Читать книгу A Land Divided - Jack Wills - Страница 7

Chapter 1

SEAL Team Member Shawn Bryant

Navy lieutenant commander and psychologist Carl Stevens’s ability to evaluate SEAL members had never been strained like this before. He stared at the series of psychological tests that lay before him on the metal desk. He scratched his head, running his fingers over his salt-and-pepper short-cut hair and adjusted his reading glasses, a recent addition to his necessary tools. Shawn Bryant was a psychological puzzle. Stevens was about to conduct his third interview with Second Class Petty Officer Bryant, something that, at this point in his career, he rarely had to do.

Stevens took his job seriously. Even though he was less than a year from retirement, he strove to be sure that his evaluations were accurate and complete. Despite his concern for thoroughness, his direct supervisor was pushing him for a final determination regarding the recent incident that resulted in Bryant’s incarceration. For once, Stevens lacked confidence in his formulation of this case.

By all accounts, Bryant could have post-traumatic stress disorder. He had been behind enemy lines in Afghanistan frequently over the past two years, and he had engaged Taliban insurgents in several firefights, including a few where he lost some of his team members. Based on these experiences, Stevens thought it possible that Bryant had some mild to moderate PTSD, but he was not satisfied that was a complete answer to the reason for the incident.

Bryant was in the Navy’s brig for psychological evaluation because he had severely beaten another team member, a beating that resulted in hospitalization for the other man. This was another factor that puzzled Stevens. In his last interview, Bryant appeared pleasant and polite, if not a little formal. “Yes, sir,” “No, sir” were his most frequent responses. There was a slight element of distance, not exactly coldness, but a hesitance to engage in conversation, not surprising given the nature of his charges, aggravated assault, and possible consequences for his actions.

Stevens sighed, grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil. He left his office and walked down the corridor to a room guarded by two Marine military police officers. When Stevens entered the room, Bryant snapped to attention and stared straight ahead. Stevens casually observed the stony face and recognized it for what it was—a sign of respect, a reflection of his training, but also a way to maintain a wall between himself and the interviewer. Almost as if Stevens was the enemy.

Stevens scanned Bryant’s facial affect, body language, and any unusual attire Bryant might exhibit and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He automatically recorded Bryant’s close-cropped sandy hair, his clean-shaven face, and the stern jawline. He also recalled that he had a beard and long hair when he was arrested. Bryant was tall. His file said six feet three inches, with a slender but well-muscled build. Surprising to some, he was larger than the average SEAL member. According to his file, he weighed 223 pounds.

The military police had provided Stevens with Bryant’s military history, a summary of his training, assignments, and behavior as a SEAL. The MP administrator had also provided him with a summary of the incident and the victim’s statement. That statement was compromised because the victim of Bryant’s violence had a broken jaw and was unable to speak. When the victim was initially interrogated, he tried to speak, but ended up nodding to questions put to him because of the pain. But some evidence was available, mostly collateral testimony from other witnesses.

Based on reports from fellow SEAL team members, Bryant was an extremely efficient and dependable teammate. His record noted several acts of heroism, including seemingly single-handed rescue of five team members surrounded by a large group of Taliban fighters. Bryant had come from behind the enemy and dispatched several before the Taliban knew they were being attacked. The subsequent battle left two wounded SEAL members and several wounded and dead Taliban fighters. The Taliban quickly withdrew, suspecting a much larger force had circumvented their perimeter. Bryant had reinforced this perception by moving regularly and quickly between his shots at the enemy. Bryant was one of the wounded. During the firefight, Bryant was hit by returned fire, and it left an entry and exit wound in his left shoulder. Sometime later, Bryant was recommended for a Silver Star medal, but his reluctance to receive this award resulted in a general team commendation.

This was not the profile of a problem SEAL. In fact, the victim fit that description much more closely. His personnel file suggested someone who frequently pushed the boundaries of authority, and his team members indicated that Casey Lawrence, the victim, was not a reliable SEAL. Some even went so far as to say that they thought he got what he deserved.

