“Oleg, are you f***ing chumming for Goddam sharks?! You’re putting the whole class at risk of shark attack right now,” said Instructor Deek Gammin.

Gammin was a skinny stone-cold killer from Hollywood, Florida, or “Hollyweird” as the other instructors reminded him daily.

He was your typical mullet hairdo, gator-stompin, half shirt-wearing, Florida redneck who found direction in the steel cage as a troubled teen.

That cage was the UFC octagon. He was a rising welterweight MMA star and then, all of a sudden, after an MMA friend gave him a copy of, The Red Circle, which he listened to on audio as he trained, he read everything he could get his hands on about the SEALs. Then one day he found religion and said to hell with it, walked to the town strip mall where the local Navy recruitment office was, and signed up to become a SEAL.

“You sure you wanna do this? Nobody makes it through training,” the chain-smoking recruiter said to him. Even though he had a large beer belly and inhaled Marlboros like it was an oxygen tank and his life depended on it, Deek sensed a worldliness to this guy and signed up on the spot with a “Yes sir, the SEALS, that’s for me.”

The recruiter took a long pull and breathed out a long puff of smoke.

“Alright son, you want SEALs, you got SEALs. I can guarantee you a shot at it but the rest is on you and 90 percent don’t make it,” he said as he stroked the cheap frame that held a photo of his wife and her large Filipino extended family on his desk.

SEAL training was exactly what a young unfocused Deek needed. He breezed through BUD/S training like a man on a mission but had some difficulty with the academic portion. To compensate, he stayed late each night to put in the extra effort to learn dive physics and underwater topography.