One of the myriads of very cool things about time spent with Delta is the fact that we often had opportunities to train with our elite naval counterpart— the venerable SEAL Team Six. Such was the case with a training event we executed in the jungles of South America. A group of six brothers from SEAL Team Six linked up with us at Ft. Bragg, NC, cross-loaded themselves among our assault teams and deployed with us to the Guyanas. My four-man assault team welcomed Scott K.

I held a pallid reservation, if any, that Scotty K. was arguably the “baddest” SEAL in all of ST-6.

Usually, someone as badass as Scotty doesn’t have to be personable, polite, pleasant, or any p-word at all because they are just… badass. If someone didn’t like their demeanor it didn’t matter because they’re badass and could crush you sooner than worry about your delicate feelings.

(Far right: Scottie, author, Chill, Chez.)

Scotty wasn’t at all like that; he was badass plus all the p-words to boot. It was a matter of fact that after the jungle training bout we all secretly flicked away a tiny tear at the reality of Scott flying back home to VA. True but, in that we two organizations were counterparts, we saw each other again and again over the years.

We began in the jungle with a couple of “light” training days to ford ourselves a period of acclimatization… a notion that I found laughable, as I never once felt accustomed to the heat and humidity our entire stay there. The jungle climate… you just put on and wore it like a down jacket that you just couldn’t strip off unless you were underwater in the river nearby. I was legitimately embarrassed by my inability to shake it off but just couldn’t; I tried to play it off the best I could.

(Facepaint fun with the local kiddos.)

“AYE, SHE’S A RRREAL SCORCHER OAT THERE TAH-DEE!” I often announced loudly in a thick, r-rolling Scottish accent for a chuckle in unison.

“RRRIGHT, SCOTTIE??” I added looking at Scott K. Intently for a mandatory response.

“Yup, gonna be another warm one, geo.”