The rotor blade on The Nightstalker helicopter escorting us to our destination is humming quietly above, and I’m trying like hell to focus on the mission at hand. We were given almost no details before leaving our installation in Mina Salman, Bahrain. We were only told to prepare for a covert reconnaissance mission with limited human interaction. We were also outfitted with our underwater demolition equipment and given a dossier on hydrographic reconnaissance under an unnamed arms manufacturing facility. All of this adds up to mean we’re about to get into some crazy shit.

I am secretly grateful that Force Master Chief Wallace, my dad’s buddy from his days at Cornell, made it his personal mission at BUD/S to kick my ass.

I hadn’t been in Coronado for more than six hours when Wallace cornered me in the mess hall and told me he was going to break me like a horse. I fought him like the bastard I was, but by the time we got to Hell Week, half way through Phase One of physical conditioning, he could have saddled me up and ridden me like a pony. I tried to quit on at least seven different occasions. I was pretty fucking close to giving up when, after four hours of sleep, we were forced to lay on our backs in freezing cold water until it felt like we were going to die of hypothermia. But Wallace told me if I could survive Phase 1, I could survive anything. I kept that in my mind, pressing forward, keeping on. I was changing. I needed to change. For my dad. My mom. For Arie. Wallace said it was time for me to stop being a selfish loser. To prove I was more than the sum of my privileged parts, and commit to a greater whole.

In the middle of the shivering, so hard I thought I was going to die, something clicked. Wallace was right. Only a fourth of the people that come into BUD/S actually finish, and I wasn’t about to scrub out. I wasn’t going to quit or fail at something again, like so many other times in my life. After that, the next seventeen weeks flew by, as I trained in undersea and land warfare, learning how to engage in hand-to-hand combat underwater, or how to rappel silently in a small brush of trees. At the end of it all, I was standing in front of my friends and family in my Navy Uniform, graduating from the program and meeting the teammates who would have my ass in the SEALs for years to come.

The next day, I was given my assignment. I’ve been bouncing from location to location since then. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been successful at. Sometimes I think it could be the thing that changes me for good, that leads me back to Arie. But that’s all wishful thinking. The humiliation on her face is still crystal clear in my mind after all this time.

Tonight, I have no idea where we are. Once we left the airspace above Bahrain, we could have been anywhere. They usually don’t give us full mission details until we’re airborne, but tonight seems especially covert, which means it’s likely a high-stakes situation. Our mission leader, Daniels, is focusing exclusively on his briefing packet, and isn’t paying any attention to us, so we’re all trying to get in the right headspace for whatever may be lying ahead. There is no question that we’re nervous, but part of being a SEAL is shoving down those nerves and choosing instead to run on pure adrenaline. At the moment, I’m having trouble accessing the adrenaline, so it helps when Daniels finally looks up and addresses us.

“All right, guys. Time to rally. ETA to destination, ten minutes. We’re going to enter the facility from the water underneath. Giles, you’re on demolition. You’ll be blowing the gate blocking our entrance. Minimal noise if we can help it. Want to stay as stealth as possible. Cochran, you’re on mapping. Coordinates have already been uploaded to your tracking device. Once Giles blows the entrance, we’re going to follow you in. You have ten minutes to full prep. I’m sorry for the last minute debriefing, but nothing about this was planned.”

Giles straightens her shoulders and leans forward. “Sir, what exactly are we after tonight?”

Daniels turns around his tablet and shows us a photo of a well-dressed man standing next to a fireplace. He’s also American, which gives all of us pause. You can feel the mood in the Nightstalker change.

“This is Foreign Minister Archibald. According to our intel, Archibald has been using his position as a government ambassador to broker arms deals with some very bad people. All you need to know is that it is our job to get into this manufacturing plant and stop him from completing his latest deal. If we can snatch and grab without running into anyone else, all the better. If not, so be it. But our mission is to get Archibald, and bring him back to the good old USA to answer for his crimes. Understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” we all respond in unison. Everyone goes quiet again as we begin to read over the details of the plan. Odds are good that this plan has been carefully staged down to the last possible eventuality, but it’s not normal for us to be kept out of the loop until the final moments like this. That makes me uncomfortable. But when the helicopter begins hovering over the water a solid half mile from our destination, my feelings don’t matter anymore. It’s time to suit up, jump out of the idling bird, and swim the rest of the way to the arms facility, all the while hoping no one sees us approach.

The swimming is the easy part, despite the chop of the water around us. We stay in a tight formation, ignoring the burning in our lungs, in our muscles, and focusing only on doing our job. After what feels like an hour, we can see the base of the massive building start to come in to view. Giles gestures for us to hang back as she swims onward to set up the underwater charges. Once she gets them in place, she’ll have less than a minute to swim away as fast as her legs can carry her, and this is after the distance we’ve just swum to get to the gate.

Everything happens in an instant. All at once, Giles is swimming double-time back in our direction, and a billowing cloud of water chases after her. All we can do is keep our fingers crossed that the gate isn’t equipped with an alarm. In a single-file line, we swim through the hole that has been blown in the gate, and one-by-one, surface, removing our re-breathers. I reach into the pack on my back and pull out my mapping device. It starts blinking gently, showing us the way through the underground vents we are currently in and up into the room where, apparently, the meet is going down.

I gesture for everyone to follow me forward once we’re properly armed, and we inch through the knee-deep water, step-by-step, until we come to a set of stairs leading up. The door blocking the stairwell is locked, but our newest recruit, Morrison, is on it in a flash, using a handheld blowtorch to destroy the lock. I pull back in front, and we make our way up the stairs, down a series of dimly lit corridors. Everything is quiet as we approach what the map tells me is the main holding area for the weapons facility.

In fact, it’s too quiet.

I barely have time to raise my hand to let the rest of the team know that I want them to retreat before gunfire descends on us from above. It’s an ambush, and whoever gave us the intel for this mission was badly prepared, because Archibald is nowhere in sight. Instead, we are surrounded by men we can’t see, shooting automatic weapons at us faster than we can get out of the way. In my peripheral, I see our second-in-command Amari fall to the ground, and Giles grabs his arms and drags him back into the last corridor we exited. Morrison gives up any guise of stealth and begins yelling for air support, when out of the corner of my eye, I see Archibald, sneaking around a corner and out a back door with a briefcase in his hand.

My instincts kick in, and I make a move to chase after him. Whatever is going on here, I refuse to walk away from this clusterfuck empty-handed. But I don’t make more than a few steps away from my team when I collapse in a heap on the cold cement floor. Nothing makes sense; I can’t seem to separate one flashing light from another. The Nightstalker is outside the building now, firing directly into the catwalk above us where our attackers are stationed. But why am I on the ground?

Why can’t I feel my leg?

Why can’t I move?

The last thing I see before I lapse into unconsciousness is Morrison’s face, and his voice shouting at me, “We’re going to get you out of here man! Just hold tight! Giles! Get me something to stop the bleeding or he’s going to lose the leg before we can get him on the chopper!”

After that, everything is dark.