SFAS-The Experience

[The Reaper]

This will be the first of what may be several installments of the SFAS experience of our own Basenshukai.

I have reviewed his story and find it particularly insightful as a successful SFAS student wrote it, and I have cross-checked it against my experiences and observations as a cadre member.

This story will not give anyone an unfair advantage by reading it, since the course evolves constantly and specific events, distances, times, etc. have been removed. Several events and conditions have changed, but the overall impressions are very accurate.

I think the most powerful lessons to be gleaned from this monograph is the difficulty of the course, the "Big Boy Rules" of operating alone in the woods without knowing the standards, ability of man to overcome adversity and that your mind can control your body. Well-written and an excellent read.

Feed back will be instrumental in deciding whether to continue this story or not.

Thank you, Basenshukai.

TR


A Full Company Of Men:
One soldier’s journey into the US Army Special Forces Assessment and Selection

By Basenshukai


[Note to the reader: This is a general recollection of my experiences in SFAS. Some information has been modified in order to not betray the scope of the course. In order to make the reading a bit easier, all military-specific jargon has been defined in a glossary that has been included at the end of this work. Italics will identify terms that are defined in the glossary the first time that they appear on the text. These are not official US Army definitions, but are instead intended to bring a general understanding to the uninitiated. The concepts expressed in this work are the views and opinions of the author alone and do not reflect the official views of any branch of the US government, including the Defense Department, and the US Army, any of its subordinate commands, nor any other individual who serves in an official capacity.]


The Genesis

The LMTV truck was packed with more men than it was probably safe to load. We were so crammed with our gear that men were literally sitting on top of other men. The ride to Camp Mackall was noisy, at first. Many cracked jokes about the previous briefing we had just received from one of the civilians that worked for Special Operations Command. There were soldiers from all around the globe sitting nervously around each other trying to keep the anxiety from showing. It was close to 2000 hours and darkness had fallen. A short drizzle of rain accompanied our bumpy ride to the Colonel Nick Rowe Special Operations Training Center at Camp Mackall. Soon, as the ride brought us ever closer to Mackall, we grew silent; each man lost in his own thoughts. Many put their heads down and attempted to sleep. Some were successful. I was not. As I looked back through the rear opening of the truck, I wondered what awaited me.

Our arrival to Mackall was quite unceremonious. Unlike the Ranger Course, there weren’t any instructors just waiting to harass us the moment our feet hit the ground. In fact, there was a very jovial and relaxed instructor there, from the 19th Special Forces Group we learned later, who took us through the initial area orientation and “dos and don’ts” of the course. We filled-out some administrative paperwork and were assigned temporary quarters. Our new homes consisted of simply built World War II style open bays with about seventy bunks to a building. The mattresses displayed all manner of stains and some were even ripped open at the sides. The conditions were Spartan, at best. It was obvious that the focus here was hard training. We were free to “rack-out” by 2300 hours. After a hopeful prayer, my sleep came fast.

My internal clock went buzzing about 0400. For some reason, I seem to automatically revert to “stand to” times when I’m in a school of this sort or in the field. I guess it was a habit built-in during the Ranger Course. I looked at my digital watch in the dim light that was pouring from the outside floodlights and anxiously waited for an instructor to come in and yell that it was time for our wake-up. The instructor did not come. After a half hour, I succumbed to sleep once more. Wake-up was finally at 0600. I found this quite odd. There was no yelling, no screaming and no sense of urgency anywhere. I wasn’t the only one worried. The anticipation of the “official” start was eating away at some of us. The mood was very ambiguous and it is in ambiguity itself that Special Forces expect its soldiers to thrive. We cleaned up and shaved and held a loose formation that would probably make any sergeant major want to murder us. After getting a head count, we moved to the dinning facility for morning hot chow. Shortly after this, we returned to our beds and lay there, trying to stay awake, hoping that the rude awakening would come swiftly. The rude awakening didn’t come by lunchtime. We held another loose formation, executed a head count and moved out to the dinning facility for lunch. The only physical aspect to our day thus far was that we had to double-time everywhere we went on the compound. The area where the candidates sleep is known for its copious amounts of gravel. This hard, yet pliable material wreaks havoc on blistered and sore feet, as we were later to find out.

By 1300 many of us had decided that much was not going to occur today and, as we didn’t see many instructors around, we slept. The day came and went with more and more candidates showing-up. In all, we totaled about 270 candidates by the end of the day. Lights out came at 2200 and most of us just added to the 13 hours of sleep we already had. This would be the last time that we would have such luxury for the next 24 days.

(To be continued)