A General Takeover in Bosnia

A U.S. Navy admiral “owned” the Balkan State of Bosnia under the behavioral tutelage of the United Nations Peace-Keeping organization. He was the sheriff, the police chief, the governor, and the president of the country until such time humanitarian order could be restored in the civil war-ravaged nation. There to offer Personal Security Detail (PSD) services was a 12-man team of Navy SEALs from SEAL Team Six (ST-6), also known as DEVGRU, Dam Neck, VA.

The day came for the Admirable to be replaced by an Army general to take over the country, but the general didn’t want SEALs at his back; he wanted his own men — he wanted Delta to fill his PSD role. I embraced the thrill of being on the first of many teams of Unit (a nickname for Delta) men to deploy in-country for the mission.

A piece of good news met with us during our preparation to deploy to Bosnia: the detachment leader (Petty Officer Kevin S.) was a SEAL that we all already knew from days of working with ST-6 in British Guyana. The Guyana mission had been an 11 on the one-to-ten ANSI Scale of Misery. Conditions like that typically just make for better bonding. Kevin was an amazing man, drawing the admiration of all the men in my squadron.

My first introduction to the incumbent team was when I was selected along with three other Unit men to conduct a movement to the Sarajevo airport to pick up the admiral. Ours was to ride along with the SEALs to learn the routes and maybe pick some brains for any valuable skinny on the in-and-arounds of Sarajevo.

 SEALs Behaving Badly

Kevin met us at the U. S. Embassy lobby and brought us upstairs to the team room where the SEAL detachment was assembled. Scotty called out an introduction to the room for us. We four just stood there as not so much as a single eye gestured our way like they hadn’t heard Scotty, and we just were tables or chairs… anything but men. Us furniture exchanged a mutual this-is-going-to-be-interesting glance and, out of respect for Kevin, remained chill.

One man stepped forward and introduced himself as Thatch. He was open, pleasant, and helpful… and not a SEAL, but rather a support driver. That explained his decent disposition. Crapshoot leaned into me and remarked: “I wasn’t even aware that we raped all their grandmothers…” I tried to hide my grin but could not. I couldn’t have said it better myself — who pee-peed in these pouty little frat boys’ Wheaties?”

Men of the ST-6 PSD engaged in daily routine training priorities.

It was a quick glean by all of us that the SEALs, in fact, spoke to NO males whatsoever in the embassy other than among their so-cool selves — no other American men, no local men, no military men from other nations… they only dumped their un-wanted schmooze on any and all females, provided those carried multi-nationally-sanctioned, signed, stamped, and laminated gender cards.

“These SEALs seem to be blindly driven by a mortal quest to demonstrate once and for all that they are indeed NOT homosexuals. Or, come on… really WHAT the phuq is up with these turds?” Poor Crapshoot was younger than I was and less experienced at tolerating pure, crystalline, multi-faceted, categorical asshats than I was.