Commander Stevens knew he would have to go beyond the background report and the test results to determine the reason for Bryant’s attack on Casey Lawrence. In general, the test ruled out any significant form of mental illness that would explain his actions. Based on a test designed to lower dropout rates in SEAL training, Bryant scored more toward introversion and very high on conscientiousness. The introversion was not low enough to flag as a possible problem, and he sailed through the training program. One test administered subsequent to the incident did suggest that Bryant had a mild to moderate level of PTSD, but this might be found in most SEAL team members if they were truthful. It was suggested in the inventory that Bryant was faking his emotional status to show more positive than it was. This suggested that the level of PTSD was higher than the inventory would indicate. But until now, there was no behavior that suggested he had a problem. Stevens believed he needed to dig a little deeper into the incident from Bryant’s perspective.

From what he could ascertain about the incident, Bryant had befriended a stray dog, and when the other SEAL team member first kicked the dog and then shot it, killing it, Bryant had screamed obscenities at the other SEAL, and then the two began to fight. Both being well trained in the art of combat, the fight was ferocious. When the other SEAL felt he was losing, he pulled a knife. Bryant’s response was swift and efficient. The victim was the smaller of the two, but that did not necessarily mean an easy victory.

Bryant was enraged, according to witnesses. At the same time, he had learned how to focus his emotions to enhance his effectiveness at fighting. In this case, his opponent was completely overcome. Part of the problem facing the investigation was that Bryant didn’t stop his pummeling once the outcome was clear. This was a complete violation of all written and unwritten codes of conduct among SEAL team members. He had to be pulled off his victim, or he would be facing murder charges.

Commander Stevens sat down at the table in the center of the room and began to arrange the paperwork in front of him. Once he was satisfied, he looked up at Bryant and nodded.

“Have a seat, Petty Officer Bryant.”

“Yes, sir!

Bryant sat across from the commander and continued to stare straight ahead. From Stevens’s perspective, Bryant’s rigid affect interfered with his ability to assess Bryant’s reactions to his questions. It was important to encourage Bryant to relax.

“At ease, Bryant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stevens studied Bryant’s face for changes. His sandy hair framed an oval deeply tanned face and dark-brown eyes. Bryant’s eye contact seemed better, but his impassive stare hid any other information. Stevens knew he would have to be satisfied with formal and self-protecting behavior unless he could get Bryant to relax his guard. He decided to take a less-formal approach himself. Maybe that would help Bryant feel less defensive. After reviewing the purpose of the interview and making sure Bryant understood the nature of the interview, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and his chin resting on his clasped hands.

Stevens said, “That dog must have meant a lot to you.”

Stevens watched for subtle changes in Bryant’s affect. He thought he noticed a slight closing of his eyes and a downward glance. Not much information.

Bryant knew his SEAL career was on the line. He was four months from the end of his enlistment, but he was considering reenlisting for a second term of duty. This incident might change everything. When reflecting on his situation in private, he frequently smiled ruefully and shook his head. Deep inside, he knew he would have reacted the same to the killing of his adopted canine friend despite his regret at being in his current situation. But a big part of him wished he hadn’t.

Finally, Bryant replied, “Yes, sir, he did.”

Stevens hesitated. He realized that he would likely not receive much more from Bryant. He decided to continue his relaxed and even more indirect approach.

“Tell me a little about how you had this dog in your unit and how you found him.”

Stevens noticed that Bryant was moving his eyes, a sign he was remembering the events surrounding the incident. He waited, giving Bryant time to respond.

A wave of mental images surged through Bryant. He held back tears as he recalled the first time that Nick, the name he gave this medium-sized mongrel with an orange-brown coat, came slinking up toward his position in a sniper nest.

At first, he waved his hand at the dog, trying to shoo it away. He knew the dog’s presence could expose his position to the enemy, jeopardizing him and his unit members. When the dog didn’t leave, Bryant realized he needed to try something different. He could strike the dog, hopefully frightening it away, or lure it close enough to gain physical control. Bryant chose the latter, and as he reflected, he didn’t have a choice.

