Forces shot a grappling hook across the river. Once it got hooked onto something that could support the weight of a man, one of the cadres asked for a volunteer to carry across a second rope for support. No one else spoke up, so I volunteered. The cadre showed me how to cross over with one rope, and when he showed me, I didn’t think it was that difficult.
The river was 90 feet wide and 120 feet deep. It wasn’t your average ravine that was for sure. About halfway through crossing over on a rope, I made the mistake of looking down at the fast-moving rapids and rocks that were beneath me. At one glance somebody might see white water rapids and think that they can easily escape from them, but I knew better than that.
In 1957 Hurricane Audrey had struck the Texas coast, sending large storms inland. I lived in San Benito, which is only twenty miles from the coast. I was around eight or nine when this happened, so when my cousins and I went outside to play in the overflowing canal and drainage ditches, we didn’t see a watery death trap, we saw a thrill ride.
Two of my other cousins and I took off our shoes and were about to jump in, before my oldest cousin Mary called out to us. “I don’t think you guys should do this. This is stupid!” she said, trying to use her fourteen-year-old logic to get us to stop. But we ignored her and jumped in anyway.
We were immediately swept down the canal, thrashing around trying to keep our heads above the water. Everything was moving by in a flash, and I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my body. One of my other cousins must have got out of the water at some point because I could see him running along the edge of the canal, shouting something and frantically pointing downstream. We were heading toward a culvert with a cage covering the entrance to prevent objects from entering and causing a blockage. The cage was made of metal bars that usually wouldn’t allow a kid to pass through them, but large debris had stretched out a few of the bars allowing medium-sized things to slip through. I was medium sized.
Before I could be sucked into the culvert, I grabbed the bars with all my strength and hung on for dear life. My older cousin and the one who got out of the water helped pull me out, but we had lost sight of our youngest cousin. We ran to the other side of the culvert, afraid that he had drowned, unable to escape from the cage on the other end. Fortunately, he was small enough to get out and we found him climbing out of the water on the other side.
This is why when I stared down at that water below me I knew if I fell I would be a goner. As I got closer to the other side, the rope started to sag making it much more difficult to pull myself up. I didn’t know how to climb up an incline because the cadre showed me how to climb a straight rope.
I ended up flipping over the rope and hanging upside with the rope clenched between my forearm and upper arm. I tried to readjust myself, and the captain must have seen me struggling as well because he told me to stay still and climbed on the rope over to me. He tied a safety rope around me so I could lean my weight into the rope while I climbed making it easier. Why hadn’t they used a safety rope on me to begin with?
I was relieved when I finally made it across, the song “Bridge over Troubled Water” by Simon and Garfunkel playing in my head as I pulled myself back up to the other side. I felt like it was appropriate after what I had just gone through.
A few days later we learned how to rappel from a ninety-foot tower. The goal was to rappel off a three-hundred-foot cliff. It was a very cool thing. That afternoon we went over to a cliff and rappelled from it. I hadn’t noticed there was a small cave, and when I had jumped down, instead of my boot hitting the wall of the cliff, I swung right into the cave and my knee slammed the roof of the entrance.
I heard something crack and gritted my teeth trying to absorb the pain. When I finally made it down the cliff, I could barely walk. I limped over to see medical staff to see if there was anything that they could do for the pain.
“The injury is too severe for us to just put some ice on it and expect it to heal. You’re going to need surgery on your knee,” the medic told me.
This was not good.
“I can’t afford to have an operation. I need to graduate from this course. Just bandage it up. I have a six-mile run tomorrow morning,” I demanded.
“We can’t willingly put you back on duty while we are aware of your condition. You’re going to have to sign a release form before we can let you go.”
I signed the paper without a second thought and promptly left, deciding I would try and tough it out for the next few weeks. I couldn’t give up. I didn’t care about being sent home this time. I missed my wife and son and I wanted to see them, but I also needed to keep my job so I could support them financially.
It wasn’t a surprise that I performed drastically poor on the run the next day. Later that evening the SF captain called for me to see him in his tent.
“You didn’t seem motivated with your performance today. You almost came last in the run this morning. Every previous run you’ve almost been at the head of the pack. I expect more out of you,” he said to me with a disapproving expression.
I was also embarrassed by my performance.
He continued on, saying, “I need you to give me 110 percent. If your performance continues to deteriorate, you might not pass the course.”
I knew it was going to be hard to get through with my injured kneecap, but he was right. I ran like shit that morning, and I felt like shit. But I couldn’t fall behind the rest of the group and risk failing the course.
I guess he could see that something was bothering me because he said, “Pick your head up. Don’t let those bastards get you down. Is there something else bothering you?”
“It’s been seven months since I’ve seen my wife and son. The sergeant major told me I needed four years in before I could get a command sponsor so my family can get flown over and get housing.”
He smiled a little and said, “Is that what’s bothering you, Victor. You think I can’t do that for you?” I think the look in my eyes spoke more than anything I could say. “The day you graduate your wife and child will be here, with housing,” he told me, completely sure of his words.
I was overwhelmed with happiness. It made it easier for me to keep up with the group during our runs for the next four weeks. This was the spirit of core that they were talking about. Determination and the right motivation pushing a man to do things we previously thought impossible. There was no way I would’ve completed the course with my bum leg without convincing myself it was worth it to see my wife and kids.
Toward the end of the course we had a twenty-four-hour escape-and-evade test. The test was self-explanatory. We were to be captured by “the enemy,” be taken back to their camp, escape, and then evade them as we attempted to make it back to base.
It started with a nighttime raid of a castle orchestrated by Special Forces. The SF lieutenant made sure we were ambushed and captured by “the enemy.” After we were captured, we were led back at a point that was twelve miles away from our base and we had six hours to get back.
With our luck, it always rains and pours, and that’s exactly what happened when we went through the plow fields. It rained heavily, making it difficult to walk through the plowed dirt that was turning into sloshy mud, making us sink in to our ankles. The mud made our boots feel like they weighed ten pounds more than they did.
The run back to camp consisted of hiding in bushes and between trees, waiting for a chance to bolt a long distance, avoiding detection at the same time, as gaining ground toward the base. If you were seen, it wouldn’t be long until someone caught up to you. Most of us eventually made it back to base, covered in mud and sweat.
The next morning it was finally time to take the Ranger PT Test, and we were exhausted from double-timing it back to camp the night before. One of our first tasks was to transport heavy-duty tents into the back of a large truck. I was teamed up with a few stocky German rangers. After the first couple trips back and forth, I grew weak with fatigue and the tent slipped out of my hand.
“What’s wrong, cutie? Can’t hang?” the German commandos