may or may not have realized that one of the boats had been towed; so much the better.
The exercise was realistic enough to show how difficult and dangerous such a raid could be. We imagined being on an enemy coast and having to limp out with failed equipment, possibly under hostile gunfire.
Small-boat and explosives training turned out to be useful. We didn’t gain expertise in either area, but we learned and practiced enough to become effective later in our careers, where certain situations would demand paramilitary skills.
3. Bats and Bohios
Panama 1962
We finished our instruction with two weeks at the Army’s Jungle Operations Training School at Fort Sherman, at Toro Point in the Canal Zone. We had heard about how demanding the sessions would be down there, but we looked forward to the challenge.
By then we had really improved our physical conditioning and honed our abilities in the areas I’ve mentioned.
We felt ready.
Fifteen