Bryant pulled out some MRE (meals ready to eat) leftovers and offered that to the dog. Soon the dog was sitting by his side. The urgency to get the mongrel to lie by his side and under the cover of his sniper nest was high. Bryant tried to train the dog quickly by offering small amounts of food when the dog settled in near Bryant’s feet, but remained nervous. Fortunately, this survivor of Afghanistan’s rugged landscape was a quick learner, and soon he was lying at Bryant’s side with his dark-brown eyes staring hopefully at its new friend and savior.

After several minutes of food training, Bryant was able to return his attention to the mission. Bryant’s mind flashed forward to the many times Nick followed him across the plateaus of Afghanistan and even enjoyed a helicopter ride back to base camp. He mentally smiled when remembering how he had to cajole the copter crew to let the dog ride with him.

Then Bryant’s mind turned dark. He could see his team member Casey Lawrence. The vision was of Lawrence watching Nick snuggle up against his gear and nuzzle his bag where he kept his food rations. Without saying anything, Lawrence kicked at Nick and struck him in the ribs with his boot. Nick yelped and jumped away. Bryant had yelled at Lawrence, but he was too far away to intervene. Lawrence kicked again at Nick. This time, Nick was ready, and he nipped at Lawrence’s ankle. The bite was restrained, but Lawrence yelled more from surprise than pain. Bryant suppressed a laugh, but his mood quickly changed when he heard Lawrence swear and saw him draw his pistol, taking aim at Nick.

The blast from Lawrence’s weapon seemed to flash like a bomb in Bryant’s brain. Shock, followed by intense anger, exploded in him before he had time to think. He charged at Lawrence immediately, and they engaged in a fight, yelling obscenities at each other. Bryant’s initial tackle slammed Lawrence into the Afghan dust. Immediately, Bryant’s anger seemed to push the advantage toward him; and Lawrence, in desperation, pulled a Ka-Bar knife and waved it at Bryant defensively. Bryant stopped his attack instantly, and his mind became cold and incisive. The anger-driven adrenaline took a back seat, and Bryant’s skills and training took over his thought process briefly. Then Lawrence lunged. He slashed back and forth twice. On the third pass, Bryant twisted to his left and caught Lawrence by the arm. With the Krav Maga training almost second nature, Bryant pushed downward and twisted Lawrence’s wrist. His knife was facing his own stomach. Lawrence immediately dropped his knife. Bryant thrusted upward with his knee hitting Lawrence in his jaw and sending him sprawling backward on to the ground.

By then, a few other SEAL team members had gathered around the fight. Some yelling while others stared in disbelief and concern. Lawrence was not well liked and had little support in the crowd, but when Bryant straddled Lawrence and began to pummel him, a few jumped in to stop the beating. Finally, Bryant was pulled off Lawrence, and firm hands held him from his objective, which seemed to be to kill him. Lawrence’s prostrate form was carefully pulled away from the fight scene, and a medic was called to attend to his wounds. It was soon recognized that he was unable to speak.

Bryant suddenly realized he had been mentally absent from the interrogation room. He looked at Stevens and sensed that the “shrink” had been staring at him intently. Bryant shut his affect down immediately, but it was too late.

“You were reliving the fight, weren’t you?” Stevens probed.

It was more of a statement than a question, but Bryant realized that a response was expected. He pursed his lips and nodded his head slightly.

Stevens sat back and sighed. He knew that the ability to delve deeper into the mind of Bryant would be almost impossible without a lot of time, and even then, he might have little success. He had little time.

Captain Bryce Ericson had requested, or more accurately, demanded that Stevens wrap up the evaluation by next week. Stevens knew he could not do that with Bryant’s limited statements. So far, Bryant had neither defended himself nor commented on Lawrence. He had not even expressed any remorse. The latter disturbed Stevens the most.

Stevens intuitively decided to take an even more oblique approach. He knew from experience that an indirect line of questioning sometimes led to quicker and more accurate results.

“Where did you grow up, Bryant?” This was not a yes-or-no question, and it was not apparently tied to the incident. A back door, Stevens noted to himself.

With a brief hesitation and a puzzled look, Bryant responded, “Oregon, sir, Eastern Oregon.”

“Let’s drop the ‘sir’ stuff for the rest of the interview, Bryant.”

“Yes, sir—um, I mean okay.”

“Tell me a little bit about what growing up in Oregon, uh, Eastern Oregon was like.”

After an even longer hesitation, Bryant finally said, “Well, I don’t know what you want to know, but it was a good place to grow up. I had lots of hills, mountains, and canyons to explore, when I wasn’t working around the ranch.”

“You lived on a ranch?” Stevens probed.

“Yeah, I did,” Bryant replied.

“What was that like?”

Bryant could feel that he was letting his guard down. His mind conjured images of the ranch and the surrounding land north of Burns, a small town in Oregon. He turned over thoughts of his childhood, both good and bad, fun times and times he wished he could forget.

“We had cattle and a few horses and a couple of four-wheelers. It was hard work and fun at the same time.”

“Did you have brothers and sisters?” Stevens noted that Bryant’s head shifted backward, and his eyes seemed to open slightly.

Bryant acknowledged to himself that this was one of the hard times in his life. He had not expected it to come up in this meeting.

After a longer pause, Bryant said, “A half sister.”

“So one of her parents was not biologically related?”

“Yeah, I had a stepfather.”

“How old is your sister?”

Another long pause. Bryant and Stevens stared at each other. Then, “She’s dead.” Bryant took some morbid pleasure when Commander Stevens sat back in his chair with a startled expression on his face. But Bryant felt intense pain himself.

“Oh, sorry. I dislike being intrusive over something like this, but what happened to her?”

Telling the story would not be so easy. He began slowly, describing his half sister’s death in as little detail as possible. But the details slipped through.

Shawn Bryant had become very fond of his half sister. Ellie, nine years old, was seven years younger, but did her best to keep up with him. She frequently hung out nearby when he worked with the horses and would sometimes beg to ride behind him on a horse or a four-wheeler. Bryant seldom resisted her worried, plaintive expression and whiney yet charming persistence. Both his stepfather and mother were supportive of the relationship. That is, until the last four-wheeler ride.

It had been a typical, mostly sunny day with few lazy clouds drifting across the crisp blue skies, creating shadows on the tawny hillsides that made up most of the ranch landscape. Juniper, sage, and rabbitbrush dotted these hills and competed for the scarce water. Summer in Eastern Oregon was often hot and dry with the occasional thunderstorm that ripped through the parched land, sometimes leaving a wildfire in its wake.

Bryant remembered the ride with his half sister like it was yesterday. He recalled the joy of riding with the wind whipping through his hair and the sound of Ellie giggling or sometimes screaming with excitement. It all ended when he chose a trail that traveled through a few old-growth juniper. Bryant had gone this way many times before without a problem. He was traveling at a reasonable rate of speed, perhaps a little fast to give Ellie a thrill. But apparently, the sound of the four-wheeler had disturbed a herd of mule deer. Bryant did not see them until it was too late. The lead deer made the decision to jump ahead of the frightening sound and crossed the path directly in front of the four-wheeler. The next deer jumped over the four-wheeler and landed on the other side. Bryant had yelled at Ellie to duck, and he followed suit. But it wasn’t enough.

The next deer landed directly on the four-wheeler and Bryant. In its terrified scramble to separate from the loud monster, its hooves cut into Shawn’s thighs and back. Finally, the panicked doe fell on its side, still on top of Bryant and Ellie. Shawn’s body was pushed forward, and he lost control of the handlebars; at the same time, the vehicle’s front tires hit an old juniper log. The four-wheeler lifted its back wheels high off the ground as the front tires struggled to cross the log. Ellie was launched into the air; her young body was flung into the dead limb of a very large juniper. Shawn was vaguely aware of her flying over his shoulder as he struggled with the deer and the large powerful machine. He lost the battle, and the four-wheeler flipped on its side, pinning his left leg against the old partially rotten log that stopped the machine dead in its tracks. The doe was pinned between the machine and Shawn, its life ebbing.

