U.S. Navy Dive School - End of May, 1967

One afternoon we were working a couple of divers off the fantail of the dive barge. We were about halfway through the deep-sea phase, and the day’s exercise had us thirty to forty feet down, assembling pipe puzzles in low visibility with three-finger gloves.

That’s when we heard it — a low rumble coming from the bulkhead road above us. We heard them long before we saw them.

Then they appeared.

A group of Marines moved into view and came to a halt right above us — Jody calling, heel-clicking, in-step sons of bitches. You couldn’t help but stare. They moved as one, almost mechanical in the afternoon sun, sixteen Jarheads stopping in perfect unison, sixteen heels striking the pavement at once with a hard echoing slap that seemed to ripple through the air.

Anyone who wasn’t already looking was now.

We only had one question — what the hell were they doing at dive school?

It didn’t take long to find out. These weren’t your standard, off-the-shelf Marines. These were Force Recon, out of Camp Pendleton. There to earn their Scuba Diver qualification.

At the end of the day, a group of us — mostly Army — were heading off the barge while the Marines were loosely formed up outside the classroom. The Navy hadn’t paid much attention to our grooming or uniforms, and we’d taken full advantage of it. Hair out of regs, fatigues unbloused, boots unshined. We wore it like a badge.

The Marines noticed.

You could feel them looking us over, top to bottom, taking it all in with quiet disapproval.

Over time, we learned to get along with them, and they learned to accept us for what we were. They were tough — no question about it — and their sergeant was as intimidating as hell. I usually make it a rule to steer a wide path around anyone who gets up in the morning and the first thing he does is grab his dick and smack it on the bedpost.

But with Vietnam waiting out there, I felt a little better knowing there would be Marines like this sergeant covering my six.

— Borrowed from Chapter 29 of The Delta Divers of Vietnam

I’ll admit, I only had a vague idea about the mission of Force Recon when we ran into these guys in dive school. But after a year of war, and becoming more aware of the military after serving, I quickly realized just how badass these dudes were.

Through years of telling war stories, I often mentioned that I had trained with Marines at Navy dive school. And when I wrote the chapter about going through dive school for my book, there were no second thoughts about including them.

Then, as I was finishing up the book, I revisited the story and ran across a photo of three scuba divers making backward-roll entries over the rail of an inflatable boat. I recognized the double 90 tanks, and it sure looked like it had been taken in San Diego Bay.

My curiosity quickly had me digging deeper.

I found myself scouring a website run by a Marine named Dave Thompson, telling the story of his time in dive school and his tours in Vietnam. It didn’t take long to verify that these guys were the very same group of Force Recon Marines we had trained with back in the spring of 1967.

I reached out to Dave by email. His response included the note, “Just to let you know, health wise I have Stage 4 untreatable prostate cancer and my hearing’s not real good.”

After years of tracking down old vets like myself, I’ve learned there’s always a little hesitation before I reach out. At our age, you never know what you’re going to find on the other end. It can be a bit tricky. You have to be sensitive, and you have to be ready for bad news.

I’m happy to tell you, Dave is still with us.

We had a great talk, and I discovered that most of the Recon guys we ran across in San Diego ended up in Vietnam in 1968.

All in a day’s work, digging into your military past.

Do yourselves a favor and visit Dave’s site. These Recon dudes are true heroes — link below: