“Oleg, are you fucking 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-wearing, gator-stomping, half shirt-wearing, Florida redneck who found direction in a steel cage as a teen.

That cage was the UFC. He was a rising welterweight MMA star and then all of a sudden, after reading American Sniper and The Red Circle back-to-back, he said fuck it and joined the Navy to become a SEAL.

Two combat tours in Iraq, 28 confirmed kills, one with his bare hands, and now he was dealing pain to students like a five-deck 21 dealer in Vegas while finishing up his BA in philosophy at San Diego State. “A total pussy buffet,” he liked to remind his fellow, mostly married, instructors every minute he could. “If ya don’t have any photos to share, then keep that shit to ya self, you redneck, squirrel eatin’, pussy hound mother fucker,” Jackson would say with a big grin on his face.