The cushion of the deer’s body saved Shawn from being more seriously insured, but he could not move the deer and the machine. With considerable exertion, he was able to move part of his body out from under the deadly weight.

He yelled, “Ellie!”

There was no response. He continued to struggle to break away from the deer, but the pain from his leg prevented him from making much progress. He couldn’t see Ellie and continued to call her name, with no result. Finally, he acknowledged to himself that he would have to wait for help from his family. It might take hours. He examined his leg and determined that he was bleeding and that the visible injuries were abrasions. When he tried to move his leg, he felt a shock of pain. There was nothing he could do but wait.

Hours later, he heard an engine grinding its way up the trail. He realized he had drifted off. Suddenly his pain was back in full force. The thought came to him that it might take a while longer to be found.

He began to yell, “Over here!”

After some time, the engine sound grew closer, and then it was there.

Shawn’s mother and stepfather had taken the larger four-wheeler, and when they arrived, his mother was yelling both his and Ellie’s names. They reached Shawn first and asked about Ellie as they attempted to move the four-wheeler and the deer off Shawn’s body. When Shawn said that he didn’t know where she was, his stepfather Hank Strauter told Shawn’s mother to look for Ellie. Linda Strauter shone the flashlight around the four-wheeler but saw no sign.

Suddenly Shawn heard his mother’s anguished cry. “Nooo, nooo, nooo, oh God no, Ellie, wake up!”

With Hank’s help, Shawn was out from under the weight of the dead deer and the four-wheeler. When Hank heard his wife cry, he ran toward the sound. Shawn could hear heavy breathing; then Hank wailed in anguish.

From that time, when Hank and Linda found the limp, lifeless body of their daughter, life on the ranch changed.

Despite the trauma of their daughter’s death, Hank and Linda found a way to get help for Shawn. They rushed him to the county hospital, ten miles away, and called the emergency room to prepare them for his arrival. Shawn had suffered two fractured ribs and multiple cuts and abrasions and a fractured leg. He was hospitalized for observation and pain management but was casted and released the next morning.

An emotional cloud filled with horror, disbelief, and anger hung over the family from that day forward. Linda withdrew for several months; her body seemed to shrink, and she slumped more than before. She spoke less and smiled not at all. After about six months, she seemed to recover some. But Hank took a different course.

Initially, he isolated from the family. He spent his time working around the ranch and talking little. Slowly, he became surly and hostile to everyone, but mostly toward Shawn. He had always been a beer drinker, but after Ellie’s death, he drank more whiskey, and his mood darkened. He began to be physically aggressive with his stepson, but Shawn was a little taller than Hank; and though he weighed less, he was heavily muscled from ranch work. Hank was also hostile and aggressive toward Linda and even kicked at and cursed Shawn’s dog. Shawn felt remorse over his sister’s death, and this prevented him from confronting Hank and pushing back against his anger. But that was about to change.

Three years prior to the accident, Shawn and Linda had picked out a pup from a neighbor’s litter and brought him home. They named him Nick. He was a mongrel as Hank often said, a mixture of Labrador retriever and German shepherd. He was a smart though sometimes rambunctious dog, and he often irritated Hank. Hank’s reaction to Nick changed after Ellie died. On one occasion, after Nick had harassed a foal and caused the mare to chase the dog, Hank became furious and threatened to shoot Nick. Shawn grabbed Nick’s collar and promised to make sure it didn’t happen again. He chained Nick and stood between Hank and his target. Eventually, Hank lost interest and walked away.

About two months later, on the anniversary of Ellie’s death, Hank drank more than ever before. He was staggering around inside the ranch house, yelling obscenities and verbally attacking Shawn, who had gone outside to avoid his tirade. Nick joined him and sat nearby, looking nervously toward the house.

Hank fumed, “Why the hell did he have to crash and kill her! He should have been more careful.”

Linda was talking to him and trying to calm him down. It was a wasted effort.

Suddenly Shawn heard his mother cry out, and then there was the sound of crashing furniture. He told Nick to “stay!” Then he ran inside. He saw Hank standing over Linda and holding a fist, ready to strike again.

He was yelling, “He’s your fucking son! He killed my Ellie!”

Linda was crying and begging Hank to stop his attack. Hank didn’t stop. But before he could strike a third time, Shawn caught his arm and swung him around and onto the floor. Hank, too drunk to maintain his balance, struggled to get up. When he got on his feet, he walked toward Shawn in a menacing manner.

He swung at Shawn and yelled, “You fucking worthless punk!”

The full force of his punch was lost as Shawn, anticipating the swing, ducked. Hanks fist struck the back of Shawn’s head and shoulder.

Something snapped in Shawn. He had held his emotions out of guilt and remorse over Ellie’s death, but the dam burst, and Shawn struck Hank in the face, knocking him to the floor. Hank lay there, stunned, confused, drunk, and in pain. It was the first time Shawn had fought back. Hank did not immediately move. Shawn took this opportunity to turn to his mother and picked her up off the floor. He helped her walk to the kitchen and told her to leave by the back door if Hank got past him and came for her.

She nodded but said, “Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Shawn heard some rustling and then a hinge squeaking, followed by a banging sound behind him. Initially, he wasn’t sure what it was, but with a shock, he realized it was the gun cabinet swinging open.

He whispered to his mother, “Go now, right now, get out of the house and hide!” Then he added, “I have to check on something.”

Linda stared with frightened eyes at Shawn and said, “I need to call my brother Jeff. We need him to talk Hank down.”

“Do it quick,” Shawn said. “Then get out of here!”

While Linda dialed Uncle Jeff’s number, Shawn listened intently for sounds in the living room and backed up to the kitchen wall by the door between the kitchen and living room. He heard Hank shuffling, and then he heard the front screen swing open.

“I’ll teach you to swing on me! It should have been you that died,” he grumbled as he staggered off the porch.

At first, it did not register what Hank was up to. Shawn peeked around through the door and saw Hank leaving the house with a 12-guage shotgun in his right hand. Shawn thought it was odd. He had expected Hank to come for him with the shotgun.

Shawn decided to follow him. He crept slowly and silently toward the door while watching for signs that Hank knew he was behind him. Hank half-marched, half-staggered over the lawn. Shawn watched as Hank grabbed a small chain from the barn wall and wrap it around the limb of a tree. He had propped the shotgun against the tree trunk, and Shawn could hear him swearing, but the words were unintelligible. Shawn edged closer while trying to avoid being seen.

Hank then looked around and spotted Nick huddled up against a large tree in the yard. He called the dog, but Nick tucked his tail and hesitated to move. Hank moved closer and finally was within reach. It was then that Shawn felt nausea building. Hank grabbed Nick, who struggled to get away. Hank nearly fell, but finally latched the chain to Nick’s collar.

He watched while Hank walked a few feet and picked up the shotgun. At that moment, it became clear what Hank was planning. Shawn stepped out of the shadows just as Hank called his name.

“Shawn, come on out, you punk,” he slurred.

“What are you doing, Hank?”

“What I should have done a long time ago. I need to teach you a lesson.”

While Hank said this, he pointed the gun at Shawn.

“I should just shoot you.”

He paused for effect. Then a stupidly evil grin emerged from his drunken sunburned face. “But I would go to prison for that. So I will just do this.”

Shawn watched in horror as Hank lowered the shotgun. Shawn’s urge to jump Hank came too late. The blast from the gun shattered Shawn’s young mind as it destroyed Nick’s body. Hank shot a second time, guaranteeing Nick’s death. Shawn tried to yell, but it came out as guttural anguish. He fell to his knees and reached out to Nick, whose body lay bloody and lifeless. Shawn’s mind swirled with horror, sadness, and disbelief. He began to gasp for breath for a few minutes. Then he became quiet, very quiet.

Hank started to walk off from the scene but turned back and laughed an angry, sarcastic laugh.

Finally, he looked down at Shawn and Nick and said, “Now you know how it feels.” Then he walked off toward the house. He didn’t make it very far.

Shawn was roused from his despair by Hank’s words. He got up and yelled, “I didn’t want her to die! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Hank did not turn around, and Shawn rushed and tackled him from behind. They tumbled to the ground, and Shawn wrestled the shotgun from Hank and struck him in the face with the butt of the weapon. The first blow incapacitated the inebriated man, but Shawn was just beginning. He threw the shotgun away and began to pummel Hank with his fists. He struck him several times, and in his anger, he did not hear the large diesel truck pull up to the house. He did not hear the door slam. He didn’t hear anything and continued to beat his stepfather until the large, strong hands of his uncle caught his arm and whirled him off the prostrate form of his stepfather.

Shawn’s story unfolded in the session. He was initially unemotional and revealed only the basic history related to his sister’s death and the following events, but when he reached the part of his dog’s death, he choked and coughed. He gathered himself and looked self-consciously at Lieutenant Commander Stevens. When he continued, tears welled in his eyes, and his voice was strained. Stevens knew his instincts were accurate and that this incident was the essence of why Shawn was sitting in front of him at this moment, facing assault charges.

Stevens nodded Shawn to continue. He learned that following the incident of his dog’s death and the beating of his stepfather, Shawn was charged with assault. Hank had to go to the hospital for treatment of cuts, abrasions, and a small fracture. He required only a brief hospitalization. When he was released from the hospital, he was charged with assaulting Linda. Eventually, Hank’s lawyer managed to get the charges reduced to disorderly conduct, if Hank entered a treatment program for alcoholism. At first, he refused, but when he was informed that his choice might be to go to prison, he agreed. He was sent to a program in Pendleton, Oregon, for one month, then released to go home and to continue in an outpatient program.

Shawn did not have a lawyer, but the judge was sympathetic to his story. Nevertheless, something had to happen. It would be too dangerous for Shawn to remain at home. He explained to Shawn that the best course of action was for him to join the military. If Shawn joined a branch of the military, the judge said that all record of his charges would be expunged, and there would be no evidence of his arrest.

Shawn was shocked and reluctant to agree, but when he thought about what had happened and what the consequences might be, he decided to explore the different branches of the military. He knew that most people from his area joined the US Army. But he wasn’t swayed by what most people did. Shawn did not know much about the various services. He knew Hank was in the army, and his mother’s father had enlisted in the Navy during the Vietnam era. He had heard his grandfather talk about his experiences of travel throughout West Pacific and Asian countries. He thought it might be a better choice than the army, given the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. Shawn did not consider himself a pacifist, but neither was he “gung-ho” to do battle in those far-off countries.

One month later, Shawn had decided to join the Navy and had initiated the process to enlist. He passed highly in all his tests, and the recruiter seemed eager to process his enlistment. His mother had to agree since Shawn was seventeen years old. With only minimal hesitance, she agreed. Enlistment was necessary to avoid further legal problems, and Linda thought it would be a good experience for Shawn. After that, it was a simple process of letting the judge know of his enlistment, and Shawn was informed that his records were no longer available and would only be revealed if Shawn did not follow through with his enlistment, or he committed another crime.

If any of this information had been available when Shawn became a SEAL, his application would have been denied. Shawn was aware of this and looked for signs that Commander Stevens was concerned.

Stevens knew this and responded by saying, “The information you provided just now impacts this evaluation, but not your association with the SEALs.”

Bryant breathed easier.

Stevens ended his questioning and indicated to Bryant that the interview was over for the day. As Bryant stood, Commander Stevens reached for a large envelope on the table. He handed it to one of the Marines standing near the door.

“Give this envelope to Petty Officer Bryant when you reach his cell,” he said. To Shawn, he said, “There is a note in the envelope explaining what’s inside.”

The armed Marine escorted Bryant back to his cell, handing the envelope to Shawn as instructed.

Commander Stevens sat back in his chair, removed his reading glasses, and rubbed his face briskly. He reflected on the information provided by Bryant and felt confident he had enough information to formulate this case. He would write his evaluation and present it to Captain Ericson in the morning.